Before You

by Marni Mann

  Because seeing these snapshots was like replaying a period of my life that I’d never gotten to watch. And each time the reel spun, I would see something different. A detail I hadn’t captured before or one that was ready to reveal itself or one I wished so badly I could forget.

  When I reached the last picture and my hands were empty, I was able to wipe my fingers over my face. I wasn’t surprised by how wet it was. This was what happened to me on May 20. Even though my family celebrated, we cried too.

  Tears were a part of it, a messy side effect when you’d experienced what we had.

  As I pulled my fingers away, I felt my phone vibrate, and I glanced down at my lap where I must have placed it. There was a text on the screen.

  Jared: I miss you.

  He always seemed to know when I needed him.

  I just wished he had been able to come.

  Still, I smiled, feeling the warmth of Jared’s words, and I turned my focus back to the desk, seeing the piles of photos and the medical records and the articles.

  They were all of my life …

  Before you.

  I shook my head and collected all the photographs, putting them in a neat pile again. As I was sticking them back in the tote, I saw a small photo that was upside down on the plastic bottom, not part of the stack.

  It never was.

  I knew the picture well. I’d seen it as many times as all the others. It was always the last one I looked at right before I closed the lid on the box for another year.

  I lifted the picture into my hand and stared at the face looking back at me.

  At the eyes.

  The lips.

  There was something …

  It took me a second to place it.

  And then …

  I sucked in all the air my lungs could hold, my hand slapping over my mouth before a scream came shooting out of it.

  It couldn’t be.

  No.

  There was no way.

  But the more I blinked, the more I saw the truth. A detail I had missed up until right now.

  I closed my fingers around the picture, holding it against the inside of my hand, and I rushed down the stairs, hunting for my father.

  “Dad,” I said when I spotted him in the kitchen, standing next to my aunt and cousin. “Come here.”

  He looked concerned as he took the few steps to approach me, his fingers going to my forehead. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  I held my hand out and slowly opened my palm, showing him the picture that sat in the middle. “What’s his name?”

  I knew.

  Everyone in this house knew.

  There was no reason I needed to hear him say it.

  But I did.

  He looked at the photograph and back at me. “That’s Casey Rivers.”

  There were no three words that hurt more.

  I fell to my knees.

  And my father was the first person at my side.

  Sixty-Seven

  Honey

  Spring 1989

  “I know, sweet baby boy,” Honey said as she bounced Andrew in her arms. She was also holding the phone to her ear, waiting for her husband to pick up. “I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make you feel better.”

  Her son had been running a fever since bedtime, and she had given him medication, which had worked for a little while. But as the hours wore on, his temperature had risen again, and she didn’t like the sound of his cough.

  “Emergency room. This is Meghan.”

  “Meghan …” Honey said, knowing the nurse well. She was one of the RNs who often worked with Andrew. “It’s Honey. Is Andrew free?”

  “Hi, Honey. He just took a patient in for surgery. Is everything okay?”

  As she held the phone with her shoulder, Honey pressed her hand against her baby’s forehead and cheeks and chest. “It’s my son. He was running a fever earlier, and Andrew suggested I give him liquid Motrin. But his fever is back, and the poor thing is burning up, coughing. I’m getting worried.”

  “How long ago did you give him Motrin?”

  “Four hours.” She wiped her thumb under the bottom of his nose, cleaning it, and that was when she saw the redness. “There’s a rash on his neck.”

  “Can you bring him in?” the nurse asked. “When I tell Dr. Paige, I’m positive he’ll agree.”

  Honey’s gut had been telling her something was definitely wrong, and that was the reason she had called in the first place. Now, she just had to get little Andrew to the hospital. And because they lived so close, she could walk there faster than she could drive.

  “I’m going to leave in two minutes,” Honey said, thanking her and hanging up.

  She went into the nursery and placed Andrew in his crib while she got herself dressed. She then packed everything she needed into the diaper bag, hanging it on the side of the stroller. She lifted Billie into her arms, kissing the warm, sleepy princess on the forehead while she zipped her in a coat. Her daughter never even stirred when Honey set her in the stroller. When she returned to Andrew, she wrapped him in a large, puffy jacket, cooing in his face to distract him from squirming. Then, she held the baby against her chest and tied a scarf over him. Even with the afternoons being warmer, it was after one in the morning, and it was going to feel chilly outside. She certainly didn’t want the wind to hit his face, and she felt fortunate she had made that decision once she stepped outside.

  Portland was quiet at this hour, the streets mostly bare. The lamps provided plenty of glow, lighting the path extremely well to give Honey the visibility she needed. There were a mix of homes and commercial spaces on both sides of her, all so dark and quiet.

  Honey squeezed Andrew as they neared the end of the block, pausing at the Stop sign. His nose was dripping and bubbling, making him more uncomfortable as he cried. She wiped it, and he started to wail harder, turning his head to each side.

