Things We Know by Heart (18 page)

“Quinn . . .”

My name is a whisper that pulls me to him, to a place where there's only us, only now.

I let myself fall back onto the bed, pulling him on top of me until I can feel the full weight of his body pressed into mine.

His lips trail down my neck, brush soft over my collarbones, then come back to my mouth, and we kiss away our
pasts. We kiss away everything that isn't us, here, now. Our scars, and our pains, and our secrets, and our guilt. We give them to each other and take them from each other until they all fade away in the rhythm of the rain.

And breath.

And heartbeats.

 

          
“There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion

          
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble

          
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,

          
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.”

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Courtship of Miles Standish”

I WAKE SLOWLY,
so the only thing I'm aware of at first is a low, steady sound, and the rhythmic rise and fall of the place where I lay my head. I'm wrapped in warmth, but just beyond its edge is a current of rain-drenched air that makes me want to tuck myself closer to Colton, and the heat of his skin, and the beat of his heart.

For a brief moment the thought surprises me. For so long I thought of him as having Trent's heart. I can't say when it happened, or how it changed in my mind, but now that thought feels distant. Untrue even. This sound that I can hear and feel—it's Colton's heart. I open my eyes, and when
I see the curve of his chin, the tan of his arm wrapped around me, it comes back in a warm rush, the memory of his soft lips pressed to me as the rain beat down insistently. That was his heart and mine together; those moments were ours alone.

Pale light filters in through the fogged windows, and I can still hear the soft hush of drizzle outside, punctuated by the sound of bigger drops from the cypress we're parked under, as they land on the metal roof of the bus.

I bring my hand to the center of his chest, trace a delicate finger down his neck, and Colton stirs at my touch. He takes in a deep breath and covers my hand with his like he did before. Pulls it to his chest and smiles without opening his eyes.

“Hi,” I say, all of a sudden feeling a little shy, with our bodies still tangled under a blanket.

Colton cracks one eye open and then the other, and tilts his chin down so he can look at me. “So I didn't dream it.” A smile spreads over his face. “Well. Not this time anyway.”

I laugh, give him a playful shove, but the flashes of us, with the rain all around, and the idea of him thinking of me that way send a whole new rush of warmth through me. I pull myself up to his lips, and his arms come around me; and just as everything is about to disappear again, I hear the buzz of my cell phone.

I start to reach for it, to see who it is, but Colton pulls
me back into him and mumbles into my lips as he kisses me, “Don't worry 'bout that right now.” I kiss him back as the phone continues to buzz before falling silent. Then there's the short beep of a voicemail. A tiny worry tugs at me from the corner of my mind. I told Ryan I was going to see Colton. Maybe she's just checking in.

Normally, I wouldn't think much of it; but the storm—and the fact that I'm not where I said I'd be and it's getting late—makes me anxious enough to pull away from Colton, pull the blanket to my chest, and reach for my phone.

When I see the home screen, my stomach drops.

Twelve missed calls.

Mom. Ryan. Gran.

Over and over.

“Oh god.”

Colton sits up, alert all of a sudden. “What?” he asks. “What's the matter?”

I fumble with the phone, try to pull up the first voicemail. “I . . . I don't know, I think maybe, maybe it's—”

Ryan's voice, urgent in my ear, cuts me off. “Quinn, it's Dad. You need to get to the hospital now.”

The ER doors whoosh open. Along with a pungent, antiseptic smell, a flash of the last time I was here in
this
hospital—over a year ago—hits me with a force I'm not prepared for. I was a wreck in my running clothes, still
holding Trent's shoe, my dad at the nurses' desk asking questions, Trent's parents' faces when they saw me. He'd already been moved from the ER. Decisions had been made. Papers signed. The chaplain had been sent. Good-byes said without me.

I stop, try to breathe, but the floor feels unsteady beneath me.

“Whoa,” Colton says, grabbing my elbow. “You all right?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the sight of my family stops me. They sit in the same beige chairs I sat in with my dad, waiting to see Trent. Waiting to say good-bye.

