We Were Beautiful

by Heather Hepler

  “I should go,” Cooper says. “See you tomorrow.” He lifts a hand in a sort of non-waving wave and the doors close.

  “See you,” I say to the empty hall.

  I watch the numbers light up as the elevator heads down to the lobby. Sometimes I really do wish someone could see me. See me for what I really am. But like Cooper says, you have to choose strong bridges. I haven’t had much luck in that area. All of my bridges have collapsed. My mom, my old friends, my dad. Not one bridge could hold my weight. My mom left, my friends drifted away when I had to stop going to school, and my dad simply faded. I take a deep breath and steel myself before I walk back to the apartment.

  As I open the door and step inside, I wonder what kind of bridge my grandmother is. I’d like to believe she’s a strong one, but I just can’t tell.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The dreams keep building. Layering sounds and images. I’m driving. Rachel is passed out in the passengers seat. It’s raining and dark and the fog is rolling in off the blueberry barrens in thick waves. I keep looking over to the side to make sure Rachel is still breathing. She’s so pale and her breathing is shallow, like she can’t quite catch her breath. I take the turns slowly, winding along the coast toward home. Our headlights barely illuminate the yellow line bisecting the road. Suddenly there’s a shape on the road. Big. A moose or a huge buck. I can’t tell. I pull the wheel hard to the left, but it isn’t enough. I feel the impact. See the antlers rushing at me across the hood. Definitely antlers. A buck. I look over at Rachel. She’s still there, slumped against the door, but something’s wrong with her neck. Then my vision goes dark and the screaming begins. But I’m not sure if it’s me or Rachel.

  Suddenly, everything shifts and I’m sitting up in bed and still screaming, and Veronica is pushing open the door. She’s beside me, touching my hair and letting me fall against her.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers.

  “It’s not,” I say, my voice breaking. “Rachel’s dead and it’s all my fault.”

  Veronica pulls me away from her. “Look at me.” Her voice is hard, forcing my gaze upward. “It’s not your fault.” I start to say something, but she talks over me. “Mia, it was an accident. A terrible accident.”

  “Why did she have to die? Why not me?”

  She pulls me against her chest again. “I lost one granddaughter that night. I’m glad I didn’t lose two.”

  She doesn’t say anything more, just keeps stroking my hair. I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, the alarm on my phone is going off. I fumble for my phone, wondering if even the part about Veronica is a dream, but my bedroom door has been left ajar. When I step out into the hall, I note that Veronica’s is left open a tiny bit too.

  Every day, right after I finish at Brunelli’s, I head over to Simon’s. Joey, who’s oddly observant for someone with headphones constantly glued in his ears, seems to know I’m meeting someone, because the lunch bag he hands me on the way out contains two sodas, two sandwiches, and two giant cookies. Fig keeps pressing me for details, but I tell her it’s a secret. She keeps pressing me for the talk too, but I tell her soon.

  One Thursday, Cooper tells me we should call it quits for the day when we finish the maple tree, but it’s the power outage that actually decides things. Simon curses as his saw dies and the lights flicker twice before going out. It’s pitch dark inside the building because all the windows are covered with brown paper. Simon told me it was to keep things a surprise. Cooper told me it was because he doesn’t want anyone from the city peering in and seeing that he’s breaking about two dozen building codes.

  We walk toward the door, a bright rectangle against the darkened room. Simon is already on the sidewalk, yelling at a guy in a hardhat who’s standing in a cherry picker and holding a length of cable. The guy yells right back. Soon there are half a dozen people yelling at each other.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Cooper says. He ducks back inside and comes out with my bag and his backpack. “Simon!” Cooper yells. “We’re taking off!” Simon barely acknowledges him before he starts yelling at the workman again. I follow Cooper toward the end of the block and away from the rapidly growing crowd that is either actively yelling at the worker or just enjoying the show.

  “Where to?” I ask.

  “It’s time for you to pay up,” Cooper says.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, feigning innocence.

