The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

by Cheyanne Young

  “Hello?” I call out. This room is tiny and no one’s in here. There’s another door to the right, but it has big red letters saying EMPLOYEES ONLY and DO NOT ENTER, so I take a step back and hover near the worn-out chairs in the corner. I won’t risk ruining my jeans by sitting down.

  After a few awkward minutes, I can hear voices behind the employee door. The longer I sit here, the lamer I feel. But I know Elijah will be excited to see me. With a burst of courage, I walk over to the door and twist the handle slowly.

  It opens into a vast metal building that looks like the mechanic shop that services my car in Peyton Colony. Two wrecked cars hover in the air on lifts, panels removed and lying crumpled in a pile off to the side. I see them before they see me: four men standing in a circle, a cloud of tension hanging in the air. Two have their arms crossed, and they look absolutely terrifying. Like they’re competing for an award for most pissed-off guy on the planet.

  They’re arguing over something, and one guy, an older man with thick-framed glasses and a lumberjack beard, shakes his head violently in protest.

  I’m about to close the door, but then I see him. Elijah stands off to the side next to another guy who looks about his age. One hand rests in his pocket, the other runs across his face. He seems stressed. Is it because of the argument?

  Maybe I should sit in my car and come back in a few minutes. I turn to go, but one of the older guys sees me and stops talking, his eyes widening as he gestures to the man with the beard.

  “Who is that?”

  “Oh, hi,” I say, my voice high-pitched. I put on a big smile and consider lying and saying I’m a customer.

  Elijah turns around, almost bored at first. But then he sees me and his eyes go wider than golf balls.

  “I got it,” he says quickly. “She’s no one.”

  He jogs over to me so fast I don’t even have time to feel offended.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he growls as he shoves me back through the door, pressing it firmly closed behind us.

  Startled and a little freaked out, I can’t seem to form words, so I just hold up his shirt.

  He snatches it from my hand. “You have to go,” he whispers even though we’re the only two in this room.

  “Wha — I don’t —” I shuffle backward.

  From the other side of the door, someone yells, “That better be a pizza delivery girl.”

  Elijah’s jaw tightens. He grabs my arms and says, “You need to go. It’s not safe here.”

  “Why?” I say. “This is a business.”

  “Just leave,” he says, his voice low and pained. “You can’t be here. Don’t ever come back. Please.”

  I fight tears and grab for the doorknob.

  “Sorry.” It sounds like I have a mouthful of marbles as I burst back out into the crisp autumn air, hating myself and hating Elijah and hating every single thing about Sasha’s death.

  “Raquel,” Elijah calls out. I turn around and he’s standing in the doorway, his hands on either side of the doorframe. “Meet me at the church in an hour.”

  “I don’t want to,” I snap, turning toward my car.

  “Please,” he says. Even with my back to him, I can feel the weight of his stare. “Please,” he says. “I’ll explain, okay?”

  I keep focused on my car.

  “I am glad to see you, you know. Just give me an hour, and please drive safely.”

  ***

  Mount Horeb Baptist Church is just as isolated and sad looking as the first time we were here. It’s such a shame to let a place of history go to waste like this. Remembering what Sasha’s letter said, I drive to the front of the site and read the historic marker sign to get the whole story of Peyton Roberts, and now Elijah is fifteen minutes later than he’d promised. Maybe he got stuck in traffic, I tell myself. Another voice inside my head says, Maybe he’s just not coming.

  I sit on the grass beside my car, my back leaning against the tire. My phone is nearly dead, so I put it on battery-saving mode and stay off it, just in case there’s some emergency later and my parents need to get a hold of me. It’s not like I need it to wait on a call from Elijah.

  I snort and pull up a blade of grass.

  My entire life is now a collection of weirdness. This long-distance thing, all the secrecy, whatever just happened at the body shop? That’s not a healthy foundation for a relationship. Hell, it makes my thing with Zack seem ideal.

  I gaze up at the sky and listen to the sounds of birds and the wind blowing through the trees. And I wait. Much longer than I should, but I wait.

  Two hours after I left Austin, I hear the rumble of Elijah’s motorcycle. I’m still excited to see him — though he doesn’t deserve that. I keep my head down, my fingers tearing grass into shreds.

  He sits next to me, then leans over and kisses the side of my head. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

  I just nod.

  He continues, “I was a little freaked out and I wanted to keep you safe.” He lets out a breath. “I don’t work at the best place, Raquel.”

  “It’s a place that fixes cars,” I say, finally looking at him. “I wasn’t expecting a five-star hotel.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “It’s not a body shop.”

  “What does that mean? Of course it’s a body shop.” I know what I saw.

  His shoulders lift and then fall. “It is a shop, and that’s the part Anthony and I work in, but that’s not all it is. Our bosses are into … well, we’re not sure, but we think they’re money laundering or something. The shop is just a way to hide it.”

