The Speed of Light

by Elissa Grossell Dickey

  “Mm-hmm. Mom promised my cousin she and her kids could stay here, so she offered to pay for us to stay at one of our nation’s finest establishments, the Holiday Inn.”

  “Well, what a coincidence.” Connor’s smile is mischievous. “That happens to be my new favorite hotel chain.”

  The family fun goes later than expected, though, with lawn games and card games and board games galore, like a party store exploded on my parents’ property. We finally say our goodbyes, trying desperately not to drag it out Midwest-style as we fight our way toward the doorway. Soon the wine and the long drive earlier that day converge into a cocoon of sleepiness.

  At the hotel, the moment I step into the room, any remaining ounce of energy saps out of me. When Connor leaves to haul up the rest of our bags, I flop down onto the massive bed, snuggle up onto a cozy white pillow, and rest my eyes.

  Suddenly I startle at the sound of the door clamping shut. I’m facing away, but I hear Connor’s footsteps cross the carpeting; then the bed dips as he lies down behind me, wrapping his strong arm around me.

  “Was I sleeping?” I’m flustered, head fuzzy as I struggle to wake fully. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Connor says softly. “But are you okay?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed at this new level of vulnerability. We’re not discussing a theoretical symptom—he’s actually witnessing it. “I’m just . . . so tired.” I don’t know how to describe it, how this fatigue is beyond normal exhaustion, how it fills up my insides until my limbs are so heavy and my body refuses to function any further, like a computer shutting down. Connor slips his hand into mine, and I turn to face him at last. “I know this isn’t how you wanted tonight to go,” I say softly.

  But he just smiles. “Tonight’s seemed pretty perfect to me.” He pulls my hand to his lips, and I’m flooded with warmth, with relief. “Do you want to just go back to sleep?”

  “Mm, maybe we can talk?” I say, but my eyes are already closed again.

  I hear his soft chuckle, feel it in his chest as he wraps his arms around me again. We lie together in silence, but scenes from tonight dance in my mind until one pops forward, waking me enough to speak. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “You said the anniversary is coming up. When?”

  “June tenth.”

  “Would you like to . . . honor it in some way?”

  Connor sighs. “My family wants to do something when we’re all together over the Fourth of July. But that day, I just want to be as normal as possible. Just get through it.” He squeezes my hand. “I miss him every day; the anniversary will be no different.”

  I smile. “Tell me about him.”

  “He was the charmer. Also the wiseass, but his charm could get him out of trouble.” I feel his laughter against me again. “He always wanted to open his own bar. We actually talked about opening one together.”

  “Ah, your business-management degree.”

  There’s a pause. “I majored in business management. Never actually finished. Things, uh . . . well, things kinda went to hell my senior year.”

  I peek an eye open. “What happened?”

  Connor sighs. “Long story. I mean, ultimately it was my own fault—I’m the one who chose to skip class, party . . . I fell behind a semester. Then I got a job one summer working construction. I enjoyed it; the money was good. So that was it, I guess. I just didn’t go back to school.”

  I hesitate for a moment, unsure what to say. “You could always go back. Get your degree. Or open a bar like you guys planned.”

  “Hmm. Maybe.”

  The silence is heavy, waking me fully. “Can I ask another question?”

  He chuckles. “You don’t have to keep asking if you can ask a question.”

  “Okay . . . well, I guess you never told me what happened?” I add quickly, “If you don’t want to, I understand.”

  This time the pause lasts so long that I fear I’ve crossed a line.

  But at last Connor sighs again. “Cam and I used to go out. A lot. We slowed down a bit after he and Arielle got married, slowed down even more after Ella was born. But we didn’t slow down enough.” I wait, lulled by the rhythm of our breathing, the murmur of the television, the weight of expectation, of a secret he’s about to reveal. “One night he drove when he shouldn’t have.”

  I force myself to push through the fatigue, propping up on my elbow. But he’s staring at some point on the wall, pained eyes focused on the past, watching a movie that must play over and over in his mind.

