Second Thoughts (19 page)

I didn't remember airbags. I didn't remember much of anything but an overwhelming sense that I should be dead. Except I wasn't. I
loved
not being dead. Even with whatever was wrong with my arm and my head. Even with whatever my face looked like. Though, honestly, I hoped it wasn't too terrible.

Carter pushed the call button to let them know I was awake and nurses and doctors came and went. They told me my wrist should—not
would
—be fine, after weeks in the cast and more weeks of therapy. If I weren't so thrilled about the being alive part, I'd have cried. So much for volleyball season. It had only just started, and now I'd miss
the whole thing. Brooke would be pissed, especially since we were supposed to be co-captains.

When the medical action was finally over and it was time for me to rest, I said to Carter, “Tell me?” and closed my eyes to listen. Keeping them open was a challenge, and the lights seemed so, so bright.

He spoke softly, like a lullaby. “What do you remember?” he asked and my answer was a tiny shake of my head.

“There was a car, going the wrong way. The driver, she's old. I guess she was confused. I think she's here now, too.” He took a breath and let it out. “I almost missed it, babe. It was so close, and I'm sorry. I…just…I wasn't fast enough. She clipped our rear bumper and that was it. We spun. Into another car and then the guardrail.”
Just like my parents,
I thought but didn't say. “They're okay, though, the other people. The driver helped me try to get you out.”

He paused then, and I wasn't sure how much time passed. Through our connected fingers, I felt him shift, and I imagined him running his other hand through his hair until it went in all directions.

“I thought…” His voice broke and he took another breath, then another. “I thought I'd killed you, Lainey. Just like the vision. You were slumped and broken, and…God, I thought I'd lost you. I
could
have lost you,
again,
and it was all my fault. If I'd been paying more attention, or reacted faster. I let my guard down, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I'd do, if you…if you hadn't been okay. I'm
sorry.
I love you.” I'm not sure if I squeezed his fingers then, or he squeezed mine, but his voice was stronger as he told the rest.

“Your car—it's totaled. I'm sorry. Most all the damage was to your side, and it was just worse because you were wedged against the guardrail. They had to cut you out, Lane. We tried, the other driver and I, but—we didn't know if we'd hurt you more, or if…so we had to wait. God, it was like forever, before the ambulances and fire trucks got there. Watching you barely breathing and not knowing how to hel
p. And then they
were
there and they were swarming and I
couldn't
see you and that was worse. Hearing the screech from the tools and the police trying to ask what happened. What the hell did it
matter?
They were
cutting you out of the car.
But that was it, and then you were here and your
wrist.
God. And I had to call Tessa. I don't know if they're even supposed to let me in here, but I think they realized I just wouldn't leave. Your aunt is in
Mexico,
and it's almost
Christmas,
so they let me stay. I'm
sorry,
babe. I—”

I drifted off to sleep then, and would never know what he said next. I'd only ever remember the accident as Carter's voice and a dream.

“W
HAT ON
E
ARTH
is
that?”
I set my phone down on the rolling tray that was never far from reach and watched Carter unpack a surprising number of bags and boxes in my hospital room. I'd been forced to stay for a few days, to monitor my concussion and the pain in my wrist.

“Merry Christmas!” He threw a devastating grin over his shoulder as he pulled a truly ugly two-foot-tall tree out of a box.

“Happy birthday!” I countered and his smile flattened out. Carter was twenty today.

He plugged in the tree, which lit up like Las Vegas, and pushed a button on the star. A tinny rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” blared out of a speaker hidden somewhere in the gaudy branches.

I laughed. “How can something so small be so
loud?”

“
And terrible,” he added. “Isn't it great?!”

“Tell me you didn't spend money on that.”

The Vegas Tree transitioned into “Let it Snow,” which, actually, it
was,
both outside and in. Snowflake garland and icicle lights appeared around the room in a flurry, as Carter emptied the bags and turned my
bland little hospital room into a Christmas Extravaganza. When a multitude of presents appeared around the tree, I started to feel like a jerk. We were forced to spend Christmas/his birthday in the hospital, and I didn't even have anything to give him.

