A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (38 page)
Bud also had me sing the theme song for his movie, and that hit number one on the charts. The ups and downs of this business are crazy, but Devon’s stayed by my side through it all. None of it fazes him, though he does seem to get a kick out of his physical therapy patients’ reactions whenever I drop in on him at work. He’s not the kind of person to offer details on his dating life, but he does silly things like carry Veronica Pryce pens in his breast pocket and give people cool looks when they ask why.
Here in the cemetery, he knows just where to go, so I follow him past all the silent headstones until we reach one that blends right in with the rest. He leans down and kisses my forehead.
“So…anyway, here she is.” He gestures to the gravestone inscribed with the name “Mackenzie Wynn Schaller” with the dates of her birth and death, which are tragically close to one another. “And here’s where all your pink swag was laid to rest, too.”
I smile. “Perfect.”
He glances at me before he looks away, pulls a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, and holds it out to me.
Curious, I take it from him.
He continues to look away.
I unfold the paper.
Dear Mackenzie,
Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to visit you. Things are way better now than they were before. As you know, when you passed, I didn’t just lose my sister. I lost my home. I always felt like I belonged wherever you were, whether it be Montana or Seattle. Without you, I was adrift, even when I came back to Billings and tried to settle down.
I should have known that you’d found a way to take care of me though. That letter you wrote to your favorite actress started a chain of events I still can’t believe. First off, she showed up in your hospital room and reminded me that even when the people we count on fail us, that doesn’t mean nobody cares. Secondly, she tried and almost managed to save your life. She and I got to talk a lot during that process, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her when you passed on.
Now I have a confession to make. Several years ago I ran into her again.
All About Veronica
is over now, so she was starring in another series and working out at a gym where I was a personal trainer. I’d like to say I was suave and cool and really nice to her, but the truth was, it scared me. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, but rather a very attractive woman. So I started to make fun of her like a kid on the playground throwing spitballs. I’m not proud of the man I’ve been. I just didn’t know what else to do.
I assumed she wouldn’t remember me or you, but I was dead wrong. She figured out who I was, and eventually, we became friends, and at some point along the way, I figured out I was in love with her. She’s the woman I told you about when I was here before. In my defense, let me say, she put the moves on me first, all right? All I did was get us alone together in a closet at my work, so I think I’m innocent here.
She stole my heart, but you remember all my whining about that. It was when I was here that I remembered how you used to always ask me, “Are you happy?” Whenever things got stressful or we got bad news, it was so important to you that I be happy.
I imagined you asking me, “Are you happy?” the last time I was here, and the answer was obviously, “No.” I hadn’t been since the day I lost you. The last time I’d felt anything close to happy was this one night when Lizzie came by and told me she loved me. I was scared and confused and upset, but when she fell asleep and I just held her, I wished I could freeze time and be in that moment forever. She’s always been so easy to love that it felt too easy, if that makes sense. I was used to life being hard and full of sacrifices and disappointment. Being with a gorgeous celebrity who’s always nice to me didn’t fit that pattern, but once I realized that you’d want something like that for me, I realized it was okay for me to want it for myself. It was a long shot, trying to win her heart again, but I had nothing to lose, so I decided to go back to California and go for broke.
Lizzie and I have been together almost four years now, and I’m home again. That feeling I thought I’d lost forever is back, thanks to you, kiddo.
As I write this, I’m in a hotel room in Billings and Lizzie’s on the bed painting her toenails. She has no idea—I don’t think—that I have a ring with me. I plan to propose tomorrow, when the three of us are together again.
I stop reading and look at him.
He looks away and fidgets with something in his pocket. “If you want to run, now’s your chance,” he says.
Pressure builds in my chest, and I feel like I’m about to explode from happiness. Devon’s always made it clear over the years that this was coming. Every fight we’ve had, every difficulty we’ve encountered, he’s treated as just a bump in a very long road. It surprises me how devoted he is. Sometimes I still expect him to ogle other women, but nowadays, he gets annoyed and even angry when anyone tries to flirt with him. In his opinion, that’s disrespectful, because he makes sure
everyone
knows he’s spoken for. The only person I catch him eyeing is me, and he always smiles as if just looking at me feels good.
He may be the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, but I don’t need a comparison to figure out that he’s exactly what I’ve always wanted. Now here he is, telling me that he wants me forever. Tears prick at my eyes as I bite my lip and continue reading.
I’m writing this down now so that I don’t lose my nerve. I’m going to hand her this letter when we’re at your grave.
I love you, kiddo. Thanks for always being there for me.
Love,
Your Big Brother
I pull a pen out of my pocket, chew the end for a moment, then scrawl at the bottom of the letter.
