“Emmett saw her,” Mom says softly. “A redhead, right, Em?”
I sit, frozen, as my heart shatters.
I look up, and Mom’s watching my face, my pain reflected back at me in her eyes. And somehow, even though I know it might never go away, not fully, a word pushes forward.
Enough.
There has been enough pain today, enough sadness. I can’t endure any more, and neither can my family.
I draw a shaky breath. “Thank you for telling me.”
Three sets of wide, suspicious eyes stare at me. “Are you okay, honey?” Mom asks.
She sits down next to me, and I lean on her shoulder. “No.” I sigh. “But I will be.”
I’m still here. I survived. I have a lot of life left to live—a lot more goals to accomplish, and I’m no longer afraid my illness will stop me.
I may never get over him, but I plan to keep going, no matter what.
PART FOURTEEN
SERENDIPITY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Christmas Eve, 2:32 p.m. After
My car jerks to a stop in front of my parents’ house, and I curse at the radio, turning it off with a feline flick of my wrist. I swear to God if I hear “Blue Christmas” one more goddamned time I’m going to scream.
I meet my own weary eyes in the mirror, take a deep breath. “I’m fine,” I say, but the woman staring back at me calls my bluff.
Of course I’m not fine. When I got out of the hospital, the next few days were a whirlwind of police station visits, questioning, reliving. With both shooters dead, it’s not like I’ll need to testify at a trial of any sort. But the ordeal is far from over.
For now, thankfully, I’m allowed to be free of it. That meant heading north to my parents’ house for the holidays. It might become permanent—maybe not actually living with my parents, but living in Aberdeen.
I can’t go back to that office. Nikki and I were granted an immediate leave of absence, but I intend to make it permanent as soon as Aunt Kit verifies that her job offer at the library still stands. It’ll be hard enough to go back to campus after the holidays for the memorial service. The fear, the pain, the memories—I place my forearms on the steering wheel and double over against it. But I have to go back. I owe it to Hayley. To Raj, who will be speaking at the service. I owe it to myself.
But after that, with Nikki and Claudia planning to depart to Minneapolis, I’ll put my apartment on the market and move back here. There’s nothing left for me in Sioux Falls.
I lost him.
Another wave of pain, the biggest of all, and I slump even farther against the cold steering wheel.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wait for the pain to pass, focus on the good news of this month: Dr. Reynolds—God bless her—came through with my MRI results.
No new lesions since my diagnosis. No disease progression.
I smile now as I sit up and glare fiercely at the woman in the rearview mirror. Maybe I’m not fine. But I’m here. I survived. And every day gets a little easier than the last. I don’t know what my future holds—someday, my MRI results might not be so positive. Someday, treatment might be an inevitability. Someday, I might need to once again adjust to a new normal as I navigate the ups and downs of this disease.
But even if it slows me down, it’ll never stop me.
A gentle rap rap rap against my window, and I jolt upright. My parents’ faces smile in at me, waiting to welcome me inside.
Two hours later, my parents’ living room couch is enveloping me in its comforting embrace. I inhale the scents of ham, mashed potatoes, and pie wafting from the kitchen. Then I scowl—happy holiday tunes also begin blaring toward me as Mom turns the music up, their lie of joyful promise grating against my ears.
I crank up the TV to drown it out as I sip from the dwindling wineglass in my hand. I wrap my afghan more securely around myself and try to focus on the only Christmas movie I can bear to watch right now—Die Hard.
My phone beeps. Nikki:
Merry Christmas! See you in three days.
I smile. Mom and I are planning to meet them at the truck stop in Summit and then travel on together to Minneapolis—Nik and Claudia are going apartment hunting; Mom will go with me to my neuro appointment, my first time seeing Dr. Bukhari. For a moment I’m overcome with love for them, with gratitude that they are all in this fight with me.
I sniff, wipe my eyes, then type my reply.
Merry Christmas to you, too! Can’t wait to see you two.
