by Jolene Perry
My phone rings and I snatch it as I walk back toward my truck because if I’m going to get lectured, I might as well get it from all sides. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“I feel …” His words come out weird and slow, and I leap into the driver’s seat and start the car.
“Dad?”
“I think … Clara … I think …” His voice slows down like it’s warped.
A wave of ice passes through me, leaving fear prickling my skin. “Dad! Where are you?”
“I … home … I …”
As much as I want to keep him on the line, I flip over and dial 911. I can’t take something else falling apart. I just can’t.
36
I’m numb and in shock and terrified as I sit in the hospital with Dad. They’re calling it a mild stroke. I’m calling it something that could have taken my last parent away from me. He fell on the stairs when he had his stroke, and they seem to be more worried about that than the stroke. He hit his back. He can’t feel his legs.
A day later, I’ve had no sleep, and numerous tests have led to no good answers as to how much damage was done to Dad’s spine.
Tears slowly roll down my face as I sit in the corner and hold Dad’s hand while he naps. Cecily stayed here half the night with me. We slept on the vinyl couches in the waiting area and watched HGTV until she had to run home this morning—an hour away.
Dad keeps insisting he’s fine. But people who are fine don’t pass out and don’t ride in ambulances and don’t have doctors prescribing them medications so hopefully they won’t have to do all of those things again. They can feel their legs.
I can’t leave Alaska. I was stupid. I made all the wrong decisions about everything. If I’d stayed on my first path, I’d be marrying Elias this winter. I’d have a house. A family. I could be around for Dad. If Dad died, I’d have someone. Even just thinking “Dad” and “die” in the same sentence chokes up my chest and makes it hard to breathe.
After an hour, when the sleepy numbness spreads from my hand to my elbow, I finally let go of Dad’s hand.
I curl up in the small chair and close my eyes. I can’t leave here. Not this room. Not my town. Not this state.
The wall comes in and out of focus as I stare at the whiteboard with Dad’s nurses’ and doctors’ names. Exhaustion seeps into every pore as I slump lower in the chair.
A clicking noise and the soft pad of the hospital door closing make my body jump. Did I drift off?
Suki pauses with bags of lunch.
“Your dad’s been sleeping a while?” she asks quietly.
I nod.
“Good. His body needs the rest. That man is so stubborn that even now he’s trying to say he’s just fine.” She rolls her eyes with her classic Suki smile.
“But he’s not.” I stare at Suki, waiting for her to contradict me or feed me some BS line.
“No.” She sits next to me and sets our bags of takeout on the small table as her smile fades. “No, he’s not. But right now I think the worst-case scenario is that he’ll be in a wheelchair. That’s rough, but it could be worse.”
“He could have another stroke,” I say. “He could forget who he is …” My throat swells. “Who I am.”
Suki frowns. “And I could have gotten hit by a semi when I went out for lunch.”
I rub my face with both hands. “I’m glad he has you.”
Suki pulls me into a sideways hug. “I’m glad I have him too.” She plants a kiss on my head. “And you.”
With those two words my throat swells again.
“He’ll be okay,” I whisper to myself.
“I know you don’t want to leave, Clara.” She pauses. “But you really should go home and try to get some actual sleep.”
I start to open my bag, but I’m so tired I can’t imagine eating.
“Yeah.” I let out a sigh. “Cecily will be back soon, I think.”
“I’ll call you if anything changes,” Suki assures me.
I walk toward the door but pause before leaving. “Suki?”
“Yes?” She smiles her classic wide smile.
“Thanks …” I hold up my bag and nod toward Dad. “For all this.”
“Take care of yourself, Clara.”
And I would if I had any idea how. I stumble toward the front door of the hospital, and Cecily steps inside just before I make it outside.
“Kind of a crazy couple of months for you, huh?” she asks as she changes direction, walking outside with me.
I lean into her. “Yeah. And so much has been going on with me that I feel like I know nothing about what you’re up to anymore.”
“Taking pictures,” Cecily says. “Hanging with my dad. Counting days until I go to school.”
“Oh.”
“And Rhodes is going to take off tomorrow, so I got the gig of taking care of Ms. Bellings’s house.”
I stop in the parking lot. “He what?”
“He accepted an offer to spend the summer in Greece, got a lecture from the principal about boundaries with students, and … I can hardly blame him for taking off.”
I close my eyes briefly before I start walking again. “I’m not surprised. Yesterday I sort of told him that he was too much for me right now.”
“I see.”
“What happened between us wasn’t really his fault. I let him think I was ready for more when I wasn’t, and he stopped the second I said ‘stop.’”
There’s a swirl of sadness that I wasn’t expecting at the news of him leaving.
“I have to stay at Ms. Bellings’s house tonight because Rhodes is crashing in Anchorage to catch his morning flight. Wanna come?”
“No,” I say, not wanting to relive that memory of what happened in that house on top of the worry that comes with almost losing Dad. “Just home and sleep right now.”
“I can do that.”
“You’re awesome, Cee. Thanks.” I give her a lazy half hug and hope that I can turn off my brain when I get home.