  Oh. Suddenly I realize he could be in trouble. “I’m sorry I showed up. I just wanted to see you, I guess, and the shirt was an excuse to find you.” I am babbling.

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all week, Raquel. I didn’t want to wait until our next adventure. I wanted to see you now.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say. I know the feeling.

  Elijah reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small cell phone, turning it over in his hands. It’s an older model, worn around the edges.

  “Did you just get that?” I ask.

  “No,” he says, heaving a sigh as he slides it back into his pocket. “It’s for work. My boss pays for it. I can’t use it for anything other than work, though.”

  “Why would you need a cell phone for the body shop?”

  “We mostly work on cars. But occasionally we drive bags of cash to other body shops.”

  What? “This sounds like some action-movie shit.”

  He laughs and reaches for my hand, pulling it into his lap. He laces his fingers into mine and stares at his thumb while he slides it across my palm. “Sometimes, it is just like a movie. So much drama. I only work there because Anthony found the job for us. We were in the same group home and we aged out together. He was a couple months older than me, so he found Monty and got a job. Then he got one for me, too, when I turned eighteen. Monty just wants guys who work hard on the cars and don’t ask questions. He even lets us stay at one of his apartments with two other guys who work at a different shop, so we get both a job and a house out of it. I know it’s shady, but it seems like a miracle when you’ve got nothing.”

  Finally, he’s opening up. “So you work at a body shop that’s not really a body shop?” I confirm.

  “I do work on the cars, so at least my work is legit. But lately things are getting weird. My boss had two guys quit on him and one went to jail, so now he’s all hinting that he’s going to have me or Anthony running more side jobs soon. Side jobs means huge boxes of cash that we’re supposed to pretend are car parts.”

  He rubs his eyebrow, then takes my hand into both of his. “I may be an orphan and I may be broke, but I’m not a criminal and I never will be.”

  My mouth tastes like copper and I r
ealize I’ve been chewing on the inside of my lip this whole time. “You could have told me this from the beginning,” I say, trying not to sound judgmental. “It would have saved me a lot of time worrying about why you barely contact me.”

  “I don’t want there to be lies between us, Raquel,” he says. “But it’s hard to tell you the truth. You mean something to me.”

  I look at him. Is there more he wants to say?

  “Maybe we could be more than friends, I don’t know,” he adds.

  “You don’t know?” I say, trying to smile playfully, but it comes out all wrong.

  “It’s up to you,” he whispers. “But you’re too good for me.”

  He’s just inches away, his hand in my hair and his gaze on my lips.

  I should probably hold back.

  But I give in. I lean forward and kiss him, sweet and quick at first. But then he pulls me into his lap, and soon I’m straddling him with his back against my car, my knees on either side of his hips. I run my fingers through his hair while he kisses me somehow sweeter than he did at the concert. My entire body melts into his.

  He slows until he’s just holding me, his lips pressed to my forehead. “I am not too good for you,” I murmur. I can feel his chest vibrate when he mutters something in disagreement. His warm hands slide up my back and then settle on my hips.

  I look up and put my hands on his chest. “You should quit that job and move to Peyton Colony.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  “It is,” I say, sliding my finger around the collar of his white T-shirt. “Just quit and move.”

  “Where would I go? How would I find another job?”

  “You could go to school,” I say, resisting the urge to kiss him again since we’re having a real conversation. Well, as real as it can be with me sitting in his lap. “You can apply to TSU. You could live in a dorm. And next year, I’ll be at the same school.”

  He doesn’t have the same self-control, because he leans forward and kisses me. “And where would I get the money for that?” he says against my lips.

  I feel his abs tighten under my hands and it sends heat flushing all through my body. “Scholarships … and stuff,” I say, my breath hitching as he buries his face in my neck and places a soft kiss near my collarbone. “How am I supposed to think when you’re doing that?”

  When he pulls away, he’s all serious. “All this school talk is sounding a lot like Sasha.”

  Hearing her name reminds me. “I can’t believe I haven’t told you yet! I found another video from Sasha.” I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to remember exactly every word from the video.

  Elijah quirks an eyebrow. “Are you going into detail, or is that all I get?”

  I know I’m grinning like a maniac, but I can’t stop the rush of giddiness. I sit back on my heels. “I found a flash drive hidden in her pillow. There was only one video on it and she didn’t send it to us. I don’t know why, but in it she says she thinks we’d make a cute couple.”

  “Really.”

  I grab his wrist. “Do you know what this means?”

  “That she figured out the obvious?” he says with a snort. “She had to have known I would like you.”

  I shake my head. “It means I don’t have to feel mind-numbingly guilty every time I — well …” I can’t seem to say the words.

  “Every time you check me out?” Elijah says with a flirty wiggle of his eyebrow.

  “Well, yeah. She gave me the task of being your tour guide through her adventures and I’ve been feeling horrible for liking you. But this video, I don’t know, it’s like it’s giving us permission.”

  “Why didn’t she send it to us?”