  Cooper rolls his eyes. “Let me refresh your memory. You asked me to have dinner with your grandmother—”

  “Which you enjoyed,” I point out, choosing to ignore the rudeness on my part at the end of the evening.

  “Which I enjoyed. But I believe I offered one stipulation to the acceptance of the invitation.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “In other words, you promised to do something, no questions asked.”

  I nod warily. Cooper directs me toward the stairs leading down to the subway. He digs in his pocket and pulls out his subway pass, and then instructs me to give him mine, which I find in my bag and hand to him.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Zip it,” Cooper says. “No questions.”

  I look at the giant map on the wall. Dozens of lines crisscross the city. There’s no way of guessing where we’re headed.

  “At least tell me which train we’re taking,” I say.

  “What is it about no questions that you don’t understand?” he teases.

  He leads me down the steps and through the turnstiles. The train pulls in, sending swirling dust into the air. A screech of brakes and a warning tone, then the doors slide open. Suddenly there are people pressing against me on all sides.

  “Hold on tight,” Cooper says. He takes my hand in his and pulls me forward.

  “So, this place you’re taking me to—” I try, but Cooper only shakes his head at me and leads me to a seat. I sit and lean back, making a frustrated noise in my throat.

  “Did you just growl at me?” Cooper asks.

  “Maybe,” I retort.

  Now that we’re moving, I allow myself a small moment of freaking out about Cooper holding my hand. The train bumps us into each other as we go, making both of us laugh. It’s a long ride, but watching the people keeps us busy. There’s a man with seven lip rings and full sleeves of tattoos, and a woman holding a birdcage with a stuffed parrot inside. When the doors slide open at one stop, the car fills with reggae music. Another stop features a violinist and an opera singer vying for an audience.

  A garbled message announces the next stop.

  “This is us,” Cooper says. The train slows and Cooper stands, pulling me up with him. We step off the train and toward the gates leading out of the station.

  “I smell water,” I say.

  Cooper laughs. “Okay, Sherlock, settle down. We’re almost there.” We walk along a sidewalk, overfull with people, and have to stop twice for a toddler who drops her stuffed giraffe. When there’s a break ahead of us, Cooper pulls us through the gap. Though when we round a corner, I’m the one stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, slowing traffic as I stare.

  “What is this place?” I ask. I look at the boardwalk stretched out in front of me and the Ferris wheel slowly spinning against the sky.

  “Coney Island,” Cooper says, pulling me forward. “I know it’s sort of cheesy, but I’ve never been here and I thought you might like it.”

  “It’s perfect,” I say, putting my hand on his arm. And it is. I’ve been heartsick for the water ever since we left Maine. “Can we ride that first?” I ask, pointing to the Ferris wheel.

  Cooper laughs. “Don’t you want your name on rice first?” he asks, gesturing toward a booth off to one side. I shake my head. “Tattoo?” he asks, teasing me. Another shake. “Cotton candy?” he asks.

  This time I nod. “But only the pink kind. The blue and purple freak me out.” Cooper raises his eyebrow at me. “All that dye.” I fake a shudder.

  “Yeah, I’m sure the neon pink is all-nat
ural,” Cooper says, shaking his head at me.

  We walk over to the booth selling cotton candy and he buys a large. Pink. He laughs when he sees my eyes.

  “That’s like a lifetime supply of cotton candy,” I say. Cooper won’t take any of the money I try to give him.

  “This is my surprise,” he says.

  “It’s a good one,” I say.

  “Come on,” he says, pulling my hand and leading me toward the rides. I pause, breathing in the briny smell of the ocean and the sweet smell my cotton candy is giving off. I feel the warm sunshine on my face and the breeze coming off the water. Warm and cool at once.

  “What are you doing?” Cooper asks.

  “I want to remember this moment,” I say.

  “Come on,” he says. “The line for the Ferris wheel isn’t going to get any shorter.”

  “At least we have provisions,” I say, holding up the enormous bag of cotton candy.

  “Well, provision,” Cooper says. “Seeing as all we have is that one thing.” We walk over to the line and join behind a very large, very hairy man wearing a Kiss Me, I’m Sexy shirt.

