Summer I Found You (20 page)

Her smile turns different and it’s one I definitely recognize and definitely don’t want to see. Sympathy.

“He’s got a lot to sort out, Kate. A list of stuff. I think he needs some thinking space.”

I blink back tears, but I can’t keep them all in. “I didn’t mean to mess up so bad.”

“Oh. Kate.” Her arm goes over my shoulders. “We never do.”

What sucks the worst here is that she probably knows the whole story and she didn’t tell me it wasn’t that bad. She didn’t tell me not to worry. She basically agreed with me in that I messed up bad, even though I didn’t mean to.

It’s not what I wanted to hear. Now I realize that what I wanted to hear was her telling me how happy Aidan will be when he knows that I’ve been looking for him. That he’s been waiting for me to make the first move.

No such luck. She gives me a hug and I don’t know if her sympathy makes the whole situation better or worse because she knows Aidan and knows I’m in need of sympathy. Maybe we can’t be patched up. I back away from her thinking definitely worse. I don’t even know where to go from here. “Could you—”

“I’ll tell him you stopped by.” She nods.

“Thanks. So much.”

I step off the porch toward Mom’s car and that’s it. Complete and total failure. I screwed this one big time, and I don’t see a fix right now.

I hurt him, and he’s already dealing with too much. Why would he want to deal with me?

Deena and I are up way too late for the first time since she’s been home. We’re resting in bed on our stomachs, our faces together, just like when we were kids. Our faces together. I feel kind of bad that I haven’t really taken a whole lot of time with her since she got here. With her puking so much, and me being pretty much irritated with…almost everyone, we haven’t talked the way we used to.

“Still sad he hasn’t called?” She tucks a chunk of hair behind my ear.

“His mom said he had a list of stuff to sort.” And I’m all cried out, which is a relief because it’s starting to make me feel exhausted and really pathetic.

“A list isn’t a bad idea.” Deena cocks a brow.

“I don’t think she meant an actual list.” I recognize the look in Deena’s eyes, and she’s so going to want to jump in on this.

“Still. Not a bad idea.” The words singsong out of her mouth. And if anyone else sing-songed words, I could roll my eyes. But when Deena singsongs, it’s final.

“I can’t even think about that. My list would be a mile long.” I let my head rest deeper in my pillow.

“Like?”

“Well, I apologized to Jen today for not appreciating her more.” Or something like that. “Shelton and I still have weirdness. Just thinking about Aidan makes it feel like my chest has been ripped out. I don’t know what to do about college and Mom and Dad. And I hate that my doctor is all buddy-buddy with Dad. It makes me feel ganged up on.”

“So find your own doctor.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “And one thing can get marked off your list.”

“I can’t just–”

“Why not?” Deena’s eyes widen.

“I guess…” Could I? I mean I just need an endocrinologist, someone who manages people with diabetes. “Maybe I could.” I’m lighter. Moving forward again. I want to share this with Aidan. Show him how I’m changing. How I’ll be better. No way I’m going to voice this out loud, because Deena will give me the lecture about how I need to be doing all this for myself. One step at a time, I say. I’m at least taking charge here. A bit.

“You should try that super awesome doctor from the hospital. She works with Dad’s friend, remember?”

“Yeah.” She was pretty awesome. One of the few doctors I’ve met that looked at me instead of Mom and Dad. “But that still doesn’t resolve the college issue.”

“Mom and Dad want you close to home.” I can’t read Deena’s voice, and I think she might even agree with them.

The tension builds in my chest at the thought of passing out like I did a few days ago, and not being around people who know me. Strangers. “I used to want to get away, but now I’m almost scared to, and I don’t want to stay here because I’m scared.”

“Kate. It’s one thing to not leave home because you’re afraid to not be at home. It’s entirely different to be afraid because you’re learning to manage your health. Maybe if you did the research on the schools close by, it won’t feel like you’re giving in. It’ll feel like you’re making a smart decision for
you
.”

She’s so right. I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or relieved that she figured it out. This has been a week of
really
humbling experiences.

“And you’re about to be an aunt, and I like the idea of being close enough to see you once in a while.” She smirks, trying to lighten the mood in the room.

