This Is Falling

by Ginger Scott

  It reads: If you want to see me ever again, you’ll be sure to wear the tutu waiting for you in your mailbox on Halloween.

  Rowe…is a genius. What she doesn’t know, though, is that my brother will totally wear that tutu. He’ll fucking own that tutu and rock it with a full on ballerina leotard to prove a point. But either way, I’m going to love watching it all play out.

  “Beats me,” I say, handing the phone back to him.

  “It’s Cass. And Rowe, I bet. Those two better be sure they’re ready. I’m going to rock this ballerina shit! And when I get Cookie back, I’m going to pay them back so hard.”

  He can’t see me laughing behind him, but my brother is dead serious. To see a twenty-two year old deliver a message so earnestly—and utter the word cookie in the same breath—is something only Ty Preeter can pull off and still look like a man. Barely—but still like a man.

  I trail behind him a few more steps so I can check my message from Rowe.

  Rowe: Sex?

  I wince at first, but then grin.

  Me: Is that an offer?

  Rowe: No, dumbass! It’s the very last word you said to my father.

  Me: Yeah…about that.

  Rowe: You were free and clear! What the hell happened?

  Me: Do you think he noticed?

  Rowe: Let me play the scene out for you after you walked away. Dad: Did he just say sex? Me: Uh, I don’t think so. Mom: No, I’m pretty sure he did. He said sex. Dad: Yeah, that’s what I thought I heard, too, but I wasn’t sure. I’m glad you heard it. Me: *dying, looking under seats, hoping there is enough room for my body.* Mom: I can see where you could make that mistake. Six, sex, six, sex, six-sex. Yeah, it’s a tricky slip… shall I go on?

  Me: Sorry.

  She doesn’t write back right away this time, and now I start to feel like an even bigger asshole. I am single-handedly self-destructing this whole damn thing—I’ll be lucky to make it to dinner. Ty and I exit the elevator and head to our room when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and I pull it back out, hoping like hell it’s Rowe with some witty comeback.

  Rowe: Waiting.

  Huh?

  It buzzes again, this time with a photo, and I can tell she’s not wearing anything because I can see her bare shoulders, the smooth skin of her neck and her lips, which are seriously sucking on her finger? Oh. Hell.

  “Hey, I’m gonna go hang with Rowe instead,” I say, turning away from Ty without even looking.

  “Dude! I’m hungry!” he says.

  “Then go eat,” I say, knowing my brother would do the same damn thing to me in this situation.

  Thank god for baseball. I’m sure I’m not the first to think those very words, but I truly mean it right now because for the last thirty minutes, I have been absorbed in an intense baseball discussion with Rowe’s father, and he seems to be rapt by everything I say. If I can just stay on the topic of baseball for the rest of their time here, I should be able to come through this thing with Tom Stanton having a good opinion of me—despite my very serious attempts at self-sabotage.

  “I’m really looking forward to seeing how you all handle LSU tomorrow. We should be able to watch most of the game before we have to leave,” Tom says. I feel Rowe’s hand squeeze mine under the table, and when I turn to her, she smiles—that soft, reassuring, proud kind. I’ve somehow come back out on top. “Curious why you didn’t decide to attend LSU…being from Louisiana and all?”

  “I almost did,” I admit, and I feel Rowe’s hand tense up against mine. It’s amazing how close I was to not coming to McConnell, and then I never would have met Rowe. “But I was really interested in finding a good fit for both me and my brother. Ty, well…he’s my best friend really. We don’t act like it sometimes…”

  “Oh no, you definitely act like best friends,” Rowe inserts with a laugh, and I reciprocate.

  “Yeah, most of the time we do,” I say with a fond smile. “Ty’s always been there for me. He’s my number-one guy. We sort of have this crazy fantasy of being in business together—baseball of course. If things go just right, he’ll be my agent. Or if I don’t make it…”

  “You’re going to make it,” Rowe interrupts, and I love her—the way she looks at me. Like I really am something special.

