What Remains (15 page)

Somewhere under all of that, I can't help but think about the only kiss I can compare this to, the one with Spencer. But I push that thought out of my head with everything I have as soon as I realize it's there.

When we come up for air, she says “wow” and smiles. “I'd say that was worth waiting for. I really don't want to wait another year for the next one, though.”

I put my arm around her. I know it won't last after we get in the car and leave, but for this one moment in time, I feel like there are no rules, no barriers between us. “I'm sorry, Ally,” I say because I'm not sure what else I can give her in way of explanation.

She pulls back and for a second I see the hurt in her eyes. “For kissing me?”

“No, damn, no. I'm definitely not sorry for that.” I watch her face relax. “I just, I don't know how to explain it to you. It wasn't you. It was never you. I was just scared, and Spencer and I were spending so much time trying to keep Lizzie together and … ” I shrug. “I don't really have an excuse. Other than that I'm an idiot.”

She leans in and holds my eyes with hers, like she's trying to make a decision. Then she runs her hand through my hair, sending shivers all the way through me before kissing me on the lips as gentle as feather. “Yeah, you are. But I think I might give you the chance to redeem yourself.”

Her words and the kiss make me dizzy and I have to lean back against the metal bar to steady myself. What I'm feeling reminds me of when I hit the grand slam to win the series last year. It was the home run that cemented my place on the varsity team and I thought that was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

But something about this moment feels better. And I may not understand why it's happening, but she's right that I'm not dumb enough to make the same mistake twice so I'm not questioning anything.

Instead, I tell her what Dr. Reynolds told me about how hitting a home run in the ninth inning is just as good, and sometimes better, than doing it earlier so long as you win in the end.

She laughs again. “That's a low blow using a baseball analogy. I'm not sure I can be mad at you for not talking to me sooner if you're going to do that.”

“Good,” I say and close my eyes. I feel the craziest mix of emotions: mine, which basically boil down to amazement, layered on top of Lizzie's, who is gloating like nobody's business.

For a minute I panic and wonder if maybe I'm making this all up. Maybe my screwed-up head has taken things to a new level.

But then I open my eyes again and feel her hand, gentle as her kiss, barely touching the fabric of my shirt right over my scar.

“Are you okay?” she asks and I don't know if she means right now at this moment or in a bigger way.

I look up into her eyes. It's an amazing thing to look at her and not feel like I have to look away before I get caught.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” I put my hand over hers and press it gently over where my scar is. It feels like she's knitting things together, which I know isn't true, but we're this circuit of energy in that moment: me, and Ally, and Lizzie. I feel like I could run a marathon, but don't want to move a muscle.

“Does it hurt?” she asks softly.

I pull her hand down and wrap my other one around it. “The scar is sore, but other than that … ” I almost tell her about Lizzie, but stop myself. Forgiving me for staring at her is one thing; telling her that Lizzie is somehow still calling some of the shots is something I'm not ready to risk. “I don't think anything could hurt me right now.”

She smiles and I wonder if it will always be so easy to make her smile. She leans over and her lips brush my cheek. “I hate to do this, but I think we're going to be late to the game.”

I look at my watch and realize she's right. “How fast can you drive?” I ask.

“Fast enough.” She smiles and pulls both of us off the merry-go-round and back towards the car, where she gets into the driver's seat without even asking.

Ally wasn't lying. She gets us to the field in plenty of time without breaking too many laws along the way. Coach Byrne gives me a funny look as Ally and I walk up together. Not a bad one, just one that says he knows something he didn't know before.

I take my place at his side while Ally climbs up the stairs to the concrete bunker behind home plate where she'll watch the game alongside Fairview's scorekeeper. I turn and realize that Coach is staring at me with a smirk on his face.

“Who's starting at first?” I ask, preoccupied.

Coach laughs. “Good, Ryan. Wasn't sure you remembered we were playing baseball today.” He glances appreciatively at the bunker where somewhere inside Ally is setting up for the game. My face goes seven shades of red as he claps me on the back and laughs.

Twenty-One

We only lose by two runs, and Dillard commits an error so it's a good day. A great day.

