The Long Walk

by Jill Cox

  He frowned. “Tell me the truth, Meredith – has this ever happened to you before?”

  “What? Using a t-shirt to wipe my snotty nose?”

  “No. The breathing thing. Have you ever had trouble catching your breath like that?”

  “Once or twice. Okay, more often than that, but only in the past few weeks.”

  He wrapped his fingers around my elbow. “Listen, I know what I’m about to say is none of my business, but are you seeing someone? You know, like, a therapist?”

  Tears pricked at my eyes once again, because in all the time since Ian had died, I’d never considered such a thing. We Sullivans were a stoic clan, were we not? Only I knew in my soul that Dan was right. I couldn’t navigate the next few months alone.

  It wasn’t just the grief of losing Ian that weighed me down. It was Pete. It was my dad’s fragile health. It was life as a senior in college with no clue where to go next.

  I needed expert-level help. Immediately.

  I pressed the t-shirt to my face and let the tears fall again. A moment later, Dan’s arms closed around me and I let myself sink into his chest. “I feel like such an idiot,” I muttered. “All these weeks, I convinced myself he would be here. That I’d walk into that classroom this morning to find Pete’s face lighting up the whole space like a disco ball. And yeah, of course I planned to make him suffer for as long as possible, but he’d be here, you know?”

  With a hand on each shoulder, Dan pushed me gently away. “It’s okay to be angry, Mer.”

  “Oh, believe me, I know. For every minute I’ve missed Ian, I’ve spent five minutes worrying about Pete. That jerk is taking up important headspace. Instead of dealing with my new normal, I have to grieve Pete too. I’ve never been this angry at anyone in my entire life.”

  “This is good.” Dan grabbed my stuff off the bench and gestured for me to sit down beside him. “Tell me more. When you’re not angry with Pete, what do you feel?”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed, slumping down beside him. “It’s like I’m homesick times one million. Only instead of missing a place or a person, I miss all the things that will never be.”

  “Like what? Give me an example.”

  “Like… building things out of cardboard boxes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t laugh, okay?” I picked at a loose string on the hem of my shirt. “When I was a kid, I read this book about a girl whose parents got a new refrigerator. But instead of throwing away the cardboard box it came in, they let their daughter keep it. She made it into a castle, a race car, a secret clubhouse, an airplane… and when it was all wonky and misshapen, she flattened it out and painted furniture on the box, like it was the inside of a house.”

  “Really?” Dan’s eyes lit up from behind his glasses. “That sounds pretty cool.”

  “Right? Except I never got to make anything out of a refrigerator box when I was a kid because we never got a new refrigerator.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Exactly.” The lump in my throat began to ache again. “So I’ve been saving that idea for the day when I got to be Auntie Meredith, keeping my niece and nephew while Ian and his wife jetted off alone on vacation. I’d hoard giant boxes in my garage so we could build cool stuff. And when we got tired of that, we’d build the biggest blanket fort anyone had ever seen and fill it with fairy lights and eat loads of really bad junk food. And for the rest of their lives, those kids would have said, ‘Hey, remember that time at Aunt Meredith’s house? That was the best.’”

  Dan smiled. “They would have been right, you know.”

  “Thanks,” I sniffled. “Hey Dan? How come you don’t seem surprised Pete’s not here? Did he call you, or…”

  Dan shook his head. “When the property manager let us in the Treehouse last Friday, he said someone had covered the entire year’s rent for all four rooms. It didn’t take me long to figure out who.”

  “Right. I guess that was pretty obvious.” I chewed on my lip for a moment. “I bet Drew was pissed when he heard you guys had an opening. He’s been dying to live in the Treehouse since we got to Highgate, and now he literally can’t because he’s required to live at the fraternity house.”

  “Presidential problems.” Dan rolled his eyes as he bent forward to pick up my green cardigan, brushing away dirt and leaves. “So, hey, Marshall Freeman tells me the Château sucks.”

