“Yeah.”
“Think you could get me to where he took the shots?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really going to ask the only blind person on campus for directions?”
“I trust you.”
He smiles, and even though it only lasts for a slight second, it’s still enough to make me smile back.
“Is it really smart to trust me so soon?” he teases. “We haven’t even gotten to the chocolate-or-vanilla question yet.”
“Chocolate is always better. No exceptions.” I reach out and give his sleeve a tug. “Now let’s go find those spots. I want to see if maybe there’s something important about the pictures’ locations that we missed.”
He nods in agreement and stands from the table, but then he asks, “Did you bring your coat?”
“No,” I admit. “I wasn’t expecting to spend much time outside.”
He takes off his sweatshirt and hands it to me. “Then you’re wearing this, okay?”
“I already have a sweatshirt.”
“Me, too,” he says. “And I’m giving it to you.”
I sigh. “Are you always this stubborn? Or are you going to get easier to deal with when you come down with hypothermia out there?”
“I have the blood of a polar bear, I’ll be fine. Which reminds me: polar bear or penguin?”
I roll my eyes. “They live on separate continents, so I don’t see why you can’t like them equally.”
“Good answer.” He tosses the sweatshirt in my lap. “Now put that on.”
I get the feeling we’re going to be stuck here forever if I don’t go along with it, so I pull the sweatshirt over my head, making sure he hears my exasperated sigh. I head out of the library, breathing in deeply as I step into the biting cold. Everything here smells clean—the freshly crushed leaves, the new snow, the sharp wind.
“Parker took the second set of pictures at the East Gate,” Seth says, nodding in its direction. “There’s a path that leads around the science lab that’ll get us there.”
“Is the path usually icy?” I ask, glancing down at my cane. For the most part, Harting is pretty good about keeping its pathways usable, but there are a few spots on campus I have to routinely avoid.
Seth shakes his head and continues toward the science lab. “No. Usually it’s clear, although sometimes there’s a little ice.”
“That’s fine,” I quickly say, feeling a little self-conscious. “I mean, a little bit of ice isn’t too big of a deal. I can manage.”
That small smirk plays at his lips. “Lea, you do realize everyone at this school has publicly fallen on their ass multiple times, right? So when you do eventually fall, it’s not like you should get embarrassed about it.”
“You’ve fallen before?” I ask. His gait is always so confident, it’s hard to imagine him ever doing anything as awkward as slipping.
“I have a long history of slipping,” he says with a wry smile. “My mom actually wanted to move somewhere warmer when I was little, because she was worried I was going to hurt myself.” He suddenly turns away, but not quick enough. I catch the blush invading his cheeks. “That’s why I got Koda,” he admits. “It was either get a guide dog or move.”
“You mean you didn’t want her at first?”
He chuckles at my incredulous tone, and it’s my turn to blush. But, luckily, he can’t see it, so I stay beside him as we start down a small stone path. We’re the only ones on this part of the campus, since I guess everyone else is smart enough to stay inside and out of the cold.
“I’d always thought guide dogs were such a blind person thing,” Seth says, his words slow and careful. “You know? I mean, if a person has a guide dog, there’s no mistaking that their vision is either total crap or nonexistent.”
“And you didn’t want that?”
“No. With my cane, I could fold it away, make my blindness invisible to other people. You can’t just tuck a dog away.” He reaches down and pats Koda’s head, and she licks at his fingers. “Of course, as soon as I got Koda, I realized I’d been an idiot. I’m blind. I shouldn’t have to try to hide that, not from strangers or friends or myself.”
“That’s... brave.”
“Nope,” he says. “That’s just life.”
“You make it look so easy. Blending in, I mean.” I thump my cane against the ground, making a hollow metallic noise. “I always feel like everyone must be staring.”
“Honestly? That’s probably because everyone is, just like they stare at me.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly, shooting him a scowl even though I know he can’t see it.
