If Only We (6 page)

“Just stuff,” I say. “We were just about to go refill our drinks.”

She frowns dramatically. “But Chevy, I was hoping that we could, you know, talk.” She slings her arm around his shoulder.

When she uses the word “talk” it doesn't sound like she wants to just talk. She's only been here for less than a minute and this has already gone too far. Chevy wants me to save him. Time to go to Plan B.

With a deep breath, I take his hand in mine. His eyes widen. I give Heidi a sweet smile. “Actually, we were planning on heading upstairs to find a more private place to, you know, talk.” I raise my eyebrows at Chevy.

He nods with a smirk, now on the same page as me. “That’s right. Come on, Adrienne.” We stand up and walk away, still holding hands. I glance back at her just in time to catch the dirtiest look I have ever been given. I hold in a laugh.

He keeps holding my hand until we reach the kitchen. When he lets go, he wraps his arms around me and spins me around. I can’t help but giggle. “Thank you!” he says with a laugh. He places me back on my feet. “You’re a genius. Although, she may spread rumors about the two of us.”

I don’t mind. I wonder if he does. “She probably would have anyway, just seeing us talking.”

“That’s true. In any case, I owe you one big time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You can start with freshening my drink.” I hand over my cup.

He says, “For you, anything.” My heart flutters.

And doesn’t stop.

Chapter Seven

Monday, June 4
^th

River’s Bend Nursing Home sits slightly off a country road just outside of town. Ornamental pear trees line the drive until you reach the parking lot. The building itself has the appearance of a house, only much larger. The evergreen bushes that surround the perimeter are trimmed weekly. Each window has a flower box filled with different types—marigolds, pansies, geraniums, or whatever is available. The place has a quaint appeal to it, making it feel more like a home than a nursing home. It is a beacon of hope for those who stay and a comfort to those who visit.

So, why am I hesitating to go inside?

My mom left a note for me on the counter by the toaster this morning. It said, “I cannot express how proud I am of you, Adrienne. Have a wonderful first day! I love you, Mom.”

I close my eyes and sigh. I want to believe what Chevy said last night, about me not being able to disappoint my mom. Considering her dramatic reaction to my choice to not do this the first time, I can’t help but doubt it. I get out of my car and walk in through the double doors.

The receptionist, who is all smiles, sees me. “You must be Adrienne.” I nod. “I’m Denise. Just keep walking down this hall, and take a left. There’s a sign in front of the room you need to go in.”

I nod again and say, “Thank you,” as I head down the hall. This isn’t the first time I’ve been here. There were a couple family members who lived here years ago. The appearance on the inside hasn’t changed—the pale orange walls and wooden-framed artwork remains as I remember it.

So, could somebody please tell me why my stomach is starting to do flip-flops?

I pass an older woman in a wheelchair. She is sitting in front of her room staring into space. A nurse comes out of the room and pushes her back in. I keep walking. The sterile smell hits me suddenly, despite being inside for at least a minute. It starts to consume every breath I take in. I hear the sound of monitors and machines beep and pulse, drifting in and out of some rooms. With every step I take, my stomach continues to flip.

By the time I reach the end of the hall, I begin to feel dizzy. I stop and put a clammy hand on the wall to steady myself. A wave of nausea comes over me. I've been here before—it's unmistakable.

I'm going to faint.

My heart is racing. I need to calm down but I don’t know how.

I hear footsteps come closer, followed by a concerned voice. “Adrienne? Are you okay?” I glance up and see Aunt Faith. She has her brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her brows furrow as she comes closer. “Oh sweetie,” she says, touching my forehead. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. “Here,” she says, taking my arm and slinging it over her shoulder. “Let’s get you somewhere you can sit down.”

“Okay,” I squeak out.

She leads me off to what appears to be a break room. She sits me down at the table, pours a glass of water, and sits down next to me. “Drink some. It will make you feel better.”

I reluctantly drink a little. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She pauses, pressing her lips together. “What happened? Did you skip breakfast?” I shake my head. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t know. I was fine until I got here. Then I started to feel dizzy and my heart was racing as I came down the hall.”