Coach Byrne said he suspected we weren't going to win but, because of the error, he's making Dillard go with him when he mows his brother's three-acre yard, which is his payment for losing the bet on the game. I have fantasies of that jerk being eaten by a carnivorous lawn mower.

As we all stand around afterwards, waiting for Coach to dismiss us, Ally comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. It isn't anything crazy; I mean, she isn't mauling me or anything. But the way she puts that one hand on me makes it clear we're together and for a minute, transplant or no transplant, every single guy on that team wants to be me. Coach actually winks at me as we head to the car and I have to stop again and wonder at my luck.

Neither of us is really hungry, but Ally and I had
planned on eating, so she drives us to pick up some sandwiches and we pull back into the playground. We sit and talk as the daylight fades. After everything that's been going on, after not talking to Ally for so long, it feels wonderful to be discussing silly things, our favorite teachers, vacations we took as kids, what we like to read.

I tell her that I always read the end of a book first. She tells me that she joined the softball team in junior high because she knew her dad wanted a kid who played sports, but she wasn't very good at it and settled on scorekeeping.

I tell her that I'm not a fan of the dark and she counters with the fact that she thinks she might want to go into psychology.

I tell her that I'm going to study meteorology, and she tells me that she's terrified of spiders.

It starts to get dark and I don't want to go home. Ally says she doesn't either. The metal equipment around the playground is cold so we climb up on top of one of the picnic tables. I lie down on my back with Ally next to me, holding onto the edge with one hand and me with the other.

After all of the talking is done, we're quiet. Not like we've been this past year, afraid to talk to each other. This is a different type of quiet. It's soft, like a blanket that's wrapped around us.

She puts her head on my chest, just to the side of my scar. It feels strange to have the weight of her head there and it pulls the skin near my incision a little, making it tingle. I can smell her shampoo and her long hair tickles my neck.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” she says.

I'm sure she can, because it feels like a marching band is about to jump out of my chest. I feel like I'm on fire.

But still I have to stop myself before I tell her that it isn't my heart. She knows about the accident and all, but if she doesn't know already, I'm not going to point out what a freak I really am. So instead I bite my lip and stay quiet, trying to focus on every place on my body that she's touching and trying to count the stars to stay calm.

It's a crazy clear night actually and the sky looks like it's lit up just for us.

“Make a wish,” she says.

I slowly roll out from under her and over onto my side so that I'm facing her, trying not to pull the skin on my chest even more.

“You do that?” I ask her in amazement.

“Doesn't everyone?”

I think back to that last time Lizzie called me and the night we spent out in the playground. “Some people don't believe in wishes.”

For some people they never come true.

“That's sad,” she says, sitting up on her elbows. “But you do, right?”

“Yeah, I believe in wishes,” I say. Even though I know that there are important things I should be wishing for, like health and stuff, there is only one thing I want to wish for, but I think it's coming true right now.

It must be clear on my face because her eyes shine as she lays her hand back gently on my chest.

“So what are you wishing for?” she asks.

“This,” I say and lean up to kiss her.

She offers to drive home and I let her. We roll the windows down and the breeze coming through is the only sound until she says, “Relax, Cal,” and reaches over to take my hand. I look down and realize that I've been curling and uncurling the scorecard from the game so that it looks like a tube that's been run over by a truck.

“I'm fine,” I say, but as the words come out of my mouth I try to figure out what it is that's suddenly making me feel so anxious. Then it hits me. “So, what's going to happen on Monday?”

To her credit, not only does she understand what I'm asking, but she doesn't laugh at me. Most girls would have, I think. Lizzie would have. But Ally just smiles and squeezes my hand like it's a question she's been expecting.

In the voice of a teacher talking to either a very young or a very stupid student, she says, “On Monday, we will both go to school. And you will not stare at me without talking to me. And I will not stare at you without talking to you, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. It sounds so easy when she puts it that way, but she isn't done.

“In fact, Spencer has rehearsal at lunch on Monday and I don't have to go in to read lines until later in the week. So unless you already have plans or don't want to, I was thinking that maybe we could have lunch together. You know, actually spend time with each other in public like real people?”

