by Isabel Fox
“Uh, Cassie? Earth to Cassie! Are you okay?” Brooklyn waved her hand in front of my eyes. I started, then immediately regretted it when my head throbbed in protest.
“Oww. Sorry, I kind of zoned out there,” I confessed.
“Well, the doctor did say that was pretty common with severe concussions,” Brooklyn said matter of factly.
“At any rate, we’ve probably bugged you for too long. You should get some rest,” Jenna added, slowly sliding off the bed.
“Yeah, just be careful and don’t smudge your polish,” Brooklyn gestured to my feet, where I could see a row of perfectly finished, bright pink toenails peeking out from the edge of the fluffy white hospital blanket.
I wanted to protest and insist they stay longer, but I could feel myself getting extremely tired all of a sudden. Apparently fatigue was another symptom I might be dealing with for awhile. Thankfully Dr. Mallory had already been by to see me and assured me that he and all my other professors would be willing to grant me extensions on my class work, if need be. He had even taken it upon himself to make sure that some of my more difficult professors cooperated. I was almost looking forward to having a break from geology for a few days.
“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a little while,” I told Jenna and Brooklyn agreeably.
“You do that. Jenna’s got to get to work, but I’ll hang out until James gets here if you want,” Brooklyn said, already digging in her bag for a magazine. She made herself comfortable in the chair Jenna had been sitting in while Jenna gathered her things. I let my eyes drift closed, and in just a few minutes I was asleep.
When I woke up with a start some time later, I could tell by the light that it was early evening. I blinked several times and pressed a hand to my rapidly beating heart, trying to shake off the remnants of my dream.
“And Sleeping Beauty awakens,” I heard James’s voice say. I looked over and saw him stretched out on the chair next to me, laptop perched on the arm of the chair. He gave me a broad smile. “Are you okay? You were kind of muttering in your sleep.”
“Um...yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, not wanting to share my dream with him just yet. “But you are sorely mistaken. I’m anything but a beauty right now.”
“I happen to think you look great no matter what,” James replied.
“Well, I personally think you might be crazy,” I told him. “Given the various less than ideal states you’ve seen me in during the short time we’ve been together, you have no reason to want to stick around.”
“To be honest, I am sincerely hoping that I won’t have to see you stressed to the point of a breakdown, bruised, concussed, and hospitalized again anytime soon,” James admitted with a shrug. “But you are well worth the drama.”
I snorted. “Trust me, I will be going out of my way to avoid any of those things for the rest of my life. I’ve had more than enough drama, thank you very much.”
“Agreed.” James came and gently slid next to me on the bed. I tucked myself against his chest and breathed in his smell, smiling to myself.
“Is Amber still bringing a cheese burger for me later?” I asked. I had been looking forward to something other than bland hospital food.
“I’m positive she won’t forget. You’ve reminded her about five times. Extra cheese, no tomato. Plus fries and a strawberry milkshake.”
“God, I’m so hungry,” I groaned. To emphasize my point, my stomach grumbled loudly.
“Do you want me to go get you some crackers out of the vending machine, or something?” James offered.
“I would adore some crackers,” I said, being completely serious. My stomach was making up for the several days of nausea by making me completely ravenous now. I probably would have eaten cardboard if it was all I could get, but crackers sounded way more appetizing.
“If my lady wishes it,” James said in a dramatically formal voice. He got up and slipped out of the room.
While waiting for him, I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up the remnants of my dream. I had been standing in a field, the fog thick and low to the ground. Suddenly, I had realized it wasn’t a field after all, but a graveyard. I was staring down at a hole in the ground, a coffin nestled inside it.
“It’s your fault,” a somber voice from next to me had said. It was Drew, and on his other side was a crying woman I had known instinctively was Ashton’s mother.
“What?” my dream self asked, looking from Drew to the woman and back. They both met my look with accusatory stares.
“It’s your fault he died,” Ashton’s mother replied. “My baby!”
“You’re the reason I had to kill him,” Drew added sadly.
“But...I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry. I just-” I broke off as Drew and Ashton’s mother began walking away from me, my awkward apology falling on deaf ears.
Shivering slightly, I opened my eyes. It was ridiculous, I knew. It wasn’t my fault Ashton had fallen in love with me and stalked me. It wasn’t my fault he had kidnapped me, or that Drew had been forced to kill him. Of course no one would blame me for that. I hadn’t even been the one to kill him, for God’s sake.
A few minutes later, James came back and seemed to pick up on my stress. He did his best to cheer me up, reading me funny articles he found online and indulging me in an I Love Lucy marathon. I appreciated his efforts, and under normal circumstances I probably would have been cheered considerably.
These were not normal circumstances, though. Several times I found myself starting to ask James what he made of my dream. I always stopped short, though, too afraid to hear the answer. Maybe he would agree that it was at least somewhat my fault Ashton had died.
