Dr. Stone’s deep voice punched into my reverie. “Are you all packed for North Carolina?”
“Yes. I leave tomorrow at six, bright and early. My mother wanted to drive me, but I told her I’d rather do it myself. We’ve been spending so much time together, I felt it would be good for me to just get out and clear my head on that long trip.” It was something I was really looking forward to.
“It sounds like you’re all set.” Dr. Stone glanced at his watch. “And we’re out of time.”
We both stood in tandem, and I reached out my hand awkwardly. He took it in both of his. “You know you can call me anytime, with anything you need,” he said. “I really mean that.”
I nodded. “I know you do,” I replied. “Thank you. But I really feel like I’m going to be okay.”
On my way out, my eye fell on the picture of the Puerto Rican man I’d seen so long ago. “Who is that?” I asked. “He looks so incredibly happy.”
“That was my partner, Duncan,” Dr. Stone replied. His eyes were on the photograph, a small smile on his face. “He died of AIDS three years ago.”
Guilt and self-loathing pulled at my insides. “How do you do it? How do you sit there and talk to someone like me when I made fools out of all those sick people?”
He met my eyes, still smiling. “Because I believe everyone deserves a second chance, Saylor. I think you’ll do something fantastic with your life because of this mistake you’ve made. Wait and see.”
On impulse, I gave him a hug. “Thank you.”
Dinner at my house that night was a muted affair. It was just Mum and me, Dad’s place at the table bare. We were still using the nice napkins and silverware, as if Mum thought we finally deserved to.
I’d walked in on my parents fighting not long after Mum and I had had our heart to heart. Maybe “fighting” is too strong, too passionate a word. They were talking, in quiet voices, with all the emotion of a couple of strangers discussing the weather.
Mum had said, “I think it’s time for me to move on.”
“Hmm.” Dad had sat there with a drink in his hand, twirling his glass round and round. “Are you sure?”
“We both know this has been a farce for years now, David. Let’s try to do something meaningful with the rest of our lives.”
And that was that. I’d tiptoed back out, and they hadn’t even noticed my fleeting presence or the space I left behind.
My last night in New Hampshire, Mum and I sat at the dinner table and talked about North Carolina, about college, about spring turning to summer.
By mutual agreement, we’d decided that I’d head out the next day without saying goodbye. Mum was letting me take the BMW—she was getting a new car in the divorce settlement—and it was already packed, ready and gassed up in the driveway. We lingered for a long time over our plates, even after the food had gone cold and our waters were tepid.
I stood up and went around the table. Mum stood and hugged me.
“I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry I haven’t said that nearly enough in the past.”
I blinked away the tears. “Hey,” I said, in a not-so-smooth attempt to change the subject. “What happened to the dollhouse you were working on?” Her crafting nook was empty, the surface of the table clear of materials for the first time in years. I noticed some scars and stains on the wood that would probably never come out.
“I’ve decided to give up on that hobby,” Mum replied. “I’m going to spend more time in the present, in real life.”
I squeezed her hand. “That sounds like a really smart idea.”
Chapter Fifty One
My palms were slipping off the wheel as I drove to Drew’s apartment the next day. It was six a.m. so I didn’t expect him to be awake, but still. Maybe he’d changed his sleeping habits in the last month.
The good thing was that the mailboxes were at the end of the street, so I could slip the envelope in without him having to see me. But there was a small part of me that hoped I’d get a glimpse of him anyway, just so I could carry one last picture with me to North Carolina, a picture where he wasn’t crying.
As I drove past his apartment to get to the row of mailboxes, I glanced quickly to the right to see if maybe, just fortuitously, he was at the window. That’s when I saw it: the yellow Roman shade, pulled down.
I slowed down and pulled into someone’s empty parking space and sat there, staring at the shade. I remembered Drew’s words that day at Prescott Park.
“I’m not a big believer in a loving god, but I do believe in destiny. Fate. So I think wherever I go, I’ll be okay.”
“Just look for a yellow Roman shade,” I’d said.
And he’d laughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”
I got out of the car, leaving it running. My entire body seemed to be trembling. I walked toward his apartment, feeling as if the snow might as well be molasses, the way I was trudging through it. When I got to his door, I lifted my hand to knock on his door and then let it fall again. There was an envelope, taped to the door. It said SAYLOR on the front in shaky writing, probably Drew’s. I thought it was funny, how I felt my heart was crumbling to sand, how much this boy had insinuated himself into my life, and I still didn’t know what his handwriting looked like. I didn’t know how long the envelope had been there, but the black lettering was smudged from the snow and sleet we’d had, so I guessed at least a few days. I walked back to the car, tears dripping off my cheek and splattering onto my jacket.
I considered waiting to open the envelope till I got to North Carolina, or at least out of Ridgeland, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to. I ripped it open, the flap slicing my hand, drawing blood. I pulled out the paper and read.
Dear Saylor, it said in the same shaky hand,
If you’re reading this then you probably know that I’m gone. I hope you don’t think I refused to say goodbye out of pique. It wasn’t that at all. I just think goodbyes are best left unsaid. That way, you feel like a new chapter could begin anytime, however unlikely that may be.
I like to imagine a future, maybe in a parallel universe, where you and I are together, healthy and whole. We’re unmarred by the past, by our psychological pathologies, by the mutation of our genes. I’d ride up to you in a Harley, maybe wearing a black leather jacket. You’d be at college, with a pile of medical textbooks in your arms. I’d offer you a ride. And even though your intellectual friends would tell you not to bother with the likes of me, you would. You’d hop on as if you’d always belonged there. Your curls would fly out behind us as I gunned the motor, and we’d fly down the highway to our future. I’d write songs and you’d be a country doctor. That’s what I picture for us.
I imagine you might have some things you want to say to me. I’m renting a temporary P.O. box for the next month, just in case. I’ll enclose the address here.
I’m not good with letters, so I hope you’ll forgive me for ending this one with a song. I’ll always think of you when I hear it. Be well, Saylor.
Under his letter, he’d penned the lyrics to Secret for a Song.
I closed the letter that was now smeared with blood from my paper cut and tears from my bruised heart and stared straight ahead at the yellow shade. I didn’t know if we had a future in a parallel universe. What I did know was that Andrew Dean was going to be okay. And, for the first time, I truly felt that I was too.
I began to drive.
Did you enjoy this book? Would you like to leave a review? Reviews are gold to authors—we always appreciate an honest one. :)
About the Author
A huge fan of spooky stuff and shoes, S.K. Falls enjoys alternately hitting up the outlet malls and historic graveyards in Charleston, SC where she lives and imbibes coffee. Her husband and two small children seem not to mind when she hastily scribbles novel lines on stray limbs in the absence of notepads.
Visit her at her website, Facebook, or on Goodreads. Want to be the first to know about future releases? Sign up for her mailing list!
Also by S.K.Falls
World of Shell and Bone (written as Adriana Ryan)
Possession (Fevered Souls #1)
Betrothed (Fevered Souls #2)
Secret for a Song Page 23