I settle back against the couch, and Bruce Willis has just reached Nakatomi Plaza when Mom walks in and sits next to me. “Don’t worry, it’s network TV—they’ll bleep out the f-word,” I say with a teasing grin as I turn, but I blink—it’s not Mom. It’s Grandma.
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m so glad you made it, dear.”
A twinge—again, it’s almost as if I can pretend she still knows me. “Yeah, the snow’s supposed to hit pretty soon, but the roads were good for me today.”
“Is your sweetie going to be here?”
I don’t know who she thinks I am—a long-lost friend or relative, perhaps—but the reminder of Connor cuts like a knife. “Not this Christmas, Grandma,” I say softly.
I turn back to the TV, trying to focus on Alan Rickman’s skillful portrayal of the villain, but a few seconds later I glance over and find that Grandma is still smiling at me. She leans in, takes my hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t you worry, he’ll make it. It’s Christmas.”
The wine, the fragility from trauma, and the fact that it is Christmas, dammit, have all combined to raise some small sliver of hope within me. I squeeze her hand back. “Thanks, Grandma,” I whisper.
A coat flies onto my lap, and I whip my head toward the door that leads into the hallway. Emmett stands there, keys in hand. “Mom needs more eggnog. Let’s go.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I just got here.”
“Come on—you’re not doing anything.”
“But I’m comfortable,” I whine.
Emmett smirks at my twisted-up hair and the baggy sweatshirt visible under the blanket. “I think you could stand to get out of the house.”
I grumble, throw off the blanket dramatically, then switch the channel so Grandma can enjoy some old Bonanza episodes in my absence.
I shrug into my coat, leaving it unzipped, but as we step out, I quickly correct that mistake. The wind has picked up, and snow has begun to fall. “Sheesh, that escalated quickly.” I yank on my hat and gloves.
“Yeah, they say it’s going to be even worse than last Christmas.” Emmett winces and shoots me an apologetic look. I shrug, and we walk to my parents’ sedan.
We ride in silence at first; then Emmett glances over. “So, uh . . . I’m seeing Kaley again.”
I whip my head over. “Emmett, that’s great!” I beam at him, so happy he’s sharing something with me, and he smiles before turning back to the road. “So is she coming over? Or are you going over there?”
“Nah, we’re both spending time with our families. We want to take things slow, make sure this is the right thing to do.”
I stare at him—at my little brother, who is not so little anymore—and am so proud of him in this moment. “Well, that sounds like a very mature, levelheaded thing to do.”
Emmett rolls his eyes. “Yeah, don’t go telling too many people.”
I laugh, and we continue on through the increasing snowfall.
As expected, frantic shoppers roam throughout the store, plugging up every aisle, holiday music blares through tinny speakers, and the echoes of the Salvation Army bell follow us deep into the building like an eerie warning alarm.
“Good God, let’s get this shit and get the hell out of here,” Emmett mutters.
We stick close together and head straight for the back coolers, but we’re halfway there when my phone buzzes. “Oh no.” I look up at my brother in horror.
His eyes widen. “What?”
“She needs aluminu
m foil, too.”
“Shit.” He runs his hands through his hair. “That’s all the way on the other side of the store.”
“I’ve got it. You get the eggnog, and we’ll meet at the checkout.”
“Okay.” Emmett places his hands on my arms solemnly. “Godspeed, sis.”
I roll my eyes and turn to make my way through the throngs of shoppers until I find the aisle I need. The bright-blue boxes beckon me from the bottom shelf, but a woman in a gray parka has her cart blocking my goal.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “Um, excuse me, ma’am?”
She doesn’t turn, doesn’t move at all—maybe she can’t hear me because her hood is up? I clear my throat, speak louder. “Could I please get past you?”
“Oh!” She jumps, and I feel bad for startling her. “Shit—yes, of course you can, sorry about that.”
The voice is familiar, but when she turns around, it takes me a moment because her hood is pulled tight so only her face shows. I blink, take her in—young woman, Latina, very pretty. When she smiles a dimpled smile, I gasp in surprise. “Arielle!”
“Hey, Simone. Kinda wild in here, right? Way too many people.” She shrugs, and I finally notice her face is haggard, eyes puffy.
