The Long Walk
Page 8
I shot a look at Drew. “Can you do that?”
“Of course I can. I’m the president. So while you were up there snoring for ten hours, the gentlemen of Sigma Phi Beta hauled five billion boxes full of books and three unpacked suitcases from the Château to the southwest pod, free of charge. You’re all moved in.”
“What? Why would you do that without asking me, Drew?”
“Because you hadn’t even unpacked, Fee. The only thing I had to put back into your bag was your toothbrush and toothpaste. I know, I know – you’re no damsel in distress. But I’d rather provoke your inner dragon lady than to watch you suffer all year. I think you’ve earned the right to live among friends. Okay?”
I stood, stepped behind Drew and hugged his neck from behind and then hugged Dan’s. “Thank you. Both of you. How will I ever repay you this time?”
“Waffles,” he said, curving his hand around my wrist. “Two waffles Friday morning, and at least five slices of bacon. I’ll even invite your boy Dan to tag along. My treat.”
“Drew…”
“No arguments, young lady. No one wants to feel your Riverdancing ribs.”
Dan bumped fists with Drew, then me. “Welcome to the Treehouse, Sullivan.”
FOURTEEN
When I stepped into the main house the next morning, instead of stale beer and rotting trash like one might expect, the kitchen smelled like fluffy pancakes. To my surprise, Braden – a six-foot-five, three-hundred-pound linebacker for the Highgate Highlanders who spoke mostly in monosyllabic grunts – had spent every moment of his free time junior year apprenticing under one of Portland’s top chefs.
Four places were set at the table, each with its own Star Wars character-shaped mug. The Chewbacca mug represented Braden. Obi-Wan for Ben, because duh, Ben Kenobi. Not to mention he was slight, wiry, and to my complete fascination, prematurely gray. C3PO for Dan, because he was everyone’s favorite smarty pants.
And for me? “I wanted to give you the Leia mug,” Dan explained on our way to the registrar. “But the guys insisted on Rey instead.”
“Why?”
The left corner of Dan’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Because she never gives up.”
On Monday nights, when the guys watched football, they always saved a place for me on the couch (and turned a blind eye when I spent the evening bullet journaling instead). When I got home every Wednesday from my grief support group, the house always smelled like chocolate chip cookies. On Sunday afternoons, the four of us walked to a nearby pub to play trivia. In fact, life at the Treehouse was so cozy that Drew and I ditched our weekly breakfast at Ruby’s Diner for the Treehouse Friday morning special: Ben’s Nutella waffles.
And just like that, it was Friday, December 13th – the last day of finals. Before I could drive home to Lincoln City, I needed to drop off my final project for creative writing: a five-thousand word short story about that night dancing under the stars in the Tuileries.
Despite what I suspected my professor would say – sentimental, derivative, relies heavily on genre-bound tropes – it was the story I wanted to tell. And when Dan did the math and figured out we could still get a B for the semester even if we failed our final projects, I didn’t worry about perfection for once in my life. I just followed my heart.
Bonus? Neither Dan nor I regretted our choice, despite the potential hit to our GPAs.
The Treehouse was eerily silent when I walked through the front door from my quick trek over to the English Department offices. Braden and Ben had left Thursday night for their small town in coastal Delaware, but Dan lived in Oregon. He wouldn’t leave until later in the day.
I lingered for a second in the entry, then pushed the intercom button labeled NW - the northwest pod.
“Danny?”
No answer.
I pushed again. “Dude, if you left for Eugene without telling me goodbye, I’m keeping your Christmas present. And it’s a really good one.”
Still no answer.
The heel of my boots clipped across the kitchen floor as I started percolating a pot of coffee on my way outside to the garage. Dan’s car was still in its spot next to mine. Where was he?
I pulled my car around to the front of the house and made a quick check of my trunk to verify I hadn’t forgotten any bags in my pre-coffee car-loading haze earlier that morning. Suitcase? Check. Laptop? Check. Two copies of my short story for Mum and Dad? Check and check. Time to go home.
