“Well…you did tell me not to let anything go to my head when you mentioned my face before.”
He chuckled, tilting his head. “Yeah, because I didn’t want you to think I was some shallow asshole.”
“You seem awfully concerned with convincing me you’re not an ass.”
The laughter faded from his eyes, and his voice dropped low and gravelly. “I know I come across that way sometimes. Can’t always help it, but…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he shrugged and looked away.
I licked my lips, fixing my attention on his hand resting against his thigh, so close to my own. Thoughts ran through my mind, and I wanted so badly to say something to wipe away the melancholy aura surrounding him. But my brain failed me, so we sat in silence for half a minute.
“To answer your questions,” he said, pressing another key with one finger, “I want to photograph you and your face because you’re beautiful.” Jake turned his head, a faint smile replacing the flat line of his lips. “And yeah, that isn’t doing me any favors in the ‘I’m not a shallow jackass’ department, but it’s the truth.”
I swallowed and tried to keep my grin from looking absurd. “Think I can get behind that reasoning.”
“Good.”
“But what do I have to do? I’ve never modeled in any capacity, so you might come to regret this.”
“Nah. I definitely won’t.” His eyes were hooded and dark as he scanned my face. “It’ll be easy. But I can’t tell you what you have to do. It’ll ruin the moment.”
“Uh-huh…”
“Come on. You want to go camping. I want you to be my model. It’s a fair trade. Plus, I even have camping gear.” He wiggled his brows—a little.
And I laughed. “Fine. Fine. Whatever. I’ll do it, I guess.”
“I have Saturday night off work,” he said. “We can go camping then.”
That was soon. Too soon. “Well…okay.”
“There’s a place about forty minutes from here. It’s nice.”
“Okay.” I scratched my neck, realized I was doing it, and laced my fingers together in front of me. “We have to make s’mores. And stargaze. That’s what Emily did.”
He crossed his arms, still wearing the smile I wished to see more often. “I know. I was there.”
I laughed, feeling sheepish and ridiculous.
“You ever been camping before?” When I nodded, he licked his lips, assessing me. “Good. Camping with noobs can be pretty rough.”
“Oh, I’m no noob.”
…
Correction: compared to Jake, I was a noob.
I’d come to this conclusion right about the time the tent collapsed in on itself—for the third time—while I tried to put it together.
“You win, stupid tent. You win,” I muttered, falling back against the ground.
Jake didn’t try to hide his laughter. “How about an A for effort?”
“That’s like being the prettiest worm.”
He held out one hand. “Here, I’ll help you.”
I placed my palm in his and stood. His fingers stayed there longer than necessary, lightly stroking the back of my hand, but when I looked up, he let go.
He crouched down and started handing me things, giving instructions. I pushed poles together and pulled on tent material, but he did most of the work. In only a few minutes, we had a full-size, non-collapsing tent.
“Awesome.” I put my hands on my hips, staring at our handiwork.
Okay, mostly his.
I kept staring and as I did, a slow-moving thought wiggled its way into my head.
Oh.
Oh.
We were going to be sleeping in that tent. Together. This seemed so obvious, but it hadn’t occurred to me before. What was I doing alone out in the woods with a guy?
I may have made a terrible miscalculation in my plans…
“Did something bite you?” Jake asked, snapping my attention to him.
“Huh?”
“You got really pale. And still. Thought maybe you were going into shock. Bit by a snake or something.”
“Snakes?” To my further embarrassment, my voice wavered. “Are there poisonous snakes out here?”
“Technically, they’re everywhere in Poudre Canyon—and Fort Collins in general. But don’t freak out. It’ll be all right.”
And it was. I didn’t get bitten, and when it got dark, Jake built a fire. I tried to help, but all I did was move a few logs around and hand him the matches.
As I shoved a marshmallow onto a stick, Jake stole the bag from my lap and said, “Nice hair, by the way.”
I blinked at him.
“It’s different, right?”
“Yeah. It’s one of the done-its. Which reminds me, you have to get a shot of my hair.”
“I will. The color suits you.”
I blinked again, then looked away, feeling dumb. “Thanks.”
A few moments went by, and I shoved my stick over the fire, twisting it slowly in my hand. Campfires were one of those weird smells—the ones that smelled awesome right then and there, but afterward? After a fire, my hair and clothes smelled like burned trash. So I always tried extra hard to enjoy the scent while it was still a good one.
“Emily told me one time that you should always compliment a girl’s new hair. If you notice,” he said. “She also told me that you should definitely notice, because you should be paying attention.” Jake paused. Turned his head toward me. “And she was only twelve when she told me that.”
“I take it you didn’t notice her new hair?”
He laughed. “Yeah. The first time she did it. But she’d done it herself and…well, it looked like shit.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“I told her that’s why I didn’t say anything.” Jake picked up a stick from the ground and twirled it between his palms.
“And what did she say?”
“She said so what, pretend that you like it. That’s what boys are supposed to do.” He laughed again.
Did that mean he thought my hair looked terrible and only said “nice hair” because that’s what he thought boys were supposed to do?
