What Remains (9 page)

“She was wearing one of those lacy dresses that she loved and the window was open and the full moon was shining in and through the fabric. It framed her like she was backlit. And we were happy and laughing. It had been a really, really good night. It made me feel good to see her that relaxed. She was so ethereal in that moment.”

I look at him and his unshed tears are making his eyes shine in the dim light. But he doesn't look sad, he looks wistful. Not at all like he's confessing something that he regrets or is embarrassed by.

Then he laughs a little. “It was kind of a perfect storm of Lizzie.”

So that's what it was,
I hear in my head.

Honestly, I know what he's talking about because as harsh and rough around the edges as she could be, Lizzie was also beautiful in a willowy, damaged type of way that we were each attracted to for our own reasons, and in our own ways.

“And then … honestly, I don't even know which of us started it. One minute we were just standing there and the next … it just kind of happened,” he says and blushes. “It felt really, really right at the time.”

He looks up at me like a puppy dropping a ball at its owner's feet and looking for approval.

“But you're gay,” I say stupidly and instantly regret it.

Spencer cocks his head and stares at me like I've lost my mind for stating something so obvious, because ever since we were eleven and he forced me to watch his dad's DVD of some British production of
Hamlet
from the '80s, it's been clear that it was Hamlet who got him worked up and not Ophelia.

“Sorry,” I squeak out.

“Look, I don't expect you to understand. I'm not even sure that I do. Not really. But it was just Lizzie and I love her.” He stops and a million things cross his face at once. “Loved her. Love her.
Fuck
. It just wasn't … ”

“Yeah, I know,” I chime in. Neither Lizzie nor I need to hear this explanation. I can feel her reacting, though. I'm not hearing her voice, but there is something … feelings that are rushing through me that aren't mine. Love. Lust. Frustration. A whole lot of frustration. Remembering.

It isn't like the scene is playing in front of me, movie-
like. Instead it's in the back of my head clicking through
reel-by-reel like an old film, one that I can't really watch but I can feel as the emotions fly through it.

I blink my eyes, but that doesn't make it go away. I'm glad that they had their moment but I don't really want to share it. I just want to make the buzzing stop and get Lizzie's desperate yearning for Spencer out of me. It's like a weight that's pulling me down to someplace I don't think I can visit.

I kind of get that Spencer is telling me all this because it's important to him. And I get that he needs to tell me this story and that, while maybe I didn't need to hear it before, I do now. I need to make it okay for him. He needs Lizzie to … I don't know. I can't sort that part out. Forgive him? I'm not sure how to ask him. Or if he even knows the answer.

There are questions swirling through my head that Lizzie wants answers to, but those are ones I refuse to ask. She had her chance and there are places I simply won't go. Places I won't ask him to go.

I want her to back off, but I know that isn't going to happen. This is the strongest I've felt her since the accident. My skin feels like I'm in an electric storm—all the hair on my arms is standing straight up. I have to do something—and quickly—to change the course of the conversation and I know just how to do it.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but … ” I start and then stop. The time is finally right to confront Spencer about what's been bothering me ever since Lizzie first told me about them being together. I'm not as bugged out as I used to be, but it still feels like something that needs to be said.

“You don't think it was kind of stupid and selfish or anything, do you?”

“What?” Spencer's eyes narrow and I have to look away before I can continue.

“Come on, Yeats, really? What planet were you on when you thought that having sex with Lizzie was a good idea?” I feel a sharp jab deep inside my head, like an ice pick is trying to bore its way out.

“It wasn't like I planned it ahead of time,” he says sadly.

“Yeah? Well maybe you should have.”

Suddenly I'm owning this anger that I've tried to hold in. My head feels like it's going to split in two.

“I … ” For once Spencer Yeats is speechless and I feel like a dick for being the one to make him that way.

“You knew how she felt about you,” I say, realizing that I said almost the same thing to Lizzie.

“I know,” he says and his voice cracks. It's a defeated sound, one I've never heard from him. “I didn't do it to hurt her. I mean, it wasn't about the sex. And she was the one who … I just didn't stop her.”

His voice echoes inside my head. And then:
Cal Ryan, I swear to God that if you make Spencer feel bad about sleeping with me I will haunt your every fucking thought for the rest of your life.

Because I have no doubt that she means it, and because hurting Spencer really is the last thing I want to do, I force, “I'm sorry” out of my lips. Again.

Spencer runs his hands through his mop of hair, which springs back into place automatically. “I miss her so much,” he says, and it's only the tip of the iceberg.

Lizzie's heart skips a beat and for a minute I wonder if I'm going to have to call 911, but no, it's just her, I guess. “She knows that.” I bite my cheek, afraid that I've given too much away. Thankfully Spencer is too distracted to notice.

“I wish … ” he starts and it rips me up inside to see the pain that crosses his face. I've known Spencer for so many years that sometimes looking at him is like looking at myself in the mirror. I know every expression and what it means and whether it's really him or a role he's thrown himself into even for just a sentence.

But that means the pain on his face is real and it's killing me, shredding me inside. I want to take that pain away but I don't know how.

“I wish … ” he starts again and I'm praying in my head that he finishes the sentence because I want to know what he wants and what I can do. Inside me Lizzie's heart beats too hard, like she's waiting as well. Both of us are waiting to know the same thing: how do we make it better for him?

“I wish it would have been different,” he says. “I wish I could have loved her the way she wanted. The way that she needed me to. Maybe I should have tried harder.”

“Spence,” I say, reaching out to grab his arm. And then I stop. And he looks at me because I've never called him Spence. That was Lizzie's name for him. “Yeats,” I say, but I'm backtracking and it's too late. I'm not really in control of what's happening. Of my mind. Of my body. Lizzie has always been stronger-willed than me and now less than a pound of her inside me is calling the shots. And even though I've done my best to keep him in the dark, I can see something in Spencer's eyes that makes me think he knows Lizzie is here. That he's speaking to her more than he is to me.

