Rhode Island
Senior Year
Over the next few weeks David and I became masters at paying minimal attention to each other, even in close range, like in English class or at our lunch table.
It was easier with Violet around, because we could talk to her without really talking to each other. And because the David-induced stars in her eyes seemed to keep her from noticing the tension between him and me.
Even so, I’d been having daily anxiety attacks over whether or not I should do something for his birthday when it came around. Sophomore year, I’d made good on my promise and decorated his locker and made sure everyone knew what day it was.
Junior year, I hadn’t even called.
But having him there with me, I felt like ignoring it was too deliberate. I walked down the hall toward where David stood at his locker, with a small box of taffy clutched in my hands. With every step, I practiced the first half of my ingenious speech in my head: Happy birthday. This is for you. It beat the hell out of the second half, which even in my own head, sounded like, Blah blah blah, lame lame lame.
Before I could get close enough, Violet came bounding out of nowhere with a white-frosted cupcake in hand. “Happy birthday!” she squealed, throwing her free arm around his neck and smacking a kiss on his cheek.
Every time she hung on him that way, my mind went right back to the two of them in the pool; her fingers pressing into the back of his neck, his hands touching the skin left exposed by her beige bikini. It made me throw up a little in my mouth.
When David’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, I turned and hurried back to my locker. They hadn’t seen me, but I felt overwhelming embarrassment, like I’d fallen flat on my face in front of the entire school. I shoved the taffy to the back of my locker and slammed the door, wanting to breathe a sigh of relief but nearly jumping out of my skin instead when Candy suddenly stood at my side.
“Is that for David?” she asked. “It’s his birthday today, right?”
“Um, I brought him something, you know, in case. But Violet’s got it under control, so, no big deal.”
And then came the part I hated. Any time I witnessed David’s and Violet’s hands grazing, or caught them sharing a laugh, Candy would give me these awful, pitying looks, like she thought I must be dying inside. The same look she gave me then.
“I’m not jealous,” I told her for the hundredth time.
I wasn’t jealous.
Maybe “possessive” was a better word.
As much as I wanted nothing to do with David, I couldn’t ignore the fact that for a long time I’d been the most important girl in his life, and I’d liked it. I loved knowing he’d drop anything, or anyone, if I needed him. My ego inflated each time he greeted me with his biggest smile. In a way—a very comfortable, uncomplicated way—he’d always been mine. Until Isabel. But that’s a whole different story.
Now we barely looked at each other, and his biggest smiles were reserved for someone else.
I knew the avoidance dance couldn’t last forever, though. And sure enough, I came home after school one Friday to find my father and mother sitting at the kitchen table. Under normal circumstances, there wouldn’t have been anything unusual about it, but my father was supposed to be on tour for another two weekends.
“Daddy!” I cried, flinging my arms around his neck. “What are you doing home?”
“Hey, baby girl.” He squeezed me extra tight, the way he did whether it had been five days or five minutes since we’d last seen each other. “There was a fire at the store where I should have been signing this weekend, and next weekend’s canceled. Looks like I’ll be kicking around here for the next couple of weeks.”
“So guess what we’re all doing next weekend, since Daddy will be here,” my mother piped up. A sly grin twitched across her face, and she tried to hide it by taking a sip of her coffee. That right there made me nervous.
“Depending on what you’re about to say, I think I might have plans.”
My mother made a don’t-even-try-it face at me. “I already looked at your calendar, and I know you’re touring URI with Candy Saturday afternoon. Which is why our plans with the Kerrigans are for next Saturday evening.”
“Ohhh, Mom!” I fought the urge to stomp around the kitchen like a two-year-old who’d had her favorite toy taken away. “Why can’t you and Dad go? You know I haven’t talked to David in forever. It’ll be so awkward!”
My mother looked genuinely surprised. “Kelsey, you see David at school every day. You said he’s in one of your classes! The two of you still aren’t speaking?”