  “I wasn’t there,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

  I reach for his hand. “Do you really think you could have stopped him?”

  “We always closed down the bar together, and I was the one who called the cab, or Lyft, or whatever. But I left with someone that night.” Connor stops again, and the room is heavier. He looks at me as if he’s forcing himself to, punishment that’s self-inflicted. He’s begun his confession and needs to see it through. “After Diana and I broke up, I didn’t date anyone for a long time,” he says, and the name jolts me—it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it. “Then when I tried to date again, it was terrible. One shitty date after another. So I kind of gave up, and stuck to”—he clears his throat—“more short-term commitments.”

  We’re silent again, and I will myself to be supportive—I can’t seriously hold something against Connor from before I even knew him. And yet the selfish pang of jealousy persists—and I realize now that their breakup is surely the reason everything went to hell his senior year.

  But I push through it, squeeze his hand, wait out the storm. And when he opens his eyes, they’re the same clear, true eyes I’ve been staring into all these months.

  “Then I met you,” he says softly. “And it was like . . . a miracle.”

  My breath catches and I smile. “Really?”

  “Of course. Suddenly, in the middle of a snowstorm”—he smiles—“there’s this kind, smart, beautiful woman who is somehow into me.” His smile quickly fades. “But with Cam, I should’ve called a cab; I should’ve made sure he had cash for a ride. I should’ve been there. It’s why I haven’t had a drink since.” He winces. “Until tonight.”

  “Connor, it wasn’t your fault,” I whisper.

  His chuckle is bitter. “Well, you are about the only one who thinks that. Everybody else—my sister-in-law; her family; even my parents, to some degree, I think, at least the way they look at me sometimes. Everybody knows I screwed up.”

  I reach for his face, gently turn it toward me. “And what do you think your brother would say?” Connor’s brow furrows, and I hold my breath—I didn’t know Cam at all and have no idea where this question has come from, but it seems right.

  He stares at me for a moment, pained eyes glistening, then finally shakes his head with a sad smile. “He would probably tell me to stop feeling so damn sorry for myself.”

  We chuckle together and I lean forward, kissing him softly, and he folds me into his embrace. After a few moments, I pull back, force a bright smile. “I did pack my laptop. We could watch a movie, if you want.”

  He smiles. “Return of the Jedi?”

  “Absolutely.” I snuggle back under the covers. “I might watch it with my eyes closed, though.”

  He laughs, then gets up to find the laptop. When he returns with it, he sits next to me on the bed again, one hand in mine as the opening theme starts to play. As I drift off he leans close, kisses my cheek, whispers in my ear: “I love you.”

  A shiver of electricity, a jolt of happiness, pure warmth and joy. The theme song blares bold and confident, and I smile. “I know.”

  PART SEVEN

  REVELATION

  Monday, December 6, 10:06 a.m.

  Pure terror courses through me as I place a trembling hand on Nikki’s chest. But it rises, then falls. A sob escapes my lips.

  She’s alive.

  On my computer, �
�It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” starts blasting from my cheap old speakers—it sure as hell is not wonderful, but the lively tune spurs me into motion. I jump up, pull Hayley from the doorframe (where she stands frozen), then slam the door shut and press in the silver lock. I’m finally following active shooter protocol: If you can’t get out, find somewhere safe, lock the door, and barricade it.

  In my mind, Officer Jackson’s voice lectures me from our training exercise: Everyone has better odds if you get out, get yourself somewhere safe, and call for help.

  But this isn’t a training exercise. This is real.

  This is my best friend’s life on the line.

  “Help me!” I bark, and Hayley finally tears her eyes away from Nikki. Together we grab my bookshelf and wrench it in front of the door. Then I turn to my desk, eyes landing on my phone.

  A moan creeps up from the floor, and Hayley gasps as she scrambles into the corner, but I rush to Nikki and drop to my knees. “Nik!” I need to stop the bleeding—but I still haven’t called for help. I’m failing on so many levels, but I can’t get my mind to slow down and focus. My legs flare, pins and needles all up and down, and a wave of dizziness hits.

