by Inda Herwood
Mom walks back into the dining room with Catcher and Leigha trailing behind her, both with reserved looks on their faces.
“You’re welcome to sit down. There’s juice and water bottles in the fridge if you get thirsty,” Mom tells them, ever the hostess. Giving Nana an emphatic look, she says, “Mom, I think we should give them some privacy. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.” Mom takes Nana by the arm and leads them away, but not before she flashes me a hopeful smile.
Catcher and Leigha do in fact take a seat at the other end of the table, a wave of tense energy passing between the three of us. I can tell no one knows how to start this conversation. So I do it the only way I know how: by saying everything I held back from the start.
I tell them everything, from the moment we got the check, all the way down to the day I stepped foot in the Hamptons. They don’t speak a word through it all. Their expressions don’t change, either, making me worry.
Once I’m finished, a long silence follows. That is until Leigha says, crossing her arms on the table, “Well, hell. I didn’t see that coming.”
Catcher nods his head in agreement. “I knew there was more to your story than you let on, but I didn’t know it ran this deep. I’m really sorry, Blaire.”
The apology takes me off guard, forcing me to ask, “Why would you be sorry?”
He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, the gesture just like Beckham. “Because it sounds like you had a hard life to begin with, and it only got worse after the lottery, which seriously isn’t fair. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like that you lied to all of us, but I can see why your parents did it, and I can’t fault you for following their orders.”
“I get it, too. You wanted to protect yourselves after what happened. But why didn’t your parents just tell us the truth after they got to know us? You should have known that we wouldn’t judge you for that,” Leigha says, the question a very valid one, and not something I can easily argue.
“I know. You’re right. When it came to being cautious with you guys, we went a little overboard. But I think they know that now, and I’m sure they’re going to go over and have a chat with your aunt and uncle about it later. If they’ll allow it,” I add as an afterthought, not knowing how hard they’ll take it compared to their kids and niece. I really hope this doesn’t affect Nana and Mr. Lyons’s relationship, either, though I suspect it will.
“I want you both to know how sorry I am,” I say, knowing I betrayed them, too. “You’ve treated me like a part of your family since the very beginning, and you didn’t deserve any of this.” Rubbing my eyes before the tears can start again, I finish by saying, “I don’t know what I would have done this summer without you. I hope you can eventually forgive me.”
“I forgave you before we even came over here, Witchy Woman,” Catcher says with a sweet smile and a wink.
I half laugh, half cry at his kind honesty. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you.”
Looking at Leigha now, she says, “Same here. We all do stupid stuff, especially when we’ve been hurt. I understand.” A sadness darkens her eyes, reminding me of what happened to her and her parents a couple weeks ago; something that I fear will affect her for a long time to come. But hopefully, the boy who secretly held her hand last night will be able to help with that.
“Really?”
Leaning forward so that her arms are resting on the table, she explains, “If your motives had been evil like Jenna’s, then I would have had to hand your ass to you. But they weren’t, so it’s cool.”
Looking between them, I ask incredulously, “You guys really aren’t mad anymore?”
“No, but I think we need to instill a new policy so this doesn’t happen again,” Catcher says. “A clause in our friendship, if you will.”
“Oh, no, no. If you’re suggesting we adopt the painful honesty you live by, then I’m out,” Leigha tells him, unapologetic.
“Okay, how about if someone asks a question, you have to answer it honestly. If not, you can keep it to yourself so long as it doesn’t hurt someone else. Sound good?” Catcher asks us, looking at Leigha and I like we’re on a game show, and we’re supposed to lock in our final answers.
“Fine,” Leigha says with a sigh.
“I’m alright with that.”
“Great.” Back to his happy, smiley self, Catch turns in his chair and asks me, “So, how do you plan to win my brother back, and how can we help?”
CHAPTER 20
Beckham
I stare down at the information packet to NYU that came in the mail a few days ago, the admissions office having contacted me for an interview next month. If it weren’t for Blaire and her advice to write the essay like it was for her, I don’t know if I would have gotten it with just my curriculars alone, or the original essay I had started. Her help pretty much cemented my place, and the truth of that feels like a rock in my stomach.
Pushing the papers aside, I begin to feel that familiar ache I get whenever I think about her. The first few days after I learned the truth were all anger, pissed that I let myself get lost in yet another girl who thought honesty was a negotiable part of a relationship. Someone who I thought would never hurt me, especially in that way. Then I was depressed. That lasted for about a week, and now I’m just – I’m just missing her, mainly the little things. Like seeing her sitting in her window seat, sketching away. And the way her scent would fill up my room whenever she came over, even if only for a little while. I miss the way she had a special smile that only I could bring out in her, and how there was nothing so horrible in this world that her touch couldn’t fix.
This stage of the grieving process has irritated me the most. Because I shouldn’t miss a liar, or someone who would willingly hurt me. It’s a mental mantra I’ve been keeping on a constant loop to keep my anger with her, knowing it’ll help me move on quicker. She should be out of my system in the next few days if I stay on course, and then I’ll be out of here before I know it; staying in a dorm at NYU, no longer having to fear catching a glimpse of her and ruining all the good work I’ve done. Distance is only going to help the process. Too bad I’m going to have to wait until January for that kind of space.