As I breezed through the front door again, I surveyed the living room. Braden’s four thousand pages of notes had vanished, not one single pizza crumb littered the hardwood floor, and the sofa cushions had actual divots where the Delaware boys had karate-chopped them into place.
I chuckled to myself. Of the four of us, I was clearly the least tidy housemate.
I walked over to the basement door and opened it. “Dan? Are you down there?”
No answer.
I skirted the wall back to the entry hallway and pushed the NW button one more time. “Dan Thomas, I am not driving home until I lay eyes on you. If I don’t hear your voice in the next five seconds, I’m coming up there to make sure you aren’t the victim of some secret society ritual!”
But I stopped with a gasp when I turned back toward the living room. Because there, leaning against the kitchen door frame, was the one Sigma Phi Beta I didn’t expect.
“Hey, Sully,” Pete smiled. “Happy birthday.”
FIFTEEN
Pete’s hair was cropped closely to his scalp, just like our first day in Paris, and his face was so clean-shaven that I wondered if he’d just stepped out of the shower. A red tie hung lopsided around his neck, his sleeves rolled up like a politician making the rounds among his constituency.
“You cut your hair,” I muttered, barely above a whisper.
He choked out a tiny laugh. “Wow, Sully. I thought for sure the first words out of your mouth would be much worse than that.”
I couldn’t respond. I just stared at him. Pete Russell was standing in my living room looking every bit like he belonged in my world.
His smile faltered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you just now. It’s just… man. I definitely forgot how beautiful you are.”
I looked down at my outfit. Before I’d walked over to Dr. Carraway’s office that morning, I’d thrown on whatever I’d seen first among the remaining items in my closet: an oversized black wool sweater of Ian’s, a ratty pair of black leggings, and steel-toed boots. My hair was piled haphazardly on top of my head, and I hadn’t even bothered with mascara in my rush.
At best, I looked like a grunge princess ghost. At worst… well, I didn’t match Pete.
Without another word, I spun on my heel, walked to the entryway, and grabbed two coats from the closet before returning to Pete. On my way past him, I shoved the larger one into his arms and headed for the back door.
The December sky was an oddly comforting shade of winter gray as Pete followed behind me down the pine-needled path. Someone – some long-ago tenant with a hospitable soul – had built an outdoor living room at the far end of the property. Set on a deck-like platform, there were three outdoor sofas and a grill worthy of its own TV show. The guys and I had cooked out there almost every night since I moved in, and even though the temperatures had plummeted the last few weeks, I still spent most afternoons there, especially when the deafening silence within me threatened to implode my strange pod of a bedroom.
Pete sat down beside me on an outdoor sofa that faced the river and Mount Hood. “Dan told me you’re about to make the first B of your lives. Both of you, in Creative Writing. Is that true?”
“When did you see Dan?”
“This morning.” Pete cast a brief, sidelong glance at me, then looked back to the river. “He said you two and the Delaware boys split a bottle of champagne the other night to celebrate your plummeting GPA. I might be impressed at your enlightened attitude if he hadn’t also told me you’d dropped Twentieth-Century French Lit and moved out of the Ch�
�teau. Now I’m just freaked out.”
“Why? Because I decided to live with your friends?”
A scowl darkened his hollow eyes. “Well, yeah – for starters. Since when did you become the sweetheart of Sigma Phi Beta? Here I thought Drew Sutton was my only competition.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “First of all, Braden has been in love with Ben’s twin sister Rebekah since high school, which you must know perfectly well because it’s the worst-kept secret of all time. Second of all, I’m sure Drew would be happy to remind you about that promise he made you this summer, but he’s not here. He left yesterday to spend Christmas break in Seattle. With Quinn.”
Pete shot me a strange look. “Quinn who?”