“How are you?” I ask softly.
She scoffs, but then her face crumples. Without thinking, I reach forward and hug her. After a few seconds, though, she pulls back, wiping at her eyes with an embarrassed laugh. “Goddamn holidays.”
“Where’s Ella?” I ask.
“With my in-laws. Con—” She stops herself, looks down. “She’ll be home later.”
We’re silent now; then she reaches out her hand. “Hey, what am I thinking—I wanted to say I’m so glad you’re okay. What a nightmare.”
“Thank you.”
“I thought about texting or something, but I didn’t know, you know, after what happened . . .”
I cock my head to the side, questioning. Ah, between me and Connor. Well, screw that—I take a deep, impulsive breath. “So, I’m going to be in town for a while . . . possibly indefinitely.” I swallow. “Would you want to get coffee sometime?”
She blinks in surprise. Then she breaks into her dimpled smile again. “Oh God, I would love to. Drinks would be even better.”
I laugh. “Sounds great to me.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but then her eyes shift to my left. There’s a presence next to me.
“What are you doing here?”
I look up in surprise at my brother’s harsh tone, and he’s glaring at Arielle. “Emmett, what the hell?” I scold. Arielle looks almost frightened, and I’m mortified—and confused.
He twists his face up in disbelief. “Simone, you actually know Connor’s new girlfriend?”
My eyes widen. “His what?” I say the same time Arielle says, “Uh, excuse me?”
Emmett’s glare falters for a second, his eyes darting between us in confusion. I turn to Arielle and slowly reach for her hood. Her puzzled eyes are on me now, but she lets me loosen it and push it back.
She lets her long curls spill out—the long curls that are now a bright, fiery red.
A breath puffs out of me. “You dyed your hair.”
She brushes it back, fidgets in embarrassment and annoyance. “Yeah, finally made a change. Had to bleach it first and everything. I hate it,” she scoffs.
I turn wide eyes to Emmett. He’s staring at me with equally wide eyes. “Oh shit.”
“Emmett, this is Connor’s sister-in-law, Arielle.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “I am so sorry.”
I turn back to Arielle, and to my surprise she bursts out laughing. “Okay, well, everything makes a little more sense now. Dude, when we saw you at the hospital, I just thought you were, like, super intense.”
“He didn’t tell me who you were!” Emmett’s voice is shrill, his defenses up.
“Uh, well, you sort of shoved him against the wall before he could say anything.”
Emmett grimaces. “Sorry about that.”
Arielle shrugs, smiling sadly. “He wasn’t even mad. He knew you were trying to protect your sister.” Her eyes flick to me. “He said all that mattered is that you were okay. But I know he really wanted to see you.”
Oh God. I clutch my arms around myself, leaning against the shelf full of aluminum foil for support. “Does . . . does he still want to see me?”
Arielle smiles. “Of course.”
“You’re sure?” I wince, squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m not like Diana.”
Arielle laughs. “So?”
“So, you said she’s perfect.”
“But not perfect for him,” she says. “Simone, when Connor’s with you, he’s . . . well, he’s Connor. Diana always made him feel like he wasn’t good enough—that he wasn’t enough. I’ve never seen him more himself than when he was with you.”
Hope swells within me, but then I freeze. “So . . . there’s no one else, even now?” I draw in a shaky breath, my entire being hinging on Arielle’s response.
Her smile is wistful. “Oh, honey, there’s no one else for him. That was clear to me from the day I met you. He’s like his brother that way.”
I’m overcome, oblivious now to the frenzy of shoppers pushing their carts past us, the loud holiday music blaring throughout the store. Arielle arches an eyebrow. “Well, I happen to know where Connor will be tonight. We have a few hours yet—he always has Ella call me on the way. I can text you when he’s close?”
I nod my head vigorously, and it’s swimming as we say goodbye. I follow Emmett to the front of the store, through the self-checkout, and outside to the car in a haze of disbelief and joy.
Connor still loves me.