Three short knocks sound at my door before Leigha peeks her head in, saying, “Blaire’s at the door again.”
I look back down at my desk and the packet, pretending I didn’t hear her.
“She’s come over every day for two weeks, and you still won’t hear her out? You’re more stubborn than a mule with a political science degree,” she complains. “The least you could do is go face her like a man and tell her you don’t want her coming around anymore. She comes back because she thinks if you don’t outright tell her to go away, there’s still a chance.”
“Then she’s even more naïve than I was,” I mutter, grabbing one of the brochures and opening it up to look at a picture of the campus again.
Stomping into the room, she grabs the thing from my hands and chucks it across the floor. Staring down at me, she says, “I love you like a brother, Beck. There isn’t anything in this world I wouldn’t do to protect you from getting hurt. But what you’re doing now isn’t right, and you know it. Everyone in this house has heard the Cromwell’s explanation for why they did what they did, and forgiven them. Even Grandfather, and we all know he’s the most judgmental of them all. But yet you won’t even give Blaire the small courtesy of hearing her out, if only so that she can move on with her life. You’re being selfish.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Me? I’m the one being selfish?” Standing up, I point my finger at her. “Lying is lying, no matter the reason behind it. Unlike our family, I have higher standards when it comes to the people I let into my life.”
“Don’t you point that snobby finger at me,” she warns, slapping my hand away. “You want to know why no one is ever around you, Beck? It’s because you demand perfection. And the one thing humans will never be is perfect. We mess up, day in and day out, and we disappoint t
he ones we love. It’s a fact everyone seems to know but you. And if you don’t get used to it, you’re going to live a very lonely life.” She huffs, breathing hard when she says, “At least Blaire is sorry for what she did and has tried to apologize. She sits on the porch for over an hour every day, waiting for you to grow a damn heart. Did you ever see Jenna do that?” When she pauses, waiting for an answer, I say nothing. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So don’t you dare do Blaire the dishonor of comparing her to that horrible girl.”
Walking away from me and my “selfishness”, she slams the door behind her, shaking the walls. I sit back in my chair, shocked at her anger. I knew she was mad I was ignoring her friend, but the rage she just used is the kind she normally reserves for when she’s defending our family to someone – an outsider. Seeing as how she just used it for Blaire’s sake says a lot.
And she was right, even Grandfather forgave them, continuing plans for his and Nana’s wedding, which is going to take place the week before summer break ends. If I attend, I’m going to have to face Blaire again, and find some sort of way to avoid her and the apology I don’t want to hear – something I’m not about to let happen. But just about every member of my family has told me that if I don’t go, I’ll be blackballed.
I still haven’t made my choice yet.
Shoving it all to the back of my mind, far out of reach, I pick up the brochure Leigha had thrown, looking over the front of it. This is my future, I remind myself, my fingers tracing the NYU logo. So why does it feel so wrong?
Blaire
Walking into my room, I let the frustration and disappointment hit me full force, having spent yet another afternoon sitting on the Lyons’ front porch for nothing. Leigha looked just as upset when she had to tell me that he wouldn’t come down from his room for the fifteenth time.
“We’ve all tried to talk to him,” she told me, looking letdown with herself and her efforts. She and Catcher have been tag teaming to help me get Beckham to listen, but so far no luck. I thought that after his family forgave us that it would at least convince him to hear me out, but he’s remained as stubborn as ever.
I gave her my thanks for trying, and sat on the porch to read for a little while. My theory is that he has to come out sometime. He can’t stay in his house forever. That’s why I spend an hour there on the porch just in case, sometimes asking Catcher or Leigha not to let him know I’m there so that he might come out, even if just by accident. It hasn’t worked yet, though.
Falling back on the bed, I stare upside down at my headboard, eyes trailing over the spines of my book collection. Over the summer, Beckham and I made many more trips to the bookstore, buying the titles he suggested and somehow always loving them. But to this day, my copy of Pride and Prejudice is still my favorite. It was my first positive memory of him, a reminder of how our friendship started.
Thinking of the story of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, I find it ironic that misunderstanding, past scars, and pride, are the same things that caused Beckham and I’s downfall, too.
Gasping, I sit up with a jolt, wondering how I didn’t think of it sooner.
That’s it.
If Beck won’t listen to me face to face, then maybe he would in a letter. It worked for Mr. Darcy, why couldn’t it work for me?
Scrambling to my desk, I gather up some old stationary and a pen from my cupholder, jostling Sir Leopold’s water as I pull out my chair and sit down. As I write, Dear Beckham, I send a silent thank you up to Ms. Jane Austen herself for the idea. It just might be the solution I’ve been looking for.
***
For the next few days, I take the time to really perfect my letter while also helping Nana out with some last-minute wedding preparations. When I don’t make my daily stop to the Lyons home, I get a worried call from Catcher and Leigha via speakerphone.
“Did you give up?” Leigha asks.
“No,” I say while I put invitations into envelopes at the dining table. “I just have a new strategy in mind that requires some preparation.” Also, Nana said her tongue couldn’t produce any more saliva, and gave me envelope licking duty. I wouldn’t have had the time anyway.