“And Aidan will be here. Maybe.” If he’ll talk to me.

“You really fell for that guy.” Deena rests her chin on her hands.

“I didn’t even mean to.” But the fact that I’m more hurt over losing him than I was about losing Shelton is a pretty sure sign that she’s right, and I did totally fall for him. Well, me being desperate and weepy and mopey should also be a pretty fair sign of the same thing.

“You should write him a letter,” Deena suggests.

“What?”

“Write him a letter. Tell him everything. Bare your soul, you know?” She giggles.

“Maybe you should do the same with Lane?” As soon as the words come out, I’m not sure if it was the right thing to say or not.

She sighs and her smile disappears. “It’s not that things between us are
bad
.”

“But they’re not good, and you two disagree.” And he left, and I know their conversations since then have been short ’cause I’ve been stuck in the house for most of it.

“It’s not a total disagreement.”

“Deena, you said he wasn’t happy, and I overheard you…”

She sighs. “I can’t even think about it. Him. It hurts too much. We
just
got married. This is supposed to be the time when everything’s perfect.”

“And it’s not.”

“No.” She wipes a tear. “And being pregnant is making me all hormonal and crazy. I think both Lane and I are using that as an excuse as to why we’re not getting along.”

“Tell you what. I’ll write Aidan. You write Lane.” I roll onto my side to face her better.

Deena gives me a pathetic attempt at a smile. “Deal.”

Crap. Now I’m going to have to actually do it.

My fingers shake as I realize I’m actually going to do this. To write him. And I’m determined to get it all out as fast as I can. And then hope I don’t get a second round of rejection. At least I realize that we’re both pretty far from perfect. He’s disappeared on me—not nice. And I’ve been immature and kept things from him—also not nice.
Okay, Kate. Type already.

Aidan,

I really hope you read this. I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you just hit delete. I get it. Everything I said or didn’t say wasn’t fair to you.

I found out I had diabetes when I passed out in school. Everyone knew. When I came back a week later, I was learning how to give myself shots. I had a million meetings with the nurse. I had to tell all my teachers and learn how to carry a pharmacy around with me. All my favorite foods were suddenly on a list of stuff I shouldn’t eat. Or that would be so much of a pain to count carbs for that it wasn’t worth it.

Everyone knew about me. There was no way for people not to know when an ambulance picked me up in the school parking lot.

I met you, and without knowing it, you understood me. You got it. And I understood you in a way that most people might not. It might not make any sense, but having a disease makes me feel gross.

I think sometimes you kind of felt that way about your arm. And so I knew you’d understand, but at the same time I was finally around someone who wasn’t watching me all the time. Who wasn’t looking at me for signs that my blood sugar was going too far up or down. Looking for weakness. Watching for signals that my disease was taking over. It felt like a break. Like a relief. And to be totally honest, at first you were a distraction. I totally used you to forget about everything else, and it worked.

But I don’t want you to think when we spent the night together that it was about distraction. The only reason I didn’t tell you I’d never had sex was because I didn’t want you to treat me differently. I didn’t want you to stop us. I wouldn’t take the night back for anything. If you decide that you need to move past me, or that you can’t deal with the crazy girl anymore, I get it. But I’m still not sorry about being with you. I will never be sorry about that.

I want to see you. Want to talk to you. When you’re ready. And I hope you can understand enough to forgive me because even though you started out as a distraction, you turned into a lot more.

Kate

By the time I finish the letter, I’m in another weepy pile. Part of me knows that if this doesn’t work, I’ve probably lost him. The worst part is that it’s totally my fault.

K
ATE’S LETTER IS RATTLING
around in my head, making me feel more than I want to, especially now.

My final big thing.

The last thing on my list.

It’s just a house.

Just like every other house on the street. Only, I know better. This house isn’t like any other house on the street because it holds the two people I most and least want to see in the world.

My car’s in park, but the engine’s still running, proving my indecision. Or maybe it’s more than indecision. Maybe I’m still complete chickenshit.