“Quinn Abbott – she’s the niece of the lead counsel and Drew’s fellow intern at Abbott and McNeill. Apparently, both of them did such a stellar job last summer that the partners invited them both back for the holidays. Drew and his grandparents are spending Christmas with Quinn’s family this year, which is fine, because my family plans to ignore the big gaping hole in our lives by volunteering at the soup kitchen that day. Anything other questions, Detective Russell?”
Pete watched me for a long moment, like his brain was processing all the ways life back home failed to resemble the fears he’d collected in his head. But then his gaze darted back to Mount Hood, and he sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you remember those photographs you saw in my room last spring? There was one in particular you liked of a guy smoking a cigarette.”
I stared at him for a moment. “Is this a trick question?”
“No.” His expression faltered again. “You know what I’m talking about, right? The one of the guy who taught me how to play mahjong?”
“I remember. His name’s Lucky.”
“That’s right.” Pete exhaled. “Well, Lucky manages the outreach program at the Initiative. The dude’s a wiry little thing with a wicked sense of humor, but he’s also crazy intuitive. Which is why he refuses to call me Pete anymore. Now he calls me long-juan-feng.”
“Which means?”
“Literally? It means dragon-twisting wind. But the English equivalent is tornado. Basically, he thinks I’m a hot mess.”
“And?”
“Don’t do that, Meredith.” Pete stood up and started to pace. “Don’t go back to your sassafras ways when I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry, okay? Because I am sick about the way I’ve acted – sick about hurting you, disgusted at myself for leaving you alone when you needed me. So could you drop your word weapons for a minute and listen to me?”
Tears stung at my eyes. “Okay,” I muttered. “I’m listening.”
His expression softened when he saw my eyes filling with tears, and he slumped down beside me again, pulling my hands into his. “I meant it this summer when I said you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved, Meredith. I still love you. But I cannot be here right now. Not in Portland, not in Oregon. Not even for you.”
Everything about this place reminds Pete of something he’ll never have again. That’s what Brooks had said. And by the energy vibing off him like a tsunami wave, maybe she wasn’t wrong.
I turned my face toward Mount Hood and felt a pang remembering this same view with Gigi in her gazebo, and again with Pete after she died. I thought back on the summer in Lincoln City, trying to reconcile the silence in the house with no chance of Ian ever bursting back through the door again, and just like that, tears spilled down my cheeks. Because as much as I hated him for ghosting me, I knew how Pete felt. The only difference between the two of us was that I had nowhere to run when things went sideways. And maybe that was the truth behind my rage – that he hadn’t taken me with him when he’d escaped.
“I do understand,” I finally replied. “But Pete, you are here. Why?”
Pete stood up again, his hands on his hips. “James and I flew to San Francisco earlier in the week, and his parents flew up here with us last night. I went to the Château this morning to find you, because I needed to talk to you, like, yesterday. Or five months ago. But Marshall told me you lived here now, so when I got here, Dan filled me in on the rest. Right before he left to go find you and tell you in person that I’m here. You guys must have crossed paths. You walked in the door seven minutes after he left.”
“Huh. Good to know that Dan has forgotten the magic of cellular technology. But I didn’t ask you how you got here. I asked why you’re here if you don’t want to be here.”
He sat back down beside me. “I came back because the person renting Gigi’s house contacted Vick to express an interest in buying it. Vick told me the price she offered and it seemed fair. So tomorrow I’m signing the final paperwork. According to Vick, a seller has to sign official documents in person, although I suspect that’s not actually true.”
“But Pete… no.” Ice suddenly filled my veins. “That’s your home. You grew up there.”
“No, I didn’t. I grew up in the western suburbs. In Sherwood.”
“What are you talking about? You told me Brooks drove you to school when she was a senior and you were a freshman. She told me herself this summer that she was your grandmother’s neighbor.”