Now it's Gran, Mom, and Ryan who sit tense, without talking. Mom stares into the middle distance, a stricken look on her face, like she's failed—as if she's running through her mind all the things she could've done differently. Ryan, who's dressed in her painting clothes and looking like she's on the edge of tears, focuses on some unseen spot on the ground, like if she concentrates on it hard enough, no tears will fall. And Gran. She sits very straight, and very still, purse in her lap, hands folded over it, calm in a silent storm.

Colton's hand moves gently to my back. “Is that your family?”

I nod, bracing myself for the word
stroke
. And then I cross the ER to where the bank of chairs is. When I get to it, Ryan is the first to look up, and her eyes widen when she
sees us. It's only then that I realize what I must look like, with my hair tangled and wavy around my face, mascara smeared, Colton's still-damp sweatshirt hanging on me.

“What happened—is Dad okay?” I feel the tears readying themselves for whatever the answers to those questions may be. “Did he have a stroke?”

Mom stands up and pulls me into a hug so tight, I wonder if it's worse than I imagined. After a long moment she loosens her grip but doesn't let go. “We don't know for sure yet. They're evaluating him now, and we'll know more soon.”

“What happened? How did this . . . I thought he was . . .”

I don't finish, because I realize I haven't thought anything about it for the last few weeks: his medications, or his checkups. Symptoms. I just assumed he was okay. Safe.

I let myself forget there's no such thing.

“He was helping me with one of my canvases,” Ryan says from her seat without looking up from the floor. “And he just—he just sounded funny all of a sudden, and I thought he was joking, so I laughed.” She looks at me now, tears in her eyes. “I laughed, and then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he just fell down. He just fell. . . .” She wrings her hands in her lap.

Gran puts her hand on top of Ryan's, firmly enough to still them. “And then you acted, and you called 911, and that's all you could've done.”

Now Ryan sits up. “No, I should've seen it right away, I should've called sooner—”

Mom steps in now, won't let Ryan blame herself. “You did all any of us could've done, sweetheart. The rest was beyond what any of us could control.”

I don't think my mom believes her own words. I can see it again—her going over all the preventive measures she should've forced on my dad—and it makes me want to reach out and tell her that she couldn't have. That sometimes, no matter how much we regret or wish things were different, there is nothing we can do to make it so.

Colton clears his throat and shifts on his feet next to me. Gran is the only one other than me who notices.

“Quinn, you haven't yet introduced us to your friend.” She nods in my direction, and worry spreads all through me.

Colton steps forward, hand extended to Gran. “I'm Colton.”

Gran takes his hand in both of hers. “So pleased to meet you, Colton. You must be the reason Quinn has become so enthralled with the ocean. I can see why,” she says with a wink. “This is my daughter, Susan, and Quinn's sister, Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Colton says.

My mom nods and smiles politely. Ryan stands and shakes his hand, then looks from him to me and back again. “I've heard a lot about you,” she says. I give her a look she
doesn't see, because she seems to be studying Colton.

She glances at me, and I silently plead with her not to say anything more.

“Good things,” she says, getting it. “Thank you for coming with her.”

“Of course,” Colton answers.

We stand there for a long moment, silent, until a tired-looking doctor in scrubs approaches, clipboard in hand.

“Mrs. Sullivan?”

“Yes?” Mom says, standing up.

We hold our collective breath as the doctor takes in the group of us standing there. “May I speak freely? About your husband?”

Mom nods.

“Okay,” he says. “The good news is that your husband is stable, he did not suffer a stroke, and there is no permanent damage.”

We all nod like we understand; then we wait for the bad news.

“The bad news is that this is his second TIA, and that his scans show a small clot forming in his carotid artery, which leads to the brain. If left untreated, it's likely that he
will
suffer a stroke—or worse—in the near future. We have a few options, but time is of the essence, and I'd like to get him into surgery as soon as possible.”

Mom nods, taking it in, as we all are. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor says. “Come with me.”

She glances, just briefly, at all of us, and Gran makes a shooing motion at her. “Go. We'll be here.”