“I see.” She leans back in her chair. “Adrienne, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you really want to be a nurse?”

I stiffen. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m asking because I believe you just had a panic attack.”

My eyes widen. I've been panicking off and on since I started to relive the summer. I chalked it up to just that. What if it’s not? “But I have to be a nurse.”

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t. Not if you don’t want to be.”

“You of all people should understand why I have to be a nurse.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “You’re right. I do understand. But I didn’t ask your mom if you should be a nurse. I asked you. Do
you
want to be a nurse?”

I think about it for a moment. Do I want to be a nurse? I envision myself as a nurse, like the one I saw pushing the woman in the wheelchair. Try as I might, I can’t see it. How is this possible? “I don’t know if I do anymore, and if I don’t know it probably means deep down that I don’t.” I groan. “Why is this happening now? After all these years of working toward this goal, how could I not want it anymore?” I put my head in my hands. “This is just awful. Especially after all the strings you pulled for me to be able to do this.”

I feel her hand on my shoulder. “Look. Don’t worry about that. Everyone goes through this. I didn’t become a nurse’s aide until I wanted to be one. Maybe it will be the same for you. Maybe two years from now you'll want it. Or maybe you'll never want it. This job isn’t for just anyone, you know. It’s the kind of dirty, hands-on job a lot of people shy away from.”

I think about the smells encasing me only a moment ago. I consider the things I would have to clean up. It causes me to shudder and the nausea flickers again. “What should I do? My mom is expecting me to do this. I told her I wanted this. I’m supposed to be going to college in the fall.” What will happen when she finds out?

She tilts my chin up, looking me in the eye. “The way I see it, you have two choices: stay or go. Either stay and carry on like this never happened, or you go and figure out a new plan.”

That simple, huh? Stay or go. I would hate to give it up after all this time. As much as I want to make my mom happy, I don’t want this. The thought of leaving it all behind both thrills and frightens me. The possibilities are endless, but what will I tell my mom? I already know how she will react. Unless…

Unless restarting had nothing to do with pleasing my mom—maybe it wasn’t my destiny to do this. And if it wasn’t my destiny, then there's something else out there. Something else that I need to search out. I can’t search it out if I stay here.

“What are you going to do?” Faith asks me.

There is only one answer. “Go.”

~*~

I drive to Lyndsay’s house. I figure it will be the safest place to hide out until I need to tell my mom. If I go home now, what if Maurice comes home early? The chance of this is slim, but still. He would tell my mom and she'll know something is up. That wouldn't be a good start to the conversation I need to have. As far as that conversation goes, what do I say? I can’t be straightforward and say straight out of the gate that I'm not going to be a nurse. Perhaps if I start with the panic attack, she'll go easy on me.

I spend the rest of the day browsing through Lyndsay’s college catalogs, something I have never done before. Although I’ve heard of most of these careers, it feels different looking at them now. I could do one of them, any of them. The possibilities
are
endless

too endless. Paralegal. Medical transcription. Social work. Teacher. Journalism. My head starts to spin. Can I see myself doing any of these?

When Lyndsay walks in, she finds me facedown on her bed. She throws her purse on my legs and I jump. I throw her a scowl and shove my face back down. She says, “You do realize how bizarre this is, don’t you?”

Bizarre? You have no idea, Lyndsay. No idea. I am eighteen years old and not only career-less but also struggling to pick out an alternative. I ask, “What is bizarre?” only it sounds like, “Wuhf ith bishare?” through the covers.

Her bed squeaks as she sits at the end by my feet. “Between the two of us, I never imagined that I'd be the one who went into nursing while you didn’t.”

I turn my face to the side and smile. “Life is funny that way.”

“How are you going to tell your mom?”

“I’m going to play the sympathy card and mention almost fainting.”

“That may work.”

“It probably won’t but I need to stay positive.”