“All true.” Pete ran his hand along his scalp, like he expected to find his curls there. “We did live with Gigi for a few months that school year, but only because my parents decided to remodel the kitchen and bathrooms at the same time, which led to a plumbing disaster, which led to a flooring nightmare. But I never lived in that house full-time. Not until after my parents died.”
My brain jangled inside my skull like I was suddenly inside another person’s body. Was he freaking kidding me? Pete had told me a thousand stories, and yet how much had he left out? The longer I stared at him, the more I realized just how shabby our connection really was.
Pete shoved his hands in his pockets. “Come on, Sully. Don’t look at me like I’ve kicked your puppy or something. Gigi and I talked through this scenario plenty of times before she died. Trust me, if she were here, she’d endorse my decision. Gigi wouldn’t want me tethered to that house for sentimental reasons.”
“Tethered? Well, that’s a weird way to put it, but okay.” I shifted in my seat, crossing my arms. “So you came back to sell your grandmother’s house tomorrow. That doesn’t explain why you’re so dressed up today.”
“Oh.” He looked down at his crooked tie. “I’m, uh, graduating this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I’m done. Between the bonus hours at the Centre Lafayette and my AP credits from high school, I technically finished college last spring. The ceremony’s just a formality.” He straightened his tie a bit, then lifted his eyes to mine. “Listen, the ceremony’s at two. The Logans and the Darbys are coming, but I scored a couple of extra tickets. Would you like to come?”
I tried to reorganize Pete’s words into comprehensible fragments, but my mind refused to cooperate. It was too busy replaying sound bites from the past few minutes, erasing everything but the essentials as I read between the lines.
I can’t be here. Not even for you.
Gigi wouldn’t want me tethered to that house.
I’m done.
I yanked the hood off my head. “Wow, Russell,” I chuckled. “You really are gifted, you know that? Too bad the CIA hasn’t heard about your ability to distract the target from the obvious. Like, hey, I think I’ll shock-and-awe that ginger with a couple of grenades so she won’t notice I’ve just said goodbye forever.”
“Sully –”
I jumped to my feet. “Who are you right now? Do you have a brain tumor or something? Is that why you’re acting so weird? Because the guy I fell in love with would never have dumped me on my birthday. No way. His gifts have always been perfect and thoughtful, like charms for my bracelet, or you know, a scholarship to Paris to make my dreams come true.”
He stood slowly, straightening his spine to reach his full height. “Look, I’m sorry you imagined that I’m some hero, but –”
“Why don’t you hate me, Meredith? Look at everything that’s happened since I stepped into your life. You lost your best friend, your dad nearly died, and Ian…”
“Stop that,” I commanded, placing my palms on his cheeks, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Do you blame me for what happened to your mom and dad? For your grandfather’s heart attack or Gigi’s cancer? Because all of that happened after I came into your life. You are no more to blame for my losses than I am for yours.”
“Do you hear yourself?” His eyes filled with tears. “Unhappy people can never make each other happy. Why would anyone want to spend their life picking up the pieces of someone else’s past? Deep down, you know I’m right, Sully. It’s why you never called me back this summer after I left you that voice mail. You just don’t want to admit to yourself that we’ve discovered a problem neither of us can fix.”
I stared at him for a long moment, searching his eyes for a sign that I could reach him. But the Pete I loved was buried deep inside this shell of a boy who had nothing left to give. I could fight him – I could beg him to fight for me – but I knew it was no use. He’d made up his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips trembling. “This isn’t how I wanted us to end.”
“No?” A half-laugh, half-sob escaped me. “Silly me. I never believed we would.”
And with that, I strode across the backyard, zoomed through the house and out the front door where I hopped in my car and drove west toward the coast, never once looking behind me.
SIXTEEN
Well, okay. When I say I never looked behind me, what I meant was not for at least a mile. And sure, my mad dash to the coast came to a screeching halt in Sherwood, because what? Pete grew up in suburbia? How in the world had I missed that detail?