After Forever (26 page)

I took my card and left, embarrassed. It had just popped out, an admission to a total stranger. The need to tell
some
one had been overwhelming. No, I’d wanted to say. Not “congratulations.” “W-T-F, you stupid whore?” That was more like it. That was what I deserved.
   

What if this model-beautiful angel of a man approached me, and I blurted out the truth to him, too? I’d die. Just…die. So I gripped my thigh and my book, praying he wouldn’t stop and try to talk to me, and also wishing, hoping desperately that he would, because
shit
, he was gorgeous.
 

His step faltered as he passed me, and I thought he might stop, but he didn’t. He regained his equilibrium and kept walking, out of range of my peripheral vision.
 

A few minutes later, I heard—and felt—the stomach-shaking rumble of a throaty engine. Was it his? I wondered what kind of car would make that noise, and almost turned to look. But what if he was watching? He’d see me turning around to look, and then maybe he’d stop, and my wayward tongue would get me in trouble. I pictured a classic car, something low and sleek. Lean and powerful, like him.

He’d moved with easy, predatory grace. He’d drive a car like that, something that would prowl, rumble.
 

I wondered what his voice was like. Would it be deep? Rough? Smooth? I leaned back on my elbows, staring up at the blue sky. Now that he was gone, I could relax. I’d picked a spot not visible from the road, so I rolled to my stomach, untied the strap of my top, and let the sun bake my back. I’d slathered on a thick layer of sunscreen, of course. Maybe too much sun wasn’t good. For me. For…the baby.

I wasn’t even sure what I was doing. People talked blithely in books and TV shows and movies about “options.” About “keeping it,” or “getting rid of it.” Those phrases weren’t things to toss about so easily. Not for me. Keep it? Be a mother? Single, without a degree, without a family? I wouldn’t, couldn’t ask Cade for anything. He had Ever to take care of. There was no way to tell how she’d heal, how she’d recover.
If
she recovered. She might not recover completely, Dr. Overton had said. She could progress to a certain point, and then just…stop. Never recover all of her speech, or movement. There was just no way to tell. And if she did recover completely, it would be a long time before she was able to start any kind of life. It wasn’t “resume life,” really. It was more starting over. She’d have to relearn how to walk. How to use her hands. Fine motor skills. How to write, how to draw, how to paint. Jesus, her painting. That was her life. How would she cope without that? Especially if she found out about Cade and me.
 

I knew that would happen someday. I’d turned off my cell phone. It was still active, still connected in case I needed it, but I had it off. There was no one I wanted to talk to. I’d been gone for just less than a week. Five days. Cade would probably suspect something by now. I’d never missed a day with Ever. Not in the entire eighteen months of her coma. And now I just…disappeared?
 

How cruel of me. To him. To Ever, most of all. Just vanishing, no explanation? But I didn’t know how else to handle it. Anything else would lead to the truth, and I just couldn’t,
wouldn’t
lay that on Cade. Not now. Especially not on Ever. And so I was here.
 

I’d spent the first few days cleaning the cottage. Tom—Mr. Callahan, the caretaker—had pulled the sheets off the furniture and turned on the water and such, but that was it. The whole place was coated in a layer of dust. There were decade-old canned goods in some of the cabinets. I emptied everything, dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed sinks and toilets and mirrors and counters. Mopped floors and cleaned windows. Bought a few cheap pieces of art from downtown Traverse, just to make it homey. Replaced the twenty-year-old couch with something newer. Bought new bed sheets, towels, new dishes, cooking utensils, silverware. Stocked the cabinets with healthy food. No junk—except for a few treats, as a reward for eating healthier than usual—no caffeine. That was hard. No soda, no coffee. Good thing I was alone, because I’d be a raging bitch without caffeine in the morning. No alcohol. That was the worst. Nothing to take the edge off. Nothing to help me forget. Just…my own undiluted thoughts, all the time.

And I ran. There was no gym here, not close at least, so I ran. I started with two miles first thing in the morning. Finished it with pushups and crunches. I couldn’t afford to let my weight go, not now. I’d noticed I was hungrier, except midmorning, when the nausea would hit. I usually puked a few times around ten or eleven, and I’d eat some saltines—a tip learned from the Internet. It’d pass, and I’d be fine the rest of the day.
 