He just shrugs. “But I also think it doesn’t matter much what people do and don’t look at.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I mutter.
“Exactly,” he replies, tapping the side of his sunglasses. “Take it from a blind dude. The things that really matter about a person aren’t things you can physically see. So if someone wants to stare at you, who cares? It’s not like they’ll get to see the real you without your permission.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I struggle to come up with an answer. But then Seth’s phone rings, saving me from having to respond. He has different ringtones programmed for his contacts so he can tell who’s calling and texting him, and while I’ve heard lots of them over the past couple of weeks, this ringtone is new. It’s a clip from a techno song that reminds me of a siren, and judging by the wince Seth gives as he answers, it’s not a coincidence.
He stops in the middle of the path as he answers. “Mom, I’ll call you later,” he says, his tone strangely sharp. “I’m busy right now.” He pauses as he listens to her response, and then lets out a tight sigh. “Okay, but can we just talk about it later?”
He starts to pull the phone away from his ear, but then the annoyed edge suddenly falls away from his expression and is immediately replaced with concern. “Mom, what happened? Why are you crying?”
He holds up a finger to me, silently asking for a minute. “Take your time,” I say quietly, and he nods his thanks as he turns away.
There’s a long pause, and I fill the awkward silence by taking out my own phone and pretending to check my texts. It’s kind of pointless to pretend to be occupied, since he can’t even see me, but it still feels weird to be staring right at him while he has this conversation.
In the corner of my eye, I watch Seth’s shoulders stiffen as he listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. “No, I’m not coming home,” he says, the sharpness creeping back into his tone. “I already told you that last night. I just can’t keep doing this, okay? If you and Dad are going to battle it out, get it over with. Quit trying to use me as a bunker.”
I try not to choke on my surprise. Every time I’ve seen Seth’s family, they’ve been the perfect picture of strength and love. They had every right to completely shatter, but they never so much as cracked.
Or did they?
Seth grits his teeth as he listens to the answer from his mom. “I’m not being rebellious. There’s a difference between being a rebel and wanting a little sanity, okay? I’m staying here. The dorm’s better.”
He flinches at whatever words come next. “No, Parker wouldn’t have wanted me to come home. He wasn’t an asshole.”
Seth takes a few steps away from me, and I watch as his neck flushes red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Poor guy. Obviously, his plans for today did not include arguing with his mom in front of a girl.
But I still can’t bring myself to take more than a couple steps away from him. Because he’s...fighting. All through the trial, I never saw him exchange a single heated word with any of his family. None of his other relatives ever lost it, either. I even overheard the judge muttering about how heartbreaking the case was, because obviously Parker’s family was close knit.
“Look, Mom, I’ve got to go,” Seth snaps. “I’m with a friend.”
He runs his hand through the roots of his hair. “No, it’s not like she’s
more important than you. Don’t say shit like that. Just...I’m going now, okay? Try to work things out with Dad. Please.”
He hangs up then, but doesn’t turn back to me immediately. He just clutches the phone in his hand, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles go as white as the snow. For a moment, I think he might throw it away, but then he shoves it back in his pocket and turns to face me.
He looks broken, his expression a gut-wrenching mixture of grief and anger that contorts every line of his face. I can’t help the flare of panic that runs through me. This whole time, I’ve been thinking Seth’s family made it through this tragedy intact, that they hold the key to keeping my own family together. But now I realize I’ve had it all wrong—his family didn’t make it through the tragedy intact, because they still haven’t seen the end of it.
“Is your mom okay?” I ask in a cracked whisper.
He gives a tight nod as he angrily scuffs his shoe against the sidewalk. He ends up striking an ice patch and stumbles as his foot slips against it. It takes a couple moments and a lot of cursing before he regains his balance and offers me an actual answer.
“She hasn’t really gotten over my brother dying. Not that I think anyone in my family ever will. But she’s taking it especially hard.” He reaches down and rubs at Koda’s scruff, burrowing his fingers deep in her fur like he always does when he’s upset.