Emmett eases the car out of its parking space, and as we set off in the thickening snowfall toward home, he clears his throat. “Mone, I am so sorry about this. I was just . . .”
I reach over and touch his arm. “You were just being my brother. And it’s okay.” I beam at him. “Everything is going to be okay.”
At home I’m a ball of energy, whisking about in a frenzy, preparing to be reunited with Connor. I have an hour and a half now, and I can’t let his first vision of me in months be in baggy sweatpants and greasy hair. I leap into the shower, slather on lipstick, even curl my hair. I slip into the sparkly red dress my mom got me for Christmas last year that fits just right—much too fancy, but I don’t care.
I pause suddenly as I’m applying mascara, take a deep breath as I stare at the woman in the mirror—the woman who is about to get the happily ever after she deserves.
I smile at her, confident and strong, and she smiles back.
With a half hour to spare, I bound toward the front door, shrugging into my coat once more. Behind me, Dad snorts. “Where do you think you’re going in this weather?”
I turn around, still smiling. “I’m going to see Connor. Emmett can explain.”
“Oh, dear,” says Mom, coming up behind him.
My grin falters. “Oh, dear, what?”
“Honey, look out the window—there’s no way you can get anywhere with the snow coming down like that.”
I turn pleading eyes to my dad, but he shrugs, helpless. “My truck’s still up on blocks until Dale gets that new part in. Sorry, kiddo.”
No. No no no no no. I stare out the window, willing the snow to stop, for the banks to part like the Red Sea, to get me to Connor.
Please, I need a Christmas miracle. Just this once.
Next to me, a presence, breathing oddly heavily. I look over and nearly jump back—it’s Emmett, wearing a snowmobile helmet. His head turns toward me, but I see only my own face reflected back at me, my mouth hanging open. “Did you get that old piece of shit running?”
“Hey, that’s an old piece of solid gold shit out there.” His voice is muffled, I still can’t see his face, but I know he’s grinning. “And yes, I did. So what do you think, sis? Are you in?”
I grin back, a spark in my eye. “Oh hell yeah. Let�
�s do this.”
We’re going so fast, flying through the dark, nearly empty streets, but for one moment I get the nerve to open my eyes, to peek my helmeted head around Emmett’s back, and I gasp.
Snowflakes rush by, a force of white against the black sky. Like stars.
Like we’re flying at light speed.
And I am. I am shooting forth at the speed of light, straight toward my love.
I shut my eyes again as we fly on, until Emmett slows to a stop and sits with the engine idling. I think he’s at an intersection until he nudges me. When I open my eyes, we’re sitting in a driveway of a house I don’t recognize. It’s small, blue with white shutters, pretty twinkling Christmas lights strung along the roof.
And Connor’s truck is parked out front.
I ease myself off the side and almost roll into the snow, then waddle my way forward in the oversize snowsuit I borrowed from my dad—so much for the sexy red dress. At first I don’t see anyone, but then the front door opens and Arielle sticks her head out. I yank off my helmet, brush back my disheveled hair so she can see it’s me, and she grins, then rushes back into the house.
I stand in the driveway, and as the cold air whips against my face, cruel doubt starts to creep in. What if I waited too long? What if’s he’s still hurt? Or angry? What if he’s decided he doesn’t want to see me—that he doesn’t want me after all?
The door opens fully, light pours out, and there he is, standing in the doorway—black jacket with his collar turned up against the chill, eyes sweeping the yard curiously. When they fall on me, he blinks, as if he can’t believe it’s me standing there. Shaking, I take a tentative step forward. He does the same.
I draw a deep breath. “Connor.” My voice breaks, and he takes another cautious step. Another breath, and I speak again. “I shouldn’t have run away. I shouldn’t have sent you away. There’s so much I did wrong, that I wish I could take back. I wish I’d talked to you about how I was feeling. I was just so scared I wasn’t enough for you. Or that part of me was too much . . . my illness, and everything that might come with it, was too much for you. That you would be frustrated when you realized you couldn’t fix me, and you’d leave me.”
The Speed of Light Page 23