“We speak. But we aren’t friends.”
She tut-tutted. “Such a shame. You two were attached at the hip before we moved here.” I winced, expecting her to launch into a pontification about how he and I should patch things up, but she went for a different guilt trip: “What about David’s father? He always loved you, honey, and he’s so excited to see you girls. He’ll be so disappointed if I tell him you’re not going.”
I stood up straighter. “Speaking of Mr. Kerrigan—I heard he had cancer. And you two knew about it. Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?”
My mother swallowed and set down her mug. “We didn’t find out until he was well into his treatment. Daddy and I kept trying to get him to come out to Rhode Island for a visit, and he kept making excuses. He didn’t say a word to Daddy or me about being sick until we offered to come back and visit him instead. I guess they really tried to keep it quiet, which is one reason we didn’t tell you.”
She eyed my father, his cue to be the bad cop.
“Plus,” he said, “you snapped at us every time we suggested making amends with David. We thought you’d accuse us of ‘guilt-tripping’ you.”
So there it was. Even my own parents hadn’t trusted me to do the right thing. I stared at the wood-grain patterns in the table. Had I really changed that much in one year?
“So?” my mother prompted. “You’re not going to let David’s father down after what he went through, are you?”
The cancer card. Nicely played, Mother.
“Why should I go when I didn’t even deserve to know?” I mumbled.
My father stood up and kissed my cheek. “Six thirty, next Saturday,” he said. “Did you ever think you’d set foot in that house again?”
Nope. I certainly didn’t.
I went, though. And if I’d known what was going to happen, the past week of weirdness between David and me would have seemed like a picnic on the beach.
We pulled up to the familiar house next door to Uncle Tommy’s ex-cabin right on time. My unease was palpable. The torturous déjà vu of seeing David every day had been bad enough, but now we were about to sit around the dinner table with our families and break bread like nothing had happened.
Of course, for everyone else, nothing had.
I was grateful for the big, awkward salad bowl clutched against my chest as I filed in the door behind my family. It spared me the moment of uncertainty when everyone else walked in and gave David a hug or, in my father’s case, a handshake, and I had an excuse not to follow suit. He took the bowl from me with a polite thank-you, and we were on our merry way.
Or we should have been, if I hadn’t chosen the next moment to fall apart.
David’s father stood in the kitchen, greeting the members of my family with big hugs and an even bigger smile. The difference in his appearance caught me completely off guard.
Jimmy Kerrigan had always had a sort of crazy-professor look about him: thinning, disheveled hair; bright blue eyes; and clothes that never seemed to hang right on his bony frame. I used to slip him cookies from the batches I’d bake for David, and tease him that he needed to put some meat on his bones. He in turn would hide candy in the compartments of our book bags and leave it there for us to discover.
At that moment I wanted nothing more than to feed him some cookies, or candy, or any kind of calories at all. He must have had three shirts on, but with the layers of material having nothing to cling to except one another, they hung like potato sacks. He couldn’t have weighed more than 120 pounds. David might have told me about his father’s cancer, but he never prepared me for the sight of the emaciated man wearing Jimmy Kerrigan’s smile.
I stood rooted to the spot as the sea of bodies parted, and Mr. Kerrigan held his arms open, smiling warmer than the sun. His hair had started to grow in, and the graying tufts glinted in the overhead lights of the kitchen. “Kelsey,” he said. “How I’ve missed your beautiful face!”
So, speaking of my face? That would be the exact moment it crumpled. My whole body felt hot and wobbly, and a choked sob tore through my chest before I knew what was happening.
The kitchen went deathly silent. Or maybe it just felt that way from the ringing in my ears. Mr. Kerrigan’s arms wrapped around me, nothing but skin and bone, and he rubbed my back as he tried to soothe me. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m all right. I promise you, I’m fine.”