“I’m the best.” Cecily sighs as we climb in her car and head for my house. “So, you sort of skimmed over Rhodes, but how are you really?”
One second I’m staring out the window of her car, and the next moment everything I’m thinking and feeling all spills out in a mess.
How my face can’t be fixed after all the years of hope. How Elias should have been the perfect-feeling solution to that, but how I freaked out over starting our forever now. How Rhodes liked me even though I’m so ugly, and how I ran from him when I panicked. I tell her how far we went, and how I wish I hadn’t. How stupid I feel over the whole situation. How I told Columbia I wasn’t coming and was sad about that, but am now glad about that. How I threw up in the local plastic surgeon’s office. And I can’t be fixed, which brings me back to the beginning again.
Cecily’s arms are around me before I see her coming through the faucet my eyes have become. We’re in my driveway, and I have no idea how long we’ve been here.
“I’ve been a terrible friend,” I say as I tighten my hold on Cecily. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, you’ve been a distracted friend.” She grips my shoulders and leans back, studying my face. “And there’s something I should have done a long time ago. It just felt awkward.”
“What are you talking about?”
She climbs out of the car, runs to my side, clasps her hand in mine, and starts pulling. I follow her through the living room of my house and into the bathroom. She tugs on me until I’m standing in front of her facing the mirror.
I swallow the familiar threat of bile as I stare at my marred face and turn my gaze to the floor.
“No. No way.” Cecily’s hands are in my hair, pulling it back, and the rubber band snaps as she settles it into place.
“I’m already having a pretty terrible day, Cee. I can’t eat. Dad’s in the hospital. I’ve lost two great guys in a couple weeks. I let Columbia slip. What are we doing?”
Her fingers grasp my chin lightly. “Look up.”
&nb
sp; I obey, but tears press against the back of my eyes as we look at one another in the mirror, and as I try to look at her smooth skin instead of my gashes.
She runs a tanned finger over the scar that took some of my eyebrow. “You have a line here.”
“I know.” Why is she making me stare at the thing I hate most about myself?
Then her finger touches next to my eye, following that scar into my hairline. “You have a red line here”—then she touches the one from my nose—“and here”—and then from my mouth—“and here.”
My short, shallow breaths echo in the small bathroom. Having Lachelle put makeup on my face was exposing, but not like this. Now it’s almost like the welted marks are being etched into me all over again.
“They are just lines on your face. They say nothing about who you are as a person. They say that you were part of a huge experience. I don’t notice your scars anymore. I see them, but they’re just lines. Why are you letting lines skew your perception of who you are? You’re amazing. Funny. Wicked smart. Loyal. Sweet. Your writing blows me away. Your mad skills on your horses and four-wheel are practically legendary,” she teases. “This is one thing. One thing about you. Not everything. Not anything that defines who you are—”
“But they do,” I argue. “They define a lot of who I am and how I think. How can they not?”
“Only if you let them. This is you, Clara. You’re my best friend. You’re a million things that have nothing to do with those scars, and a million tiny character traits that do have to do with those scars. I get that they’re significant, and I get that you hate the fact they’ll always be there in some form or another. I would too. I just want you to make sure they’re not swaying your opinions or your decisions when they shouldn’t.”
“What you’re really trying to say is don’t let them stop me from going to New York.” I push out a weird laugh as I stare at the lines on my face.
Cecily snorts. “Of course that.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course.”
“But don’t be surprised when guys like you despite your scars. It’s not despite anything. People like you because you’re you. Don’t let Elias stop being your friend, and don’t jump in with Rhodes again, or someone like him, if you’re letting your warped perception of how you look change how you act.”
My heart is squeezing in my chest. “Embrace it, right? Like Dad says?” I don’t know how.
Cecily shrugs and steps next to me. “I don’t know if I’d be able to embrace my scars if our positions were reversed. I just don’t want you to think that the scarring on your face detracts from who you are.”
“But they detract from how I look.”
“Or maybe they add to it, because as much as I don’t see them anymore, I know you do. Maybe it’s just time to let that go. To find a way to not care. Elias really doesn’t care about the lines on your face. Rhodes probably liked you more for them. Everyone is going to see you differently, Clara, and honestly? I think it’ll help you sort out the not-so-great people from the great people in a much simpler way.”
The familiar heat of worry and frustration and embarrassment rushes up my neck and over my face. A few tears escape down my cheeks. “I don’t know how to feel okay about how I look.”
“You will.” Cecily rests her chin on my shoulder, still staring at me in the mirror.
I want it. I want to feel that so badly—to let go and just be. “I like the surgeon in Anchorage.”
“The one you barely saw?” she teases.
“Yeah … I think … I don’t know. I’ll go back, and maybe this time be more prepared.”
“Stay and talk longer than last time?” she suggests with a smile. “Maybe not throw up in her trash can?”
“Yeah.” And as I stare at myself in the mirror, I know I will. But this time, I can go in to see her knowing she’ll be limited. Knowing I’ll always have marks. The thought still swells in my throat, but at least I can think around that lump. Around the idea that I’ll never look the way I would have if I hadn’t taken a walk that day.
