The Leaving Season (15 page)

In the shade box I gave Nate was a small slip of paper, a receipt for a locker at an ice rink. It was a Winter Olympics year, and everyone at our junior high school was into snow and ice sports. Until that day, Nate and I had been friends only. He was a year ahead of me, already a freshman at the high school. When it was time to go home, it didn't take me long to unlace my skates and slide my feet into my Nikes, but for some reason, Nate was a slowpoke. I remembered how he took his time, first with each sock, then with each shoe. At last, he stood and put on his jacket and gloves, slapped a
baseball cap on his head—and then leaned down and planted a kiss right on my lips. I was so surprised that I didn't even close my eyes.

His lips, so new to mine, were soft and gentle, and his hands were on my elbows, holding me down as if I might float away. Although it could not have lasted more than a second or two, that kiss—my first kiss—was seared into my memory.

Until now. Until Lee. Was I ready to replace that memory? I didn't ever want to forget Nate, but I was afraid I couldn't ever forget Lee.

The day of my campus tour sneaked up on me. Although I tried to get out of it, my mother insisted. “Go to Portland. Have fun with Allison. And when you come back, I bet you'll jump right back into everything with gusto!”

Somehow, she assumed (as everyone did) I'd be back to normal eventually.

I had the feeling that “normal” meant something entirely different now.

Allison was meeting me at Lewis & Clark to walk the tour with me and ask questions I might not think of. Frankly, the only thing I was thinking of was Lee. I couldn't get him out of my mind.

My mom was right, though she didn't know why. I needed distance. It was too easy to run to Lee whenever I was feeling down. And now, after what had happened between us . . . I needed space more than ever.

I'd been to Lewis & Clark once before with Nate, but as I drove through the gates and winding roads, it looked more foreign to me than I'd expected. I hardly recognized anything at all.

Through the entire tour, I felt like I was in a daze. The buildings were charming, the landscape pretty, and the students seemed perfectly smart and nice. And yet . . .

It didn't feel right.

It might have been right for Nate, or for Nate and me, but not for me.

Not for me alone.

After the tour, Allison and I found a tiny coffee shop with a sidewalk sign declaring “Love You a Latte!” I let her order for me while I nabbed a table by the window that faced out on the parking lot. I glanced around me, at the tables crowded with students. The air was electric. There was the buzz of caffeine and sugar, combined with demands for quiet hissed by the few students who were actually studying.

I waited until my sister was fully absorbed in ordering coffee before I took out my phone. I'd been patient during the tour, listening to our guide, but now I had to know: Did Lee try to contact me? I held my breath as I turned on my
phone, tapping my toes on the tile floor while it tried to find a signal. Ten seconds passed, twenty, a minute, but even as the bars inched upward, not one message loaded. Not a single new voice mail or text. I scrolled through old ones just to be sure, but there was nothing.

My heart sank and I slumped against the chair.

How could he not have called me? The way we left each other . . . didn't he care?

If he were Nate, he would have called.

But if he were Nate, I wouldn't have . . .

I blushed, remembering our kiss. Remembering
my
kiss. I'd never been so aggressive with Nate, so
insistent
.

Allison interrupted my thoughts as she slid a giant paper cup of coffee across the table at me and tossed some sugar packets after it. “Cute baristas here,” she said with a grin. “They give you free shots of espresso when you give them your phone number.”

“You didn't.”

She took the plastic lid off her cup and blew across the creamy surface of her coffee, cooling it down. “I gave him
a
number. Just not mine.” After a few sips, she sat back in her chair and said, “Ahh. That's better. Now you can talk to me.”

“Who said I have anything to talk about?”

“Please. Mom told me everything.”

Everything?
I stared into my coffee, wishing I could dive right down to the bottom and submerge myself with the
melting sugar. “Then you don't need me to tell you.”

“Skipping school, not handing in assignments—that's not like you, Mid.”

I glanced up sharply. “They
told
me I didn't have to go,” I said, my voice rising. “They
told
me to take it easy and not stress.”

My sister wore a sliver of a smile, as if she understood exactly what I was saying. “Yeah, but they didn't expect
you
to take them up on it, at least not for very long. They expected
you
to go right back to normal.”