  “It’s okay, my love. We’re almost there. Daddy is going to put his magical hands on you and make you feel all better.”

  She rocked her body, trying to soothe him, while she checked on Billie. Her daughter’s head was resting to the side with her mouth open, sleeping soundlessly. She returned to the handle of the stroller and pushed it across the street. Once they were on the sidewalk, she was able to see the hospital, the large brick building that was multiple stories high.

  It was the same place she had rushed herself to when she felt sick, the place where her husband had fixed her, where he would heal their son as soon as she got him there.

  She’d been on this path countless times. She knew the potholes, the places in the sidewalk where the pavement cracked and grass grew in between, so she weaved the stroller, avoiding the bumps and dips.

  As she got closer to the end of the block, she noticed a car on the cross street, coming over the top of the hill. Since the car had a red light and the signal on the crosswalk was telling her to go, she began to walk across. With each step, she kept her hand tightly squeezed around the stroller, holding Andrew with her other arm, where he was fussing under the scarf.

  “It’s all right, baby,” she sang. “Shh. You’re okay.”

  Honey’s gaze shifted between the sidewalk and the car that was now speeding down the hill. She was sure it was going to stop. There was no way the driver would run a red light, especially not with a woman and her stroller moving through the intersection.

  Still, Honey found herself hurrying, wondering why the width of this street was double the last one. Her feet could only move so fast with both children, but she was going at a speedy pace when she reached the middle of the road.

  That was the moment she realized the car wasn’t going to stop.

  She lifted her hand in the air, waving it to get the driver’s attention. When a few seconds passed and that didn’t work, she froze and screamed, “Oh my God!”

  Fear was trying to paralyze her.

  She wouldn’t let it.

  Especially because the hill was making th
e car go faster, and Honey was running out of time.

  She squeezed Andrew and dragged the stroller back several paces, trying to move in the opposite direction of the car. She was able to get them some clearance, but then the driver swerved, and the headlights were aiming right for them once again.

  “No!”

  She didn’t have time to back up more.

  All she could do was run forward and hope she avoided the car.

  “Baby, hold on!” she yelled, squeezing the plastic handle. Her arm yanked back like she was clutching the string on a bow, and then she pushed the stroller with all of her might.

  Once it was out of her hand, she wrapped her body over Andrew, trying to keep him as protected as she could, and she began to run. Her toes ground into the pavement as she took her first leap, her next foot landing, and she repeated the same action.

  She was only a few steps in when she cried, “Stop,” at the top of her lungs, her ears filling with the loudest sound she’d ever heard.

  Louder than the hoot of the train that she had ridden on as a child, louder than the gunshot the one time she’d gone deer hunting. Louder than the hardest crack of thunder.

  While she watched Billie’s stroller head safely to the other side of the road, she tucked her body even tighter around her son, giving him the most protection, and she carried that baby as far as she could.

  Sixty-Eight

  Jared

  When I had been a sophomore in high school, I’d broken my wrist. Now, every time the seasons changed, I could feel it in that joint. I could tell when it was going to rain, when the weather was going to turn extremely cold. My wrist was never wrong.

  When Billie got into my SUV on May 20 and began driving south on I-95, I knew a storm was coming. There was no other reason she would be leaving Maine today other than to confront me. Maybe it was a gut feeling. Maybe, deep down, I had known this was the weekend she would figure it all out. But I knew everything was about to change.

  The call came in when she was just north of Boston. She kept it short, telling me she had to head back here, and she asked where I’d be when she returned. She knew I was back from California already, so I told her to meet me at my condo.

  I didn’t leave. I didn’t eat.

  I paced, watching the dot on my GPS app move closer to Manhattan until she was pulling into the garage of my building.

  I’d asked for this.

  I’d put myself in this situation.

  I had known from the beginning there was an expiration date on us. A relationship between Billie and me couldn’t work permanently. That was why I’d fought it, why I’d battled like hell in my head. But the more time we spent together, the more I learned how perfect she was for me, and I just hadn’t been strong enough to stay away.

  Or to stop myself from falling in love with her.

  As she walked into my condo, every fear I’d had confirmed, it hurt like hell to know, after only six months, we were already here. At the end. And the look on her face told me I’d shattered her heart.

  I couldn’t despise myself worse.

  But I did.

  “Billie …” I breathed as she got halfway through the living room.

  Her stride was as powerful as her expression, and she said nothing as she moved over to the sectional. I was sitting in the middle, but she halted at one of the sides and stayed behind it. Her hand extended over the head pillow, fingers now opening, a picture sliding over her palm that fell onto the bottom cushion of the couch.

  My eyes followed, seeing it was my school photo from junior year.

  I’d had no doubt before, but there was no question now.

  She knew exactly who I was.

  While my heart pounded through my chest, my teeth grinding together, I stared at the boy in that photo. I didn’t know who that kid was anymore, the seventeen-year-old who had been on the football team, earning decent grades where college recruiters had already been whispering in his ear.