“My dad doesn’t get it,” he mutters. “He’s waiting for her to snap out of mourning, and it’s just not going to happen. She thinks expressing all her feelings is the only way to ever feel better, and my dad thinks ignoring them is the best way to handle it. And, yeah, it’s made things... tense.”
I swallow hard and stare at the ground. “Who do you agree with?”
“I think they’re both wrong,” he says, his voice quiet and hoarse. “Pain like this doesn’t just go away, no matter what you do.”
“Then why are you doing all this?” I ask hesitantly. “The photo project, I mean. If you can’t get rid of the pain, why try so hard?”
I hold my breath, silently hoping he’ll say he’s just being stupid and that there’s no point. If he believes that, then maybe I can let myself believe it, too. Maybe I can go home and surrender to the pain and whatever it brings, and stop trying to fight its effects.
“I’m not trying to get rid of it,” Seth murmurs. Then he starts talking faster, the words rushing out of him like he can’t keep them in any longer. “I’m just trying to prove it’s not totally useless to be feeling it. I mean, pain just means something’s broken. And maybe it can’t be fixed, but at least the pain proves that something used to be there, and it used to be right.”
He scuffs his foot again, heaving out a breath. “Parker always wanted a degree in photography. He always knew that was right for him. And maybe he’s not permanent, but I want his dream to be. So I’ll get the degree for him. If the pain’s not leaving, I’m not going to let all of Parker go, either.”
Silence washes over us, broken only by Seth’s deep, ragged breaths. I answer with the only thing I know for sure.
“You’re a good brother.”
Seth lets out a sharp sound that’s too broken to really be considered a laugh. “Try telling that to my mom,” he says, hitting at his pocket that holds his phone. “She doesn’t get it. Hell, she doesn’t get anything anymore, or even try to. All she does is get pissed off. Pissed at my dad, pissed at me, pissed at everyone involved in the accident. I mean, she’s even pissed at the girl who was in the crash. It’s like no one can ever do anything right, and then that makes me pissed, too, and it’s just—”
He breaks off sharply and shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m ranting.” He reaches up and touches the medal hanging from his neck, letting his thumb trace over it. “I never rant. I don’t know why I’m letting myself do it now.”
I force in a gulp of air. I should shut up, or better yet, completely change the subject. But instead I blurt out, “Why would your mom get mad at the girl?”
It’s not like Camille did anything wrong. She was completely innocent, so how could Parker’s mom feel any anger toward her?
Seth tilts his head, his thumb freezing as it presses against Parker’s medal. My heart stutters, and for a single moment, I think he might finally recognize me.
But then he just says, “She lied on the stand. The drunk driver’s daughter, I mean. She told the jury that Parker was the one who caused the accident, and some of them actually believed it.”
I don’t bother hiding my cringe. So then it’s not Camille his mom hates—it’s me. And rightly so. But, somehow, it’s strange that Seth’s mom thinks of me as a “girl.” I figured she’d see me as more of a monster.
I clear my throat, knowing I need to respond somehow, but not knowing what I could possibly say. So I just voice the question I’ve been wondering for months.
“Why the hell would a jury have ever believed that?”
He lets out another small laugh, but it’s a harsh, grating sound that makes me flinch. “Why? I have no idea.” My stomach sinks, but he just shakes his head and continues. “My mom thinks it was some kind of bribery, but honestly, I think it was just wishful thinking. The driver was a well known doctor in the area, and lots of people respected her. I think the jury just wanted to cling to the hope that she hadn’t actually screwed up so badly, and her daughter’s testimony gave them the perfect chance.”
“That’s not right,” I whisper.
Seth pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. I notice his thumb roughly rub against his eye, but he turns away before I can spot any tears that might have escaped.
“My brother is dead, and his killer is walking around as free as a bird,” he says. “Nothing about the situation could possibly be right.”