I blink a few times. “I miss my mom.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Cecily whispers.
Lines. I’m not sure I’ll ever see my face as just having a few lines.
“Let’s get you food and find all the blankets in the house before I go, okay?” She finally releases me and walks out of the bathroom.
“You know you’re like the bestest friend of all best friends, right?” I call after her. Not a replacement for Mom, but then no one would be. Still … still, I have people.
“Of course I know that! Which is why even if you can’t come with me to New York this year, I’m gonna drag you next year.”
Right now I just want to get through the next few weeks with my dad. Next year might as well be a lifetime away.
37
Yeah. My brain? Not so cooperative. It’s spinning. The house feels weird without Dad. I can’t write, which is killing me because I feel like if I could get it all out, I’d be able to sleep. Instead of turning on the TV, I pull out my computer to check email. The first one is from Rhodes. Checking email was a really stupid idea.
Clara—
I know how news travels in that tiny town, and I also know I should have told you myself. I’m sorry about the way things worked out, or didn’t work out, between us. No hard feelings. It was easy to forget how young you are. I hope we stay in touch, at least a little. My hotel in Anchorage sucks, but Greece will be amazing. Put it on your bucket list, okay?
Rhodes
I’m sure I should respond in some way, so I just write back a quick line telling him to have fun, biting my tongue over his age comment and saying I’ll put Greece on my list. Done. Over. Still feels weird. At least he bothered to drop me a line.
I can’t sit here. Shoving on my boots, I move for the back door, and instead of heading for the barn, I go left toward the trail where I got my scars. Where I lost Mom. We don’t use this trail anymore, and the dried grass and leaves from the past few years have made the wide path harder to pick out.
The forest closes in around me as the light diminishes—partly from the dense trees and partly from the slowly setting midnight sun. What am I doing with myself? Why don’t I know how to move forward? Every decision I’ve made has been wrong. Staying here makes me feel like I can’t breathe, but so does leaving. A shiver runs down my spine, and I grasp my arms and start walking. This is the shortest path to the river from my house. Maybe the walk will clear my head.
I tap my phone in my pocket and my notebook, which hasn’t done me so much good lately. And then I round the corner and stop. This is where Mom was killed—or not far from here. I turn back toward the house, which I can only barely see through the trees. How did Dad know we were here and needed help? Were we screaming? Was I? Mom?
My gut tightens, and my throat fills with the awful slime, making me swallow again and again. How did Dad know to save me? Maybe that’s where my miracle that day was—in Dad being prepared enough to save my life.
As I pull in a long breath the thought hits me. I’m so very lucky to be alive. I am. I was smaller and not as fast and … it’s a miracle I lived, and now I’m messing that all up.
My fingers tremble and I shiver again. This is not the time of year to be wandering around in the woods alone—too many moose headed back to the mountains and too many bears waking up after a long winter.
I walk toward the house, heart thumping, and break into a jog. But now my footsteps and breathing are so loud that I wouldn’t be able to hear anything in the woods. I turn back to scan the trees around me as I run, but the forest is too dense to see anything but odd shadows, and I push harder. Harder. Heart pounds harder.
The second I break into the clearing behind the house, I gasp for air and rest my hands on shaky knees. What’s wrong with me?
“Are you okay?” Elias is running from the driveway to where I stand.
Elias.
Is here.
I st
and and shake out my hands. “Okay,” I wheeze.
A corner of his mouth tilts up. “Freak yourself out in the woods?”
“I was on …” I gasp in a few more breaths. “I was on the old trail.”
His half smile pulls into a frown. I don’t have to explain with him. Elias knows what that place means to us. Because he knows me. My history. My family.
“I’m so lucky.”
His brows twitch in confusion. “I’ve heard you snap back at that comment too many times for it to not sound completely strange coming from your lips.”
“I could have died,” I say. “Died.”
Like Mom.
“Yeah, I know.” He wraps an arm over my shoulders. “Let’s get you inside.”
The familiarity of him spirals around me in comfortable warmth, and I follow him onto the porch.
Elias pauses before stepping into my house, and everything about him looks uncertain.
“I’m sorry,” I start, emotion welling inside me again. “I don’t know how to choose anything right anymore.”
Elias shoves his hands in his pockets as we stand just inside the door.
“Is this totally weird?” I ask.
He rubs his forehead. “I’m just …”
I’m trying to breathe. “Do you still hate me?”
“Clara.” His voice is pained. “I couldn’t hate you.”
My heart warms at the devotion because that’s really what it is. “But I hurt you.”
He nods, and I step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. I just … I don’t know how to explain. It was too much. The wedding and everything, and I panicked. I wasn’t ready to start a forever.”
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m still just …” I back up to look at him. Elias is everything good and sweet and known and safe. “I’m glad you’re here. Come in?”
He kicks off his shoes and walks through my dining room into the TV room. I might get back some of my stability, and I need it so bad.