“Is that what this is all about?” I waved my hands around the coffee shop, taking in the campus, the students. “Making me normal again?”

“Sure.” Allison laughed. “A road trip to Portland is just the ticket.” Her smile ebbed. “Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to come here. Nate picked it for a reason.
You
picked it for a reason—”

“I picked it
because of
Nate.”

“So? That doesn't mean it's not a good choice for
you
.”

My sister didn't usually consider my feelings. “When did you get all nice and philosophical?”

“I have no idea. Maybe it was that women's studies class I took last year.”

“What if I don't want to go to college at all?”

“Like, take a gap year? Yeah, you could do that.”

“No, I mean, not go at all. Or maybe go. But later. I don't know. Do I have to know?”

“Um, you have to go to college.” She sipped her coffee and checked out a couple of guys who'd just walked in. Her eyes followed them to the counter.

“Not everyone does.”

“Don't be an idiot. Mom and Dad will kill you if you don't go somewhere.”

We both heard my phone buzz, a signal that a text was coming in.
Lee?

My sister grabbed it and gasped. “Uh-oh.”

I snatched it out of her hands and tapped the screen. But it wasn't Lee. It was . . .

“Wesley? Who's Wesley?” I opened the text and found a message that was clearly
not
meant for me.
Hey expresso grl!

“‘Expresso'?” I said with a laugh. “Is this”—I glanced up at the counter, where a boy who was clearly too young for Allison lifted two fingers at us—“that guy?” When my sister nodded, I roared. “‘Expresso'! With an
x
. Oh my god. He
makes
them, for god's sake. Ali, you gave him
my
number? How could you?”

Allison whipped the phone away and her fingers flew over the screen. “I don't know. It was the first one that came to mind.”

I shook my head. “You better get rid of him. I do
not
need some coffee clown who can't spell sending me texts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving me away. She tapped Send and then sat back in the booth. “So, you getting into my old boho clothes?”

“How did you know I was wearing them?”

“Emma texted me.”

“She doesn't even have a phone!”

“They're not exactly
you
, but . . .” Allison's fingers absently tapped the screen of my phone and she turned it sideways, an expression of surprise on her face. She paged the screen with her finger—again, and again, and . . .

Oh, shit. My selfies with Lee.

I lunged over the table. “Ali, hey, give it here,” I said, but she held it out of my grasp, twisting away from me. She kept her eyes on the phone the entire time.

“Thanks for last night . . . Middie, what the . . .” She paged through a couple of more pictures and then glanced up at me. “What. The. Fuck. What is this?”

She held the phone with her fingertips like it was made of plutonium.

“I can explain, Ali. Lee—”

“Lee Ryan,” she said with a nod. “That's who this is.”

“I can explain.”

“You said that already.”

“He's not a bad guy,” I said, trying not to sound incredibly defensive. “He's just”—I remembered what Lee said about Lex Luthor—“misunderstood.”

Allison folded her arms. “So the lazy-awkward-stoner thing is
not
true?”

“He's actually got a job, and . . . and he doesn't smoke
pot,” I said. Sure, there was the “awkward” part, but . . . “He's really helped me.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Allison gazed at me disdainfully, looking down her nose. It reminded me of when we were kids and I wasn't doing what she wanted.

I wanted to laugh. Lee would have laughed, but I gathered joking would not be well tolerated.

“Nate
just
died,” my sister said with intentional cruelty. “Do you know what this looks like?”

I thought of telling her how he'd comforted me without coddling me, encouraged me without patronizing me. But the photos told a different story. An incomplete one.

I turned my face from hers. No matter how much I explained myself, how many times I defended my actions, I would just look more guilty.

It would look, even more, like I was betraying Nate.

“It's not like that,” I told her simply. “It isn't.”

“It's called a ‘rebound.' Whatever you think it is, that's all it is. For both of you. It's not real.” My sister rose from the table and slurped down the rest of her coffee. “I gotta hit the road.” She leaned down and gave me a hug before she left, calling over her shoulder as if it was an afterthought, “Drive carefully, okay?”

