Cross My Heart

by Katie Klein

“I didn’t do it,” he assures me, leaning against the towel rack on my wall.

  “Was it Phillip?”

  “Nope.”

  I roll my eyes. “Come on. You’re killing me, Daniel.”

  He crosses his arms. “Let’s just say someone called in a favor.”

  I stare at the faucet for a moment. When I look back at Daniel, he nods.

  I swallow hard. “You talked to him?” The words break to pieces in my throat.

  “A few times.” He shrugs, lifting his shoulders and letting them fall.

  “How is he?”

  “The truth?”

  I nod.

  “He misses you.”

  I miss him, I want to say, eyes growing damp.

  Daniel stands straighter, stuffing his hands deep inside his pockets. “Anyway, he wanted to do something nice for my little sister so I left him a key. He came while we were at the wedding.” He shuffles in the doorway, runs his fingers through his hair. “He was finished by the time we got back. I was kind of hoping he would stick around.”

  “I don’t know what I would’ve said to him.” I pause for a moment, studying the porcelain sink, trying to process Parker being here, working on it without my even knowing. I glance around the room, wondering if he left a note—some kind of sign. Not a thing is out of place. It’s almost as if the faucet appeared out of nowhere—like magic. “Thank you,” I mutter, still dazed.

  He backs into my bedroom. “You’re welcome. But I’m not the one you should thank.”

  In the next moment, I’m alone.

  My bedroom is nearly dark, the faint glow of dusk illuminating the window, casting blue and gray shadows. I flip my light switch on. The room, too, is as I remember. Parker didn’t as much as sit down on my bed, wrinkling the comforter. He didn’t move my desk chair. There isn’t even a footprint on my rug. Nothing. Like he came through as an apparition, making only the most obvious of changes—a new sink faucet—and nothing else.

  I walk over to my dresser. The bouquet of tulips he placed on my windshield the night before—the ones he left during the graduation ceremony—stand tall in their glass vase. I tuck my hair behind my ears and lean in to breathe them.

  My throat tightens.

  He’s ready. He’s just waiting on me.

  I lift the lid of my jewelry box; his photograph is still tucked safely inside. I examine it, taking in the dark eyes, black hair, his serious expression. He doesn’t even look like he’s in high school. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. And his lips—the ones, in another lifetime entirely, I touched with my own.

  I was doing so well: throwing myself into graduation and the house and the wedding, finally treading water instead of drowning. But now, as I stare at the photo, knowing he was so close, everything comes rushing back, like a wave, powerful enough to knock me over. I return the photo to its place, snapping the lid shut.

  My heart pounds, blood hammering in my ears. I rush to the closet and pull out a pair of flip flops, slipping them on as I run out the door, flicking off the light as I go, unaffected by the tear in the drywall where my Harvard sticker once resided.

  My shoes thwack against each step as I bound down the stairs, fistfuls of lavender satin clutched in my hands.

  “Jaden?” Sarah calls.

  “I have to go!”

  “Jaden, it’s late,” Daniel says. I can feel them watching from the top of the stairs.

  “No,” I reply, disappearing into the front living room, snatching up my purse and keys. “I have to do this. Now.” I return to the foyer. “Tell Mom I’m sorry, and I’ll be home soon.”

  I’m twisting the doorknob, ready to leave, when: “Jaden?”

  I spin around and look up at my brother, chest heaving.

  He pulls his sweatshirt over his head and tosses it my way. It lands in a pile at my feet. “It’s getting cooler.”

  * * *

  I take the road from school leading to that old trailer. I drive slowly in the darkness, keeping my eyes peeled. I recognize some of the landmarks and houses I passed the day I followed Parker. And when I come to that familiar path, I turn into the driveway, bouncing in and out of potholes, dirt kicking up behind me. The yard is the same: overgrown, full of tires and trash and old car parts and rusted burn barrels. The house itself is the same: the metal paneling dented, rusted, stairs unsafe.