  Cooper cuts his eyes at me, and I have to look away to keep from laughing out loud. “Sure you don’t want your name on rice?” he asks, pointing to another one of the carts parked alongside the line.

  “You seem obsessed with it,” I say. I pull a tuft of cotton candy off the mound and put it in my mouth.

  “Well, it is a modern miracle,” he says.

  “The polio vaccine was a modern miracle,” I respond.

  “But, it’s your name written on rice,” he says.

  “Fine,” I say. “Hold this.” I hand him the cotton candy and walk over to the vendor. “I’d like my name on rice,” I say. Then I think of something better. “Well, I’d like two names on rice.”

  “You’ll have to buy two grains of rice,” he says. He makes me write the names for him on a piece of paper, then he gets to work. I get to look at them under a high-powered lens.

  “Cool,” I say, much less impressed with the “modern miracle” than Cooper.

  I pay him five dollars, which seems like a pretty steep price for two grains of rice. He starts to put my purchases into a glass vial, but I hold out my hand. After he drops the two pieces of rice into my palm, I pull the locket free from my shirt and open it. I carefully transfer the two grains from my hand to the locket and snap it closed.

  The line has barely moved when I walk back over to Cooper. He’s made a serious dent in the cotton candy.

  “Did you get it?” he asks.

  “Yep,” I say. I carefully open the locket. He peers inside.

  “Two?” he asks.

  “One just didn’t seem like enough,” I say. “I mean, how many chances in your life do you have to get your name on rice?” He nods, but keeps looking at me. I know he wants to know what’s on them, but I don’t say. He opens his mouth like he wants to ask, but then Kiss Me, I’m Sexy leaves, taking his whole family with him, and we get to move forward in line.

  “Want your photo taken with the lady?” a guy asks, walking up to us. “Five dollars.” Cooper shakes his head, and the guy moves down the line.

  “Do you have your camera?” Cooper asks. I nod and pull it out. He puts his hand out for it, but I pull it back. “I just want to take a picture of that guy,” Cooper says, pointing to a man with tattoos on every bit of visible skin.

  I hand the camera over and take another bite of cotton candy while Cooper gets his photo. I laugh as a seagull tries to fly away with a whole corndog clutched in its beak. Cooper takes a couple more pictures and turns off my camera before handing it back to me.

  “We’re almost up,” he says.

  I look forward to where the Ferris wheel workers are slowly helping people off the swinging seats and guiding new people into position. When it’s our turn, they warn us not to rock, and click the safety bar into place. The wheel immediately turns and sends us backward and up. It takes several stops and starts before we make it to the top.

  “Amazing,” I say as our seat makes the final journey to the top of the wheel. We stop there, our seat swaying gently. Spread out in front of us is a wide strip of blue water reaching to the left and right. Then above that, all of Lower Manhattan sits with its buildings sprouting out of the earth like giant porcupine quills. Barges carrying huge metal lockers trundle through the Cerulean Haze water.

  “Thank you,” I say, turning to Cooper.

  He smiles at me and says, “Thank you.” And his voice suggests that he’s thanking me for more than cotton candy and your name on rice and a ride on a Ferris wheel. He takes my hand, and we sit there just swaying above everything until the wheel starts turning again and we are slowly lowered to the ground.

  I’m not stupid. Okay, maybe a little. But I am smart enough to know that this is the best day of my life so far. I’m guessing it will keep at least a top ten slot for my whole life. After the Ferris wheel, we play some of the midway games, and Cooper wins a stuffed whale shark and I win a hat with a propeller on it. We spend all afternoon walking up and down the boardwalk, and end up sitting in the sand, tired and sunburned. I call Veronica so she won’t worry that I’m late. She tells me to say hi to Cooper for her, which makes me blush and Cooper laugh.

  “Your grandmother loves me,” Cooper says. I nod and roll my eyes.

  “Don’t you have to walk dogs today?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  “Fig and Sebastian are doing it for me.”

  “You had this all planned out, didn’t you?”

  Cooper nods. “Even that,” he says, pointing to the sky that is slowly turning pink and orange in the fading light.

