For All You Have Left (13 page)

I look at her with a straight face, daring her to say it.

“I don’t know,” she says instead. “There’s so much here. Don’t you ever get tired of seeing it—reliving it?”

I stuff a towel into my bag.

“I’m fine, Hannah.”

“Okay, okay. I was just asking.”

I roll my eyes and fling open the door.

Jorgen is at his door fiddling with his keys. He’s wearing his navy pants, white collared shirt and work boots. He stops for a second and looks up at me.

I smile because that’s what I do around him now.

“Work?” I ask.

He nods his head.

“Pool?” he asks.

I nod my head.

“Food Network tomorrow night?” he asks.

I nod my head again.

“Have fun at the pool,” he calls back at me as he makes his way down the stairs.

“Have fun at work,” I call down to him.

When he’s gone, I find Hannah lurking in my personal space behind me. Her eyes are big and staring straight through me.

I crinkle my eyebrows at her.

“You’re in my bubble,” I say, frowning and chalking off an imagina
ry circle around me.

“You like him, don’t you?” Hannah scolds, crossing her arms
at her chest.

Despite her demeanor, I can tell she’s excited. I don’t say anything. I just walk out the door.

“Do you guys hang out?”

“We’re just friends, Hannah.”

“Mm hmm,” she says.

I know she doesn’t believe me.

We walk the rest of the way in silence. And when we get past the gates, we find two lounge chairs side by side. Hannah lays down her towel and takes a seat in one. I do the same and take a seat in the one next to it. She pulls a magazine out of her bag. I find a book in mine, pull it out and start reading. But no sooner do I get past the first page, Hannah fumbles her magazine and sighs.

“Lada, he’s gorgeous, you know. I mean his arm muscles are as big as my...”

She stops and looks at her bikini-clad body.

“As my thighs,” she finishes.

I look at her thighs.

Hannah was never really good with comparisons or proportions, for that matter.

“Gosh, now I can see why you don’t even want to think about moving,” she adds.

I glare at her again. She doesn’t seem to notice. She’s facing straight into the sun now—eyes closed, her big sunglasses threatening to swallow her face. I helped her pick them out. They didn’t look so big in the store.

Then, all of a sudden, she makes a rash movement in my direction, and just like that, she’s on her side and staring at me.

“Has he kissed you?”

She dramatically lifts her big shades from her eyes.

“What?” I ask, starting to laugh.

“Has he kissed you?” she asks again.

“No, Hannah.”

“Well, are you dating?”

“I don’t know...No,” I say.

“Has he come over?”

She continues her rapid-fire questioning.

“Yes,” I say.

Her eyes grow wide.

“Lada,” she squeals, shoving my arm.

She grabs my thick, dark hair next and gently runs it through her fingers.

“You guys would make the prettiest babies,” she says, before she sets her sunglasses back onto her nose and positions her back flat against the chair again.

“Hannah,” I scold.

It doesn’t faze her, so I give up and return my attention to my book. But I get exactly two lines read, and I hear her voice again.

“Then when it seems we will never smile again, life comes back.”

I close the book and face her.

“Did you just make that up?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Mark M. Baldwin did.”

I set my face toward the sun again, and I think about my old life—the one I feel as though I’ve abandoned somehow. It hurts to think of it that way. And even though I know it wasn’t perfect, I look back now, and all I see is perfection. Every soft whisper, every spoken word, every gentle touch—it’s all perfect. Time won’t let me see it otherwise. They’re all just perfect memories—perfect, untouchable moments that came and went so softly that they almost feel as if they were always just a dream.

“Hannah.”

My voice is soft and thoughtful now as I wait for her attention to shift back to me.

“I’m scared it’ll never be the same with anyone else,” I confess.

She slowly shakes her head. “No,” she admits, “it won’t.”

A breath lifts my chest and then a sigh lowers it again, even though I expected her response. I expected it because I already know it won’t be. I already know that no matter what, it will never be the same.

“It’ll be different,” she goes on. “But different isn’t always bad.”