  “But if I don’t make it,” I smile, “we sort of have this crazy dream of going into sports management on our own. Preeter Brothers Sports Management, or something like that. I don’t know…it just sounds like pipe dreams when I say it out loud. But Ty—he’s so smart, a real head for the business side of things. Me, I’m more of the PR, the talking-to-people part.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” Rowe says with a laugh.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I say. For a brief second, I forget we’re here with her parents, and I lean in and kiss her cheek quickly. When I sit back, I realize what I just did and my eyes flash wide and I mouth sorry to her.

  “Nate, it has been…” Rowe’s mom, Karen, begins to talk, but she sits back and looks at her husband for a few seconds mid-sentence, taking a deep breath. The smile on her face is the kind that looks like it could switch to tears at the drop of a hat, but she manages to hold it in place when she looks back to me again. “It has just been truly a pleasure to meet you. Tom and I are really glad you and Rowe…well, we’re just glad she has someone here.”

  Rowe looks embarrassed by her mom’s statement, but I appreciate the sentiment. I don’t know how much they know I know, but there’s a sort of feeling I get from her parents—I can’t put it into words, but I get a sense that they trust me. And they should. I would walk through fire for their daughter. Hell and back—without even questioning it.

  “Well, there’s been something on my mind…our mind, actually,” Tom begins, and Rowe sits forward on her seat, her face covered in concern. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”

  He smiles back at his wife, and they both look nervous, like this is something they’ve rehearsed.

  “Rowe, your mother and I. Well…we haven’t…gosh, I’m not sure how to say this,” he says, looking to Karen for help, and she just squeezes his hand on the table and nods with a smile. “Well, since you’ve been gone to college, that’s really been the first alone time we’ve had…in a couple of years.”

  Her dad is doing his best to dance around the reason Rowe has been home, probably at their side, for the last two years. It makes me wonder how often, if ever, they have talked about the shooting and what it did to their daughter.

  “Are you guys getting a divorce?” Rowe interjects suddenly, her palm sweating instantly in mine.

  “Oh, honey! God no. No,” Karen pipes in, once again exchanging that strange, nervous glance with her husband. “It’s…oh boy. There’s no easy way to say this, so—your dad was given a huge promotion at work. It’s a good thing. It’s…it’s a great thing actually. But, it means we’re moving. To San Diego.”

  “We’re moving to San Diego?” Rowe asks.

  “Yes. And you’ll love it there—you know, over the summer? And I was able to pick up a contract with San Diego State, teaching economics.” Her mom looks nervous, the way she’s sitting perched at the edge of her seat, just waiting for her daughter to smile, congratulate her, and tell her she’s excited. But Rowe’s fidgeting in her lap—and I can tell she’s lost.

  “But, what about our house…in Arizona?” What she means to ask is what about Josh, and her memories—however tragic they may be. And I know this is what has them concerned the most.

  “Well, that’s the thing. Your dad starts at his new position the first of the year, so we’ll be getting the house ready to sell, and hopefully it will go quickly. And part of the promotion was also a vacation—your dad sort of won this trip…to the Bahamas. And, well, we have to go, over Thanksgiving.”

  Rowe looks like she wants to throw up, and I don’t know if it’s all of the change being thrown at her at once, fear of having to travel to a place like the Bahamas over Thanksgiving, in a plane, over water, or the fa
ct that she will lose one more connection to Josh. “Can Rowe come home with me?” I hear myself saying it before I even have time to think it through, but when I feel her hand thread even tighter through my fingers, I know I have to keep going. I’m her life raft right now. “I mean, for the holiday. Like you said, you guys haven’t had much alone time. And…it might be nice to have a vacation, you know…on your own? And well, my parents really would love to have her come. And we don’t do anything very formal. I’d like her to come. I…I’d like it a lot.”

  I don’t know who looks happier about my idea—Rowe or her mother, who has actual tears developing in her eyes. She looks at Tom and nods, signaling her approval, and Tom turns to his daughter with his shoulders scrunched and his brow pinched.

