by Jill Cox
“I know, I know. Secrets of the brotherhood and all that. But it wouldn’t be too scandalous to tell me what time it starts, would it?”
Pete paused for a moment, then gave me a knowing look. “Midnight.”
I felt the vein in my temple begin to throb again. “Ah,” I pushed out a puny laugh. “Well, let’s hope my very important boyfriend gave himself enough time to get done all the things.”
Pete pulled into a circular driveway – his driveway, it turned out – and shut off the engine. “Seriously, Sully. Why are you with him? Because the way I see it, when your dad is in the hospital, your boyfriend should be there by your side, no matter what else he has going on in his life.”
“Believe me, I don’t understand what’s going on any more than you do.” I breathed in deeply to thwart the sob rising in my throat. “Drew loves my dad, Pete. Maybe he can’t face what’s happening. Heart problems – that’s how his mom died.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. You deserve better, Meredith. If I were Sutton, I would be spending every single second I could with you while you’re home. That’s what you do when you love someone. You’re there for them when they need you.”
Tears filled my eyes before I could blink, so I looked out the window, away from Pete. I felt his hand close around my shoulder, which only made the tears fall faster.
“Hey.” He squeezed again gently. “I’m sorry. This is none of my business. I just don’t like to see you get hurt, that’s all.”
I looked over at Pete and smiled grimly. “You know those rickety old suspension bridges in the middle of nowhere? The ones that have ropes on either side, but half the slats are either broken or disappeared altogether?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, that’s how my life feels right now. It might appear dilapidated to everyone else, but it’s mine, so I know how to navigate the rotten parts. But if one more thing changes, even the tiniest little bit, I’m scared the whole thing might disintegrate into the gorge and take me with it. So I’m clinging to what I know. Even the messy bits.”
Pete watched me silently for a minute, then nodded. “Okay, Sully,” he said. “I hear you. And just for the record, I was captain of the Ducky Shincrackers. Heaven forbid you disappear down that gorge with the wrong name in your head. I know how much you hate being wrong.”
FORTY-SIX
Gigi was asleep in her wheelchair by the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto the driveway. Her face, which had seemed so youthful the night before, was now sunken and gray. It had only been eighteen hours, and already, she seemed twice as old.
Pete clenched his jaw so tightly that the veins in his neck bulged. “I thought you said she was awake?” He whispered to the nurse, Patty, who’d just walked into the room.
“She was. Poor thing.” She shook her head. “When the fatigue sets in, she just can’t fight it. And she’ll be so disappointed, too. Margaret was really hoping you would bring Meredith back with you, Peter.”
As Patty rolled Gigi out of the room and back to her bedroom, Pete motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. The breakfast nook at the far end had an enormous bay window with a breathtaking view of the Willamette River and, in the distance, Mount Hood. This was the same view I’d had from my dorm room last year at Highgate, which was only a couple of miles south down the river. But here no trees blocked the view. There was nothing but a gazebo off to the left.
I could hear Pete tinkering behind me, but I never turned around, mesmerized by the golden light lingering above the horizon of the river. I stood at the bay window for several minutes, staring at the changing colors of the late winter afternoon sky.
“What do you think?” Pete handed me a cup of coffee and motioned for me to sit on the window seat. “Gigi and Pops bought this place when my mom was a little kid. I guess it’s been in our family nearly fifty years.”
“Fifty? How old were your parents when…?”
“Forty-six,” Pete smiled weakly. “Both of them. Hey, why do you think no one ever asks me about my parents? Do you think everyone assumes I don’t want to talk about them?”
“Maybe. That’s why I’ve never asked. What were their names?”
“Elizabeth and James,” he said, the crinkles tightening around his eyes. “But nobody called them that. It was always Liz and Jim.”
“What were they like?”
“I think you would’ve liked them, Sully. Both my parents were hilarious. You know those people who always say the one thing you’d never expect, and you end up laughing so hard your gut hurts for the rest of the day?”
