Time Between Us (27 page)

School ends on a hot, muggy day, and while everyone heads to the lake carrying food, music, and picnic blankets, I spend my afternoon waiting in line with a bunch of sweaty people in the downtown Chicago passport office. Four hours later, passport in hand, I get off the El at the Evanston stop and trudge down the cement staircase toward home. At the intersection, I look down the street and see the sign on the record store.

It’s been over a week since Emma and I went to buy my ticket and bounced happily into the record store to tell Justin all about Mexico. After she finished imitating the perky travel agent, he threw his arm around her and made a joke about being stuck all alone with her for the whole summer. He told me to come back next week and he’d load me up with CDs for my trip.

“There you are! I thought you forgot.” Justin beams at me as I push through the doors and walk inside the empty store. The music’s loud, as usual.

I shrug. “How could I forget free music?”

He fakes a pout. “And here I thought you were coming in to see me.”

“You?” I give him a confused stare. “No. Nothing to do with you. I’m just here for the tunes.” I break into a smile.

“You’re mean.” He takes a step back and grabs both of my hands, just like Bennett used to do right before we closed our eyes and opened them elsewhere. “You excited?”

“Yeah. Very.”

“We’re gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you guys too.” I look around the record store. “But it’ll be nice to do something different, you know?”

“I know.” Justin’s been listening to me talk about traveling the world for the last decade, and the look on his face proves that he’s genuinely excited to see me finally going somewhere. “Well, since you’re only here to sponge music off me, let’s stock you up.” He takes my hand again and leads me through the store, down the skinny aisles carved out between roughly sanded wooden bins. He stops at a kiosk of new releases.

“Here, this is brand-new. Just came out this week.” He passes me the CD, and I turn it over and read the track list. “She’s good. Some pissed-off Canadian chick. Great breakup music.”

“We did not break up.”

“Of course you didn’t, but you know…”

I fake a glare and the room goes silent as one song ends and another is about to begin. We start walking again, just as piano notes come in through the overhead sound system and a soft melody begins. Justin stops in the Rock section and reaches into the bin for a CD. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about this local Chicago band; they’re playing at the coffeehouse next week,” he says, and I try to listen to him, but all of my attention is now focused on the melody being piped in from the ceiling. It sounds familiar, and when the lyrics begin, even though I’m supposed to be listening to Justin tell me about this band he’s excited about, I find myself straining to hear the song over his voice.

Take me to another place, she said.

Take me to another time…

I feel that hole in the pit of my stomach start to grow again as I listen.

“Here it is,” Justin says, and I almost
shush
him.

“The drummer is—”

Take me where the whispering breezes…

can lift me up and spin me around.

Now I can’t look at him, because I’m afraid if I let go of the wooden bin I might not be able to stand. He’s waving the CD around, his facial expressions all animated and enthusiastic, so I know he’s still talking. And I think I’m saying, “
Uh-huh
,” or something like that, but I can’t hear a word from either one of us. All I can do is listen to the lyrics.

If I could I would, but I don’t know how.

“Anna? Are you okay?”

Just when I’ve stopped looking back at what I did wrong and stopped being angry at Bennett for what he did wrong—just when I’ve finally found my fight and made a decision that could change everything—the sadness and the anger flood over me again, and before I can talk myself into stopping them, the tears start falling, landing with little splashes on the plastic jewel cases.

“Stay here.” Justin leaves and I watch him walk over to the front door and bolt it with one hand as he flips the
BACK IN TEN MINUTES
sign to the glass with the other. I release my grip on the bin and let my knees bend as I sink down to the floor, and I lean against the shelving, my knees pulled tight to my chest, and listen to the song. The adrenaline surge that makes my hands ball into fists has returned, and I open my eyes to find my short fingernails stabbing little smiles into my palms.