I gazed down at the screen on my phone. Still no word from Lee.

She's right,
I thought.
Allison is right.

I was a terrible person. I had betrayed Nate.

Over something that was really nothing at all. There couldn't be an “us.” There could be no “Lee and me.” I had to let it go—let
him
go—and get back to school and my friends and my real life.

Chemistry exams, AP English papers, calculus pop quizzes, and loads and loads of SAT practice tests. Three weeks were easily filled with schoolwork and hanging out with Haley and my friends.

I did everything everyone asked and more. I cheered on Haley at her field hockey games and spent my afternoons at the farm. When Emma's Brownie troop needed a chaperone for a field trip to the science museum, I volunteered. And at Thanksgiving, I cleaned the kitchen. I wasn't exactly the best cook, but scrubbing pots and pans I could handle.

I took the SAT for real and bombed. But that wasn't much of a surprise. Everyone said the first time was the worst and
that I just needed to study more. I promised my parents—and myself—that I would take it again and do better.

By the end of November, normal had returned to my life even if my life hadn't exactly returned to normal.

I forgot about Lee. I stopped checking my phone for text messages, stopped waking at three in the morning expecting a call, stopped thinking about the last time I saw him. His hands on my waist, his breath on my neck . . . So maybe I hadn't entirely forgotten, but I was trying.

On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, day broke quietly, with everyone sleeping in and only an occasional car on the road. I started with a light jog and every muscle in my body creaked. I hadn't gone for a run in weeks.

The wind whipped my ponytail across my face and I felt a few droplets of rain on my cheeks. Dark clouds swirled above me, volatile and threatening, but I kept running. I remembered the night in the tree house and heard Lee's voice, asking me if I would melt in the rain.

No. Not me. Meredith Daniels does not melt.

Very quickly, other voices jumped into my head: my mother, my friends, my sister and teachers . . .

What do you want, Middie?

What are you doing for the rest of your life, Middie?

When are you going to go back to normal, Middie?

Normal.

Meaning, back to the person I was.

But why did they want me to be that person? That per
son was who she was mostly because of Nate Bingham.
He
was the one who planned everything.
He
was the one who had life all figured out. Without him . . . who was I?

No. I could never go back to the person I was.

Because there was no Nate anymore. And that person didn't exist without him.

I rounded a corner and headed toward a familiar fork in the road. If only decisions in life were as easy as that: seeing a fork and choosing one side or the other. Nate's death was a decision that was made for me—but that didn't mean that I had to allow everyone else to make my decisions for me too.

If I didn't know what I wanted yet, that was okay. What lesson was I supposed to learn from all of this if it wasn't to
live
rather than
plan
?

Say yes now and deal with the shit later.

I jogged in place in front of Lee's house while I texted:
u up? I'm here

No response. Well, what did I expect? He hadn't heard from me in almost a month.

Rain began to fall more steadily now. I texted again and waited some more, but after ten minutes, it looked like he wasn't coming down.

I wandered over to the garage to take a last peek at the Mustang. The side door was unlocked, so I tiptoed inside. The car was pristine and beautiful. The chrome, the clean lines, the restored leather—it was old yet timeless, a true classic. We'd fixed this car, and that fixed me.

I felt like Lee had let me in on a secret, one that only Nate knew: Lee was a great friend. I finally saw in him what Nate had, what he had appreciated in Lee while he was alive.

“Planning on stealing it?” I heard behind me.

Lee stood at the top step near the door, his body in silhouette, rain falling softly behind him.

“It'd be kind of hard, since she still won't let me drive her,” I joked.

With his face in shadow, I had no idea if he was smiling or scowling. “You never called,” he said. “You . . . disappeared.”

I wanted to make a joke.
I'm a magician, remember?

“I'm here now.”

“Yeah, you are.”

We took a few tentative steps toward each other. My mind and pulse raced: Was this the right thing?

I didn't know. And I didn't care. This was my choice
right now
.

I quickened my last few paces, grabbed his shoulders, and kissed him. My head swam and my heart fluttered in my chest as he responded, kissing me back with all the intensity I had hoped for.