“You mean people like you?”
Pete frowned. “I’m not funny. I’m just a dork.”
“Did I say you weren’t? But being dorky doesn’t mean you’re not hilarious. Now tell me, was it weird to have your mom as a teacher? Did the other kids give you a hard time?”
“No,” he said quietly, his eyes drifting outside. “Everybody loved my mom. I was so proud of her. She sang songs to get us to remember stupid grammar concepts or vocabulary, and she always told these really funny stories about living in France to teach us the culture.”
“And your dad? You told me last fall he was a photojournalist. Was he gone a lot?”
“Not as much as you might think,” Pete said, turning back to me. A smile began to spread slowly across his face. “You want to see some of his pictures?”
I nodded and followed Pete to a gigantic bookcase in the living room. He pulled down a couple of large format photo albums from the top shelf, and for the next couple of hours, we sat on the sofa while Pete showed me hundreds of his dad’s photographs taken on every continent, including Antarctica. Next, he showed me a few family albums, some from his childhood, some from his teenage years, so I could see his family, just as they were.
And, because I asked nicely, Pete caved and showed me the Ducky Shincrackers’ highlight DVD from his senior year. Tears streamed down both of our faces as we relived all his greatest hits: behind-the-scenes practice footage, pep rallies and games, even a regional competition in costumes so authentic I felt like we’d been transported back in time seventy years.
For hours, I watched Pete Russell, my mind tumbling and spinning, trying desperately to remember the reasons I’d loathed him back in the day. Maybe then I could stop my traitorous heart from crossing that line I’d been toeing for far too long.
FORTY-SEVEN
Drew never texted me that night. I kept dreaming that he had, and every time I woke up and checked my phone, the blank home screen mocked me. Then I would lie awake for an hour or so until exhaustion took over, and the whole cycle would start over again.
At the hospital my dad was alert, but he was fighting the breathing machine. The nurses claimed this was a good sign because it meant that his body wanted to breathe on its own. But every time I went in to see him, he scrolled his fingers around on my palm, trying to write secret messages. The first time, he shifted his eyes in the direction of the nurse, then spelled out several words still banned from television by the FCC. I have never heard my dad use that kind of language in normal life, so the shock on my face and the uncontrollable laughter probably set back his progress for days.
Life hack: never make a heart attack victim laugh while they’re still on a ventilator.
Something about my dad’s newfound sass made me think of Pete’s grandmother. So when Ian headed back to Lincoln City that afternoon to pick up some things for my mom, I asked him to drive me over to Gigi’s house.
I’m not sure why, but the half-timbered, Tudor-style house appeared way more intimidating than it had the other two times I’d been there. Maybe it was because I was alone. Maybe it was because I didn’t make a habit of walking up to houses listed on the National Register of Historic Places (according to my brother, who spotted the telltale plaque hiding just above the bushes). Or maybe it was because I was feeling extra self-conscious from everything rattling around inside my heart. But before I went too far down that
rabbit trail, Nurse Patty opened the door.
“Meredith!” She beamed, brushing her dark hair behind her ear. “Did Peter know you were stopping by? He’s just gone to run some errands for Margaret.”
“Um, no, actually… I came to see if… I mean, is she feeling well enough for visitors?”
Patty’s whole face smiled back at me. “You’re in luck. She’s been quite alert today. A second wind, if you will.” She looked over her shoulder inside the house, then shut the door behind her, joining me on the front step. “I don’t want you to misunderstand me, Meredith. This happens a lot with terminal patients. They have a surge of energy a few days before the end. I’m afraid it’s just part of the process.”
Something made me close the gap between us and wrap my arms around Patty, who didn’t fight me when I squeezed her tight. “I don’t know how you do this job every day, Patty. You must be a very strong person.”
“Not this time. I don’t usually let myself get attached, but this time is… well, I’ve cried twice already today.” Patty pulled away and motioned for me to follow her. “Margaret is out back in the gazebo. We had just gone outside when I heard the doorbell ring.”
