Things We Know by Heart

by Jessi Kirby

  By the time we get to the top of the stairs, the dirt trail has become a small, rushing river, and my flip-flops slip with every step I take. Colton’s bus sits beside the fence, a bright-turquoise splash in the gray blur of rain. I climb up over the little ladder with Colton right behind me. The rain pounds loud on the roof of the bus and almost drowns out the sound of the door when I slide it open. We tumble in, Colton right after me, and he slams the door closed behind us, all in one motion.

  For a second it seems like the volume has been turned down, but then the sky unleashes another torrent of rain, this one even louder than the last. I lean against the seat to catch my breath, and Colton scoots himself back next to me to catch his. We’re quiet a moment before we both burst out laughing. Colton shakes the water out of his hair, and I wring it from mine and pinch his soaked sweatshirt away from my chest.

  “That was crazy,” he says, still out of breath. “That came out of nowhere.”

  “No, it didn’t. I could see it coming, all the way in. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought you were gonna get hit by lightning out there.”

  “I kinda did too,” he admits. “Nothing like a little brush with death to remind you you’re alive.” He smiles, then reaches behind him and grabs two towels. Hands me one.

  He runs his over his hair first, and I do the same before I peel off the wet sweatshirt and drape it over the back of the driver’s seat. Another flash-boom erupts outside, and the rain pounds harder in answer. I wrap the towel around my shoulders and pull it tight; then we sit there on the bed, our backs leaned against the wall, catching our breaths and watching the rain streak down the windows.

  “Looks like we may be camping out here after all, the way it’s coming down out there,” Colton says, glancing over at me with a smile. “We didn’t even make it to the waterfall.”

  “No shooting stars or s’mores either.”

  “I know,” Colton says, shaking his head. “All I’ve got is”—he leans over me and rummages around in the center console—“half a bottle of water, four pieces of gum, and two Rolos. I don’t know how we’re gonna survive.” He does his best to put on a serious expression, but the corner of his mouth twitches up. He shivers.

  “We should get these wet clothes off,” I say, conscious now of the cold.

  A smile breaks over Colton’s face. He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  I laugh. “That came out wrong. Sort of. I meant—”

  Colton just keeps smiling as heat floods my cheeks and I try again. “I meant because of the cold, because we’re wet, and you can get . . .”

  He laughs softly and reaches out, tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear. And in that tiny moment when his fingers brush my skin, there is an unmistakable shift in the air between us. The rain falls in a steady hush, a soft-gray curtain that blurs everything beyond the space where we sit, and I lean into him.

  Colton’s arms come around me and lift me onto his lap so we’re facing each other. The towel slides from my shoulders, and a shiver runs through me, but I don’t feel cold. I only feel the heat of his hands as they slide up my back, into the wet tangles of my hair, and travel down over my neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of tiny sparks everywhere they touch. I kiss him, and he tastes like the ocean and the rain, and everything I want in that moment.

  Thunder booms low and distant, and I feel a wave of need rise up in us both as our lips come together with more urgency. Our bodies follow, pressing against each other, wanting and needing to be closer. Colton shrugs off his towel, and my lips move to his neck as I run my hands down his chest to his stomach, where they trail along the edge of his trunks.

  He pulls me into him like a reflex and finds my mouth again as I find the edge of my tank top. I peel the wet fabric away from my skin and pull it over my head, and the coolness of the air sends another shiver through me as I reach back and find the hook of my bra.

  When I let it slide down my arms and drop to the floor, I feel the sudden inhale it causes in Colton. His hands come to my face, and he presses his forehead against mine, breathing hard. Out of focus. Eye to eye.

  I hear the rain on the roof again. Feel my heart, pounding in my chest, and our breaths, shaky and uneven.

  Colton pulls back the slightest bit and brushes his thumb over my tiny scar from the day we met. I close my eyes as he kisses it. He breathes in deep, then leans back, and when I open my eyes, he’s reaching for his rash guard. He pauses, just barely, then pulls it up over his head, and we sit facing each other.