  “Rowe? Would you be okay with that? I mean, we don’t really do anything formal either, and your grandparents aren’t coming over this year. It would just be the three of us anyhow,” he asks.

  Rowe looks from her parents to me and then to her lap, her lip tucked between her teeth before she finally looks up at me, her eyes reaching inside to my heart and squeezing. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, that your family would want me?”

  “We want you,” I say, leaning a little closer and whispering the rest. “I want you. Please, come home with me.”

  “Okay,” she says, a slow smile taking over and dispelling the nerves and worry that were just battling against her. Then she turns quickly to her mom. “But, can I see the house? One last time—before you sell it? I mean, if someone buys it before my semester’s done, can I come home just once to say goodbye?” Rowe swallows hard, and her mom reaches across the table to take her daughter’s hand while she nods yes.

  Rowe

  My home is gone. My home is gone. My home is gone. I have said this in my head, over and over, all night. I don’t know what it means other than the fact that I can never go back. And I don’t really want to go back…do I?

  There’s a part of me that feels like I have been in a fantasy world, playing dress up like I did when I was a little girl. I’m playing college. And when I’m done with this, I’ll go back to what I was before. Except that was never the point, was it? I suppose what I’m going through is no different from the other thousands of students walking to classes, living in apartments and dorms, and calling their parents on the phone less and less as months turn into semesters and then into years.

  But those other students don’t have pasts like mine, with scars covering their bodies and their hearts—and a first love that has dominated their every thought for almost a thousand days.

  “Are you okay?” Nate asks, his thumb gently tugging at my chin while we lie in each other’s arms in his pink bedroom—just one more scene in my fantasyland.

  “Yes. No…I’m not sure. Is that…bad?” I ask, tucking my head under his chin to feel safe.

  “Yes. No. I’m not sure,” he says with a light chuckle. I don’t know if he really understands, but he pretends well enough. “I’m glad you’re coming home with me for Thanksgiving. I’m selfish.”

  “I’m glad I’m coming home with you, too,” I say, and most of me is truly glad.

  “San Diego really is nice. They have beaches,” he says, and I smile against his skin.

  “I love beaches. Or, I think I do. I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen one,” I say almost laughing.

  “You’re kidding?” he says, pulling back a little to look in my eyes, and I just shake my head no, confirming for him.

  “There’s a lot I haven’t seen or done,” I say, my face flushing a little remembering the last first that Nate gave to me.

  “So it would seem,” he teases, but his teasing is short. “We should make a list. I’d like to be a part of more firsts.”

  “Okay,” I say, doing my best to force my brain to focus on anything other than my old bedroom, and my old boyfriend who lives only a few blocks away. “I can’t drive.”

  “Wha?” Nate says, the sound of his voice soothing as his neck presses lightly over my ear.

  “Never learned. Then, just sort of never needed to get anywhere. Permit expired, and ta da! I’m a lame teenager,” I say.

  “Yeah, you’re pretty lame,” he says, unable to hold in the small laugh that vibrates in his chest. “Good thing you have a cool boyfriend. I’ll teach you…over Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanks,” I say, not really meaning for the driving lessons.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, pulling me tighter and flipping out the light; I know he’s not talking about driving lessons either. This is love.

  Chapter 25

  Nate

  I am going to play like shit today. I don’t sleep well when Rowe is with me. It’s not because I’m uncomfortable or she snores or anything like that. It’s just that I can’t let myself relax, like I always need to keep my eyes on her. I’m afraid she’ll disappear.

  Ty woke us up early, and I had been asleep for maybe a couple hours before he came barreling into our room looking for his razor and grabbing a change of clothes. I told him about Thanksgiving, and he seemed genuinely excited. And for a while, I thought he might want to ask Cass to come, too, but he never fully went there. Maybe it’s because Cass has her sister. Or maybe my brother’s afraid.

  When I walk out from the dugout, there’s a man leaning against the third baseline wall, and at a quick glance, it looks like Rowe’s father. I head that direction in case it is, because I know Rowe’s parents had planned on coming to most of my game before they had to leave for their flight. I confirm it’s him as I get closer, and when he recognizes me, he pulls his sunglasses off and tucks them in his shirt pocket.