“Good,” Catcher says. “I’m tired of opening the door and seeing your sad little face there, Witchy Woman. My brother doesn’t deserve you.”
“Oh, and you do?” Leigha asks him, since that’s what his tone sort of implied.
“More than he does,” I hear him mumble.
“Ignore him,” Leigha tells me. “Besides, I want to hear more about this plan of yours to get my idiot cousin back. What are you going to do?”
Not sure if I want to divulge that information just yet, I tell them instead, “I’m coming at it from a different angle this time. I’m not going to be sitting outside like a dog in the rain anymore.”
“Hell yeah, you’re not,” Leigha hoots, making me smile. “So, is it anything we can help you with?”
“No, this is a one-woman kind of job. I just hope it works.”
“No matter what happens, you’re still apart of the musketeers. And if my brother is mean to you at the wedding, I’ll gladly have him face-plant in the sand on your behalf,” Catcher says, his voice filled with a grin.
Though his offer is sweet, my mind can’t let go of what he said first. “Does…does that mean he’s agreed to come?” Because last I heard, he wasn’t going.
“He hasn’t said it in so many words, but I think he will. I can’t see him purposely upsetting Grandfather like that. If he did, he’d never hear the end of it.”
My heart skips a beat, but not in a good way.
To think that Beck would miss his own grandfather’s wedding just because he doesn’t want to see me has me doubting my new plan. If he’s still this mad after all this time, is there really any hope left for us? Could it really be over before he even lets me fix it? One way or another, I’m going to find out. I can’t move on until I do.
The next morning I’m standing in front of the Lyons’ front door for the thousandth time since I’ve moved here, knocking my fist three times on the hard surface before returning it to my side. I squeeze Beckham’s letter in my hands to the point where the envelope gets wrinkled, forcing me to smooth it out as much as possible before the door opens.
Looking up, I expect to see Catcher’s quirky smile or Leigha’s sympathetic one staring back at me, but I don’t see anyone; just a view into the foyer that turns into a hall, leading to the living room. But when my gaze goes downward, I see Theo standing there with Hawn panting at his side, smiling at me with a wave.
His happy glow has me returning the smile. “Hello, Theo. Hello, Hawn. How are you today?”
Theo mouths “Good”, moving aside to let me in.
“That’s okay. I’m not here to stay. I just wanted to drop something off,” I explain, hoping that doesn’t hurt his feelings. “Is Leigha or Catcher around?”
He shakes his head before taking out his little notepad and pen from his pocket. Scribbling out what he wants to say, he holds up the paper for me to read. “Went shopping for the wedding.”
I make an O with my mouth, nodding my understanding. “Okay then. I’ll just come back later.”
He looks down at my hand, pointing to it with a questioning squint.
Deciphering his question, I say, “This is what I was going to leave here. It’s for Beckham.”
Opening and closing his hand, he silently shows me that he’d be willing to give it to him for me.
“Are you sure?” I ask, not wanting to put him in an awkward position. Or worse yet, make Beck think I’m using his little brother to get to him.
He nods with a confident smile I can’t refuse.
“Alright then.” I hand him the envelope, and he tucks it protectively under his arm. Distantly I hear his mother in the kitchen, talking to his father. Looking down the hall and then back to him, I ask, “How has the drawing been going?”
Little Lyons has come out to draw on the porch with me on more than a few occasion
s. He’s gotten really good with his art, his confidence growing every day. He’s the total opposite of the little boy I encountered in the art store, who looked sad and shy. Now he has a light behind his eyes, a beautiful smile full of happiness and hope. It amazes me how just a little attention and encouragement made all the difference in him.
He nods his head in answer to my question, pulling out a rolled-up piece of paper from his back pocket, holding it out to show me. He’s been adding to his comic character lately, doing pages to expand on his story. The kid has a talented imagination, something I hope he never loses.
“Wow, I really love the background. You did a great job with the trees,” I tell him, looking over the drawing he did of Man of Justice flying out of a forest.
“Theo, breakfast is ready,” I hear Beckham say, coming around the corner to see where his brother went. When he spots me, holding Theo’s drawing, his brother smiling like nothing is out of the ordinary, his face goes emotionless. “It’s time to eat, bud,” he tells him, coming to stand behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders.
I slowly stand back up, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s at seeing him for the first time in over two weeks. He’s kept his blinds closed, not allowing me to get even a peek at him. “Hello,” I say, holding onto Theo’s drawing like it’s anchoring me to earth.
“Hi,” he returns quietly.
Theo grabs my hand, nodding down the hall, asking me with an excited grin to join them for breakfast. His sweet insistence brings a fresh sting to my eyes. And that’s when I realize I love him. I love all of them. The Lyons’ have become an extended part of my family, reserving a whole section of my heart just for them. I never could have anticipated how much they’d change and influence my life when I moved here.
The beautiful boy in front of me most of all.
“It’s kind of you to offer, Theo, but I should really get going.” I give his small hand a gentle squeeze. “But I’ll be seeing you soon, okay?”