I’m melting into nothing
.…

First I sense Justin standing over me, then I feel him on the floor, facing me and pulling me into a hug. As soon as I feel the warmth of his body I sort of fall into it. His proximity to me—the position itself—feels far too intimate, and I know I should pull away from him, but I can’t. I need this connection. So I cry and breathe and enjoy the feeling of his hand, heavy on my back. We used to just be two best friends who’d known each other since we were little kids. Now he’s my best friend’s boyfriend, and that means we probably shouldn’t be sitting here on the floor, listening to music, and holding each other quite so tightly.

I’m just about to say this to him when he pulls away from me and rests his chin on my knees. When we’re eye to eye like this, he looks so different. The sun has tanned his skin, blending his freckles together, and his smile is so…Justin, so sweet and kind and ready to be there for me. Something in my expression must change, because he’s suddenly leaning forward, closing his eyes, and moving much further into my space than he should. I know what’s about to happen, and I know that I don’t want it to, but I’m not quite sure how to stop it. I feel trapped between his mouth and the wooden CD bin.

I turn my head so fast that when our lips brush, it’s an awkward, almost accidental movement. “Justin…” My accusatory tone makes his face fall. To break the tension, I collapse against his shoulder, let out a nervous laugh, and punch him in the arm. “What are you doing, you idiot?”

If it’s possible, his laugh sounds even more nervous than mine. “Wow,” he says, looking down at the floor. “I guess I misread that. I’m sorry.” He can’t even look at me.

And now I feel horrible for my other best friend. “Justin, I’d never do that to Emma. I didn’t think you would either.”

“I wouldn’t. I didn’t…I don’t know, I just lost myself for a minute there.”

He scoots away from me, and I feel like I need to say something to lessen his guilt. “Don’t worry, nothing happened. Besides”—I let out a nervous laugh—“I guess it’s kind of nice to know I wasn’t crazy. Until you started seeing Emma, I always thought you had a thing for me.”

Justin looks up into my eyes. “Of course I did.”

“Shut up.” I reach out and punch him in the arm again, mostly because I can’t figure out what else to do with my hands.

He shakes his head. “How could you not know that?” he asks, and I just stare at him, because I have no idea what to say. “Do you remember that time in the sixth grade, when I came over to your house? Our parents were playing cards, and you and I spent the night hanging out in your room. You kept telling me you had a surprise for me.” I smile at him, but so far, I don’t remember any of this.

“When the room got dark, you told me to lie down on the rug, and then you clicked off the light and stretched out next to me. We spent the next hour looking at those little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, making up our own constellations and laughing until we couldn’t breathe. You told me how you looked at the stars at night and pretended to be somewhere else in the world until you fell asleep. Then you told me all about your travel plans, how you wanted to be a photographer or a journalist—someone who got to tour the world—and you were planning to live in Paris first. You were going to take a French class that summer and move there right after graduation.”

“That sounds like something I would have said.” I can’t believe he even remembers this. We were eleven. Even now that he’s reminded me, the details that are so vivid in his mind are murky and vague in mine. “How on earth do you remember all that?”

He laughs under his breath. “That was the night I stopped thinking about you as my best friend…well, as
only
my best friend.” I feel my eyes narrow, and I inhale sharply, watching him, waiting for me to tell me he’s kidding, but he just smiles and shrugs, like he can’t help it.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. I figured if it was going to happen it would eventually.” He shrugs again and looks at me.

“So what are you saying? What about Emma?”

He gives me a genuine smile. “Emma’s incredible. She’s gorgeous and funny and totally amazing. But she’s still not you. She’s not my best friend.”

“That’s not fair to her. You’ve only known her a few months and you’ve known me my whole life. Give her a chance.”

“I know. I am. It’s just that, most of the time, I can’t even believe we’re together. When I first asked her out, I honestly didn’t expect her to say yes. Maybe part of me asked her out just to see if it would make you jealous. But she completely surprised me when she agreed, and I don’t know…she seemed like she was really into me.”