“But it’s freezing today!”
“Don’t worry. She’s all bundled up. Besides, the sun is shining. Who knows how long it will be before we have another sunny day like this one?”
For Gigi? Maybe never.
As we approached her, I noticed that Gigi’s color was much better than yesterday. The cool air had left a flush on her cheeks, and she looked calm and serene. “Oh, Meredith!” Margaret smiled broadly as Patty and I stepped up the ramp into the gazebo. “Peter said you came by yesterday when I was asleep. I’m so glad you came back today.”
I took in the same view I’d admired yesterday from the bay window; it was even more spectacular from the gazebo. “Wow,” I said. “No photograph could ever do this place justice.”
“It’s a little cold to be outside, I know,” she said brightly. “But this is my favorite place in the world. Well, in America at least. It’s probably a tie with the view from the Pont des Arts in Paris. Have you been there?”
“Of course,” I laughed, sitting across from her on the gazebo’s built-in bench. “There’s no better view in Paris than the one from that bridge.”
“Has Peter told you that my husband and I got engaged there? It was very romantic.”
“No! Did your husband study in Paris, too?”
“Yes,” she replied with a faraway look. “He was a Naval Academy graduate. They have a special scholarship for their top students to complete a master’s degree at Addison College. Their campus used to be at the Centre Lafayette. That’s where I met Pete Beckett.”
I remembered Pete telling me at Normandy that he was named after his grandfather and great-grandfather. Three generations of Petes. And three generations of smarties, too. Addison College had the best modern languages department in the country. Their graduate program had moved to the Right Bank, but we had a few Addison undergrads at the Centre Lafayette, of course – Anne, Harper, and Kelly. Those three walked around speaking French like it was their mother tongue every day of the week. And Pete fit right in.
“I’d been planning to find myself a dashing Frenchman, of course,” Gigi continued. “But Pete Beckett was so handsome and smart and hilarious that by Thanksgiving I was totally over the moon in love with him. He was still corresponding with a girlfriend back home at the time, but I didn’t let it bother me.”
I had to laugh. Gigi was my kind of sassy. “Did you get engaged later in the school year?”
“Yes, it didn’t take long.” Her deep-set, dark brown eyes appeared so youthful as she spoke. “And then we married as soon as we returned home. We knew Pete would be sent to Vietnam soon thereafter. He trained first in California, but then he got deployed when I was just a few months pregnant with Elizabeth.”
“She was born while he was in Vietnam?”
“He didn’t even see her until she was six months old.” Gigi’s face grew grim. “But he was safe, and for that, I am forever grateful. He continued to fly for the Navy until his commission was up, so the three of us jumped around the globe for a while. Then we moved back to Portland, and Pete began to fly for the airlines.”
Well, that explained how her grandson had convinced the ticket agent so easily to let me on his flight. His grandfather flew for business, huh? Ever the question mark, that Pete Russell.
“Why did you move to Portland, um… Mrs. –?”
“Meredith, please. Call me Margaret,” she smiled. “We moved to Portland because I grew up here – in this neighborhood, actually. My father earned his living in the timber industry, and I was an only child. Then I only had one child, and she only had one child. Unfortunately, we have a bad habit of leaving our children alone in this family."
Regret was thick in her voice. I had no idea how to ease Gigi’s mind. “I guess that explains why Pete is so strong,” I managed to say. “We all think he’s pretty unflappable.”
“Do you?” She laughed a little. “Yes, poor Peter has had to carry a lot in his young life. My husband died eighteen months ago. His heart just gave out one morning. I’m afraid losing Liz and Jim has taken a toll on us all.”
I reached between us and squeezed her hand. “I can’t even imagine.”
Gigi sat up a little straighter in her wheelchair and fixed her dark brown eyes on mine. “Meredith, I’m so glad you came to see me today. Normally, I would find it extremely distasteful to share this sort of information with you, but in this case, I think it’s best you know the truth. I assume you are aware that Highgate’s Centre Lafayette scholarships are funded by something called the Beckett Endowment. There’s a reason it bears my last name. Maybe this coincidence has already occurred to you?”