“Hey! Now what's
that?
I hope those are only decorations.” Carter's sly grin told me they weren't. “But I already gave you all your gifts!”

He sat next to me and reached for my hand. My good hand. I gave it over and he pressed it to his cheek.
“You
are the only gift I care about this year.”

That's about when I melted. Then he unpacked a beach-ready snowman, wearing sunglasses and swim trunks, that sang “Feliz Navidad” when you touched one of his buttons and I almost died again. Of laughter.

“Seriously, where did you
get
this stuff?”

“It's amazing the quality holiday decorations you can still find on Christmas Eve at the drug store.” He pushed the snowman again, and the sounds of the Christmas-I-was-missing filled the room.

I'd just hung up the phone with Aunt Tessa and the rest of the family in Mexico when Carter returned. Aunt Tessa would have been here, had, in fact, been ready to fly back last minute at exorbitant cost and with about seven layovers to come get me, if I hadn't convinced her that was ridiculous. I wasn't dying, I had Carter with me, and I'd be
fine.
And, also, would be delivered to her by private jet when I was released the next day, compliments of a very lavish and unexpected gift arranged by Daniel Astor.

Except for the broken wrist and wrecked car, this holiday was turning out rather better than I expected.

It improved even more when Carter unpacked dinner, a home-cooked feast compliments of Melinda. “Did she make all this
yesterday?”

“And this morning, so it would be ready before I left to come here. And Grandma gave us a whole pie.”

“Pecan?”

“Of course.”

Evelyn Revell's pies were legendary. After more than a day of hospital food, I was ready to eat the entire thing myself. And also, maybe ready to cry. I blamed the industrial-strength pain killers I'd been downing at regular intervals as my eyes filled with moisture. “Carter, this…this is too much.”

“Hey.” He left off unwrapping our silverware—plastic, scavenged from the tiny cafeteria when he'd reheated our plates—and sat on the edge of my bed. “It's not anything,” he said. “We love you.
I
love you. It could be better circumstances, but there's nowhere I'd rather be.” He rested his forehead against mine while I took deep yoga breaths, fighting the urge to cry. His skin was warm, but the fresh, wintery scent of the cold still lingered around him from his trips back and forth to the parking lot. After a moment, he kissed me. “It
is
a Merry Christmas.”

“I can think of a few places
I'd
rather be, but yeah, I guess it is. And a happy birthday,” I added. When all he did was frown, I said, “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Every time I try to wish you a happy birthday, you make this face.” He almost smiled at my imitation.

Running his fingers through his hair, he said, “We just don't really celebrate it. Christmas is enough for one day.”

In a way, I got it. His birthday was also the twenty-year anniversary of his mother's death. But at the same time, “Carter, you don't have to apologize for being alive.”

“I don't have to celebrate either.”

“Well,
I
do. Let me be happy to have you.”

The frown he'd been sporting morphed into a sly smile that I knew meant trouble. The good kind. “You were happy to have me—”

“OH look. Presents!” I pushed my hair forward to cover the pink in my cheeks, though really I don't know why I bothered. It was just the two of us. And possibly any number of nurses and doctors at any second.

Carter laughed, dropping a kiss on my nose before retrieving the presents and resting the boxes on my lap. “Biggest to smallest,” he advised, so I started with the heaviest one. Books. A bunch of them, including an early edition E. M. Forster that Melinda had probably been saving for my birthday.

“Is it cheating to shop at your own place of business?”

“Someone
has to buy the books. Plus I get a sweet employee discount. Besides, I thought you could use them, since this”—he tapped on my cast—“probably won't be compatible with the ocean.”

Crap. I hadn't even thought of that. I hadn't thought of a
lot
of things beyond that I couldn't wait to get the heavy purple thing
off
of me. The second box was filled with sunscreen. “I'm sensing a theme here,” I told him, “but I can't figure out what this one could be.” The third box was tiny, tied with a misshapen bow that clearly indicated fastidious Carter had
not
wrapped it himself. “Did you go all the way to the
mall?”
He shrugged as I untied the ribbon, though I could see he was trying not to smile.