  No. Not now.

  I have to get through this. Please, God, just let me save her.

  I draw in a deep breath and look down at my legs. “I’m ignoring you.” An absurd placebo of the mind, but I’m barely hanging on. From the corner, a whimper—Hayley, hand covering her mouth. “I need your help.” Hayley obeys, too shell-shocked to argue, and I kneel next to Nikki again. “I’m going to turn you over so I can put pressure on your wound, okay?” She murmurs something, and as we turn her over, she cries out in pain. “I’m sorry!” But even when Hayley shrinks back, I don’t stop.

  Nikki’s chest glistens a deep, almost blackish red, but it’s not the sight of it that gets me—I’ve seen bullet wounds so often on TV that it’s almost surreal. It’s the rusty-sweet smell, the squish of the warm liquid through my fingers as I press down on her wound, that makes me shudder. Nikki groans but I don’t ease up—I have no idea what I’m doing, but this is my chance to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it until help arrives.

  Help.

  I whip my head to my desk, where both my cell phone and cordless landline sit. “Hayley, I need you to get both of my phones for me, okay?” She crawls forward, grabs them, then hands them out to me. I take the receiver with one hand but keep my other on Nikki’s midsection. “Open the university’s Twitter on my cell—we have to let people know.”

  Hayley’s face is ashen. “What . . . what do I say?”

  “Just—shooter on campus.” Her eyes widen. “Do it, Hayley.”

  She starts tapping at my phone, and I dial 9 on the receiver—then Nikki moans again. “Gmmph.” Her voice is thick, slurred.

  “Shh,” I say, dialing 1.

  “Go,” Nikki says clearly. “You . . . need . . . to . . . go.” Her face twists in pain with the effort.

  “The hell we will.” I meet Hayley’s eyes—daring her or absolving her, I’m not sure—but she says nothing.

  “Get . . . help,” Nikki says.

  “I won’t leave you.” My voice catches, hand hovering over the 1.

  “Please.” A tear escapes her eye. “Tell Claudia I love her.”

  I shake my head, spit out my reply through gritted teeth. “You tell her yourself.” I hit the second 1 and cradle the phone to my ear, the shrill ring seeming to stretch on forever.

  Then I hear another sound.

  A creak just outside the office door, followed by another.

  Footsteps.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  July 1, five months before

  Footsteps pad across the grass, and I look up, smiling through squinting eyes as Nikki plops down next to me on the quad. It’s a gorgeous summer day on campus, the sun beating down on lush green grass and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the stately elms that surround us. We found some shade, so I don’t even have to worry about the heat sensitivity the stern neuro nurse has warned me about.

  Besides, right now I’m holding the best summer cooling measure ever: a chocolate ice cream cone. Compliments of Stan, “For making it through another academic year.” It’s also the end of the fiscal year—July always brings a sigh of relief across campus, when budgets are fresh, contracts renewed. Every department gets a clean slate. If only life worked that way.

  Today, our department is enjoying this impromptu ice cream break on the campus green—even if hanging out with your boss can be awkward sometimes.

  Stan flashes a cheery smile. “Now that it’s July, we can start making our wish list for the year again.”

  “Does that mean we can attend that higher education marketing conference in Orlando I mentioned last month?” Nikki is the picture of sincerity, but I know she’s messing with him.

  Stan chuckles nervously. “Uh, budgets are still a little tight for that. I was thinking more along the lines of office supplies—I need a new phone, for instance, since mine seems to be on the fritz. So if you need anything like that, just let me know.”

  I nod. “Will do.”

  Stan’s smile returns. “Anyone have exciting Fourth of July plans?” He’s dropped a glob of ice cream on his yellow polo without realizing it, so it’s hard to make eye contact without my gaze being drawn to the stain.

  Nikki shrugs. “Claudia’s cousin has a place on Lake Poinsett, so we might head up there.”

  I take a deep breath. “Connor and I are going to spend the day with his family. They have a cabin on a lake outside of Fargo.”

  Stan raises his eyebrows. “First time meeting the family?” I blush and he beams. “So glad you two have hit it off so well.”