She scoffs. “You’re doing a great job there.” I smack her thigh with my hand. “Ow! I was only teasing.” She rubs the spot where I hit her. “You didn’t miss much though. It was mostly a bunch of formalities, a tour of the place and where everything is... There isn’t too much I can do until I take the nurse’s aide course.”

“Well, at least you’ve got your foot in the door.”

“True. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Guess what?”

“What?”

“I got an interview tomorrow at The Community Market.”

The Community Market is the small grocery store Ben works at. Ever since he started working there, Lyndsay has been hoping for the opportunity to apply. I almost forgot about her working there. “Really? That’s great, but won’t they be worried you two will be making out in the frozen-food section when you’re supposed to be at the register?”

“More likely the produce department,” she replies, not missing a beat. “It’s good the nursing-home work is only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, that way I have more availability. My mom told me the more flexibility I have, the better.” She picks at her finger. “I hope I get in. I could use the extra money for school this fall.”

“You do. I mean, you will. There’s no reason they won’t.”

“Thanks. Hey! Maybe you could work there too.”

I’m not sure my mom would be excited to hear that idea, but it's an option. “Maybe. I’ll ask.”

I stay there until I know my mom will be done with work. On the drive home I work on the speech I’ll give. With every stop sign and every turn, my nerves kick in more. The anxiety is keeping my mind from putting the right words in the right order.
Mom, I know how much you want, I mean… Mom, on my walk down the hall I got dizzy and, wait… Mom, I don’t want to…

This isn’t coming out the way I want it to at all.

My mom is making dinner when I walk into the kitchen. I watch her stir sauce for a moment. It reminds me of the days before the divorce. Mom cooking dinner, dad kissing her cheek before he set the table. Simpler times when their daughter was too young to be concerned with college and only needed dolls to survive. Why can’t it just stay like that? Simple, with no complications. When she sees me, her whole face brightens, causing my stomach to sink. “Hi sweetie! I have been so anxious to see you.”

Funny, I’ve been anxious to see you too, just not for the same reason.
I feign a smile, which fades when I smell what she’s making. “Is that…stuffing?”

“Yep! I decided to make you your favorite tonight in honor of your first day. Stuffing and ravioli with red sauce. What do you think?”

I look at the stove in an attempt to avoid her eyes. Out of all the nights she could do this, she had to pick this one. My stomach turns despite the delicious aroma. How can I tell her now? I turn back to her. “Mom, I need to tell you something,” I finally say.

“What is it, hon?” Her face holds a glow I have never seen. I can almost see the rays of light illuminate the room. What I am about to say will burn those lights out forever. She is looking at me expectantly. “Adrienne?”

Whatever the circumstances, it needs to be said. So I open my mouth and say it:

“Thank you, Mom. You’re the best.”

~*~

I can’t wait to go to my room. After chickening out at the last minute, I need some time alone to wrap my head around what I just did. I didn’t get the chance until after we all sat down to eat. My mom asked me how everything went. All I could mention were the little tidbits Lyndsay said in passing earlier. Thankfully, she didn’t probe much further. I had to pretend to be exhausted to get away.

Safely in my room with the door shut, I fall facedown into my pillow. “What have you done?” I grumble to myself. Seriously, what
have
I done? For starters, I lied. Not just a little lie either. Then I perpetuated it by telling more lies about what happened. What I need to do is come clean. Go downstairs and tell her the truth.

However, if I do that she will be more upset with me for faking. On top of that, she won’t trust me.

Why did I lie to her? I know why I lied. I couldn’t stand to see her hurt at the moment she seemed happiest. The crash from being that high up would have been devastating. Waiting certainly won’t change the devastation. Lying is a worse offense than quitting.

What am I going to do? I can’t tell her.

A light bulb comes on in my mind. What if… what if I don’t tell her? What if I pretend I'm still going while I set out to find myself? This way, she can stay happy and I can discover what I'm looking for without having her being upset weighing me down. Once I know what I want to do and begin to work toward that goal, then I can tell her. She may be upset at first but she is bound to come around when she sees my dedication.

It's not a flawless plan by any means. But somehow, it feels like the best option I have in front of me.