I meet her eyes behind her big shades. Then, I return to the sun and let its heated rays wash over me.

“Lada,” I hear her say a second later.

My face turns toward hers again.

“I’m happy for you.”

I smile at her because I know she means it.

“We’re just friends,” I say.

“I know. But I’m still happy.”

She says her last words and then goes back to getting her suntan. And suddenly, I feel my smile edging a little higher up my face and a soft tingle coming to life in my chest—and all I can think is that it’s because
I’m starting to feel happy too.

Chapter Eighteen

Hope

“L
ada, I had an extra coupon for that toothpaste you like, so I picked you up a tube,” Hannah says, charging into my apartment.

She stops when she sees Jorgen in the living room.

“Oh...hi,” she stutters apologetically. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know Lada had company.”

Jorgen laughs. “It’s fine. How are you, Hannah?”

Hannah looks as if she’s trying not to blush. She still turns into a thirteen-year-old, smitten school girl around guys that look like Jorgen. I’m not much better sometimes, but she’s definitely worse.

“Great,” she says and then absentmindedly sets the tube onto the counter.

I reach over the sink in the kitchen and pick up the toothpaste. “Thanks, Hannah.”

She looks as if she tries to respond to me, but instead uses all her efforts to fal
l gracefully into one of my barstools. I, meanwhile, catch Jorgen pointing to his eyebrow, eyeing Hannah and miming the word
same
. He has this goofy, surprised look on his face. I quickly lower my eyes and try to hold in a laugh, and I think Hannah notices.

“So, what are you two up to?” she asks.

I look up at Jorgen again. He’s still wearing that goofy grin.

“Nothing,” we both say, almost simultaneously.

Hannah sends me a suspicious look.

“No, seriously, we both just got off work,” I say.

She nods her head and pushes her lips together, seemingly satisfied.

“Oh!”
she suddenly exclaims. “Lada, remember that book I said I wanted to borrow of yours—that one about the guy from Missouri. Can I borrow it?”

“Uh, sure, it’s on the shelf over there.” I gesture toward the living room. “Jorgen, can you grab it for her. It’s the one on the end with the tan-ish cover.”

Jorgen examines the shelf for a second and then slides a book toward him, sending something falling to the floor.

It catches Hannah’s attention, and I watch her face quickly turn curious as Jorgen reaches down to pick up the object.

“You still have that thing?” Hannah asks.

I look at what’s now in Jorgen’s hand.

“Hannah,” I whisper, trying to get her attention.

It doesn’t work, and she continues.

“We call that Lada’s hope,” Hannah says, gesturing with her eyes toward Jorgen’s hands.

Jorgen looks at the book.

“The pin,” Hannah clarifies. “Of Saint Michael.”

I watch as Jorgen’s eyes travel back to the pin in his hand, and I think that Hannah’s done.

“We have no idea where she got it from,” Hannah goes on. “It was just there that day.”

I freeze. I literally stop moving, breathing, all of it. In exactly five seconds flat, my mouth has gone completely dry, my mind has flashed to a blank canvas and I have lost every single one of my words—Every. Single. One. I wait for Jorgen’s eyes to find mine. They do only seconds later. He looks slightly confused.

Hannah doesn’t say anything else, and I’m more than thankful. At least she stopped at that. At least she spared him my whole life story. I’m still going to kill her, but at least she stopped before Jorgen had to witness it.

Silent moments pass, and I’m pretty sure just enough go by to make it awkward. I can feel Jorgen’s eyes still on me, while my own gaze has fallen to the pin in his hand.

“Well...I...just wanted to drop off the tooth...paste,” I hear a small voice utter.

For the first time in almost a minute, I notice that Hannah is still in the room.

“I...should get going. Lada, call me later.”

I stare straight through her then as she backs away from me and toward Jorgen. I know she realizes she has said too much.

“It was nice seeing you again, Jorgen,” Hannah says, sliding the book out of his hand.