But I keep talking anyhow because staying silent is like admitting something I'm not ready to confess. “That's ridiculous. You don't just choose things like that. Besides, I don't think she cared,” I say and mean it. “I mean … she was happy to have whatever part of you she could.”

He stands and I can see a hint of his mega-watt smile tinged with deep, deep sadness. “She said that to me, you know. After. Maybe it should have made me feel better, but it actually made me feel worse.”

“Why?”

“Because she really did love me that much. Or maybe because I loved her that much too.” He runs his hand through his hair again as I watch him try to sort out the words he's looking for. “I wanted to stay there with her. In her bed. I wanted to stop and pretend it could really be that easy. That Lizzie and I were on a desert island somewhere and that her mom wasn't going to be coming home from the bar half-smashed. And that I wasn't … I mean, maybe, we could be together. Really together. Maybe that was all she really needed to turn things around.”

He takes a deep breath and I let him continue, his words tripping over themselves while I get up and lean against a stack of the cubes and knot my hands together to try to keep my warring emotions, Lizzie's emotions, contained.

“When I kissed her the last time it physically hurt me to walk away. It's the only time … ” Thankfully, he doesn't finish his sentence because I'm not sure I can stand to hear the rest of it. “Anyhow, as I walked out of her room she said ‘thank you' like I'd given her some gift or something. I almost turned around and went back to her. I fought with myself to leave. I'm still not sure if it was the right choice or not.”

Something rages through me like a fire out of control. It's the first thing besides anger to really reach me since the accident. I don't know what it is, but it's intense in a way that feels like it will kill me if I don't give into it. I'm literally drowning in Lizzie's emotions and I feel so weak and tired and confused by what to do to help the two people I love most, that for a heartbeat I just give in. And the .857th of a second that it takes for her heart to beat is enough for Lizzie, who has probably been waiting for this chance ever since the accident.

She raises my hands slowly, so slowly, like they're moving towards a wild animal but it's only Spencer and whatever else happens I know that he isn't going to hurt either of us in any way.

Inside, though, I'm shaking. I'm not sure if I should be trying to fight her or not. I'm dizzy and terrified of the feelings and electric jolts that are running through me.

I watch as my hands loop around Spencer's neck and pull him close to me and we're eye-to-eye. He doesn't look scared or even curious. He looks like he always does, like everything is okay and like everything will be okay. And I want to believe that. I need to believe that.

I stand there waiting even though Lizzie wants to rush ahead. I still have a shred of control over things, but I'm stuck in time. I'm not helping her, not fighting her. My sheer terror has frozen all of my muscles and I feel like I did when I was in the hospital with that damned tube down my throat and no way to communicate.

I expect Spencer to say something. To pull back. To crack a joke. But he doesn't. I can see the calm lifting and falling of his chest as he breathes normally. He raises his arms and puts them around my waist. They feel strong and I can smell the familiar scent of the ridiculously expensive English shaving cream he insists on using.

It feels like years go by as we stand like that. It feels like there's time to choose what path this is going to take. Tentacles of possibilities snaking out in every different direction. But there is only one thing that Lizzie wants and she isn't going to be detoured. And I wonder if maybe I owe her this. She'll never grow up, never fall in love with anyone else, hell, she'll never have sex again. She'll never have the time to get her life sorted out and create more amazing paintings and get away from her awful family and pull it all together. And regardless of what anyone else says, it's my fault. I was driving. I should have been able to save her. Instead she saved me and now I think that I owe her this one minute in time.

Lizzie's heart is pounding like it's going to jump out of my chest and I wonder how long my body can take it. I wonder if waiting, standing stuck here like this is going to kill me, kill Lizzie again and it is that thought that propels me forward. But it is one sharp tremor that makes me lose control.

Cal's body moves forward slightly and Spence closes his eyes but I don't close Cal's. I want this. I don't want to miss a minute of it. I want to see his face, the beautiful face that I'm reaching out and touching with hands that aren't mine.

I hesitate slightly because sometimes the wanting is as good as the having. I learned that when I was alive and spent a lot of time wanting things I was never going to get, such as Spence, and a future, and normal parents who gave a damn.

And then Spence tilts his head and pulls Cal towards him. His lips are as soft as I remember and I feel fire surge through me, through Cal, through Spence. His tongue explores Cal's mouth and I almost want to cry because it feels so good, and right, and complete. It's the only time I've ever understood Cal's comments about perfect moments and stopping time. I would stop time and damn the whole screwed-up world to keep this kiss going.

Somewhere in the distance, I can feel Cal analyzing this like he analyzes everything. He loves Spence, but he is such a damned
guy
and thinks it's fine for Spence to be gay, but that he can't possibly allow himself to enjoy this. He isn't sure what he feels and he hates that.

But I know what I feel and I take charge. I exhale slightly and then inhale Spence's air and for a moment, I think that even when we were having sex we weren't this close. Perhaps it's as simple as Spence missing me and understanding that this is the end. Or perhaps it's because this is Cal's body, athletic and toned even after all of the time in the hospital and undeniably male, but that's okay. I don't mind. We don't get to choose who we're attracted to or who we love. They say “the heart wants what the heart wants” and the appropriateness of that would make me laugh, would make all of us laugh, if I didn't think saying it would ruin the moment. Because really, isn't that exactly what's going on?

I want to focus on this kiss, and the next and the next because Spence isn't stopping. His hands are in Cal's hair and even though I only feel it like an echo, I can feel Cal's response like ripples of thunder are rolling through him. And that is wonderful enough.