  My happiness deflates at the question I’ve been avoiding. “Maybe she will. We haven’t seen all of her adventures yet. Maybe she’s saving it until the end or something.”

  “I know why.” Elijah brushes the hair from my eyes. “She doesn’t want her parents to know about me. She was very clear about that from the first video. If we got involved … well, our future would be tricky.”

  “But it’s our future,” I say, leaning into his chest. “We get to make the decisions.”

  Elijah’s chin rests on top of my head. “I’m going to email you more often, okay? I’ll buy a cheap tablet and I can go to the McDonald’s near my apartment for the free Wi-Fi. We will talk more.”

  Now I’m grinning like a goofball, all those awkward feelings be damned. “And then you’ll quit and move here and go to college with me?”

  He chuckles. “We’ll see.”

  I sit up. “No laughing. I’m serious. I care about you, Elijah, and you have to get out of that job.”

  “I do hate that job,” he says softly, his gaze focused on the church. “Give me time. I’ll figure it out.”

  Hearing him agree to leave that place makes me want to jump up and dance, but I play it cool. “This is our first real conversation,” I say, poking him in the chest. “One that’s not about Sasha’s adventures or her plans. I like it.”

  His hand slides into mine. “You know, I never felt guilty about liking you.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask.

  He lifts one shoulder. “Sasha wants us to be happy. You are my happiness. She wouldn’t want to take that away from me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Raquel,

  I think I have an iced coffee addiction. They gave me one free the first time I came here to email you because the lady in front of me ordered one and they accidentally made two. Now I’m ordering one every time I come here. It’s a problem, Raquel. Send help. No, send more iced coffee.

  I grin as I read Elijah’s email. He wasn’t kidding about talking to me more. He wrote to me every day last week, and yesterday he sent two emails, one that he had typed up the night before when he couldn’t sleep at home and the second from his new favorite McDonald’s.

  In his first email, he said he’d spent two hours before his shift creating a resume and sending it out to places that were hiring. I replied that he should focus on getting scholarships and applying to Texas State University. A scholarship would mean he’d get to live in the dorms for free, I pointed out, and he could probably start in January. He promised he would look into it, but he hasn’t mentioned anything else about it since.

  My head drops onto Sasha’s pillow. I haven’t changed the pillowcase yet, but that’s allowed in situations like these. I can still smell her shampoo when I roll over in the middle of the night.

  It’s nine o’clock and Elijah has just messaged me online, raving about the new caramel iced coffee. We talk for the next hour, and although it’s just in emails, I can hear his voice in my head, see his grin when he makes some snarky joke. It’s starting to feel like I’m up all night chatting with my best friend again.

  My TV plays in the corner of my room, the volume muted while I email with Elijah. I send him a copy of Sasha’s secret video and tell him about the little glass elephant. We go back and forth, our talks more casual than they used to be. It almost feels like I’ve known him forever. It’s such a good feeling having someone to talk to again.

  My eyes flutter closed, heavy with the weight of the long day behind me. When my phone chimes a new email, I almost don’t check it. I’m half asleep, and his message will be there for me tomorrow, a perfect gift when I wake up. He’s gotten used to me falling asleep on him over the last few days, so …

  My phone beeps again, and then a third time. I draw in a deep breath and blink myself awake. TheFutureSasha just sent us a new email. It’s almost like she’s a part of our late-night chat, too. I pop up in bed.

  The next two messages are from Elijah, probably excited about her new email.

  I swipe across the screen, eager to hear from my best friend again.

  An audio file is attached instead of a video. I click play and Sas
ha’s voice rings out through my darkened room.

  “Hey favorites, it’s me, in voice form. I’ve been doing these videos for a while now, but I’m not feeling it today. In case no one’s ever told you: cancer makes you feel like shit. So anyway, I have your next adventure ready. Halloween is coming up, and I am inviting you to Peyton Colony’s annual Halloween bash!”

  She laughs, though her voice sounds strung out and tired. I should have guessed this one; the Halloween bash is a big deal each year. My phone alerts me that I have yet another message from Elijah, but I ignore it to finish listening to Sasha.

  “Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday. You get to dress up, eat candy, bask in all things creepy and scary, and best of all — there’s no obligation to buy gifts for everyone you know. I mean, don’t get me wrong … I love giving gifts, but Christmas is kind of a downer. I tend to obsess over getting the right gift for everyone and it ends up being super stressful. Anyhow, Elijah and Rocki, you two will pretend to be a couple on a date. That means a couple’s costume, a.k.a. — the best Halloween tradition ever! Rocki will tell you all about our years of couples’ costumes. So that’s it. Go, dress up, have fun and expect a package from me before the big day. Love you always.”

  She makes a kissing sound and then the file ends. This is my least favorite message from Sasha so far; she sounded really sick. This had to have been recorded just a week or so before she died. Ignoring the knot in my stomach, I read Elijah’s other messages.