I also played Apollo. Ceaselessly, I played. There was little else to do, now that I wasn’t in school anymore. I worked on my solo. I played through the entirety of Bach’s suites within the first three days. And then started again. I hadn’t dared bring Apollo to the beach yet, but I would. Someday. It was Mom’s beach. Mom’s cello. I had to play there, for her. For her memory.
 

I hadn’t thought of Mom in a long time. Years. I’d put her out of my mind, my way of healing. I’d bleached my hair to look like hers six months after she’d died, and I’d kept it that color ever since, out of habit. I liked not looking identical to Ever. She was already more beautiful than I was, skinnier, glossy black hair, slimmer hips, svelte waist, delicate shoulders. I’d gotten so obsessed with keeping my weight down that I’d grown to need the gym. Need the rush of a killer workout. It wasn’t about Mom, not anymore.
 

And now, here, at her family’s cottage, I found myself thinking of her for the first time in years. Missing her. Needing her. Wondering what she’d say if she knew the mess I’d gotten myself into. Scold me? Yell? Scream? Refuse to talk to me? I didn’t have any idea how she would have been as a parent to me in my later years. She’d been fairly even-tempered until she died. I got my temper from her, though, while Ever was more like Dad, inward-focused, quiet, slow to anger. Mom would get irritated with me and Ever. We’d get into trouble, and we’d play the twin-confusion card. She’d get fed up, and she’d yell. We always knew we’d pushed the game far enough when Mom got really mad. We knew we’d crossed the line when she stopped yelling and got scary-quiet. With me as an adult, would she sit me down and lecture? Be a support? She would be disappointed. I knew that much.

After letting the sun roast me for a while, I retied my top, slid off my shorts, got up, and moved toward the water. I walked in, toes, ankles, knees, then up to my thighs. I stayed thigh-depth for several feet. I hit the rope delineating the swim area, and ducked under. Now it was up to my waist, and then my boobs went buoyant. Finally, I had to duck under, swimming submerged in the cold depths. Down, down, following the bottom until the pressure hurt my ears and the cold was too sharp, aching my bones. I let myself float upward, break the surface. I saw in the distance a platform, bobbing gently in the little waves. The dock. It was still there. As a little girl I remembered it being so far out. Swimming out there had seemed so grown-up, so daring and adventurous. Now I realized it was
maybe
twenty feet from the roped-off section. The water was well over my head, though, and I felt an absurd moment of panic as I did a sloppy crawl stroke toward it. I’d been swimming in pools, of course, but I hadn’t been in a lake in…years. Not since the last time here with Mom, well over ten years ago.
How long?
I thought, distracting myself. She’d died when I was thirteen, almost fourteen. It had been…two years before her death that we’d come up here. I was twenty-two now. So yeah, just about ten years.
 

By the time I’d figured that out, I was at the dock, rounding it to find the ladder. I held on to the metal bar, feet kicking in the dark water. Swimming in the open like this wasn’t the same as in a pool. If you faltered in a pool, you could kick over to the edge and climb out. In a lake, there was no edge. If you swam out too far, there was no escape, no easy edge to save you. It wasn’t actual fear of that happening I felt; rather, it was more the potential, the knowledge of the possibility. I kicked and pulled myself up onto the dock, lay on my back, staring up at the sky. The morning air chilled my wet body, but the sun warmed me.
 

I had a memory of being here, on this dock, with Mom. Ever had been on the beach, tanning. She didn’t like swimming as much as I did. So Mom swam out with me, held the ladder and waited till I climbed up. Followed me, sat beside me on the rocking platform. The beach had seemed so far away, miles distant. I was out of breath from the swim, elated, excited, a little scared. I was going to jump off. I’d been out here with Mom the day before, but I’d chickened out of jumping off. That day, Mom and I had lain side by side on the gently bobbing dock, watching the clouds shift overhead. We’d lain until we were hot, and then Mom had climbed to her feet, slicked her hair back, and tugged on the elastic leg band of her swimsuit. I remember thinking,
She’s so beautiful
, wishing and hoping I’d grow up to be as beautiful as she was, with her long blonde hair and green eyes and high cheekbones and easy, lovely smile. She’d glanced at me, smiling, winked, and then dove in, slicing perfectly. I’d stood, scared stiff, and watched the deep blue water shift and curl, imagined things lurking in the depths, imagined diving too deep and not being able to make the surface in time. Mom had just treaded water and waited. I shuffled to the edge of the platform, peering over the edge.