My heart beat irrationally. Calm down, it’s not that big of a deal. Just hair. Right?
I sneaked a glance at him, trying to shake away my sudden anxiety.
He smiled, leaned forward, and said, “But apparently if a girl wants to know if she looks good…she doesn’t want you to lie.”
I let out my breath, felt the warmth disappearing from my chest, and pulled my burned marshmallow from the stick before popping it into my mouth.
So, he did like my hair?
I was confused.
Reaching down to the marshmallow bag, I pulled out four and shoved them all onto my newly emptied stick, then held the bag out to Jake. “She got it right.” I laughed awkwardly and attempted to wipe the sticky goo from my fingers.
Silence surrounded us for the next couple minutes, but then the wind rustled some tree leaves and insects started chirping, or cricking, or whatever it was they did. I scanned the rows of trees and the slopes of the faraway mountains, which in the dark formed one bulky, misshapen shadow. The rustling and chirping died down, and the campground was quiet in that special way only nature can provide. No car engines. No people or technology to disturb the ambiance. We were only miles from the noise of the city, but it felt like we were in a different universe.
“Will you tell me more about Emily?” I asked, then quickly added, “I’m sorry. We probably talk about her enough.”
“No. It’s all right. I can’t remember the last time I really talked about her with anyone. I…miss it.” His voice was quiet, but a rough quality tinged his tone.
He hadn’t talked about her with anyone? What about his parents? The rest of his family?
I wanted to know, wanted to ask. And I wanted him to tell me that story about his parents he thought I wouldn’t want to hear.
But I was afraid those questions would annoy him into silenc
e, so I sat there, chewing the inside of my lip. Guess I’d add them to the list of things I couldn’t say.
“She was mean.”
I blinked, surprised.
“It’s true.” Jake laughed, brushing a chunk of hair back from his forehead. “She was a mean little brat, but I still loved her. Aside from the mean streak, she was nice, and sweet, and would offer to help a stranger if given the chance. But she’d tell you when you were wrong, and she’d thank you when no thanks were necessary.” He paused, his face growing darker, voice pitching lower. “She was a good person. She deserved much better than what she ended up with.”
What could I say to that?
Nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I know you said you don’t want me apologizing, but I can’t…I can’t help it.”
His eyes stayed locked on the fire, the flames flickering orange light across his face. “She would’ve liked you.” He said it so quietly, I thought maybe I’d heard him wrong.
His words ate through my thoughts, leaving only my guilt and regret.
I fidgeted in my seat, tried not to let the crushing silence consume me.
Dozens of heartbeats later, Jake got up from his foldout camping chair. I kept my eyes on the fire to avoid tracking him with my gaze. Watching the way the flames danced in the sky, flickering in and out at the tips, was a decent distraction. Heat found my outstretched feet, wound its way up my ankles, but didn’t quite reach the tip of my nose.
“Ready for some stargazing?” he asked from behind me.
I turned my head. “Huh?”
“That was part of the deal, right? Along with you being my model.”
Right. I hadn’t forgotten that bit.
“Come on.”
I stepped through the grass after him until we got to his truck, a few yards away from the fire. Peering closer, I saw all the pillows and blankets he’d thrown in the back.
My cheeks burned even without the heat from the flames. The gesture was sweet and made my chest do a giddy leap—and I had to remind it to calm down, that Jake wasn’t doing it because he wanted to make me swoon.
“Smooth thinking,” I said, playing it off like I was cool, calm, and collected.
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He grinned.
I hopped into the truck bed, found a seat among the sprawl of blankets and pillows, and remained glad for the dark so he couldn’t see my cheeks.
“Are you into the stars at all?” he asked, finding a seat next to me.
“You mean, do I want to be an astronomer? No,” I said with a laugh. “But I can appreciate them in all their multitudes or whatever.”
I stared up at them, twinkling in the distance. Jake had said on our drive up here that this spot was the best for stargazing. Turned out, he was right.
A pitch-black sky was the perfect backdrop for the cluster of flittering white diamonds floating above us. And it reminded me of something I’d read in a textbook once, from some research I did for a report.
Stars not only differed in temperature, but also had entirely different lifetimes.
Kind of like people.
They died the same way people did, slowly, by losing energy. Some lived longer, some died young.
Like Emily.
Since stars had a limited amount of hydrogen—and they needed that stuff to exist—they in turn had a finite lifetime of radiance.
The way hearts had a finite number of beats.
It’s funny how the universe connected like that. How two things that seemingly had nothing to do with each other both existed in the exact same way. Neither would live forever, and no one knew how long that finite amount of time would be.
Maybe that’s why most kids—at least the girls—would choose doodling hearts and stars over 99 percent of everything else. Maybe our souls instinctively knew.
Maybe there were no coincidences, never a random luck of the draw.
Guess that was fate.
Chapter Eight
I was lying in the bed of Jake’s truck with a blanket pulled up to my chin, my head relaxing on the softest pillow ever. I didn’t know what time it was, and it didn’t matter. My eyelids dropped closed for a moment, but I could still picture the starry sky in my head, like I hadn’t closed my eyes at all.