  “Talk about delusions of grandeur,” I say. Cooper laughs and slides closer to me on the sand. He puts his arm behind me and leans back slightly, looking at the sky.

  “I have a serious question for you,” Cooper says.

  I swallow hard. “Shoot,” I respond in what I hope is a casual way.

  “How would you feel about being kissed?” Cooper asks.

  “Are you taking a poll?” I ask.

  “It’s a research project I’m working on,” Cooper says. “So, theoretically, if someone wanted to kiss you, how would you feel?”

  “Someone?” I ask. “Like him?” I nod toward a guy in a dirty mustard-colored hoodie walking past who keeps repeating the word banana over and over. The truth is, I’m stalling. I’ve never kissed a guy.

  “Well,” Cooper says. “What about me?”

  “Theoretically or actually?” I ask.

  “Actually.” He turns to look at me. Until now, we’ve both been staring out over the water.

  “I’d feel okay about that,” I say.

  “Okay?” Cooper asks, leaning toward me. I start to say more than okay, but then his mouth is on mine and any thought that would require words is gone.

  At first, I’m nervous that I’m not doing it right, but then I just let myself float. His mouth tastes sweet like cotton candy and salty from the ocean. I had thought of kissing him before, but I always worried that he’d be too self-conscious about his mouth or that maybe he didn’t like me that way.

  I feel Cooper’s fingers in my hair. Then he slides his hand forward to my cheek. His thumb bumps against my scar and, without thinking, I pull back.

  “Sorry,” he says quickly.

  I’m the one who should say I’m sorry. Not him. But that one touch was like a switch being thrown, and now all I can think about is Rachel. How she’ll never get to ride a Ferris wheel or eat cotton candy or win a propeller hat at the shooting arcade. She’ll never sit on the sand with the sun on her face. She’ll never be kissed ever again.

  “Tell me,” Cooper says.

  Part of me wants to. No more hiding or pretending or lying. I look over at Cooper, at his trusting eyes. I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  “You could,” he says. “It would be okay.” I shake my head again.

  Cooper frowns and leans back aga
in, looking out over the water. We sit for several minutes in silence. Finally, Cooper pushes to his feet. He reaches his hand down and pulls me up. I stand, clutching the stuffed whale shark and the hat.

  He looks at his watch. “We should probably head back.”

  I nod, knowing something fragile just shattered between us.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” I say, trying to fix it.

  “Maybe I would,” Cooper says. He touches his mouth with his hand.

  “No,” I say with more force than I intend. I take a deep breath, trying to make sense of the swirling thoughts in my head. “What if one day your whole life changed? You woke up that morning and things were normal, so normal that if someone asked you about it, you wouldn’t even be able to tell them what you had for breakfast or what you wore or even what you did that day. But, what if later, something happened? Something terrible and irreversible? And what if that something was your fault? And suddenly everything was different. Where you lived. Who you loved. Even what you looked like.”

  I step out of reach, putting distance between us. “You could never understand that,” I say. I start walking away. From my words. From the ache in my heart. From the look in Cooper’s eyes.

  We ride back to the city in silence. Sitting together, but not touching. Not looking at each other. Cooper walks with me to Veronica’s apartment. I try to hand him the whale shark, but he just shakes his head. I turn to walk inside, but his voice stops me.

  “I hope someday, you let someone in,” he says. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.” He turns and walks away down the sidewalk.

  I watch him until he rounds the corner, hoping he’ll look back, but he doesn’t. Not once.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The dream is different tonight. It’s still Rachel in the passenger seat, but Cooper is in the car too. I keep trying to tell him to get out, that he doesn’t want to be there. That he doesn’t understand what’s going to happen. But I can’t. Then there’s the accident. Followed by the screaming. Then the ambulance. But this time, instead of one stretcher, they need two. Because Rachel isn’t the only one not moving. I watch as they lift Cooper into the ambulance, first folding the stretcher legs, then sliding him in. But the sheet slips and I can see his face. He’s staring at me, through me. His eyes are flat and dark.