  “Oh, he’s right, my friend,” I replied, kneading my shoulder. “The girl next door to me has been on the phone twenty-three out of the past twenty-four hours. In English, mind you, even though we were required to sign the language pledge the second we moved in. Ask me how many times she’s told her boyfriend to hang up first?”

  “I don’t even want to know.” He handed over my sweater. “Between Marshall’s chomping problems and your neighbor’s phone etiquette, I hope you have noise-cancelling headphones.”

  “No, but I do have the Ruby’s Diner app.” I shoved the cardigan in my bag. “They’re open twenty-four hours a day, and did you know their coffee has the most caffeine near campus for the price? Someone researched this, Dan. Some Highgate student actually took the time to investigate the numbers for every caffeine hotspot within a three-mile radius and published their results online for pitiful souls like me. If I make it through this year, I will owe that person my diploma. My caffeine addiction is the only reason I’m standing upright.”

  A smile crept into his cheeks. “Come on,” he said, handing me my planner and my bag. “Let’s go to my house and see what we can find to protect your kidneys.”

  “Look at you worrying about my renal health. Next time I talk to Anne, I’ll be sure to remind her what a lucky girl she is.”

  “About that…” Dan’s face shifted as he scratched the back of his neck. “Did you ever hear the story about some guy who got dumped in the middle of the Heathrow Airport security line?”

  “What?” I gasped. “Oh, no.”

  A weak smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, yes. All your hard work vanished down the drain, Emma Woodhouse. Time for you to pick a new hobby.”

  “What in the world happened?”

  Dan motioned for me to follow him out of the alcove. “Well, apparently, Anne developed a strict policy against long-distance relationships during the five months she had a front-row seat to your disastrous love affair with President Sutton.”

  “Whoops. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine,” he lied. “I should have known we wouldn’t make it past the summer.”

  “Hey, at least she actually verbalized your break-up. All I got was a stream-of-consciousness rant about geography.”

  “Did you save it?”

  “Um, no, thank you very much. One time around was enough for this Irish lass.”

  Without so much as a glance my way, Dan lifted his fist toward me. And when we knocked knuckles, it was the first time in almost two months that I didn’t feel alone in the world.

  THIRTEEN

  The Treehouse was a four-bedroom rental a stone’s throw from the Highgate campus. Okay, maybe four bedrooms wasn’t technically accurate. Once upon a time in the nineties, some grunge band with too much money for their own good had commissioned this architectural curiosity as their home base. Constructed in the Craftsman style, the central building housed a living room, a kitchen, and a basement that had once served as the band’s recording studio. Four half-wood, half-glass pods were built on stilts among the property’s trees, which connected to the house via vine-covered pergolas. And like Gigi’s home nearby, the back of the property overlooked the Willamette River and Mount Hood far off in the distance.

  But within months of the Treehouse’s construction, the band broke up, and some young dotcom millionaire moved in. A former Sigma Phi Beta, actually. These days, he was married with kids, but he’d kept the property as a rental because what college senior wouldn’t want to live in a grown-up treehouse?

  Hence the name.

  That afternoon, my Treehouse tour came to
an end on the deck of Dan’s pod. “Not too shabby, Thomas,” I sighed, taking in the view. “Not too shabby at all.”

  “See that pod over there?” Dan pointed a hundred feet away at the far end of the grounds. “That one would’ve been Pete’s. I feel a little sick that no one’s using it.”

  I stared at the grounds around the empty pod. On one side, slightly off to the left, someone had built the tiniest little garden. It wasn’t visible from the main house. “Quaint benches, a street lamp,” I smiled. “Like a tiny little Paris.”

  “Yeah.” A shadow crossed Dan’s face. “Hey, Meredith? I don’t know if you realize this or not, but you didn’t take any notes in class today. I mean, I get it. Dr. Sweeney’s lecture was about as interesting as watching a slug crawl up a rock. But it’s not like you to zone out in class, so…”

  I watched Dan for a long moment as he waited for my response, but what could I say? That I hadn’t taken any notes because I was too busy morphing into that girl – the one who couldn’t deal with French because she was too busy missing the curly-haired boy with the twinkling brown eyes? Ugh. What a cliché. And yet, it was one hundred percent accurate.