  But Parker’s motorcycle is gone.

  Still, I push open the car door and step into the shin-deep grass, pulling the sleeves of Daniel’s sweatshirt tighter, hugging myself. I climb the rickety steps. The diamond window on the aluminum door is too high for me to look through, so I take a deep breath . . . and I knock.

  When, after a few, long seconds, no one answers, I knock again.

  “Where are you?” I whisper.

  I stand back, gazing at the old trailer. The clouds part, and the moonlight pours down, lighting the fields and the yard.

  And it hits me.

  He doesn’t live here. He didn't bring me here that day because this is where he lives. That was part of the game, too. He was playing a part.

  A strong gust of wind blows in, driving the weeds in the field to their sides, tousling my hair and whipping it into my eyes, slapping it against my face. I gather it at the nape of my neck as the moon is swallowed by the clouds again, plunging the world into darkness.

  I feel my way down the steps, moving toward my car.

  Inside, I flip on the light and dig around my purse. When I find my cell phone, I call Information.

  “I was wondering if you could give me an address for Parker Whalen,” I tell the operator.

  “How do you spell that?” she asks.

  I wait, listening to a keyboard clacking on the other end.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not seeing a Parker Whalen.”

  My heart plummets. “There’s not an address or a number?”

  “No. There’s not a single Whalen in the county.”

  “There’s nothing?” I ask, not wanting to believe her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t go home right away. I can’t. Instead I drive. Wandering, aimless. From one side of the county to the other, trying to clear my head. I finally park my car along the curb in front of my house just before midnight, defeated. Exhausted. Mom meets me in the foyer.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, exhaling loudly, tears filling my eyes. “I just . . . I just wanted to talk to him.”

  She offers a resigned smile. “Get some rest. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

  I trudge up the stairs, passing the row of family photos, Daniel and Sarah’s room, which is empty.

  I shut my bedroom door, pull Daniel’s sweatshirt over my head, and flip on the bathroom light. My new faucet sparkles. I open the door to my white medicine cabinet and pull out the glass I keep inside. The water splashes against itself, bubbling as I fill it. I take an Advil and drink a few swallows, then turn out the light, plunging the room into darkness.

  I’m waiting for my eyes to re-adjust when I hear it. My heart stops. I wait. And listen. Straining my ears. And I know it’s real. It’s not my imagination. I’m not lost in my sleep-deprived delirium. I know, without a doubt, as those feather-light taps sound against my window: this is no dream.

  And so I make my way across the room steadily, carefully. Hands shaking, I pull the string, lifting my blinds. They rise slowly, drawing more moonlight into the room with every inch.

  And there he is, crouched low on the roof. Same leather jacket. The hair is his, the cheekbones, the perfect nose . . . the eyes: dark and mysterious . . . full of secrets. . . . My heart flutters, body light. I reach out to touch him, thinking he might disappear, my fingers disrupted by the windowpane.

  On the other side, Parker lifts his hand and mouths: “Hi.”

  I mouth “Hi” back.

  He holds up a single finger, signaling me to hold on. He picks up a spiral-bound notebook and flips open the cover, turning the first page to me. I recognize his ne
at, block print instantly: bold, black Sharpie.

  I know this is unexpected . . . , I read.

  He flips the page.

  . . . and strange . . .

  I lift an eyebrow.

  . . . but please hear read me out.

  He flips to the next page.

  I know I told you I never lied . . .

  . . . but that was (obviously) the biggest lie of all.

  The truth is: I’m a liar.

  I lied.

  I lied to myself . . .

  . . . and to you.

  Parker watches as I read. Our eyes meet, and he flips the page.

  But only because I had to.

  I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you, Jaden . . .

  . . . but it happened anyway.

  I clear my throat, and swallow hard, but it’s squeezed shut again, tight.

  And it gets worse.

  Not only am I a liar . . .

  I’m selfish.

  Selfish enough to want it all.

