Fall With Me
Page 19“Go back to bed,” I tell him. “I’ll get you some aspirin and some tea.”
He coughs into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I think you might be onto something there.”
I drink a cup of coffee and make him lemon tea with honey, which my dad always made for me when I was sick. I set that, plus a slice of dry toast and a few aspirin, onto a tray. I pass Allison as I’m leaving.
“Have you seen Griff?” she asks.
“He’s sick,” I tell her. “He went back to bed.” Her eyes go to the tray. “I’m bringing this to him, and then I’ll be back.”
“Why don’t I take it to him.” She holds her hands out.
“I don’t think so.”
She narrows her eyes and takes a step toward me. “What are you doing, Jill?” she hisses. “What game are you playing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s sick; I’m bringing him some medicine and some tea.”
“Yet you won’t let me bring it to him. Why? Do you really think he’d rather you brought it than me?”
“Actually, yes, I do.”
She looks as though she’s about to pitch a fit but then thinks better of it.
“This isn’t a competition,” I say. “So there’s really no need for you to get upset about anything. Why don’t you go eat breakfast with Brett? He’s got an empty spot next to him.” And then I walk away, not caring if the conversation was done in her mind or not.
He’s huddled on the bed, buried under several blankets. I put the tray on the table and go over with the aspirin and a glass of water. He sits up, his eyes bleary, hair messy.
“Christ, I feel like shit.” He pops the aspirin into his mouth and washes them down with a sip of water. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I think I might have to bail on lunch today. Probably wouldn’t make such a good first impression.”
I smile. “That’s okay. There’s tea, too, and some toast, if you feel like eating.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. I don’t right now, but I might later.” He lies back down. “Would you . . . would you lie here with me? Just for a minute. I won’t breathe on you, I promise.”
“Thank you,” he says, his voice raspy and dreamy sounding. “I turn into a big mushball when I get sick. Just want to snuggle. When I was a kid, though, and got sick, my mom wouldn’t even come into the same room. She’d practically start wearing one of those face masks, and make the maid take care of me. She was kind of a bitch, the maid, but she always made sure I drank plenty of fluids and took my medicine. She certainly wasn’t one for snuggling.”
“I can’t believe you had a maid.”
“Eleanor. That was her name. Shit, I wonder what happened to Eleanor.”
“I ran into Allison on the way out, when I was bringing the tray out here. She wanted to do it. She said you’d rather if she brought it.”
I feel his laugh, rather than hear it. “Well, I think the desire to snuggle would’ve been nixed if she was the one who brought it.”
“So . . . what happened between you guys? If you don’t mind me asking.” I consider that now might not be the best time to get into this sort of conversation, but then I think that maybe it is . . . with his guard down, he probably won’t gloss over the truth, though I can’t say whether or not it would change anything.
“We kissed. It could’ve gone a lot further, trust me, but I was serious when I told you I’m all set with the statutory charges. I have a good instinct, sometimes, when it comes to this sort of thing. The girls that are going to start trouble if you get too involved. And she is definitely one of them. Does that . . . does that bother you?”
“What, your great instinct?” I say, though I know that’s not what he’s referring to.
“No, that Allison and I kind of hooked up. It really was just a kiss. Not even a very good one at that. Not like you.”
I laugh. “No, it really doesn’t bother me.”
“I’m not just saying that, you know. About you being a really great kisser.”
“Well, coming from someone with as much as experience as you have, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I’m not as experienced as you might think. You’re my first, actually.”
“You can’t see my face right now, but I’m rolling my eyes.”
“Well, you’re my first girlfriend.”
There’s a long pause, and I replay the words he’s just said about a dozen times in my head before he says, “If that’s okay with you. Which I hope it is. I’ve never had an actual girlfriend before, and knowing you makes me realize that I’d like one.”
Since we’re lying there, basically spooning, he can’t see my expression, but if he could he’d see I am smiling, that in fact, I have a huge grin that I can’t wipe off my face.
Uncle Nate seems to be in relatively good spirits during lunch. “Isn’t there supposed to be someone else here?” he asks. “I heard you were bringing a date along.” He smiles as he says this, as though he’s genuinely happy to hear that I might be involved with someone. When he smiles, he looks a lot like Dad.
“He’s sick,” I tell him. “But he really wanted to come and meet you guys.”
Uncle Nate raises his eyebrows. “Glad to hear you’ve turned that around.”
We go to a little café that Mom likes and sit outside. Overhead, the clouds are starting to break up and the sun peeks out. I am, in fact, almost done with my turkey club sandwich before Uncle Nate starts talking about Dad.
“I wanted to make a point to be in Lanai on the anniversary of Mike’s death,” he says. Lanai was where my parents went on their honeymoon, one of the first destinations when Uncle Nate launched his cruise business, the place of some of my favorite childhood vacation memories. I set my sandwich down. “I told myself on the way out here that I wasn’t going to bring it up again. Because, believe it or not, after the last time we got together, I did some reflecting. And while I will always know in my heart of hearts that the accident was not just an accident, I can see why you might want to just try to put the whole thing behind you. This is not to say that I am going to do that, but I believe that you’ve made it abundantly clear you don’t want to hear about it any longer. And I’ve got to respect that; I know Mike would want me to. And maybe . . . maybe there really is nothing to be done. I just don’t want to believe that.”