“I’m—s-sorry,” I hiccupped against his shoulder, my face burning with embarrassment and soaked with tears. “David t-told me, b-but—”
Mr. Kerrigan held my shoulders and winked at me. “You think this is bad? You should see the other guy.”
I managed a weak smile at his joke, and I became vaguely aware of my parents’ hands patting me as Mr. Kerrigan pulled me into another hug. I looked up long enough to see David leaning against the door frame of the kitchen, his jaw muscles tense as he stared off into the hallway. He rubbed my sister’s shoulder absently, because she’d started to cry too.
That’s how it worked with us Crawford women. One of us cried, and that was the end of it. I didn’t have to look at my mother to know she was dabbing her eyes too.
Mr. Kerrigan took my face in his hands and spoke quietly. “Would you like to run into the bathroom and take a minute?”
I nodded, and he smiled. I wished he’d let me go right then and there, but he said, “We missed you, Kelsey.”
My face contorted all over again and fresh tears spilled over my cheeks. He hadn’t said he’d missed me. He’d said we.
“Take your time,” he said as he guided me toward the bathroom that doubled as a laundry room. Miranda and David stepped aside, and I avoided looking at either of them. “We’ll start all over when you come back. You remember where it is, don’t you?”
I nodded and slunk off, my heart beating madly. The moment I shut the door behind me, I slid down to the dark green tile and sobbed into my knees until I thought I might be sick.
I’d failed David, failed his father. I’d left them both without a single glance back, and I hated myself for it.
A knock on the door made me jump, and I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over nearby paint cans. It was the first time I noticed the old wallpaper had been stripped away and blue painting tape lined the seam where the wall met the ceiling. David and his father must’ve been trying to spruce up the house, but the only thing I could focus on was the sound of David’s voice outside the room.
“Kelse? You okay?”
I hurriedly wiped my face and nose with a tissue before cracking the door open. I meant to say yes, to say or do something other than stare mournfully. The look in David’s eyes mirrored mine. As if by mutual agreement, I opened the door wider as he stepped inside, shutting it behind him with one arm and pulling me into a crushing hug with the other.
Neither of us said a word for the longest time. I held him as tightly as I could while I buried my face in his shirt, and he held me just as tight with his cheek against my hair. All the defenses I’d put up puddled at my feet.
“David,” I finally blubbered. “I’m sorry. For ruining dinner. I’m sorry for everything.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He smoothed my hair away from my face. “I’m sorry too. For upsetting you at Vi’s party.”
I shook my head, accepting and dismissing his apology, wanting to forget everything about that night.
David took my hand and led me past the washer and dryer to the sink, where he grabbed a tissue and held it out to me. He studied my Tiffany bracelet as I wiped my face, his fingers drumming against the laminate countertop, and I had a feeling he was still thinking about the words we’d exchanged on Violet’s deck.
“So what did you mean when you said you didn’t smash up your car?”
Yep.
I balled the Kleenex into my palm and squeezed it. “I did crash my car. Just not the way everyone thinks.” I hurled the snot rag into the trash, blowing out an exasperated breath. “Look, I know you think I’m some big sellout, and yes, I’m different, but you were the one who told me I should try new things, remember? And after what happened . . . I agreed. So I did.” He folded his arms across his chest and I did the same. “Some of them I liked. Some I didn’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“I wasn’t drunk that night. I drank, but not nearly as much as everyone thought.”
David eyed me, his expression hardening just enough to tell me he still didn’t like my answer. “You weren’t drunk, but you wanted people to think you were?”
“More like they already thought it, so I let them.”
“Because they’re really your friends if you have to fake it.”
“Like it did me so much good when I wouldn’t fake it?” I snapped back.
“At least you had a mind of your own. What happened to the Kelsey who didn’t care what anyone thought?”
“Whatever, David. It was a lot easier than trying to explain the real reason I almost blacked out behind the wheel.”