Gran's not even finished saying it before Mom has turned to walk down the hall with the doctor. I can see that her focus has completely shifted from us, and I don't blame her. We've disappeared, and right now her world is my dad. I think of the two of them, of all their history together—thirty-six years' worth—and how I felt about losing Trent after just a fraction of that. How it would feel to lose Colton now. I'm sure it's different for her because of all that time, but it's terrifying to realize how much of your world is wrapped around loving another person.

Ryan falls back into her seat, relieved, but not completely. “I can't believe I laughed at him. I just . . . It happened so fast, I didn't realize.”

Gran turns to her, her voice soft. “Come on now; that's done and past, and you need to let that go.” She takes Ryan's hand. “Let's you and me take a walk.”

Ryan's arm hangs limply from Gran's hand, and she shakes her head and takes in another shuddery breath.

“Get up,” Gran says, with a little force behind it this time.

That gets my sister's attention, and a tiny moment of understanding passes between the two of them, Ryan hearing the words she said to Gran so long ago echoed
back at her. She swallows hard. Nods and then obeys. Gran turns her eyes on me and Colton. “You two'll be all right here?”

“Yes,” I say, though I'm not sure it's true.

“Good. We won't be long.” And with that, she puts an arm around Ryan's shoulder and steers her down the hall to the door, and out into the cloudy twilight.

I finally exhale.

Colton sits next to me. “That was scary, huh?” He rests his hand on my knee. “Sounds like your dad's gonna be okay, though.”

“I wish there were a guarantee,” I say, looking over at him.

He presses his lips together. “There never is. For any of us. But that's the way life is.”

We're quiet a moment.

“You hungry?” Colton asks. “Thirsty? Want coffee or hot chocolate or something? I know how to find my way around a hospital.” He smiles, and I can't believe how easy these little references to being sick come out, now that I know. Almost like he's relieved to have his secret out in the open.

“Just a bottle of water maybe?” I say weakly.

“You got it.” Colton gets to his feet quickly, happy to be of service, but then he bends down in front of me, tilts my chin upward so I'm looking right at him and he's looking
right at me, and starts to say something, but then he just kisses me gently on the forehead. “Quinn, I . . . I'll be right back.”

He turns and heads down another hallway, and I lean back into my chair, put my hands in the sweatshirt pockets, and close my eyes to take a minute and breathe. I try to wrap my mind around what happened to my dad, and what the doctor said, and the likelihood that everything will be okay. But all I see is Colton, there in the pale storm light, my hand on his bare chest, his lips on mine, the rain all around us like a dream.

I open my eyes, and the fluorescent hospital glow chases it all away.

A few minutes pass, and I fidget with something tucked deep in the corner of Colton's pocket for a few seconds before I wonder what it is and pull it out. It's a piece of paper, folded down into a small, tight square.

I start to unfold it without even thinking but stop dead when I recognize the tattered, cream-colored stationery. My heart drops right through the bottom of my chest. All my guilt and secrets come rushing back at me from the thing in my hands. Like punishment for what I've done. I don't have to open the letter to know what it says. I wrote draft after draft, night after night, until I felt I'd gotten it exactly right. Until it said exactly what I wanted to say to
the person who had Trent's heart.

Nausea rolls through my stomach as I unfold it slowly, careful not to tear the once-thick paper that's been worn down by more than just the storm. My eyes run over the words, over my handwriting, over the creases that aren't mine, creases from being folded and unfolded, over and over again. The ones Colton must've made to fit it into his pocket. To carry it around with him.

I look down at the words, my words, so full of grief and sadness. The person who wrote that letter feels like a stranger. She was someone who was looking for a way to hold on to Trent. Someone who didn't think she could love anyone else. Who didn't know that the person she was writing to would be the one to prove her wrong.

“What're you doing with that?”

Colton's voice snaps my head up, and the look of shock on his face must mirror my own.

His eyes are glued to the letter in my hands.

“I . . .” I fumble to fold it back up, but he sets the two steaming cups of coffee on the floor and takes it from me before I can. His sudden intensity startles me.