Mom reaches across the table and takes his hand. She’s barely touched her lunch. “Accepting what happened doesn’t mean we don’t miss him any less,” she says. “But if you can find it in yourself to try to move on too, I think you’ll be less stressed out about everything. Mike wouldn’t want you to be like this, Nathan. You know he wouldn’t.”
I don’t say anything. I wonder, suddenly, if it’s silly to think that anything could come of me actually meeting Griffin’s father, if there really is any evidence to uncover. He annoyed the shit out of me every time he brought it up, but now that Uncle Nate is sitting here, maybe admitting defeat, I want to tell him that I might have discovered something that could lead to something else. Except . . . that would mean bringing Griffin into it, and for some reason, there is a little tiny voice that is telling me not to. That it would be a very, very, bad idea.
The feeling stays with me after I say goodbye and am driving back to the ranch. After my parents’ accident, I remember lying in bed awake at nights and trying to think if there’d been some feeling, some voice telling me not go with them that day. I couldn’t recall anything, which made me feel relieved, if nothing else, because if there had been a premonition, why wouldn’t I have tried harder to make them stay home, too?
But your mind will go in all sorts of directions trying to untangle the knotted mess of tragedy, and mine certainly did. Like, what if they had left five minutes later? Or earlier? Would it still have happened? What if I had gone with them, and looked at that horse? Maybe we would’ve stayed longer. Or: My parents loved each other and had such an awesome relationship. Did Mom wish she had died, too? They did everything together; did she wish they had also met their end together? And then of course, the ever-pervasive, all-consuming, relentless one word question: WHY?
I thought there really wasn’t an answer for that. But maybe there is.
Chapter 23: Griffin
I’m finally starting to feel better the day that Cam is supposed to arrive. The fever has lifted, only traces of that bone-deep exhaustion remain. I can’t remember the last time I saw Cam, and I think it’s unfortunate I won’t be in top form, but who knows, maybe things will actually go better that way.
Jill and Karen take some of the campers out on a trail ride, which I skip out on since my head still feels a little funny. I get a bottle of water and walk down toward the entrance to the ranch. I sit down in the shade of one of the trees, my back against the trunk. It’s one of those days where every time the wind blows, warm, fragrant air wafts over you and you can’t help but feel better. I think it’s a good omen, I think it means that this visit with Cam will go well.
I lean my head back against the tree and let my eyes close. I’m just starting to feel that heady feeling when you’re about to doze off when I hear the sound of a car approach. I open my eyes and see a sleek black BMW slowly coming down the driveway. I stand, a smile stretching across my face. The car stops and I go over to the window.
“Cam—” I start to say, but stop. It isn’t Cameron. They’ve got similar coloring—the blond hair, tan skin, light blue eyes—and they’re both what you might refer to as lady killers, but it is definitely not Cam.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry, thought you were someone else.”
The guy peers up at me. He’s wearing a San Francisco Giants hat, slightly askew on his head.
“Hey, guy,” he says. “Not sure if I’m in the right place or not. Is this uh . . . is this Sea Horse Ranch?”
I glance up the driveway, to the large wooden sign he just drove past with the words SEA HORSE RANCH carved out by hand.
“Yeah, bro,” I tell him. “You’ve got the right place.”
“You work here?”
“Cool if I drive down there? I’m looking for someone.”
“Sure.”
He shifts, and when he moves, I see that next to him on the passenger side seat is a white orchid.
“Nice orchid,” I say.
“Thanks. It’s for one of the girls who works here. You probably know her. Jill Freyss-Charon.”
I smile. “I do know her. Biblically, in fact.”
He gives me a confused look. “Huh? Jill doesn’t go to church.”
I stifle my laugh and take a step back from the car. “She’s on a trail ride right now, but feel free to hang around. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.”
He throws me a look that says he can’t tell if I’m being sarcastic or not. He starts to drive off but then stops abruptly, the tires skidding on the sandy gravel.
“Hold the fuck on!” he says, and then the car door’s opening and he’s out, right in front of me. “I know what that ‘biblically’ shit means, dude. You’re fucking Jill? Who the fuck do you think you are? We only broke up because of that shit with her parents. She needed space, so I gave it to her, because I’m that kind of guy.”
“Is that so,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “I don’t know what she told you about the other night, but I didn’t mean for it to go down that way.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I only cross my arms and give him my best disappointed-in-you-look à la Carl Alexander.
“It was pretty bad,” I say. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“What did she tell you?” He yanks his hat off and runs his hand through his short blond curls. “You do realize you’re only getting one side of the story, right? Did you even think about hearing my side?”
“Well, considering we just met for the first time three minutes ago, no, it never really crossed my mind.”
“Let me tell you my side, then. Jill and I have history, right? I knew the first time I saw her she was the one for me. I could see our whole future together. Really, I could. And we had good times, together, man, and then the shit with her parents happened and she said she needed space. Which I totally get, right? And I wanted to give that to her, because I care about her. But then somewhere along the line she decides that it’s going to be this permanent thing. She just makes the choice, without even talking to me about it first. Can you believe that shit?”