“She was. She
is
.” And until this moment, I thought he was too. I think back to the day we sat in the hospital cafeteria and he told me about his date with Emma, how they talked and talked—how she surprised him. I picture him huddled over Emma’s broken body, stroking her hair and whispering jokes into her ear, with eyes for no one but her. How could I have been wrong?

Then I remember there was no hospital. Aside from Bennett, I’m the only one who knows there were two versions of that day: the first one ended with a horrible accident, but the second one ended with all four of us at the movies, eating popcorn, the two of them wearing smiles instead of hospital gowns. The first one ended with Justin comforting a very broken Emma, but the second one ended with him on a double date with me and Bennett.

Something important happened to them that day—somewhere between Emma’s house and the poorly timed arrival at the intersection—that brought them together. Or maybe it was the accident itself that made all the difference. Either way, we wiped it out. We did it over. We changed it.

Maybe Bennett was right—testing fate, toying with it, may not have any obvious impact at first, but eventually something has to backfire.

It’s six thirty a.m. and already it’s eighty degrees outside. I dress in my lightweight shorts, pull my hair through the back of my pink running hat, and pop on a pair of black Oakleys I splurged on for my trip.

When I run past the man with the gray ponytail, I wave and give him the most enthusiastic “Hi!” he’s ever heard from me. He’s seen me every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the last three years. For a moment I want to stop and tell him that I’ll miss him and that he shouldn’t worry about my absence, because I’ll be spending the next two months running on sand.

When I finish my three-mile loop, I stand on the porch, stretch into a runner’s lunge against the banister, and look around. I wonder if this place will be different when I return. Maybe the trees will have noticeably grown or maybe there will be new cracks in the sidewalk or maybe Dad will have painted the house.

I open the door and stop cold. There, leaning against the banister, stands a black case with the word
TRAVELPRO
stamped on it in shiny silver letters and a giant red bow attached to the collapsible handle.

Dad and Mom emerge from the kitchen. She’s still in her bathrobe, and he’s pulling her along, holding her hand like she might turn and run if he didn’t.

“A suitcase,” I say. I’ve never owned luggage. “Thank you.” Mom gives me a sad smile, moves to my side, and practically yanks me into a hug.

“Ew. Stop. I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t care.” She squeezes harder, and I feel her warm tears land on my bare shoulder. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers into my ear.

“Thanks, Mom.” I squeeze her back and plant a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t be sad. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” she says. She wipes the tears away and locks her eyes on mine. “You’re so much braver than I ever was.”

I reach up and take her face in my hands. “That’s not true. Look how brave you’re being right now.” I smile at her and hug her tight.

“Annie, your Brit’s here!” Dad yells from downstairs.

I look around my room one last time and zip up the last compartment of my suitcase. I don’t imagine that I’ll need that much for a summer on the beach, so I’ve packed light. I have running clothes and shoes, my Discman, batteries, a collection of CDs, and a few light dresses. Flip-flops. Some makeup. Hair clips.

I zip my suitcase, roll it to the door, and stand in front of my map. I consider the little red dots sprinkled across its surface, remembering the soft feel of the sand in Ko Tao and the smell of the dusty rocks at Devil’s Lake and the deep red of the Vernazza sunrise. And then I stare at the newest one, kiss my fingertip, and bring it to the pin in San Francisco. I close the door behind me and pull my new luggage toward the stairs.

When I get to the porch, Emma’s standing there, telling Mom all about her and Justin’s plans for the summer.

“Are you sure we can’t take you to the airport?” Dad’s in the driveway wearing a tight smile.

“Emma really wants to take me.”

“So do we.”

“Yes, but Emma doesn’t have a bookstore to open or a hospital shift to make.”

“Okay.” He hugs me hard, but quickly, and then pulls the suitcase out of my grasp and rolls it toward the Saab’s open trunk. The convertible soft top is down in celebration of this hot summer day.