For the first time in weeks, I was slightly relieved when he left to go home and shower, only because I knew it meant Amber was on her way.
“Oh, my God,” she said when she finally arrived, a fast food bag in one hand and drink carrier with multiple milkshakes in the other. With a thud, she dropped the bag on the rolling table beside my bed. A few heavenly smelling french fries spilled out. “Cassie, you would not believe it. When I left the house, there were over a dozen bouquets of flowers that had been delivered for you. The Walkers, Dr. Mallory, Paul and Robby, everyone sent some. Our house is like some kind of conservatory at this point. Seth said people have been dropping by all day.”
“Wow,” I replied, feeling not nearly as enthusiastic as Amber did. The more people who sent flowers, the more people who knew what had happened. I would be perfectly content with no one knowing, but it seemed it was not to be.
“Tell me about it. Okay, so here’s your burger. I threatened them with death if a single tomato slice so much as grazed the bun, so there’d better not be one. I brought you a strawberry and a chocolate shake, because I’m pretty sure you’ve barely eaten in the last few days and milkshakes are always easy to get down. I want you to eat that, and then you have got to tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist.”
“Sorry, what?” I asked, pausing mid sip of my milkshake, my burger clutched in my other hand.
“James said you were in some kind of a funk, but he could tell you didn’t want to talk about it. So he texted me and said I should see if I could weasel it out of you. But we both know I’m horrible at weaseling. I’d rather just be direct.”
“Well, James was right about one thing. I don’t really want to talk about it,” I replied, popping several french fries into my mouth at once.
“Maybe not, but I’m not going to stop pestering you until you do, so you may as well get it over with,” Amber replied, making herself comfortable in the bedside chair. She had kicked off her shoes, and her bare feet rested on the edge of my bed. She took a long sip of her own milkshake, watching me expectantly.
“Okay, fine,” I relented with a sigh. “I...I had this dream.”
“About what happened?” Amber prompted.
“No. Stop interrupting, do you want me to tell you or not?” I shot her a look.
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“I dreamed I was in a graveyard with Drew and Ashton’s mother. They both blamed me for what happened, said it was my fault. I tried to apologize, but they walked away and disappeared.” I recounted. I looked down into the depths of my milkshake, feeling suddenly shy. I didn’t want to look at Amber. She was unusually quiet, though, which caused me to look up.
Amber looked back at me, her cheeks chipmunk full with a massive bite of hamburger. She held up one finger, chewed several times, and swallowed before speaking.
“Sorry. My mouth was full,” she elaborated unnecessarily.
“God, don’t do that!” I scolded. “I can’t just bare my soul to you and then have you not respond! I thought maybe you thought they were right!”
“Who? Your dream versions of Drew and Ashton’s mom?” Amber asked, confused.
“Exactly.”
“Well, do you think they are?” Amber replied. It was hardly the response I had been expecting.
“Of course not!” I said, trying to sound certain. I wasn’t, though, and Amber could tell.
“I mean, I could tell you what I think, Cass,” she started. “I can tell you I don’t think you did anything wrong, and none of this was your fault. And I would mean every word of it.”
“But…” I prompted, knowing there was more.
“But,” Amber repeated, “I’m not Drew. I’m not Ashton’s mom. They may very well blame you. I have no idea. Not that they’re right to, of course, but in situations like this...sometimes you just want to blame someone, you know?”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, feeling defensive.
“Come on, Cass. I told you what I think. But this is a horrible, terrifying thing you’ve gone through. It would be wrong of me to tell you how you should feel about it, or how you should process things, or what you should be worried about. I think it will mean a lot more for your recovery from this whole ordeal if you decided what you think and what you care about. In the end, isn’t that all that matters?” Amber said. Her words had a ring of truth to them, but I still felt less than certain.
“I guess so,” I said miserably. “You know, a psychologist came by today. She offered to see me for free, if I wanted.”
“I think you should,” Amber said instantly. “You’ve got a lot of stuff to unpack. Most of it to do with Ashton, and Drew, but maybe there’s even some underlying stuff with your mom leaving, or your dad’s death, that she could help with, too.”
“Maybe I will,” I agreed noncommittally. I knew it was something I would need to decide on soon, but for right now I was more than ready to put the conversation behind me. Amber seemed to realize this too, because she didn’t force the subject again. We passed the evening chatting about various things, watching TV, and planning our Thanksgiving break. I finally passed out, exhausted, and my sleep was blessedly dreamless.
43
“Cassie, come on or I’m leaving without you!” Amber honked the horn of her car aggressively. It was almost a month after I had left the hospital, and Amber, James, and I were heading to the Davis’s house for Thanksgiving break. The last several weeks had been a whirlwind, between work, school, and fending of the dozens of people who regularly requested to hear about my ordeal. Classmates, coworkers, neighbors, friends of my grandmother, even the local press had all wanted the scoop.