  “Thanks,” I say as Nikki rolls her eyes out of Stan’s view. For some reason he’s taken credit for us meeting because of the construction tour, which we’ve decided is a whole new level of mansplaining.

  But the knot pulsing in my gut has nothing to do with Stan and everything to do with meeting Connor’s family. It’s not just social anxiety—it’s the realization after our Memorial Day trip that his family hasn’t met any other women since Diana.

  They might not like me—I could be a big disappointment.

  A drip of melting chocolate dribbles down my finger, and I quickly lick it off. At least we’re not staying overnight—Connor needs to work this weekend, and I have to be back at work the day after the holiday, so we’re driving up early the morning of the Fourth and coming back that night. As Nikki said, “If they’re terrible, at least you’ll be with them for less than twenty-four hours.”

  “So what are your plans, Stan?” Nikki asks now.

  “Oh, Louise and I invited a few people out to the lake—the president, some members of the cabinet.” Stan’s chest puffs out, and he’s using his booming name-dropping voice, but his face reddens when he realizes he’s misread the theoretical room. “I—uh—I was going to invite you both, but I figured you’d have plans.”

  I smile. “And we do, so it’s all good. Hope you guys have fun.”

  Nikki’s eyes are narrowed, but then she smirks, nodding past Stan. “Did you invite Mr. Personality?”

  We both look up to see Chet walking across campus, and even though he’s wearing sunglasses, it’s obvious he sees us, too—it’s in the way his head jerks away and he fumbles with his phone to look busy, the way he’s careful to pass by far enough from where we’re sitting that he can pretend he doesn’t see us.

  Stan’s eyes are nervous. “No. We, uh . . . we don’t exactly see eye to eye.” He chuckles and it’s awkward, but then I notice that, shortly behind Chet, Raj and Hayley are walking toward us, waving enthusiastically.

  “You guys are already on holiday mode, huh?” Raj runs a hand through his dark hair, his eyes darting to Hayley, who giggles as expected and flops down on the grass next to us.

  Nikki smirks. “Isn’t Chet going to wonder why you two aren’t following him back to the Ad
missions Office adoringly?”

  Hayley scoffs, gathering up her blonde locks into a loose bun on the top of her head. “We weren’t going to the same place—we’re heading to the Financial Aid Office for some scholarship flyers to take on the road. Mr. Big Man has a meeting with the president.”

  Stan sits up straight. “What about?”

  Raj and Hayley exchange an uncomfortable glance, and Raj clears his throat. “Uh, he said they’re going to discuss strategic recruitment and marketing strategies for next year.”

  Stan’s face reddens and he stands, crumpling the napkin in his hand. “If you’ll all excuse me.” He’s gone before any of us can answer.

  Nikki shakes her head. “What is up with him? He just told us he and Louise invited people out to the lake this weekend, but Louise and I have mutual friends on Facebook, and I swear I saw her tagged in some sort of girls’ camping trip photo.”

  I shrug. “Hmm. Maybe she’s coming back tonight or something.”

  But something doesn’t sit quite right, and suddenly the ice cream doesn’t taste so sweet.

  Hayley shudders. “I don’t know about Stan, but Chet is going through some shit, that’s for sure.”

  My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  She and Raj exchange another look, and he nods. “Okay, you did not hear this from me,” Hayley says, “but Chet’s been charged with domestic assault against his ex. Apparently he showed up at her house, and things got ugly. She had to call the cops on him.”

  “Holy shit,” Nikki says. “How do you know?”

  “My sister told me—her boyfriend’s aunt is a clerk at the courthouse. I guess Chet tried to act all repentant and charm the judge into dropping the charge down to disorderly conduct, but she wasn’t having it, so he flipped out, started yelling and swearing.” Hayley rips a fistful of grass out of the ground and shakes her head. “So we’re pretty sure the real reason he’s talking to the president is to beg to keep his job.”

  “Or ours,” Raj says, chuckling mirthlessly. “You know, with all the talk of layoffs and everything.”