  Bare, in the soft light.

  My breath catches as my eyes travel away from his, down to his chest, to the part of himself he’s kept hidden away for so long.

  The scar starts just above the notch where his collarbones meet and cuts a thin, clean line down the center of his chest. I can feel him watching me take it in, feel him waiting to see what I’ll do, and in that moment, the need to reach out, to touch him, is overwhelming. I raise my hand, but hesitate in the space between us, not sure if it’s okay.

  Without saying a word, he takes my hand in his and guides it to the center of his chest. Presses it against his skin so I can feel the pounding there that echoes my own.

  “Quinn . . .”

  My name is a whisper that pulls me to him, to a place where there’s only us, only now.

  I let myself fall back onto the bed, pulling him on top of me until I can feel the full weight of his body pressed into mine.

  His lips trail down my neck, brush soft over my collarbones, then come back to my mouth, and we kiss away our pasts. We kiss away everything that isn’t us, here, now. Our scars, and our pains, and our secrets, and our guilt. We give them to each other and take them from each other until they all fade away in the rhythm of the rain.

  And breath.

  And heartbeats.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion

  That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble

  Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,

  Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.”

  —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Courtship of Miles Standish”

  I WAKE SLOWLY, so the only thing I’m aware of at first is a low, steady sound, and the rhythmic rise and fall of the place where I lay my head. I’m wrapped in warmth, but just beyond its edge is a current of rain-drenched air that makes me want to tuck myself closer to Colton, and the heat of his skin, and the beat of his heart.

  For a brief moment the thought surprises me. For so long I thought of him as having Trent’s heart. I can’t say when it happened, or how it changed in my mind, but now that thought feels distant. Untrue even. This sound that I can hear and feel—it’s Colton’s heart. I open my eyes, and when I see the curve of his chin, the tan of his arm wrapped around me, it comes back in a warm rush, the memory of his soft lips pressed to me as the rain beat down insistently. That was his heart and mine together; those moments were ours alone.

  Pale light filters in through the fogged windows, and I can still hear the soft hush of drizzle outside, punctuated by the sound of bigger drops from the cypress we’re parked under, as they land on the metal roof of the bus.

  I bring my hand to the center of his chest, trace a delicate finger down his neck, and Colton stirs at my touch. He takes in a deep breath and covers my hand with his like he did before. Pulls it to his chest and smiles without opening his eyes.

  “Hi,” I say, all of a sudden feeling a little shy, with our bodies still tangled under a blanket.

  Colton cracks one eye open and then the other, and tilts his chin down so he can look at me. “So I didn’t dream it.” A smile spreads over his face. “Well. Not this time anyway.”

  I laugh, give him a playful shove, but the flashes of us, with the rain all around, and the idea of him thinking of me that way send a whole new rush of warmth through me. I pull myself up to his lips, and his arms co
me around me; and just as everything is about to disappear again, I hear the buzz of my cell phone.

  I start to reach for it, to see who it is, but Colton pulls me back into him and mumbles into my lips as he kisses me, “Don’t worry ’bout that right now.” I kiss him back as the phone continues to buzz before falling silent. Then there’s the short beep of a voicemail. A tiny worry tugs at me from the corner of my mind. I told Ryan I was going to see Colton. Maybe she’s just checking in.

  Normally, I wouldn’t think much of it; but the storm—and the fact that I’m not where I said I’d be and it’s getting late—makes me anxious enough to pull away from Colton, pull the blanket to my chest, and reach for my phone.

  When I see the home screen, my stomach drops.

  Twelve missed calls.

  Mom. Ryan. Gran.

  Over and over.

  “Oh god.”

  Colton sits up, alert all of a sudden. “What?” he asks. “What’s the matter?”

  I fumble with the phone, try to pull up the first voicemail. “I . . . I don’t know, I think maybe, maybe it’s—”

  Ryan’s voice, urgent in my ear, cuts me off. “Quinn, it’s Dad. You need to get to the hospital now.”