  And I know if I don’t have you . . .

  I hold my breath, waiting.

  . . . I don’t have anything.

  He turns another page, and I read:

  I’m not Ethan . . .

  . . . and I’m not going to give up . . .

  . . . until I can prove to you . . .

  . . . that you are the only thing that matters.

  He flips to the next page.

  So keep sending me away . . .

  . . . but I’ll just keep coming back to you.

  Again . . .

  He flips to the next page.

  . . . and again . . .

  And the next:

  . . . and again.

  Goose bumps rise to the surface of my skin. I shiver, hugging myself tightly.

  And if you can ever find it in your (heart) to forgive me . . .

  There’s a big, black “heart” symbol where the word should be.

  I will do everything it takes to make it up to you.

  He closes the notebook and tosses it beside him. It lands on the roof with a dull thwack. Then, lifting his index finger, he draws an X across his chest.

  Cross my heart.

  I stifle the happy laugh welling inside, hiding the smile as I reach for the metal latch to unlock my window. I slowly, carefully, raise the sash. A burst of fresh honeysuckles saturates the balmy, midnight air, sickeningly sweet, filling the room. I close my eyes, breathing it in, as a thousand sleepless nights melt, slipping away. I gather the lavender satin of my dress in my hand, climb through the open window, and stand tall on the roof, feeling the height, the warmth of the shingles beneath my bare feet, facing Parker.

  He touches the length of the scar on my forehead with his cool finger, tucks my hair behind my ear, traces the edge of my face with the back of his hand. My eyes close.

  “You know you’re beautiful? Even when you cry?” He smiles, holding my face in his hands, smearing the tears away with his thumbs.

  I breathe in, lungs shuddering.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, black eyes sincere.

  I swallow. “I know why you had to.”

  “Doesn’t make it right.”

  “Doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, shaking my head.

  The moon hangs suspended in the sky, stars twinkling overhead, as he leans down and kisses me softly, lips meeting mine, familiar—lips I imagined, dreamed about, memorized a million hours ago.

  Then he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him, quelling every doubt and fear and uncertainty in this one, perfect moment.

  Epilogue

  A Few Months Later

  The leaves crunch beneath my soles as I make my way down the sidewalk, the strap to my laptop bag draped over my shoulder and cell phone pressed tightly against my ear.

  “It’s crazy, Savannah. They have us dissecting a cow’s eyeball tomorrow.”

  “Hello. You want to be a doctor,” she replies. “I’m pretty sure that, at some point, you’re gonna do much worse than dissect a cow eye. I hate to even say it, but you’re gonna have to get used to digging inside random body parts.”

  I laugh. “And what makes you the authority all of a sudden? Two months into our college careers and you’re already some kind of expert.” I set my laptop bag down on the café table. The days are cooler, and I pull the sleeves of my gray sweater over my wrists. I sit down and start my laptop while Savannah tells me about her American history professor, who apparently will not shut up about The New Deal. Not only can he effectively transition from Puritan Salem to FDR, he also had the nerve to give Savannah a ninety on her last paper because she forgot to list the bibliographic entry to the novel it was about.

  “That sucks,” I reply, waiting for my computer to find a signal from the wireless internet in the café.

  “Yeah it was, but then, it was like, written in these massive bold letters at the top of our assignment sheet not to forget the bibliography, so it was kinda my fault.”

  “Oh, well, when you put it that way . . .”

  “But still,” she interrupts, “I was totally mad at myself knowing I would’ve aced the paper if I would’ve remembered.”

  “Lesson learned.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I smile, imagining her eyes rolling on the other end of her dorm phone. “I have to admit: I’m scared of you right now.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I’m not used to this . . . this you. A few months ago you wouldn’t have even turned the paper in. You’re totally studious.”

  “I know!” she cries. “I think I may be a nerd! And Jaden, you would not believe the guys here. I mean, I had no idea what we were missing, wasting our time on high school boys.”