I hug my parents one last time, say good-bye, and promise to write. Then I open the passenger door and see a small box wrapped in colorful paper waiting on the seat. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Emma commands as she backs out of the driveway, honking like a madwoman while I hold the small wrapped box with one hand and wave good-bye to my parents with the other. When we’re out of sight, I rip the paper off and find a black leather case. I flip the top open.

“Em.” I remove the delicate piece, turn it over, and twist the leather strap. “I don’t need a watch. I have a watch.”

“You have a running watch. This is a dressy watch. In case you meet some wonderful, handsome boy and he asks you out to dinner.” I’m surprised to feel myself grin when she says it.

“And I need to know when to be home before I turn into a pumpkin?” I touch the glass face with my fingertip and look up at her. “It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know. I just wanted you to always remember that I’m here counting the minutes until you return. Har-har-har.”

I laugh. “Seriously, Em. Thank you. I love it.” We both fall silent while I struggle to fasten the watch around my wrist.

“I can’t believe you’re missing Pearl Jam at Soldier Field. We’ve been waiting for this for more than a year.”

“It’s okay. You’ll go with Justin.” I feel a pang of sadness when I say his name. I wouldn’t change what Bennett and I did for her, but I wish I didn’t feel so responsible for the subtle shift in Justin’s feelings. I look at her, wondering what’s going to happen between them this summer, and hoping Justin gives her a chance like he promised me he would.

She sighs. “Justin thinks Eddie Vedder is ‘pedestrian.’ That was his word. ‘Pedestrian.’ The man’s a genius.” And with that, Emma turns the stereo on. “Case in point.”

She twists the knob, and the opening guitar licks of “Corduroy” fill the car. As always, we sing. Loud. Off key. People in neighboring cars stare at us and shake their heads. But then I stop. Emma’s still drumming hard on the wheel and singing, but I’m just listening to the lyrics of the chorus.

Everything has chains…

Absolutely nothing’s changed.

Has anything changed? He blew into our lives and back out again, and on the surface, maybe it looks like he didn’t leave any marks, but I know he did: they’re all over me. And as painful as it is to be in this town without him, if I could do the last three months again, I’d make the same choice—to know Bennett Cooper. Even though it kills me when the song ends with the words
I’ll end up alone like I began.

Emma pulls into the international departures terminal and screeches to a halt in front of the curbside check-in, punches the gearshift into park, and turns to face me.

“Send postcards, love.”

Postcards…

“I will. I promise.” I hug her tight. “Have a fun summer. I’ll see you in August.”

I soften my grip on her but her arms remain firmly locked around me, and when she tries to say something, I hear her voice catch in her throat. “Em…” I tighten my hold on her again. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”

She lets me go and pulls away. “You’re right. Happy moment. No crying.” She rushes to wipe the tears from her face and we air-kiss on both cheeks. “Until August,” she says.

“Until August.” I give her another quick hug and bolt from the car before her tears become contagious. I pull my bag from the trunk and walk into the airport, then stop and look back to give Emma a final wave good-bye.

After the agent hands me my boarding pass, I walk on wobbly legs toward the line of people waiting at security. I’ve never felt more alone, but on the flip side, I don’t think I’ve ever been braver.

I act like I know how to board a plane. People move quickly. And slowly. My heart races as I make my way through the seats, and it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest when I see 14
A
. My carry-on bag is filled with magazines and travel books and, of course, the eight things I couldn’t leave behind.

After I take my seat and buckle in, I reach into my bag and remove the small stack of postcards and look at each one. Most of them are blank, but the one in his handwriting and the two in mine say the same thing—we meant something to each other. We didn’t want it to end.

The plane taxis down the runway, and we lift into the sky. And that’s when I feel it. Finally, something I can compare to the feeling of traveling with Bennett. A small twist. A lightness in my stomach. I feel this incredible rush of adrenaline, and I can’t help smiling when I think of what’s about to meet me. I adjust the pillow between the seat and the wall of the plane, grip my postcards, and lean my head against the small double-paned plastic window. I watch as Illinois slips and shrinks away below.