  But what I also couldn’t say to Dan – what I couldn’t even say out loud – was that I had no choice but to suck it up. Enrollment in French had always been a requirement for the Château residency. And since I had no other housing options, I’d have to show up to Hatley Hall every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from now until May. Preferably with a pen in my hand.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I smiled. “I think I was sleeping with my eyes open. Hey, listen, I’d better head back to the Château. Can I borrow your notes from today? If I hurry, maybe I can transcribe them all before Mademoiselle Téléphone gets home.”

  “You could just copy them here.”

  “Oh, no. That’s okay, Danny. I shouldn’t take up any more of your time.”

  “You won’t,” he smiled. “I’m leaving soon to help Drew set up the first chapter meeting with the new pledges. You could work on homework, maybe catch a couple hours’ sleep? Take pity on the rest of us who are forced to look at those scary dark circles under your eyes.”

  “Very funny.” I brushed a finger under my lashes. “I wouldn’t mind getting ahead on some work, but I have a rule against daytime napping. It’s wasteful, you know.”

  “What are you talking about? Napping’s the most beautiful invention since the printing press.” Dan opened his closet, pulled out a shirt, a tie, and pants. “Just try it, Meredith. Humor me for once in your life.”

  For a full ten minutes after he left, I sat on the edge of Dan’s bed and watched the light shifting outside as a soft breeze nickered at the curtains hanging around the room. Dan had left the sliding doors open, and even though we were right in the heart of suburbia, the only real noise came from the wind itself.

  Next thing I knew, Mount Hood was invisible and the sky above the tree canopy was riddled with stars. I lay there for another few moments as the passage of time washed over me. Then I pushed myself upright, grabbed my school bag, trotted down the spiral stairs and across the pergola into a kitchen full of Sigma Phi Betas.

  Four of them, to be exact, sitting equidistant at a round table, every one dressed in a blue shirt, a red patterned tie, and khaki pants.

  So there was a frat boy uniform.

  The two guys I didn’t recognize muttered hello, then scattered to the far corners of the house like cockroaches. Dan and Drew, however, did not budge.

  “How was your nap, Briar Rose?” Drew grinned as I plopped down in the chair beside him. “I texted pictures of you to Jamie and Molly. They send their love, by the way.”

  I leaned back in my chair, smirking. “Look at you, all matchy-matchy. Boy band tryouts?”

  “Monday night chapter meeting.” Drew crossed his arms and fixed me with a look. “So, Fee, our friend Daniel tells me you had a bit of an existential crisis after French class today.”

  I looked at the two of them a little more carefully than I had before. Drew’s blond hair was curly at the nape of his neck. His pants were wrinkled, his shirt pit-stained, and his tie was undone at the neck. I had to smile, because underneath the blue button-down, he was wearing a t-shirt that Ian had picked up in Nepal the year he’d traveled the world.

  I guess the karaoke machine wasn’t the only thing of Ian’s Drew had nicked.

  “Don’t you two know by now I have a weird sense of humor? It was twentieth-century French lit, guys. I’m sure Dr. Sweeney would appreciate my proactive approach to his curriculum.”

  Drew blinked at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, come on, Drew. Existentialism? Sartre? Work with me here for a minute.”

  Dan’s brow furrowed above his glasses. “How long do you think you’ve been asleep, Meredith?”

  “I don’t know. Five hours?”

  “Ten,” Drew corrected. “It’s midnight.”

  “Whoa,” I blinked. “Sorry about that, Danny.”

  Dan leaned forward on his elbows. “No one needs you to apologize, Meredith. We’re just concerned.”

  “I’m fine, okay?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Listen, I’m sorry I scared you today. You were right. I should probably talk to the health center about finding a therapist. And maybe some sleep meds. Don’t worry. I’ll start taking care of myself.”