He freezes for a long moment, his face creased into a scowl, but then he lets out a long, heavy sigh. He reaches a hand out to me and hesitates there, like he wants to touch me but is afraid to.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, sounding suddenly exhausted. “Really. There’s no reason I should be talking about this. You shouldn’t have to hear me rant. Just...”
Before I can stop myself, I take his hand, letting our fingers twine together. I press my palm firmly against his, but I don’t say anything. There’s really nothing to be said, or at least not anything that could help.
Everything in me is screaming that this is wrong, that I have no right to be talking to him about this, that I have no right to touch him or even be in his presence. But then the corner of his lip lifts in that gentle smile of his, the real one I don’t see often enough.
He looks okay like that. Not happy, not even content, but okay. Like he can make it through the pain without crumbling. I stare at our hands, wanting to pull away, but worried I’ll also take away whatever small comfort I’m giving him.
“Thank you,” he says.
I give his hand a small squeeze in response.
I open my mouth to reassure Seth I won’t give up on the project, that even if I can’t fix anything, I’ll do my best to complete Parker’s thesis and finish the story he was telling through his photos.
Then it hits me.
Seth said that his brother always called him the Ashbury with the most interesting story. He was the little sibling Parker so obviously adored. The kid determined to follow in his big brother’s footsteps, no matter what stood in his way.
Parker’s hero.
I mentally flip through the photos again, carefully comparing the details of each one.
“Seth,” I say, unable to keep excitement from seeping into my tone. “I figured it out. The pattern in the photos.”
He breathes in sharply. “It’s not the seasons?”
“No. It’s you.”
Chapter Nineteen
When we get back to my dorm room, Brie’s lounging at the desk in the corner reading a trashy romance novel. As I push the door open, she smacks the book down and whips a notebook over the cover, her face turning tomato-red. Then
she sees it’s just Seth with me, and a smirk lifts her lips.
“Hey, guys,” she says as she grabs a pen and scribbles something on the notebook. She holds it up and waves it a little, and I can see she’s written, “Blind friends are AWESOME.” I roll my eyes, but she just underlines “AWESOME” and then picks the trashy book right back up.
Seth turns and closes the door, completely oblivious to our little exchange. “We need you to look over Parker’s pictures again,” he says to Brie, blurting the words out in an excited rush.
“A warm, heartfelt hello to you, too,” Brie says, flipping the page with a perfectly manicured nail.
Seth waves away her sarcasm. “No time for small talk.”
Brie raises her eyebrows at me. “What did you do to him?” she asks. “Time doesn’t exist in that head of his.”
Seth gives an exasperated sigh and sits on the end of Brie’s bed. Koda curls up at his feet, seemingly familiar with the spot. Technically, Seth could get detention for being in the girls’ dorm, but I think Ms. Thorne has pretty much given up trying to enforce that rule. She has a major soft spot for Seth, and besides, she doesn’t enforce a lot of the rules, anyway. Harting takes its “college prep” attitude seriously—seniors are expected to be able to manage themselves without the faculty constantly hovering over us.
Seth points at me. Or at least he tries to, but he’s still buzzing with excitement and ends up wildly gesturing out the window. “She figured it out.”
Brie peers at where he’s pointing. “Well, that’s very perceptive for a maple tree.”
“Brie!” Seth snaps, adjusting his pointing so he’s a little closer to me. “I’m being serious! Lea figured it out. Parker’s thesis.” He nods to me. “Tell her, Lea.”
I walk over to the desk, where earlier we’d been sifting through Parker’s paper and some printed copies of his photos. Brie and I have both read the thirty-page paper to familiarize ourselves with the thesis project, and we’ve already spent hours looking over the photos and trying to understand the pattern. The edges of the pictures are frayed from where we’ve crinkled them in frustration, but I smooth the corner of the first photo and hand it to Brie.
This is What Goodbye Looks Like Page 14