Inside, impossibly, was a
bikini.
Purple, with black stripes, that matched my cast perfectly.

I threw my head back and laughed, the best laugh I'd had since the accident, and maybe even in weeks. Carter's face exploded into a smile about as bright as the Mexico sun was going to be. “How did you
find
this?”

“You don't want to know.” I did, actually. Still grinning, he said, “I
might
have convinced a few sales girls into checking the stock rooms
for me.” On Christmas Eve, no less. Good lord, his powers of charm knew no limits.

I leaned forward and kissed him squarely on the mouth. “I love it. Thank you.”

He laughed. “Even though it's purple?”

“Yes. Even then.”

“I,” he said, “love
you.
Merry Christmas.”

“
Happy Birthday,”
I repeated. And it was.

Circumstance and a few missed days of my beach holiday aside, at that moment I was so happy just to be alive and with the boy I loved. In fact, in some ways, it was the best-worst Christmas I'd ever had.

A
LONG WITH
A renewed appreciation for life, I returned from winter break with a few other things: the cast I'd done a poor job not getting sandy; what was sure to be an awkward tan; a new card from Senator Astor to add to my collection, wishing me well and a quick recovery; and, finally, a terrible feeling I'd forgotten something important, something I'd been thinking just before the car crash.

Amy returned from break with a pet.

“Isn't he pretty?” She petted the leaves of the potted fern as if “he” were a dog.

“Um.” As far as plants went, I actually thought it was pretty
ugly,
like a plant having a bad hair day. It has wispy fronds that looked soft but seemed to stick in every direction. At least the green of the leaves went with our color scheme.

She narrowed her eyes, patting the plant protectively. “Don't insult Ferny!”

“Ferny?”

“Listen, Young, I've never had so much as a goldfish before now, so don't kill my joy, okay? Ferny's mine and I love him.”

I laughed. “Okay. I love him, too. But where did you even get him?” Despite what she said, he was
not
a pretty plant. Amy wouldn't have chosen him on her own.

“One of my dad's nurses thought his office needed more color. She couldn't know that he kills, basically, every living thing besides patients. We have a landscaper for a reason. Anyway, she grew him this plant for, like, a year, from a baby plant cutting from her great-grandmother's prize fern or something. So it wasn't like he could keep it and let her watch him kill great-grandma's fern progeny, so he gave it to me. Told her it was going to be my favorite Christmas present ever. Which was a lie, because my favorite present ever was totally my Acura, but I
do
love him. I
want
to take care of something. Ferny seems like a good place to start. Less commitment than a fish. And he could be a lifetime companion!” She looked at her plant again, stroking one of the stray fronds. “You'll always listen and never leave me or cheat on me or want to watch just one more football game, right baby?”

Ferny didn't disagree.

He received a pedestal of honor near the window, and the more I looked at him, the more I realized he was like a bulldog. Adorable for his ugliness. He was, in fact, a good listener, and never complained about Amy's or my choice of music, and never blushed like I did whenever Amy asked him a personal question.

And Ferny never would cheat on her. Amy'd been joking when she'd said that, but her fear was there, and the more I listened to her talk to her plant, the more I worried about just how off things were between her and Caleb. They were fighting more and more. They'd always fought, because that was Amy, and that was Caleb too, but the fights weren't real. It was flirting, or foreplay.

Lately though, they were real. And though I'd never have thought it possible a few months ago, the prospect of Caleb cheating was real too. I knew because I saw it.

T
HEY WERE IN
a great study corner of the library, one with a window and lots of privacy. It was a week after we'd gotten back from break. I wondered if he always did his tutoring there, or if it was only with Mandi Worthington. Usually I wouldn't even go by there during work hours, but when I ran out of things to do early, the librarian sent me around to check for stray books. I didn't have my cart, which always announced my presence, so they didn't hear me coming. I had my music on, so I didn't hear them either. But I saw them.