  “Will that include eating?” Drew scowled. “Because you’re down about ten pounds since the last time I saw you, and you didn’t have any pounds to spare. Friday morning, you’re eating two waffles at Ruby’s.”

  I looked down at my clothes. They were a little baggy.

  Dan hopped up from the table, tugged open the refrigerator door, and half a beat later, he sat down beside me, pushing a plate of cheddar and apple slices my way. “Eat up,” he said gently. “We’re just getting started.”

  I nibbled at an apple slice, looking from left to right. “Man, you guys are intimidating when you’re wearing your page boy outfits. Have you ever thought of running together for office?”

  Drew’s mouth shifted into a crooked smile. “Say, Fee, ask Dan what he’s doing first thing tomorrow morning.”

  I popped a cheese cube in my mouth. “I know what he’s doing. Unlike you, Dan listened to me last spring and signed up for an interesting senior seminar.”

  “The one on Arthurian legends?” Drew rolled his eyes. “Yeah, have fun with that. But I meant before that. Like at eight a.m.”

  “I don’t know. Polishing his glasses?”

  A tiny smile quirked on Dan’s lips. “No, I’m walking over to the registrar with you. We’re going to drop French class.”

  “What?” I nearly choked on my apple peel. “I can’t do that.”

  “Um, yes, you can. And so can I, because technically, we finished our French major requirements last year in Paris. Did you forget about that perk?”

  “No, but…” I looked from Dan to Drew, then back to Dan again. “What about grad school? If you quit French now, the admissions people will red flag you.”

  “That’s the thing – my whole life, I assumed I should go to graduate school because my parents did. But after that lecture today, I’m not sure I actually care about French lit enough to keep working that hard on something that only gives me lukewarm feels.”

  “But what will you do instead?”

  Dan tapped his phone screen a few times. “I don’t know. According to the online catalog, there’s an Intro to Accounting class that meets at one o’clock, Monday-Wednesday-Friday.”

  “That sounds terrible.”

  “You think so? I’m so shocked.” His eyes danced when he handed me his phone. “What do you think about this option?”

  My breath caught in my throat as I read the screen.

  Introduction to Creative Writing. Three spots available.

  I stared at the words, my heart pounding like a drum. Every semester since freshman year, I’d considered adding Creative Writing to my schedule. And e
very semester, I’d talked myself out of it: Gotta get those core classes out of the way. Gotta keep my schedule light this semester while I study for the Centre Lafayette exam.

  This summer in Ireland, when I’d told Ian my fall schedule, he’d sighed. “Seriously, Fee? When are you going to channel all that creative energy into the right place? Don’t stress about jobs and graduation. Stress about getting to the end of your life and wishing you’d done a thing.”

  Tears pricked my eyes as I faced Drew. “Was this your idea?”

  “Maybe,” he shrugged. “And before you say it, we know. If you drop French, you’ll have to leave the Château. Those are the rules.”

  “Those are the rules.” Dan took his phone from my hands. “If only there were an empty room you could squat in rent-free that would erase that housing excuse from your list.”

  “What? No way, Danny. I can’t freeload off you.”

  “Why not? We’re all freeloading off Russell. For all we know, this was his master plan – step aside so Sully could take his place, find some well-deserved peace among the trees.”

  I sat there for a moment imagining a year in this space. While Dan and Pete had banked their senior year dreams on the Treehouse, my dreams had all centered around the Château. In fact, it had been one of the deciding factors when I’d chosen Highgate as my school. What French major wouldn’t want to live among her peers, bound by an oath to improve her language skills?

  Only I’d done that last year in Paris, hadn’t I? And if Ian were here, wouldn’t he tell me to stop fighting to hold onto my eighteen-year-old dreams? Don’t look back, Fee. Don’t ever look back.

  I lifted both my hands in surrender. “The two of you make a good case, but I have one last question: don’t your roommates get a say?”

  “All settled,” Dan said, gesturing at Drew. “President Sutton promised Braden and Ben they could count your residency here as their required community service for the year.”