No. I don’t want to be. But I also don’t want to face her. It’s like by waiting, I’ve made this confrontation into a monster, rather than a really awkward afternoon. It makes me wonder if that’s how Kate felt when she didn’t tell me about her diabetes. Like she said in her letter—she liked having someone who didn’t know. And the selfish part of me likes the idea of never being connected to Pilot again.

I should not have waited so long to come here because this is definitely going to be a bigger deal than it would have been if I’d come as soon as I got back.

I turn the car off. One more step. One more thing that brings me closer to walking up to the door. But I reach around and almost start the car again. My heart’s banging in my chest, my ears. My pulse bulges in my throat. Over talking to a person.

I was in a war zone. I shot at people. People shot at me. I got my arm blown off, and now I’m worried about talking to a girl.

Pilot’s girl. Not girl, wife. Pilot’s
wife
. His son. Little Pilot. Jimmy.
Shit
.

I push open the car door and jog up the steps before I can change my mind. My hand reaches to knock and the door pulls open.

Melinda’s standing what looks like a mile below me. She’s such a tiny little thing. Her eyes water up immediately. God, I can’t do this.

But it’s too late. Her arms fly around me, and her face hits the center of my chest.

“God. Connelly. I was afraid I’d never see you.”

I don’t want this. Don’t want to feel this. Face this. Not again. I take a step back, but she doesn’t let me go, doesn’t move her face from where it’s buried in my chest.

Her words, her tight arms, the emotion comes off her, around her, breaks me. It breaks me like I didn’t break when I saw him in pieces next to me in the desert. I grab her and hold her tight. As tight as I can. Like maybe if I can pull on her hard enough she’ll fill the hole in my chest. My eyes squeeze tight. I don’t want to cry. Not now. Not ever. This still hurts a lot worse than I thought.

The tears come even though I don’t want them to, and her grip doesn’t loosen. I don’t know how long we stand on the porch clutched together like this, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that she probably needed this more than I did.

“Mommy!”

I push the voice away.

“Mommy! I wanna watch a show!”

Melinda’s arms loosen and she takes a step back. I take my arm back and press my palm against each eye, hard. Shoving the tears back in, or wiping them away.

“Hey, Jimmy.” She leans forward.

I’m afraid to look.

“This is a friend of your daddy’s.”

I stare at the roof over the porch. My heart rips further.

“Connelly, this is Jimmy.”

I force my eyes open and stare at little Pilot. Now I know why his daddy called him that. They look exactly alike.

“You haven’t seen him in a while, huh?” Melinda asks.

I nod. “Not since that big picnic before we left.”

“Right. He was only two, and I swear he looks more like his daddy every day.”

“Just like him.” I kneel down and stare into the dark brown eyes of the little boy in front of me.

“He’s almost four now.”

“Hey, Jimmy.” I reach my hand out.

“Where’s your arm?” He points.

“Um…” I’ve never tried to explain to a little kid.

“He got hurt in the accident that killed your dad, sweetie.” Melinda’s hand touches Jimmy on the head.

“I am happy you are okay.” Jimmy grins wide at me and turns to his mom.

I don’t hear what else he says. How can he be glad I’m okay? His dad got killed in that “accident.” A random patrol around the perimeter. One we’d done what felt like a hundred times.

Pilot would always say to me, “I’d rather shoot the shit with you than most of the other guys, and I make the damn schedule. Come on.”

So late at night. Night after night, Pilot and I would walk the perimeter. I don’t know if someone threw something, or if it had been planted at some point in time, but his foot touched metal, and in that split second before we heard the blast, we both knew.

And Jimmy’s glad I’m okay.

He’s not even four years old. That’s why. He doesn’t get that one of us died, and one of us didn’t.

I’m shaking. I close my eyes, but that brings darkness, and darkness is too close to that night. I open my eyes, and I’m in front of this house I’ve driven by too many times to be casual.

“Have a seat,” Melinda says. “I’ll be right back.”

Her voice floats through my head. I’m not sure if I want to stay here anymore. Pilot should be the guy on this porch with one arm, taking care of his family. Not me. Guy with no family. Who do I really care about? My mom. My aunt, uncle, and cousins are okay, but…