Jorgen seems to snap out of a trance just in time to acknowledge Hannah, and then Hannah’s gone, and it’s only Jorgen and I left in the room.

I take a breath and let go of a sigh.

“Okay,” I say, “so Hannah didn’t give the pin to me. Someone else did, but I don’t know who it was. And it was a long time ago.”

He’s staring at me when I finish, and he seems pale and a little like he still doesn’t fully believe me.

I feel really stupid for lying to him in the first place. I feel even more stupid after having been caught in the stupid lie. But I feel bad too because I know I’ve skirted the truth yet again. There’s more to the story, even though I really don’t remember exactly how I got the pin. Like Hannah’s big mouth said, it was just there. But the thing is, I’ve only known Jorgen for a little more than a month now. I’m just not ready to tell him the whole story.

My stare catches on the empty counter before I meet his eyes again. They still look off somehow.

“Jorgen?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, setting the pin back in its place on the shelf.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He makes his way over to me without saying a word, then stops right in front of me.

“What?” I whisper.

He doesn’t seem mad or weirded out, but I feel as if he should—at least a little. I did lie to him.

In the next second, his arms are around me, and he’s squeezing me into his body. My mind races, and I try to figure out exactly what’s going on before I just give in and slowly wrap my arms around him too. I hold him tight, inhale the sweet smell of his cologne and press my hands flat against the muscles in his back. I feel as if I’m literally melting into his embrace
when I hear him whisper into my hair.

“Will you come home with me?”

He pulls away from me and holds my shoulders in the palms of his hands.

“Across the hall?” I ask, timidly.

He laughs once and then slowly shakes his head.

“No, home,” he says. “The county fair’s next week. Will you come with me?”

I search his eyes until I feel genuine excitement coming to life on my face.

“Okay,” I agree.

He gives me this look then, as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind or something.

“Really?” he asks.

I nod my head and start to laugh. “Yeah,” I confirm.

A wide grin lights up his face, and then he pulls me into his arms again.

I’m not completely sure what I’ve just agreed to. It sounds awfully close to something you’d do if you were in a relationship. And though I’m not completely opposed to the idea, I’m pretty sure a real relationship with Jorgen Ryker or anyone new, for that matter, is next to impossible in my situation.
 

***
 

Jorgen leaves, and I find myself gravitating toward the pin on the shelf. I pick it up and caress its indented surface with my fingertips. I don’t keep anything from my old life where I can see it, but I do keep this out. Hannah was right. It was my hope; it is my hope. I didn’t think of it that way at all when I first had it in my hand. But now, looking back, it really was my hope—my tiny glimmer of hope—like something was telling me to keep going, to keep fighting, to fight back, to live. And now, I think, it’s kind of become like a testament to human survival for me—like it reminds me of just how strong we really can be when we have to be and that just when we think
we can’t possibly go on, we do.

Chapter Nineteen

‘64 Ford

“D
amn train,” I hear him mumble under his breath as he pulls to the side of the two-lane road.

I look up to see a train frozen and stretched across the part of the tracks where the truck is supposed to drive across.

“Okay, we’ll have to get out here.”

He smiles his crooked smile at me and then pushes open his door. I watch him climb out and shut the door behind him. And after a second, I follow his lead and do the same, even though I’m now one-part bewildered and one-part amused.

“I don’t know why the damn thing stops here like this all the time.”

He’s talking to me but not talking to me at the same time.

“I live on the other side of these tracks. Are you up for a little walk?”

I know my expression turns curious—fast. I’m not exactly sure what I’ve signed up for yet, but at least now I’m happy that I chose to wear my comfortable boat shoes earlier this morning instead of something less forgiving on my feet.

“When you say ‘walk,’ are we talking down the block or more like a day’s journey?”

I can see in between the railcars, and there’s a shed and a little, winding stretch of highway, but other than that, it’s all flat fields and nothing much else for miles.

“There’s an old truck in that shed over there,” he says, pointing at a spot behind the cars. “It’s there mostly for times like this.”