He stood up straight, towering over me. “That’s still happening? I thought—”
I held up a hand. “It’s not. I mean, I don’t know. I’m kind of a stickler about staying on top of it now. But I got really dizzy all of a sudden, and I swerved. It could’ve been the booze, because God knows I’m a lightweight. But Candy and I had just spent a week vacationing with her family, and the bag with my pills got lost, so I can’t be sure.”
David studied me. “Is that why you reacted to my dad that way? Are you—have you been—okay?”
“I think it was just a freak thing. Honestly, I’m better now than I’ve been in a long time.” I gave him a pointed look, in case he missed the threat edging my next statement. “Which is why I don’t bring it up anymore.”
He nodded slowly and sat back against the counter. “So where did the squirrel come in?”
“I added that for my parents’ benefit.”
David shook his head, grabbing another tissue with one hand and pulling me toward him with the other. As he started to wipe mascara streaks from my face, an odd smirk pulled at his lips.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“C’mon, Kelse. A squirrel? In the middle of the night? Are you sure you weren’t drunk when you came up with that one?”
“I claimed to be sober, not quick under pressure.”
He threw the tissue in the trash and held my face in his hands, the same way his father had done moments ago. The only thing different was the pulses of warmth that rocketed through me as his palms touched my cheeks.
Not good.
“What?” I said as his smirk stretched into a full-on grin. “What is it?”
He touched his forehead to mine. “I knew you were in there somewhere.”
I threw my arms around him again, the weight of the marred night and our strained friendship bearing down on me all over. “I’m sorry,” I repeated.
We held each other, the silence stretching until I became aware of the clock ticking on the wall. When David spoke, his voice seemed eerily soft in comparison. “Kelse?”
“Mmm?” I mumbled against his shoulder.
He drew a breath, then gently pushed me away from him, holding my arms at my sides. His eyes were dark as they searched mine.
“Why did you run away from me that night?”
I looked at the floor, then back at him. Then back at the floor. My voice came out sounding as inadequate as my answer. “I don’t know.” I wanted to tell him the rest, to finally get it off my shoulders. But the words solidified in my throat, and I knew I’d never get them out without an accompaniment of fresh tears.
You ran away from me, too.
David let out a breath and his eyes dropped somewhere near my shoulder. “Did you even miss me?”
“All the time.”
The answer came out before I’d even processed it, before I had time to think about whether or not it was true. After all, if I’d missed him so much, how had we come to this?
But looking at him, having him right here in front of me and seeing the familiarity of everything about him, the sadness in his eyes, I knew I meant what I’d said.
A piece of me had been missing without him. I’d just been ignoring it.
My hand floated up to his face, almost like it wasn’t attached to my body. I definitely hadn’t planned to trace the scar beneath his mouth, but somehow I found myself doing exactly that.
I avoided his eyes even as I felt his boring into me. Even as I felt his fingers creep around my waist. And even as I took an involuntary step closer to him.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
Finally, our eyes met. Something electric crackled inside me and seemed to fill the space between us.
This was the one thing I should not miss about him. Could not miss about him.
A knock on the door made us both jump.
Whatever spell I’d been under shattered at the sound.
“David?” Mr. Kerrigan’s voice reached us as we fidgeted and fumbled a respectable amount of space between us. “Kelsey? Is everything all right?”
David pushed himself away from the sink and went to the door, opening it wide. “She’s fine, Dad. She, um, she—it’s my fault. I didn’t tell her. She was surprised, that’s all.”
“Of course she was. You have to give someone warning when they’re about to encounter a walking skeleton, son. Especially after what she went through.”
I shuddered as David’s lips pressed together in a frown. Both of them knew my reaction tonight had a lot to do with releasing a year’s worth of pent-up emotion, and with memories crashing down on me like a waterfall.
One of those memories still crept into my nightmares every so often.
And maybe they knew that, too, because they also knew why it had been so hard for me to see what Mr. Kerrigan’s illness had done to him.
Because it had almost been me.