  The ER doors whoosh open. Along with a pungent, antiseptic smell, a flash of the last time I was here in this hospital—over a year ago—hits me with a force I’m not prepared for. I was a wreck in my running clothes, still holding Trent’s shoe, my dad at the nurses’ desk asking questions, Trent’s parents’ faces when they saw me. He’d already been moved from the ER. Decisions had been made. Papers signed. The chaplain had been sent. Good-byes said without me.

  I stop, try to breathe, but the floor feels unsteady beneath me.

  “Whoa,” Colton says, grabbing my elbow. “You all right?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but the sight of my family stops me. They sit in the same beige chairs I sat in with my dad, waiting to see Trent. Waiting to say good-bye.

  Now it’s Gran, Mom, and Ryan who sit tense, without talking. Mom stares into the middle distance, a stricken look on her face, like she’s failed—as if she’s running through her mind all the things she could’ve done differently. Ryan, who’s dressed in her painting clothes and looking like she’s on the edge of tears, focuses on some unseen spot on the ground, like if she concentrates on it hard enough, no tears will fall. And Gran. She sits very straight, and very still, purse in her lap, hands folded over it, calm in a silent storm.

  Colton’s hand moves gently to my back. “Is that your family?”

  I nod, bracing myself for the word stroke. And then I cross the ER to where the bank of chairs is. When I get to it, Ryan is the first to look up, and her eyes widen when she sees us. It’s only then that I realize what I must look like, with my hair tangled and wavy around my face, mascara smeared, Colton’s still-damp sweatshirt hanging on me.

  “What happened—is Dad okay?” I feel the tears readying themselves for whatever the answers to those questions may be. “Did he have a stroke?”

  Mom stands up and pulls me into a hug so tight, I wonder if it’s worse than I imagined. After a long moment she loosens her grip but doesn’t let go. “We don’t know for sure yet. They’re evaluating him now, and we’ll know more soon.”

  “What happened? How did this . . . I thought he was . . .”

  I don’t finish, because I realize I haven’t thought anything about it for the last few weeks: his medications, or his checkups. Symptoms. I just assumed he was okay. Safe.

  I let myself forget there’s no such thing.

  “He was helping me with one of my canvases,” Ryan says from her seat without looking up from the floor. “And he just—he just sounded funny all of a sudden, and I thought he was joking, so I laughed.” She looks at me now, tears in her eyes. “I laughed, and then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he just fell down. He just fell. . . .” She wrings her hands in her lap.

  Gran puts her hand on top of Ryan’s, firmly enough to still them. “And then you acted, and you called 911, and that’s all you could’ve done.”

  Now Ryan sits up. “No, I should’ve seen it right away, I should’ve called sooner—”

  Mom steps in now, won’t let Ryan blame herself. “You did all any of us could’ve done, sweetheart. The rest was beyond what any of us could control.”

  I don’t think my mom believes her own words. I can see it again—her going over all the preventive measures she should’ve forced on my dad—and it makes me want to reach out and tell her that she couldn’t have. That sometimes, no matter how much we regret or wish things were different, there is nothing we can do to make it so.

  Colton clears his throat and shifts on his feet next to me. Gran is the only one other than me who notices.

  “Quinn, you haven’t yet introduced us to your friend.” She nods in my direction, and worry spreads all through me.

  Colton steps forward, hand extended to Gran. “I’m Colton.”

  Gran takes his hand in both of hers. “So pleased to meet you, Colton. You must be the reason Quinn has become so enthralled with the ocean. I can see why,” she says with a wink. “This is my daughter, Susan, and Quinn’s sister, Ryan.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” Colton says.

  My mom nods and smiles politely. Ryan stands and shakes his hand, then looks from him to me and back again. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says. I give her a look she doesn’t see, because she seems to be studying Colton.

  She glances at me, and I silently plead with her not to say anything more.

  “Good things,” she says, getting it. “Thank you for coming with her.”