  That kid had died on May 20.

  In his place was me.

  And the only survivor from that crash was the girl staring back at me, whose teary eyes were boring into me. Who opened her mouth and whispered, “What’s the name of the boy in that photo?”

  My hands were sweating, and I grasped them around the couch. I didn’t want to answer, but I owed it to her. And when I finally did, I was overflowing with shame. “Casey Rivers.” Hearing my birth name sent a fucking tremor through me. I hadn’t called myself that since I was seventeen.

  She wrapped her arms around her stomach, her face reddening. “Is that you? Are you Casey Rivers?”

  I had seen this moment play out many times in my head.

  But, Jesus fucking Christ, I hadn’t thought it was going to feel like this. “Yes.”

  A groan came from her, her skin turning pale. Tears were dripping past her cheeks, and she didn’t wipe them. “You’re the man who killed my mother … and brother …” Her lips stayed parted, and they were as wet as her eyes. “And you almost killed me.”

  Those were words I’d heard before when her father spoke them in court. But hearing them from Billie was entirely different. They drove straight into my stomach where the guilt had been living for all these years, and they twisted the goddamn knife.

  “Billie, please let me—”

  “I trusted you.”

  I pushed myself up from the couch, moving to the other side. “Let me explain,” I said as I approached.

  She backed up. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Billie, please.”

  Her chest heaved as she put her hand up and snapped, “No! Stay right fucking there.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” I swallowed even though it stung, and I sat my ass on the back of the couch, putting several feet between us.

  “You’re not?” Her voice turned stern. “Because you did that the second you came into my life.”

  She was glaring at me like I was a monster.

  I was.

  “Billie—”

  “Stop saying my name. You lost that right when you lied to me about who you were.” When I tried to interrupt, she added, “I let you into my life. I opened my heart up to you.” She shook her head, tears falling even faster, her lids so red and raw. “I gave you every bit of me.” She took another breath, and a searing pain bolted through my chest. “I … loved you.”

  This was the first time I’d heard her say it in person.

  It was supposed to be a beautiful moment.

  Not this.

  Not surrounded by all the pain that I’d caused.

  My hands went into my hair, gripping the strands, tugging them from the roots. I had known she was going to hurt, but I couldn’t have prepared myself for how I would feel when I saw the destruction on her face and when she told me I was the cause of it.

  My gaze intensified, my fingers begging to wrap around her. “Just let me explain. Please, Billie.”

  Her tears were dripping faster, and she didn’t wipe them. “I trusted you,” she repeated, and it stabbed even harder the second time. “Jared—Casey—I don’t even know what the hell your name is.”

  “It’s Jared. My name is Jared.”

  “You should have told me. It’s been months, and you said nothing.” Her lips quivered as she inhaled. “And now, you want to explain yourself? It’s far too late for that.” Her lids squinted shut, a sob shuddering through her. “Oh God …”

  She put her hand over her heart, trying to breathe, and I could tell it was getting more difficult. A new emotion was surfacing, and it looked like one of the hardest.

  “I don’t know if I would have ever wanted to meet you, Jared. But you took that choice away from me.” Her hands weren’t anywhere near me, but I felt one slap me across the face. “You fucking bastard.” She backed up several lengths.

  “Billie …” My throat was tightening, not letting me talk louder than a whisper. “Don’t go. Please.”

  She ignored me, and I followed her
to the elevator where I gently reached for her hand.

  She yanked it away from me. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Billie—”

  “Don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything.” She walked into the elevator, and as she turned around, she said, “Stay the hell away from me,” right before the door slid closed.

  “Billie …” I breathed for the last time, staring at the black elevator door.

  May 20 had a new significance, making this day even darker.

  It was the day I crashed again … the day Billie completely wiped me from her life.

  Sixty-Nine

  Billie

  I ran out of Jared’s building. I rushed to the end of the block where there was a public trash can, and I threw up in it. With wind blowing my hair into my face and tears streaming down my cheeks, I heaved, losing the tiny breakfast I had eaten many hours ago.

  Not feeling a single stare from anyone passing me, I wiped my hand over my mouth, and I walked down the sidewalk. I had no idea where I was going. I didn’t even know what street I was on.

  I just knew I had to be outside.

  I needed air.

  My feet wanted to move, the time I’d spent in his car stifling.

  During the drive, I’d rehearsed what I was going to say, knowing the conversation had to be done in person. That just meant my trip to New York was the longest drive of my life, my thoughts marinating with each mile, my emotions charred by the end.

  When I’d pulled into his building, nothing was any clearer. I still couldn’t process a single thought.

  Why did he come into my life?

  Why didn’t he tell me who he was?

  Why did he touch me?

  Why did he tell me he loved me?

  Why did he let me fall in love with him?

  Why did he lie to me?

  Why was Casey Rivers the same person as Jared Morgan?