A Million Miles Away (28 page)

She didn’t want another reminder of her stupid mistake. She would cut herself off from this family, from these memories, from this house. She revved her engine.

Meg picked the envelope off the ground and hit herself on the head with the palm of her hand. “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

“Nope,” Kelsey said with a sarcastic smile. “I ruined everything.” Then she noticed Meg’s shirt. “Congratulations on making the team, by the way,” she said, and rolled up her window before she drove away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Packing for Paris was much more pleasant this time around. More peaceful, at least. Kelsey folded—well, more like stuffed; she wasn’t a big fan of wasting time for the sake of creases—pair of skinny jeans after pair of skinny jeans, cardigans on top of cardigans, never having to worry about anyone’s taste in clothing but her own. She left room for all her dance stuff, which was still in the wash. She wasn’t sure what kind of apparel she’d need for an intensive modern dance program, but assumed she’d have most of the basics already. If not, she’d wing it. There were worse problems in life.

A week ago, after she had returned from El Dorado, Kelsey had walked with her graduation cash to the bank downtown, created herself an account, and found she had enough money for airfare to pretty much anywhere.

She had considered South America, but her Spanish was as rudimentary as her French, and she was never one to romanticize grand chains of mountains or the rain forest. The prairie did her fine, as far as nature went. She was a Kansas girl.

Paris, however, still called to her as it had the first time she saw it, and after all, she hadn’t even gotten to see half the places she had seen on the subway posters.

Her parents had agreed to use her first semester’s tuition at KU to fund a month-long dance program in Paris over the summer. Kelsey had deferred her acceptance to college. She would get there eventually.

But first: This evening she’d be gone. She’d have two months to herself in the city until the dance program started, and though it sounded lonely, it was probably just what she needed: time to gather a semblance of Kelsey as she was now, no Michelle, no Peter, no Davis, no University of Kansas dance team.

Her father called up to her from downstairs, “You ready, sweetie?”

“Coming!” she called.

Before she left, the Maxfields had one more thing to do.

As they exited the front door, her mother picked up the simple silver urn they had finally taken from the funeral home. It wouldn’t stay in their house. They had agreed there were already enough memories of Michelle there.

With it, they walked down the street, along the jagged brick sidewalks, under the canopy of thick oaks and cottonwoods, all the way to the old railroad tracks.

The three of them passed over the tracks and down the path to the dam, where they found a makeshift trail of rocks through the low water. They climbed the limestone ramp to the top of the dam, where they stood in its center, watching the Kansas River wind all the way west, through the landscape.

Kelsey took the silver urn out of its bag, and handed it to her mother.

Her mother held it to her lips briefly, whispering something Kelsey could not hear. She handed it to her husband.

“Good-bye, my sweet baby,” her father said, cradling the urn in his arms for a moment.

Then he handed it to Kelsey, a small smile on his face. It was heavy and warm from the sun.

Kelsey knew she didn’t have to say anything out loud. She and Michelle would always be speaking back and forth, whether she wanted to or not. That was the way they worked, and would always work; tied, taking from, pushing, completing the other.

Have fun
, she said silently to Michelle, and lifted the lid.

The unknowable ache inside her dimmed, and the ashes fell into the breeze, flowered into the water, and traveled on their way.

When they were a block from home, they could see a figure sitting on their porch swing. She recognized him in a second, and her chest burned. Kelsey’s mother and father passed him on their way inside, without a word, but Kelsey stayed.

“Hi, Peter,” she said.

He was wearing jeans and a faded blue Kansas Jayhawks T-shirt. Where she stood, a few feet away, she could see his eyes capture the color.

“Meg gave me this,” he said, standing, and in his hands was the envelope holding her flash drive, now frayed at the edges from its journey to Afghanistan and back.

Kelsey remained quiet. She hadn’t had the faintest hope he would have seen it, and now that he had, she prepared for another wound to open. If he hated her then, he would hate her more for her delusion. And yet, nothing could keep her from wanting to pour out gratitude that he was even here, so unexpected. When you love someone that much, you don’t get to choose when or how or whether or not to stop. She had tried, but she had given up quickly.

“Did you mean all of it?” he asked.

She sighed. “Every word.”

Why was he here?

“In that case,” he said, stepping down off the porch, “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. And my mother, I’m sure she’s sorry, too.”

“Well,” Kelsey said, putting her hands on her hips, recovering from a blow that never came. “I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. I’d be crazy not to forgive you.”

Peter held up the envelope, with a half smile. “You’d be crazy either way.”

“You’re crazy, too,” she said, shrugging, remembering the way she watched him lie in her lap in Snake Country, fighting battles real and unreal.

“We’re both a little nuts, aren’t we?”

Kelsey nodded, smiling, staring at the brick sidewalk below her. He touched her arm, and she lifted her head.

Peter’s face had shifted. “But we’d be worse off if we didn’t have each other. I know I’d have been worse off if I didn’t have you, no matter who you were, or were pretending to be. You made me feel brave.” His mouth twitched. “Like I could get through it.”

“And you did,” Kelsey said.

“I kept your letters,” he said, speaking quickly, nervously.

A tight smile grew on Kelsey’s face. “I dug yours out of the trash.”

“Well, thank you,” he said. “For doing that.”

“They smell like mustard now,” she let out.

He laughed loudly, surprising both of them. His eyes met hers, and then their gazes couldn’t unstick.

They didn’t speak for a while, considering one another. Music began to play from inside the house, some sort of piano. A warm gust blew around them.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Want to start over?”

Kelsey’s eyes stung for some reason, though all she felt was relief. Everything was clear, even the tears through which she saw him.

“Sure,” she said, as casual as could be.

“Hi, I’m Peter.” And he smiled his smile, holding out his hand.

“Hi, Peter,” she said, and she took it. “I’m Kelsey.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to my mother and father, and to all of my family and friends in the Sunflower State—Elise, Jamie, wherever you are, for making my memories of Lawrence bright and rich. To my older brother, Wyatt, for his service to our country, and for his consultation on the experience of being deployed to Afghanistan. Ian, for cheering me on as you went to bed, and again when you saw me in the same spot in the morning. Mandy and Emma, I would not be who I am if you were not who you are. A toast to the Revolver crew, who lights a fire in me whenever I see them. Thank you, Katie McGee, for being my editor and champion at Alloy, and for being the inceptor of this incredible story. Thank you to Pam Garfinkel and the entire team at Little, Brown for making all of this happen. We writers would be nothing without you.