  “Of course,” Colton answers.

  We stand there for a long moment, silent, until a tired-looking doctor in scrubs approaches, clipboard in hand.

  “Mrs. Sullivan?”

  “Yes?” Mom says, standing up.

  We hold our collective breath as the doctor takes in the group of us standing there. “May I speak freely? About your husband?”

  Mom nods.

  “Okay,” he says. “The good news is that your husband is stable, he did not suffer a stroke, and there is no permanent damage.”

  We all nod like we understand; then we wait for the bad news.

  “The bad news is that this is his second TIA, and that his scans show a small clot forming in his carotid artery, which leads to the brain. If left untreated, it’s likely that he will suffer a stroke—or worse—in the near future. We have a few options, but time is of the essence, and I’d like to get him into surgery as soon as possible.”

  Mom nods, taking it in, as we all are. “Can I see him?”

  “Of course,” the doctor says. “Come with me.”

  She glances, just briefly, at all of us, and Gran makes a shooing motion at her. “Go. We’ll be here.”

  Gran’s not even finished saying it before Mom has turned to walk down the hall with the doctor. I can see that her focus has completely shifted from us, and I don’t blame her. We’ve disappeared, and right now her world is my dad. I think of the two of them, of all their history together—thirty-six years’ worth—and how I felt about losing Trent after just a fraction of that. How it would feel to lose Colton now. I’m sure it’s different for her because of all that time, but it’s terrifying to realize how much of your world is wrapped around loving another person.

  Ryan falls back into her seat, relieved, but not completely. “I can’t believe I laughed at him. I just . . . It happened so fast, I didn’t realize.”

  Gran turns to her, her voice soft. “Come on now; that’s done and past, and you need to let that go.” She takes Ryan’s hand. “Let’s you and me take a walk.”

  Ryan’s arm hangs limply from Gran’s hand, and she shakes her head and takes in another shuddery breath.

  “Get up,” Gran says, with a little force behind it this time.

  That gets my sister’s attention, and a tiny moment of understanding passes between the two of them, Ryan
hearing the words she said to Gran so long ago echoed back at her. She swallows hard. Nods and then obeys. Gran turns her eyes on me and Colton. “You two’ll be all right here?”

  “Yes,” I say, though I’m not sure it’s true.

  “Good. We won’t be long.” And with that, she puts an arm around Ryan’s shoulder and steers her down the hall to the door, and out into the cloudy twilight.

  I finally exhale.

  Colton sits next to me. “That was scary, huh?” He rests his hand on my knee. “Sounds like your dad’s gonna be okay, though.”

  “I wish there were a guarantee,” I say, looking over at him.

  He presses his lips together. “There never is. For any of us. But that’s the way life is.”

  We’re quiet a moment.

  “You hungry?” Colton asks. “Thirsty? Want coffee or hot chocolate or something? I know how to find my way around a hospital.” He smiles, and I can’t believe how easy these little references to being sick come out, now that I know. Almost like he’s relieved to have his secret out in the open.

  “Just a bottle of water maybe?” I say weakly.

  “You got it.” Colton gets to his feet quickly, happy to be of service, but then he bends down in front of me, tilts my chin upward so I’m looking right at him and he’s looking right at me, and starts to say something, but then he just kisses me gently on the forehead. “Quinn, I . . . I’ll be right back.”

  He turns and heads down another hallway, and I lean back into my chair, put my hands in the sweatshirt pockets, and close my eyes to take a minute and breathe. I try to wrap my mind around what happened to my dad, and what the doctor said, and the likelihood that everything will be okay. But all I see is Colton, there in the pale storm light, my hand on his bare chest, his lips on mine, the rain all around us like a dream.

  I open my eyes, and the fluorescent hospital glow chases it all away.

  A few minutes pass, and I fidget with something tucked deep in the corner of Colton’s pocket for a few seconds before I wonder what it is and pull it out. It’s a piece of paper, folded down into a small, tight square.