That you came here for,
I admitted to myself.

“Are you real?” I said quietly. “Allison said this wasn't real.”

He answered with his lips. Our bodies pressed together, melting, folding, winding around each other—our voices
hushed. I felt his breath in my ear, heard my name whispered, my real name, not that stupid, stupid nickname, and all the tension in my body eased away.

Lee had no expectations
of
me, no plans
for
me. He understood and accepted me. No one else did.

One of us opened the car door and one of us pulled the other in and it didn't matter which because we both felt the same way. We both wanted the same thing. We kissed—by turns passionately and sweetly and urgently—and laughed, at ourselves and the rain. I tasted minty toothpaste on his tongue and smiled to myself, imagining him brushing his teeth in those minutes before he came down to meet me. It was the thought of him nervously wondering if this might happen that made it easy to stop caring where he ended and I began.

At long last, our mouths parted and we rested, still wrapped together, arms and legs entwined. Lee cracked open one of the fogged-up windows, and a cool breeze blew through the car and across our skin, slick with sweat. With a shiver, I curled closer to him and rested my head on his bare chest. I could feel his heart beating beneath his ribs, gradually slowing to its normal pace. I reached up and traced my finger along his jaw to his lips and he kissed the tip of it, then goofily tried to bite it. I snatched it back with a laugh and planted a fat kiss on his lips instead.

“I'm running away to join the circus,” I said. “Wanna come?”

He grinned slyly and dropped a rain of kisses on my neck and shoulder. “I thought you'd never ask.”

I heard my phone ring with a text message and I thought about silencing it, but then, nearly simultaneously, Lee's did too. We searched the floor for our clothes, giggling like little kids as we rummaged through the clumsy pile of shirts and pants until we finally located our phones.

I saw the expression on Lee's face before I'd had a chance to read my message. His mouth dropped open and his eyes blinked rapidly. “Lee? Is something . . .”

And then I looked at my message. From Nate's mother:

Nate is coming home with me.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

Lee and I exchanged a glance.
Is this a joke?
We stared at our phones. It was a truly evil one, if so. But it had been sent from Mrs. Bingham's phone.

Could it be? Could Nate really be alive?

In the aftermath of the massacre in that tiny Honduran village, bodies had been burned beyond recognition. The rebels held the village for over a week, refusing to allow authorities in to identify the bodies and giving reporters limited access to the area. Everyone had assumed Nate was among the dead.

Everyone except his mother. She'd never given up hope—unlike us. She'd stayed in Honduras long past the point of rationality.

For a very long moment, we were motionless in the
garage. The only sound was the rain on the roof, the drip and drizzle on the window glass. And our breath, a soft sigh.

We dressed in silence, each absorbed by our own thoughts, and slipped out of the car, one at a time. When Lee closed the door, it was as if he was shutting away what had just happened between us, closing it up as if it were a thing we could tuck away.

Our eyes met and then suddenly, Lee grinned. “He's alive.” He swept me up in his arms, a gigantic bear hug of an embrace, and a far cry from the passion we'd shared.

He spun me around the garage, whooping with happiness and relief and gratitude. “That dude is one tough motherfucker.”

I gasped and giggled. Nate was not just tough; he was a miracle. “Do you think it's real?”

“Why wouldn't it be? If anyone could make it out there in the jungle, it's my man.”

My phone buzzed again: Haley. And again: my mother. And again: Allison.

And again, and again, and again. My inbox was crowded with the happy news. When I got to twenty-five messages, I finally let myself believe it could be true.

“He's alive, he's alive, he's alive!” I sang as I grabbed Lee's hands and we twirled around the Mustang. Our Mustang. Nate's Mustang.

“Jungle warrior!” Lee threw his head back and laughed. “Oh man, I can't wait to see that dude.”

Bzz . . . bzz . . . bzz . . .
More texts, more names, more relief. “Hang on. I gotta send some notes back.” I looked at Lee. “You?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Just the one.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, that's the important one, anyway.” I stepped closer to the door to read the messages in the rainy daylight. Behind me, Lee was at the wooden bench, holding fast to his phone, gripping it tightly as if the message might slip away.