  “Mister Stanton, thanks for coming out again today. I sure hope we can pull of a win for you,” I say, reaching to shake his hand one more time. “I’m sorry, Rowe’s not here yet. She said you guys were coming right at the start of the game, so she’s probably still getting ready.”

  I feel like he can see through my lies, like he knows I spent the night with his daughter, and only left her an hour or two ago.

  “Oh, thanks, Nate. Yeah, her mother will come with her. I wanted to get here early,” he pauses, and it’s strange.

  “Oh, more tips for my game? You know, your daughter has had a few things to say about my swing,” I laugh, trying my damnedest to lighten what is quickly become a very serious mood. Tom laughs in response, but it’s a forced one, and I can tell his mind is elsewhere.

  “No, actually…I was hoping to catch you before your game,” he says, his eyes focusing somewhere over my shoulder until he takes in a sharp breath and looks me right in the eyes. “How much do you know…about Rowe?”

  “I know enough, sir,” I respond quickly, and I realize my reaction at first sounds a bit defensive, so I add to it. “I mean…she told me…about what happened, the shooting.”

  Tom nods, his eyes full of this un-maskable sadness. “Did she tell you about her best friend? Betsy?”

  “Yes,” I say, my stomach heavy.

  “And…Josh?”

  “Yes,” I say, looking down—out of respect. When I look back up, his gaze is once again distant. But I know he has more to say. It’s like he’s stuck—and the longer we stand here in silence, the more the pressure of…of whatever it is he needs to tell me eats away at us both. “Sir, what’s going on?”

  His eyes close when I ask, and when he opens them again, looking at me, they’re red from his efforts not to cry.

  “She’s different here. Rowe?” he says, and all I can do is nod in return. “She’s…better. God Nate, you have no idea how scared Karen and I were, how afraid we were that Rowe would never…ever…get better. She was like a zombie that first year. You know, she didn’t even talk for the first six months.”

  I wasn’t aware of that, but I don’t say a word. What Rowe wants me to know and what her father wants me to know need to exist in two separate boxes. And I need to be strong enough to keep them apart.

  “Therapy every day. And for the first
year, we couldn’t get her out of the house. Then one day, she asked us if she could go visit Josh. So we drove her there, just happy she wanted to get out of the damned house, you know?”

  He’s crying now, and seeing this man—six-foot-plus and in his late forties—cry, has me wanting to as well. But I don’t. I take in a deep breath, and nod, needing him to continue.

  “She sat in their kitchen, rooms away from him, not wanting to actually see him, but just wanting to see where he was. Be near his family. Josh couldn’t hear her anyhow. He couldn’t talk or open his eyes. He was just lying there with tubes and machines and a live-in nurse that the state paid for as part of a settlement for his parents. Ha! Like that’s supposed to somehow make it better. They were at school, Nate! That’s supposed to be the safest place in the goddamned world!”

  I let him pause for a minute and breathe. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be a parent in his situation, let alone Josh’s parents.

  “I’m sorry. I just get so damned angry when I think about it.”

  “I understand,” I say, not wanting to interrupt more.

  “Anyway, we drove her. And then she wanted to go again the next day. So we drove her again. Every day, for six months, we drove her to Josh’s parents house, and she sat in their living room and kitchen, talking to Josh’s mom, or just reading. Sometimes she just went over there to do her homework. And then one day, she didn’t want to go any more. She said she felt stuck, and then she had this awful panic attack where she couldn’t breathe, and she started vomiting. We told her therapist.”

  “Ross,” I say, having heard Rowe mention him before.

  “Right, I’m glad she’s talked about him. Well, we told Ross, and he said that Rowe was trying to grow up, move on. But she had guilt. So Ross talked to her about college. We talked to her about college. And every day we talked about college a little more. And then she shocked the hell out of Karen and me, picking McConnell. But we wanted her to go, and the distance…frankly, the distance was a blessing. She needed that distance, Nate. She still needs it.”