  I smile. Blake and Tony, along with several other members of the boy’s basketball team, were cited for various drug-related infractions during the school’s raid. Tony lost his scholarship. Savannah went to college without him.

  I lean back in the wrought-iron chair. The leaves on the tree hovering above are in different stages of autumn. Some still green, some turning yellow, others a dark crimson, ready to fly away. They flutter in the breeze, rustling against one another. I inhale a cleansing breath, taking in the crisp, cool air.

  I glance up just in time to watch him cross the street. He jogs toward me, bag slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing gray dress pants, and I just can see the burgundy sweater vest beneath his leather jacket. I smile when I see him.

  “Have you heard from Ash lately?” I ask.

  “I talked to her this past weekend. But if we’re all home for fall break next week we need to meet up. I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever. And I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I’d kill for some pizza at Papa Guido’s.”

  “Let-ah me show-ah you some magic-ah!” I mock.

  Savannah bursts out laughing. “I’m serious.”

  Parker steps onto the sidewalk and drops his bag to the ground. He brushes my arm as he passes, disappearing inside the café. My phone trills. I pull it away from my ear and glance at the screen.

  “Savannah, my mom is beeping in. Can I call you back later?”

  We say goodbye and I answer the other call.

  “Hey, Mom.” I reach inside my backpack and pull out my anatomy book. “No, everything’s fine. I just have a lot of homework to do. Story of my life for the next decade.”

  Parker re-emerges from the café carrying a soda, bottled water, and two chocolate chip cookies. He sets the water and one of the cookies in front of me.

  Thank you, I mouth. “What? No, I was thanking Parker. He bought snacks.”

  I listen to her for a moment, then move the phone away from my mouth. “She says hello.”

  He smiles, and my insides go all buttery, melting, fusing together. “Tell her I said hello back.”

  I roll my eyes, pretending to be irritated. “He says hi.” Mom goes on. I move the phone away again. “She wants to know if you’r
e coming home with me for fall break.”

  “If I’m invited.”

  I smile, and go back to my mom. “He says if he’s invited he would love to.” I listen, and roll my eyes again. “She says you’re always invited.”

  He laughs, a sly smile crossing his face. “Then I’ll be there.”

  My heart flutters, skipping a few beats.

  “You realize, though,” he begins after I hang up, “that high school students don’t get a fall break, right?”

  My smile flips to a frown, deepening. “You don’t have the end of next week off?”

  “Nope. So I’ll have to wait until Friday night to see you.”

  “That sucks.”

  “I thought you knew that.”

  “I’m sorry. Some of us aren’t fourth-year seniors,” I tease.

  He shakes his head, grinning. “That’s a low blow.”

  “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask.

  He opens his Norton Anthology of American Literature and skims through the table of contents. “Today it’s Nathaniel Hawthorne in all his parabolic splendor.”

  “Sounds fascinating. I’m dissecting a cow eye tomorrow.”

  “Remind me not to sign up for that class.”

  “Don’t even try to play dumb with me, Mr. Montgomery Preparatory Academy.”

  “Yeah. I’m so brilliant,” he replies, flicking me playfully on the crease of my elbow. “Brilliant enough to know better than pick a career that has me playing with knives and slicing through animal-flesh.”

  I pass him a knowing glance. “No, you just picked one that lets you play with guns and leaves you a perpetual high school senior.”

  “Which is why I’m fully willing to admit that you are on a much higher plane of intelligence than I am.”

  “The idea of intelligence is relative.”

  Parker smirks. “What else do you have for me, Miss Intro to Philosophy?”

  “The idea of love is also relative. For instance: I love that you pretend I’m smarter than you are.”

  “I love your false modesty,” he replies, eyes sparkling.

  “I love that despite all of my warnings you are still consuming that fizzy, caffeinated beverage.” I tap the aluminum soda can on the table in front of him with my pen.

  “I love that you’re concerned enough about my health and well-being to warn me of the dangers.”