No, it had not. Never in my life had I been so dumbfounded. I tried to put a sentence together, but my mouth felt like it was full of sawdust. “Mrs. Beckett…”
“Meredith, I insist that you call me Margaret. You are a lovely young lady, and I’m as proud of you as if you were my own granddaughter, even though we’ve just met. Madame Beauchamp has been sending me regular e-mails on everyone’s progress, and you have more than lived up to your end of the bargain.”
I squeezed her hand as tears splashed down my cheeks. “Margaret, if I’d had any idea, I would have thanked you Friday night. You could never know how much living in Paris has meant to me. Thank you seems too feeble a phrase for what you’ve done.”
“You are quite welcome,” she said, smiling kindly as she placed her free hand over mine. “But, as I said, you don’t need to thank me. And this is where the story gets a little… uncomfortable.”
I felt like I was in an elevator that had just skipped five floors. “What do you mean?”
“Well, as you know, the endowment covers all tuition and fees for three Highgate students each year. It has been that way since my husband and I set up the fund in the mid-1980s, and it will go on that way after… well, you understand. But this particular year was different.”
“Right. This year, there were four scholarships.”
“No, Meredith,” she said slowly. “Three students went to Paris on the Beckett Endowment scholarship. When you took your exam last spring, the student with the highest score was Peter’s friend, Dan Thomas. Second place was a Marshall… oh, forgive me…”
“Freeman?”
“Yes, thank you,” she smiled. “But the student who placed third on the examination was my grandson.”
Before Gigi even finished her sentence, I understood. Despite my year-long sequester, I had only placed fourth on that exam. Everything I’d felt last summer – the entitlement, the disgust at Pete’s inclusion as “fourth” – it all tumbled down into a pit of shame where my pride had been.
“But if Pete was third, how did…”
“Your department chair, Dr. Sweeney, called Peter the Friday before they announced the scholarship because… well, it wa
s an unusual situation,” Gigi smiled. “For the rest of the weekend, it was as though a thunderstorm had moved in where my grandson’s soul ought to be. I have never seen him so pensive in all his life. At least not like that.”
I thought back to those moments after the exam when I’d fallen apart in the hallway. Pete had walked past me that day, and then he’d turned around and hovered nearby for a very long, very uncomfortable moment. I hadn’t dared look up. But I wished now that I had.
“On Monday morning,” Gigi continued, “Peter sat down for breakfast dressed in a button-down shirt and his best slacks, like he had a presentation to make. He looked me in the eye and said he’d made up his mind. He was giving up his spot so the fourth-place student could go instead.”
My breath hitched in my throat. “But that’s crazy. Why would he do that for someone he barely knew?”
“You may rest assured, young lady, that Peter and I have never had harsher words between us than we did that day. But he was not to be dissuaded. ‘Listen, Gigi,’ he finally said. ‘I am your grandson. This is the very definition of nepotism. But the bigger problem is that Meredith Sullivan wants to live in Paris more than anything else in the world. She poured her whole heart into that test, and she deserves to go. So I’m meeting with Dr. Sweeney this morning to remove my name from the list. If you try to stop me, I’ll run back to Shanghai. You know I will.’”
“I take it you believed him?”
Gigi’s eyes softened. “I’m sure you know Peter well enough to know that when he believes in something, he can be rather persuasive. Dr. Sweeney accepted his decision, and that, my dear, is how you came to receive your scholarship.”
I wanted to speak, but I could not. My mind was too busy putting the puzzle pieces together.
“I wish you could have known Peter when he was younger,” she said, leaning toward me. “What an open, loving child he was. Outrageous and charming and so carefree that I worried he’d end up spoiled. But Peter was very close to his parents. Ever since the accident, he’s kept his guard up so well that most people think he’s a clown.”