I can feel my cheeks get hot and I want to apologize again, but I don't. She knows I'm sorry and I deserve the hard time she's giving me. So instead I try to say something normal. Something that Spencer might say. “Lunch sounds good.”

“It's a date then.”

Date.
The word bounces around my brain like a pinball in a machine, ricocheting off all the dusty and unused
corners. Of course I know that Maple Grove's lunchroom doesn't constitute a real date. But it's a darn good start. In my head a round of slow, sarcastic applause begins and I'm glad that Ally's concentrating on driving and doesn't see my smile.

The drive is way shorter going home than it was on the way to Ally's. When we pull up to her house, the porch light is on and I can see her dad moving behind the sheer curtains.

I don't want to get out of the car, but when she goes to open the door I fly around and open it for her.

“A gentleman. I like that,” she says with a flirtatious glint in her eyes that lights a fire in me I can feel down to my toes.

“Thanks,” I say. “I mean, for the … ” and then I stop. I was going to say “for the ride,” but that's stupid since even though she did the work, I was meant to be driving her. So I shrug and say, “I had fun.”

“I did too,” she says. I stand by the car watching until she goes inside and waves at me through the window.

The drive back is easy because I'm not thinking about driving.
At all.

The first thing I do when I get in the house is pull out my now-crumpled piece of yellow paper and add #11 to my Ally list:
She's a really, REALLY good kisser.
And then I underline #10:
I think it might be easy to fall in love with her
four or five times.

The next thing I do is to call Spencer, who answers on the first ring.

“Thanks for the car.” I can picture him sitting in the black armchair in his room, his legs draped over the side, a book in one hand and his phone in the other waiting for me to call and tell him that both me and Sweeney made it back. “I'll get it back to you tomorrow.”

He laughs. “Is it in one piece?”

“Very funny. Yes, it's fine,” I answer, neglecting to tell him that Ally did most of the driving.

“Are you in one piece?” he asks more cautiously.

“I'm … ” I pause long enough that Spencer finishes the sentence for me

“Speechless? Smitten? Besotted?”

Sometimes it's hard when you have friends who know you so well that they can read the meaning behind every intonation in your voice. Sometimes, like now, it's the best thing in the world.

“Besotted?” I laugh. “Only you would say besotted.”

“You aren't answering my question.”

It's like that tree falling in a forest thing. If I don't tell Spencer something, if I keep it to myself, anything can happen. I can wake up and it will have gone away. I can change my mind and it won't matter. It isn't real until he's heard it.

So answering his question is a commitment to swinging at the ball. Once I'm in, I'm in. I hesitate but only for a second. I want this to be real. “Yes, Yeats, I'm besotted.”

“About time,” he says. “You can thank me later.”

“Is this … ” I start, trying to choose the right words. “I mean, you and Rob … I can't imagine feeling like this and not … ” I'm mangling the question, but, as usual, he gets it.

“Yeah,” he says and then there's silence.

“What?”

“Cal, you and Ally aren't two thousand miles away from each other. And Rob hasn't even told his parents that he's gay. I don't want to be anyone's secret. It's just … complicated.” Spencer sounds sad and I wish he'd go for the thing with Rob even though I'm the last one to talk.

“But there's email, and webcams, and I've heard they've got these metal birds that fly called planes, and … maybe you can help him?” I think of all the times that Spencer pushed me to talk to Ally. I guess it's always hardest to take your own advice.

I can hear his smile on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, mister expert, I get it. I'm … working on it.”

When I hang up the phone, I send Ally a text.

Is it odd that I feel I know you so well when we haven't talked that much?

I don't use typical text abbreviations because Lizzie never texted and Spencer is a word snob. Text speak is one of the few things that sets him on edge so I'm just out of the habit.

After I send it, I head downstairs and take my evening meds right on time. It takes about ten very long minutes but then my phone chirps and Ally's name pop up.

We've talked a lot. Just not with words.

I wonder, for a minute, if all of the stars I've wished on have had a conference and decided to band together to make this possible. I don't know how it's possible that she's forgiven me for so many things, when I can't forgive myself.