I had politely but firmly turned all of their requests down, instead choosing to talk about the incident only with my friends and Vicky, my therapist. I’d been seeing her twice a week, and it seemed to be helping.
Vicky had warned me that this might not always be the case. I might go through periods that were harder to deal with than others. So far, though, things had been going well, and for that I was grateful.
“I’m sorry!” I called to Amber as I hauled my bag out the front door. James, who had been leaning against the porch railing, immediately came and took it from me. “My appointment with Vicky ran over. Besides, I’ve spent three years waiting on you, Queen of the Sloths. You can wait for me just this once.”
Before hurrying to get in the car, I stopped and checked the mail. There was a thick stack of envelopes inside, and I grabbed them all to look over in the car.
“Bill, bill, credit card offer, something that looks suspiciously like a jury duty summons for you, Amber,” I said, neatly separating the junk mail from the important mail on the seat beside me.
Amber groaned dramatically as she pulled onto the main road. “Seriously? Man, that sucks. Is there a way I can get out of this? Can I claim that I’m Cassie’s emotional support...person and can’t be away from her for extended periods of time? I’m sure every judge in town knows who she is at this point.”
“I kind of doubt that argument would work. But you’re a student, and sometimes they’ll take pity on you and excuse you anyway. You can always request a deferment, but that just means you’ll have to do it later. I’d personally vote to go ahead and get it over with if you can,” James replied. “Wouldn’t you agree, Cass?”
I said nothing, turning the final envelope over and over in my hands.
“What’s that?” James asked, turning around in the passenger seat to get a better look.
“Huh? Oh, it’s a letter. To me. From Drew,” I answered, my voice quiet.
I hadn’t seen Drew since everything had happened except for briefly in the hospital after I was released. He had been about to be transferred to a larger facility for surgery on his leg, which had been severely broken. He had been polite but terse, and it had quickly become clear to me that he wasn’t ready to see me. It had added significantly to my feelings of guilt, which had been further compounded by news from the Walkers that he had quit his job at the inn permanently, even though they had offered to hold his position for him until he recovered.
Amanda had privately told me later that his parents had actually been the ones to call the Walkers and inform them that he had withdrawn from school and was spending time in an inpatient facility to help him cope with his PTSD. My guilt over hearing this had been enormous, and it had required an emergency session with Vicky to keep me from having a full blown panic attack. Now I felt a tightening in my chest as I held his letter in my hands.
“What? Why is he writing to you?” Amber sounded shocked. She glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
“I have no idea. Should...should I open it?” I asked, uncertain. Dozens of thoughts about the contents were running through my head. Maybe Drew wanted to tell me he forgave me for what had happened. Or perhaps he wanted to tell me how much he hated me for causing the situation that had led to Ashton’s death and his subsequent break down.
“No,” James said at the same time Amber answered, “Maybe.”
“What? Maybe? Are you serious?” James shot Amber a confused look. “Cassie’s been freaking out about whether or not Drew blames her for what happened. She doesn’t want to deal with that kind of stress right as she is starting her break.”
“Well, we don’t know what it is. It...it might not be anything bad,” Amber reasoned. “I just think if Cassie wants to open it, then she should.”
I said nothing, but slipped one finger beneath the seal of the envelope. In a quick motion, I had torn the top open and was peering down at the contents.
A letter, two pages long, written in messy, looping script, sat nestled inside. I took a deep breath and started to pull it out, then stopped.
“Do you want me to read it first?” James offered. I glanced up and saw he was watching me carefully. Sweet James. I loved him for the way he’d stuck by me through all of this. He was always looking out for me and quick to protect me from things he thought might upset me. Whether it was a report on our front porch, an article in the local paper, or a less than sympathetic Facebook comment, he shielded me from what he could.
I knew, though, that I couldn’t hide behind him and my friends forever. At some point, I would need to handle these things on my own. In order to do that, I needed to be absolutely confident in myself. I didn’t need
the opinions or blame of others weighing me down.
Rather than reading it, I tucked the letter inside the book I had brought along for the trip. It would be there for me when I was ready to read it, but until then it would sit, undisturbed.
“Don’t you want to know what it says?” Amber asked, sounding surprised.
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Either he blames me and forgives me, or blames me and doesn’t forgive me, or maybe he doesn’t blame me at all. But I can’t change that. I can only decide what I think. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I...well, yeah. I guess I did say that,” Amber recalled, realizing I was right.
“Do you? Know what you think, I mean?” James asked, still watching me with his calm blue eyes. I met his gaze with a small smile.
“You know what? I think I do,” I answered. For the first time, I felt confident in my answer. It was like I had tried to explain to Ashton that night at the cabin. Letting go of what someone else wanted me to be, or what I thought someone wanted me to be, had a power all its own. In deciding to not blame myself, I was giving myself permission to move on. I was free.
“Everything okay?” James asked, breaking the long silence.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Everything’s perfect.”