Emily was into astrology—Jake told me after we’d watched the Big Dipper travel a few degrees across the sky.
“She had an entire shelf full of books on the stuff. Horoscopes. Birth charts. Love in the stars. Anything, you name it,” he said.
I opened my eyes, focusing on the twinkling lights in the sky. “Did she believe in that stuff?”
“I don’t think she read her daily horoscope and expected it to be true, but the rest? Yeah, probably. She talked about it all the time. All the time.”
To be honest, it sounded kind of cool. I’d never given it much thought before. I mean, I knew I was a Scorpio. Knew that meant I was supposed to be determined and passionate, compulsive and obstinate. But that sounded like a lot of people.
Jake shifted and laughed softly. “Emily’s passions knew no bounds.”
“I’m beginning to notice that.”
After a few quiet moments of stargazing, he spoke in a voice low and strained, but still gentle somehow. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I let my head fall to the side and looked up to find him a lot closer than I remembered. “What?”
“I’m glad her death wasn’t for nothing,” he whispered.
Shoving the blanket a few inches down, I pushed back to an almost-sitting position. “I didn’t—” The words lodged in my throat, and I stared at his stormy eyes, trying to make sense of what he said.
“I’m glad you’re alive. Even if she’s not.”
A couple seconds passed, my heart thumping all the while. Breathing hadn’t been this hard before.
I started crying.
Not the silent tear-rolling-down-my-cheek cry. Nope. Full-on waterworks show, complete with stifled sobs.
Oh my God, stop crying. Why are you crying?!
“Audra, I’m—”
“I’m sorry,” I sputtered, wiping at my cheeks, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean to… It’s not…” I sniffed. “It’s just that you don’t know…can’t know how much…that means to me. I’ve spent all this time feeling like I shouldn’t be here. That—why me? Why me and not her? And I wouldn’t blame you for hating me—really, I—”
“Stop,” he said softly, pulling my hands away from my face, holding them between his. Trying to wipe away the tears was pointless anyway. “I don’t hate you. Okay?”
I nodded slowly, my squeaking noises fading.
And then Jake put his arm around me and pulled me against him.
It made me want to cry all over again, but my head found his chest like a magnet. And in the back of my mind, I knew I’d find this awkward later, but now…now it felt right.
He released one hand from mine to brush hair away from my damp cheek. Jake’s chest smelled like campfire—the good kind still—and leaves and smoke. All the tension in my body dissolved, his touch replacing it with a comforting warmth.
A few more heartbeats passed, and neither of us said anything. I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the feel of his hand slowly stroking my hair as I leaned against him.
And the fact that I’d just burst into tears.
“I’m still surprised my mom ever wrote you back,” Jake said quietly, close to my ear.
“Why? How do you know she’s the one who wrote me?” The letter was only signed with the Cavanaughs, and I never gave much thought as to who actually penned the words.
“She’s the only one who would’ve. My dad would’ve tossed your letter in the trash.”
My chest tightened with his admission. Thrown it in the trash? “He sounds like an ass.” I hadn’t meant to say it—but the words fell out anyway.
Jake’s response was, “Yeah, he is,” and he didn’t sound the slig
htest bit offended.
I waited, hoping he’d tell me more.
No such luck.
“Why did it surprise you?” I asked again, slowly, cautiously.
He shifted next to me, alerting all the nerve endings trailing down my arm and into my fingertips. “After Emily died, my mom was…a fucking mess.” Another stretch of silence, another tingling of awareness—skin on skin, pulses fluttering close to each other, like off-sync butterflies. “Doubt she even remembers sending it.”
“Oh,” I said, thankful my face was smashed against his sweatshirt, hidden from view.
“When Emily died, everything got worse.” His voice was scratchier than it had been. Jagged like a broken blade. Rusted and stale.
It slammed into my chest, deep beneath my bones—guilt—and I looked up. His eyebrows were drawn inward. Lips pressed tightly together. Eyes wide and hollow, full of hurt. I couldn’t pretend the pain wasn’t there, and I couldn’t do anything to make it disappear.
“How did she die?” If I knew, maybe then I’d truly understand his pain, and if I understood it…
“Let’s talk about something else, okay?” Jake met my unwavering gaze with a haunted expression of his own.
“Why don’t you want to tell me?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does.” I paused, waiting for words that never came. “I only want to know so I can—”
“Stop.”
“Jake,” I said too quickly.
He dropped his arm and inched away from me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He climbed to his knees, then his feet, and I trailed his figure in the dark, heard the eerrrr of the truck bed squealing under his weight.
I squinted my eyes to see him better.
After landing on the ground with a gentle thunk, he spun to face me. “She’s dead, Audra. Don’t get me wrong, okay? I think it’s nice that you want to redo her done-it list, but she’s not here anymore. She won’t get to do anything ever again. It doesn’t matter how she died, because she’s gone. No one can undo that. Not me. And definitely not you.”
I blinked once, and he was out of sight, so I stared at the white-spotted sky, replaying the last three minutes over and over in my head.
Should I run after him, throwing out more useless apologies?
The Heartbeat Hypothesis Page 7