In the middle of texting, my phone rang with a call. “Hey, Mom . . . Yeah, yeah! I got it too. . . .” My mother shrieked on the other end of the phone; her voice bubbled over with excitement. “I know! I can't believe it! Is it on the news? . . . Oh, I, uh, I went for a run.” I glanced over my shoulder at Lee. He had something else in his hand now—a paper. The horse he'd drawn. Our tattoo. Nate's tattoo.

“Our house? Now? Yeah, yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can.” I laughed. “Rain? Who cares? I'm on my way!”

I said good-bye and pocketed my phone. “Nate's dad is at my house.” Lee had his back to me, staring at the drawing. I paused at the door and glanced back. “I gotta go. Hey?”

He walked slowly toward me and I waited until he stood by my side, staring out the door at the rain. I felt his hand take mine, felt his fingers lightly twine around my palm, his nails graze the soft pads of my thumb and forefinger. His touch relaxed me, soothed me, as small and delicate as the gesture was.

My arm started to reach around his waist, but a phone call interrupted me. I glanced at the number and tapped the screen to answer. “Hey, Dad, yeah, I'm on my way.” I tilted my chin toward the sky; the clouds were shifting quickly and a single patch of blue was directly overhead. I mouthed to Lee,
Gotta go,
and then I took the call on the road, beginning my jog. By the time I turned back to look at Lee, he had disappeared.

And now for my next trick,
I thought.
I will make Nate reappear.

Emma saw me first as I jogged up the driveway. She ran down to greet me and leaped into my arms. “Middie! Nate's coming home!”

“I know!” I hugged her tight and carried her inside.

“My wish came true!”

“Really? Is that what you wished for?”

She cocked her head to one side. “I wished it had never happened. So, kind of.”

I dropped her to the floor in the kitchen and we ran into the living room where my parents and Nate's dad were joyously celebrating—and texting and phoning and emailing.

“Caroline called about half an hour ago,” my mother told me as she poured coffee into mugs. “She told Tom that Global Outreach had finally gotten news of Nate. He'd fled the attack and run off with a couple of others into the jungle. At some point he contracted dengue fever, so he's still
very weak and hasn't been able to give them the whole story. But he's alive. He's in a hospital, and he's safe.” Her breath caught and she grabbed my hands for support. I knew she was feeling the same relief Nate's mom must be feeling now too. I helped her bring coffee to Dad and Mr. Bingham.

Nate's dad embraced me and took the tale from my mom. “We won't know the extent of his injuries until Caroline gets a chance to see him and talk to him. But he's
alive
, and that's all that matters.”

“How long?” my dad asked.

“Five days? A week? The Honduran government would like him to help them identify some of the attackers, if he can.”

Emma elbowed me aside on the couch, placing herself between me and Mom. “Will he still be a doctor when he comes home?” she asked Mr. Bingham.

“Oh yes, I'm sure he will be.”

A frown creased Emma's forehead. “But it's so dangerous. He could get killed again.”

“Again” shook me, but Mr. Bingham ignored it. “The doctor part isn't dangerous, Emma. It's where he was.”

“Ohhh . . .” She nodded as understanding dawned. “Then make sure he doesn't go anywhere. He should stay here with us forever.”

“Here? In Roseburg?” I asked.

“Yeah. And never go anywhere else.” Then she tugged on my sleeve; her gaze at me was stern. “And you too. Don't go anywhere.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and hugged her to me. “Okay. We'll all stay here all the time.”

Emma thought for a moment and then raised one finger. “Except for Girl Scout camp. I have to go to that.”

Even as I laughed, emotions crowded my head and my mind buzzed with anticipation. Nate was alive! He would be home in a week, maybe less.

Not much later, we said good-bye to Nate's dad, who was eager to get home and make arrangements for his trip. He would meet his wife in Honduras and together they'd bring Nate back. “Caroline was right,” I heard him tell my parents as they walked him to his car. “I should hate myself for giving up so easily, but I'm just so grateful he's alive.”

My gut clenched at those words. I had done the same thing. But it didn't matter now; that was our past, and Nate's return was our future.