“Stop thinking and
jump
, Edie!” Mom had laughed. “You’re freaking yourself out. I’m right here, honey.”

I was eleven. Way,
way
too old to be scared of jumping off some stupid dock. I’d closed my eyes and jumped. Feet first, arms flailing. I was immediately swallowed by darkness and achingly cold water. I’d fought the panic and kicked to the surface, felt the air on my face and sucked in a deep breath, spluttering, laughing. Mom had laughed with me, given me a high-five, and then we climbed back up and jumped off together, sending the dock rocking. Again and again we jumped off, laughing and making a game of who could jump farther. Finally, drawn by our laughter, Ever had swum out to join us. She’d acted brave as she climbed up and peered off the edge, the way I’d done, but I’d seen the fear. I remember admiring her
so much
for how she just jumped off, no hesitation, despite her fear. That day, watching Ever do with seeming ease what I’d been scared of, I determined to never let fear get the best of me. I’d always been the first after that. The first to try something, no matter how scared I was. It may have turned into a slight case of impulsivity, risk simply for the sake of not letting fear get the better of me.

Now, I lay on the same dock, and I was gripped by fear. Every moment, I was scared. Terrified. I could barely breathe, I was so scared. I was scared of life. Of living. Of what would happen to me. I wasn’t a teenager, sure. But I was
way
too young and unprepared to be a mother. A
mother
. Mommy. Me. Eden Irene Eliot, a single mother. I didn’t know what I wanted for myself, much less how to be a parent.
 

I’d never even been in love.
 

I stood up, clenching my fists and forcing air into my lungs. Pushed away the rampant terror. Bent my legs and dove in, the way Mom had, so long ago.
 

By the time I reached the shore, I was barely holding it together. I threw my cover-up on, toed my feet into my flip-flops, gathered my things, and hurried home. It was home, too. It felt like home. What if…what if it was the only home I ever knew? What if I had the baby here and raised him/her alone, here on the peninsula? Just never went back. Could I do that? Cut myself out of Ever’s life? She was all that mattered, really. And Cade, of course, but he was a can of worms I couldn’t deal with. Not yet. I had to push him out of my thoughts, out of my heart.
 

I sat on my couch, wet from the swim and sweating from running home, hyperventilating in an attempt to keep the wrenching sobs at bay. I couldn’t lose it. Wouldn’t. This was life now. Alone, in this cottage.
 

I hadn’t loved Cade. Almost, though. I’d
almost
fallen in love with him. I’d seen it happening, felt my heart curling outward and trying to latch onto him. But he didn’t love me and never could and never would, even if Ever hadn’t woken up, and anything we’d ever have would’ve been established on all the wrong foundations, and I refused to let that happen. I wanted better for myself.

His trip to Wyoming had come at the most perfect moment. That last tangle in the sheets had nearly been my undoing. But then he’d left and I pushed him away, knowing it would be the end. It
had
to be the end. We couldn’t keep doing it to each other. It wasn’t helping him, and it was only confusing me.
 

I’d teetered on the edge of a cliff, and then had stumbled back at the last moment. Tearing myself away, pushing him away, that had been wrenchingly painful. But far better than spending the rest of my life loving him and never able to have him.
 

And then…and then I’d found out I was pregnant, and everything had changed. Now I had no idea what was going to happen to me. I had no one. I’d cut Dad out of my life, although being the stubborn asshole he was, he’d continued to pay for my tuition and room and board. Why, I didn’t know, and never would. He wouldn’t visit us, wouldn’t see us, wouldn’t make any efforts to repair the damaged relationships, but he’d paid for school. When Ever went into the coma, he’d paid the hospital bills until she’d entered the Home, at which point she’d become a ward of the state. I think he had kick-ass insurance that had covered a huge portion of her bills, but it still must have cost him a staggering amount of money. I think he’d also paid Cade’s hospital bills. I don’t know if Cade even realized that.
 

But he wasn’t a support system. I wouldn’t ask him for money. I wouldn’t call him. Wouldn’t tell him what was going on.