Chapter 22
Jill
MY MOTHER ALWAYS said, If you fail to plan, you plan to fail. On that point, we agreed. I was a planner by nature. I always made a grocery list in the precise order of the store before shopping. I always wrote down step-by-step directions before going on a road trip. I wrote them again, in reverse order, before coming home. Vacations were the same way.
But with finals behind me, and Christmas break officially upon me, I found myself staring at my Louis Vuitton luggage, sitting empty on the floor of my bedroom, with no list in sight and no time to make one. I checked the time… 4:00. I needed to leave in three hours to arrive in Austin by midnight. The plan had always been to fly out to Aspen first thing in the morning. As far as I knew, nothing had changed. Packing for the eight-day ski trip should have been my top priority. So, of course, I decided to clean my kitchen.
As I unloaded the dishwasher, my mind wandered to Bennett, as it had so many times in the last few weeks. The last communication I had from him was a nod toward the doors of the cafe, telling me in no uncertain terms, to stick with what I knew. That one simple action dismissed any ideas I may have had that Bennett saw me as I’d grown to see him. And it still ached like an infected wound.
When I’d run out of distractions, I threw winter clothes and some other necessities into a few bags and loaded them into my trunk. What was wrong with me? I hardly recognized myself anymore. I was going to Aspen! I needed to shake off the pity party. And I had the two-hour drive between College Station and Austin to do it, because in less than twenty-four hours I’d be hitting the slopes.
Great, rain.
The weather mirrored what was in my heart. I ran to the car and jumped in before the rain picked up. With the heater blowing at maximum capacity, I mentally ticked through my ‘leaving town’ routine.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit.” I slammed my hands on the steering wheel with each profanity. There, on my passenger seat, mocking me, was the stack of books used for a report I’d written the week before. If I waited until after the break to return them, they’d be late and I’d have to pay a fine. And when I called in to check my grades, the automatic call-in service wouldn’t release them unless my library account was in the clear. While the former was of little concern, the latter would make my parents none too happy, so off to the library I went.
Desolate roads and darkness, the result of an imminent storm, created a scene straight out of an apocalyptic novel. Campus was a ghost town. The wind picked up, rocking my car, as a slushy mix of freezing rain hit my windshield like miniature buckshot pellets. I prayed it didn’t stick on the pavement. I was beyond exhausted and had no desire to creep down the highway, fearing for my life.
After sitting at the curb outside the library doors for more than a few minutes, I had to admit defeat. If anything, the rain was only going to get worse. It was probably best I just bite the bullet, run up the steps, and shove the books in the return box. Leaving the car running, I gathered the books inside my coat and darted for the box. Having to feed them in one at a time was excruciating, and by the last book, I thought I might freeze to death. I laughed inside as another sucker pulled up behind me. Good luck, buddy.
Walking back, the lights from the newly arriving car illuminated the landing of the stairs, drawing my attention to the figure of a man slumped down against a brick column. The devil on one shoulder said, This is not your problem. Get in your car and go!... the angel on the other said, You’re better than that, go offer assistance. As I walked closer, the details once obstructed by the ice-filled air became more clear. And by the time the man was in arm's reach, I had to fight to catch my breath. That jacket.
“Bennett?” The man didn’t stir. Moving in closer, I nudged him a few times and heard something, a mumble maybe. Okay, so he wasn’t dead. The man’s face was covered by a sweatshirt hood and pushing it back revealed a nightmare.
“Bennett!” I jumped up and waved my arms to the other guy returning books. “Hey, my friend collapsed! I need help.” The scrawny guy came running over and together, we lifted Bennett to his feet. It took every muscle in my body, but we slowly walked him down the stairs. I think Bennett was helping a little, but I couldn’t be sure. When it was time to get him in the car, I opened the back door and, with what I know had to be at least some help from Bennett, the stranger and I were able to get him in the car. His partial lucidity gave me great hope for when I would have to unload him all by myself.
Beutel, the university’s on-site clinic (referred to as the Quack Shack by many) was less than a mile away, but like the rest of campus, it too was deserted. I sighed and rested my head on the steering wheel, trying to conjure up options and failing miserably.
Bennett was sick. And there was no one around to take care of him, which really left me with only one option. “Hang on, Bennett. I’m about to get you dry.” I punched the gas and, by the grace of God, we made it home within five minutes and in one piece.
“Hey, help me out here. Sling your arm around my shoulder… ” He grunted, I grunted, it was all very uncivilized. “Yes, like that. Now, can you stand?” His legs stiffened and, with a big pull from me, we were vertical. “It’s that door right there, just a few more steps.” It was slow going, but we made it, both crumpling into a pile on the couch as soon as it was in reach.