P.S. This is Lizzie. I’m saying yes, of course. I never knew what home felt like before I met Devon. “Thank you” doesn’t even begin to cover what I want to say to you. Your letter changed my life in so many ways. It was a privilege to know you.
Love,
I blink back more tears as I sign it:
Your (soon-to-be) Big Sister!!!
I fold the letter and hand it back to Devon, who looks sidelong at me and unfolds it. He reads the lines I’ve written then shuts his eyes and touches the paper to his forehead as he breathes a sigh of relief.
“So,” I say. “Yes!”
He nods, eyes still shut. “Just give me a sec here.”
“You really think I’d say no?”
“You’re
Lizzie Warner
. Every day, I expect you to wake up and explain that this has all been a misunderstanding.”
I laugh. “If so, it’s too late to back out now.”
He pulls a ring box out of his pocket, takes out a slim band that shimmers with little diamonds set in a channel all the way around, and slips it onto my left hand. “It’s not the usual celebrity bling—”
“Oh please,” I say. “I love it. It’s
perfect.”
“It’s called an eternity band.”
Motion out of the corner of my eye makes us both turn.
The woman who stands on the path several plots over, is a stranger to me but from the way Devon goes tense, I know exactly who she is.
“Your mother?” I ask, under my breath.
He doesn’t respond, just stares as she picks her way over to us. It’s me she keeps looking at.
“Are you Lizzie Warner?” she asks. Her face is thin and lined, her hair wispy and gray, her teeth twisted and decayed. A former meth addict, among other things. Maybe not even former.
I look up at Devon, who grips my arm tight enough that I have to pat his hand to get him to ease up. Then I rub his back the way he does for me whenever I’m stressed. I’m not sure I quite manage the, “I’m here for good, no matter what” vibe he’s perfected over the years, but I try.
“And this must be your bodyguard?” she says.
I glance at Devon again and then look at her, but her face is completely blank. It’d be infuriating if it weren’t so sad, and I’m not sure what to say in response.
“You did so much for her,” the woman goes on, nodding at Mackenzie’s gravestone. “All that media attention and the donor drive. I’m Mackenzie’s mother.”
If she expects some sudden happy recognition, like an “Oh! It’s so nice to meet you,” she must be disappointed. Devon and I just exchange another look.
“Right,” I say. “I met her brother at the hospital. Your son?”
“Oh, right. Devon. So are you here in town for a concert or something?” she asks.
“I’m here with my fiancé,” I reply.
“How wonderful! Congratulations.”
Next to me, I hear Devon take a deep breath. “We should go,” he says.
“It was nice to meet you,” I tell his mother.
“It was sweet of you to come to her grave. By the way, was it you who paid for the headstone?”
“I—”
“Yes,” says Devon. “We had that installed.”
“So sweet of you.” She beams.
Devon tugs my arm, and we make our retreat back to our car.
“Um…wow,” I say.
“It is possible to fry your brain that much and still be able to walk and talk,” he mutters.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Really? I’m not.” He looks back over his shoulder. “I guess now I can really put her behind me.”
“Can you?”
He shrugs, and I get what he means. I don’t know that I’ll ever really feel able to cut ties with my mother either.
“After that,” he says, “seeing Rachel again should be a breeze.”
Rachel is now Rachel Rao, happily married and still here in town. She’s invited us to her place for dinner, and although I’ve agreed to play nice, I am
very
happy to have this ring to flaunt.
We reach the car, and I take one look back at the lone, slender figure standing among the headstones. Then I turn to Devon, put my arms around his neck, and pull him down for a kiss, which I hold until I feel him relax, and when I pull back, I touch my nose to his. He smiles and rubs my shoulders as I lean against him. These are little ways we’ve developed over the years to tell each other, “You will always be safe with me.”
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T
HANKS SO MUCH
for reading my book. Hope you enjoyed it.
The bone marrow registry that Lizzie used to try to save Mackenzie’s life is real. There are actually a few of them. I’m a member of:
Be the Match
If you are between the ages of 18 and 44 and aren’t already a member, you may be able to save a life. There could be someone waiting for a donation who is a match. People are quite a bit more likely to find a match from someone else of the same race, and the registry is always looking for minorities, especially Asians and part-Asians (like me.) When I started writing this book, I got an email from Be The Match to tell me that I was a match for a four-year-old girl. That was a good day.
Then I got a follow up email a few weeks later to tell me she wasn’t eligible for a transplant, but that I should be ready at short notice in case the situation changed. While it’s possible that she didn’t need one, I’ll always wonder, and a part of me will always wait for that phone call.