Blindness (28 page)

“Trevor, what is going on?” I ask, a little
wary about what he’s hiding.

“I wasn’t sure if they’d come today, but they
did. I’m so excited. I got you something, sort of an early
Christmas gift. Are you ready?” he says, biting his lip and trying
to contain his smile. I’m suddenly worried he’s gotten me a kitten
or a puppy. Hell, I can’t even take care of myself—the last thing I
need to be responsible for right now is an animal.

I meet him in front of the door and take a
deep breath. “Should I…close my eyes?” I ask, not really sure how
to maneuver any of this.

“Uh, hmmmm, yeah. That’s good. Here, I’ll
guide you in. Let me cover them,” Trevor says, reaching around me
and covering my eyes with both of his hands. I feel him push the
door open, and we step slowly into the room. I realize I’m holding
my breath when a few seconds pass and I’m not greeted by a
pitter-patter of puppy feet. When Trevor starts to slide his hands
away, I’ve resolved myself to the fact that it’s probably a fancy
dress or another piece of jewelry.

But then I see it.

I’m sick, and a part of me dies.

“What do you think? Do you love it?” he asks,
the beaming smile on his face like a slap to mine. In the spot
where, just hours ago, my desk sat, there is now a cold metal
modern drafting table. It’s expensive, and useful, and perfect, and
pretentious all at the same time—and I’ve never hated anything
more. I can’t help the tear that slides down my cheek, and I’m
utterly speechless.

“Wha…when?” I ask, not sure if I’ll even be
able to look Trevor in the eyes.

“I know how much you’ve been working at the
drafting room at school, and I thought I’d make it more comfortable
here for you. That old desk was falling apart, and you’re going to
need something professional. I timed it for when you picked me up
at the airport. I called Shelly, and she said she’d let the
delivery people in,” he says, completely clueless to the hole he’s
left in my heart.

I touch the surface, and the first thing that
hits me is the coldness of the glass.

“You like that? Look, it lights up,” Trevor
says, bending down and flipping a switch to illuminate my new
workspace.

“And there’s storage,” he adds, flipping open
a portion of the desktop.

I sit down at it and let my fingers roam over
it now, instinctively searching for the dents and scratches.
“What’d you do with the old one?” I manage to squeak out, still not
looking at him, hiding my reaction, hoping I can find a way to
appear grateful.

“The guys that delivered it took it. Isn’t
that awesome? We don’t even have to deal with donating it now,” he
says, bending back down to turn off the light.

Trevor heads into the bathroom to freshen up,
and I use my few minutes alone to completely break down. I’m
heartbroken, and I’m trying desperately to remember what it felt
like the last time I sat at that table. If I knew it was my last
time, I would have memorized it more, spent longer working on my
drawings, and cherished it. I notice the stack of drafts on the
dresser behind me. They’re my drawings of Cody’s shop—the last
thing I did on my dad’s old desk, my last moments with something so
important to me, was spent preserving something important to
Cody.

When Trevor comes back out, I manage to hold
onto that thought, and I hug the drawings tight to my body. “Thank
you,” I say, but nothing more.

“You’re welcome, babe,” he says, pleased with
himself and completely ignorant to the words I’m not saying.

He kisses me, and I fight to make it feel
real, and then he retreats to the closet to change for dinner. I
rush to my phone and fire off the only message I think will
help.

Trevor gave away my desk. It’s gone.
Forever.

I know Cody won’t see my text for a while,
but I know he’ll see it eventually. And I know he’ll know how much
I’m hurting when he does.

___________________________

“Something’s wrong,” Trevor’s saying through
the bathroom door. I’m sitting on the toilet while the shower runs,
pretending I’m still in there. I’m buying myself more time.

We went out for dinner after my gift last
night. I hardly spoke, and I told Trevor I was tired on our drive
home and a little nauseous from his driving. I held his hand in the
car, but where I used to caress his fingers and squeeze his palm
before, I now just let my hand lie in his, almost limp. I let him
do all the work. I didn’t pull away when he kissed me, but I didn’t
pursue him either. And in bed, when he pulled at my nightshirt and
kissed along my neck, I rolled away and told him I didn’t feel
well.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just haven’t been
sleeping well. I think last night was the first time I’ve slept
well since the last time you were here,” I say, not really saying
anything untrue. I did sleep well, though I swallowed two sleeping
pills to get there. That was the one benefit of the mandatory
therapy after my father died—a lifetime prescription for just about
anything I needed. I kept it limited to mild sleeping pills,
knowing how Mac felt about narcotics in general.

“Awe, babe. You can’t sleep without me, huh?
I know it’s hard, but pretty soon you can move to Washington with
me. The semester’s almost done, and I’ve been talking with a lot of
clients out there, and some of them have some great leads on some
firms you can intern with, unless your referral works out,” Trevor
says, his voice once again upbeat.

I shut my eyes, disgusted with myself. “Yeah,
that’d be great. I need to do a little more work on that,” I
swallow. “Hey, I’ll be out in just a minute, kay?”

“Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs,” he
says.

I hold my breath until I hear the bedroom
door close. Jim flew in, and I can hear football on in the living
room. I know Trevor will be sitting with him on the sofa, and I
know how uncomfortable things are going to get as soon as Cody
arrives—both because Jim will want nothing to do with him, and
because he’ll have Kyla on his arm, and I’ll feel like ripping her
throat out.

I’m not given much time to prepare myself as
the doorbell rings the second I step down the stairs. I see Cody
first, and I’m breathless at the site of him. He’s actually wearing
a suit with a tie. The jacket and pants are fitted and gray, and
the shirt is a lighter gray with a thin black tie. He pulls his
jacket off and hands it to his mother, who’s not yet drunk, it
seems. She hangs it over the banister and, as she does, he looks
up, his stare meeting mine.

His smile is soft, and his eyes seem bluer
than normal against the darkness of his clothes. He pushes his
sleeves up slightly, a nervous habit of his that I’ve come to
learn. It shows off his tattoos when he does, and he looks like
some snowboarding Olympian about to introduce the next award at the
Grammy’s.

We’re both locked on one another, and I’m
frozen halfway down the steps, wanting desperately to run to him—to
have him make this aching I feel better. I dressed for him today,
wearing the same leggings and sweater with my boots that I did the
night we kissed. I’m making a statement with my outfit—I’m begging
him to remember that night, to
want
me the same way I want
him.

I almost think I have him, too, but then Kyla
comes into view—and she’s fucking gorgeous. Her hair is jet black,
and it’s silky smooth down to the waist of her skirt. Her curves
are accentuated by the pencil-thin, long, black skirt she’s
wearing, with spiked boots and a lacy top that you can see her bra
through—completely. She looks like she belongs with Cody, and I
know in that moment that I don’t have a shot in hell.

She follows Cody’s eyes to mine and takes me
in. I watch her eye me, starting at my feet and working her way up,
and then she smiles, her teeth bright-white against the cherry of
her lips. I don’t even realize I’m moving when I only have a few
steps left between us, and she’s reaching out her hand.

“Hi, you must be Charlie?” she says. I hate
her for saying my name, and I hate that Cody’s given her any sense
of permission to use it—I hate that he’s talked about me to her at
all. God, I hope he wasn’t with her when he read my text.

“It’s Charlotte, actually,” I say, flashing a
look in his direction. He curls the side of his mouth with a short,
“Sorry,” but then continues into the living room to shake Trevor’s
hand and to talk with Jim. I try not to blame Cody, because I know
how important today is, how important this
very moment
is.
He’s been practicing this speech with Trevor for days, and I know
he’s ready.

So I indulge in my new acquaintance, doing my
best to listen to her every word. “I’ve heard so much about you.
Cody says he helps you with calculus?” she says, like I’m some sad,
pathetic student—a child—who Cody’s been gracious enough to
volunteer his time to help.

I fight against my instinct to push back and
tell her I’ve heard about her and what she did to Cody. Instead, I
smile and wait patiently for Gabe and Jessie to join the
conversation.

“Yes, well…I’m not the best at math,” I say,
deciding humility makes me a better person.

“Oh, me neither. I didn’t go to school. I
dropped out at 16, actually. That’s when I got signed,” she says,
reaching into her purse to pull out a piece of gum, which she
starts snapping almost the second it’s stuffed into her mouth. I’m
wincing at the obnoxious sound, but am quickly distracted by
Jessie.

“Yeah, she’s a
model
,” she says,
making air quotes around the word and causing Gabe to laugh. Kyla
shoves him playfully, and that earns her a death glare from Jessie,
who’s quick to work her way in between her man and the
supermodel-dropout.

“You’re just jealous,” Kyla says, her eyes
tight and cruel. When she lands back on me, she relaxes them and
puts her smile back in place. “I am a model. I’ve shot a lot this
year, actually, for Hurley and DC.”

Of course she’s a model. And of course she’s
successful. I watch Shelly walk by with two bottles of wine toward
the kitchen, and I follow her, suddenly thirsty.

“Wine anyone?” I ask, playing hostess.

“Ohhhhhh yeah,” Jessie says, hugging me from
behind and following me into the kitchen. She whispers in my ear
along the way. “She’s a viper. Just don’t let her get to you. It’s
all a game.”

I pat her hands and free myself once in the
kitchen. Shelly is oddly on her game today, flitting about while
the catering crew readies every detail. She’s polished, wearing
something designer and fit for a CEO or the spokeswoman for some
grand charity. I know now, from the little bit Cody has said, that
the image is what Shelly’s always wanted to become. But her reality
is depressed—a failure. She still pretends on days like today.

I notice that she and Cody hardly speak.
They’re cordial, almost like a business acquaintance you run into
at a cocktail party. Even before Mac and I found our groove, you
always knew we were father and daughter. And on holidays, there was
always a sense of warmth between us. But the air between Shelly and
Cody is cold, ice cold. And I’m starting to think there is nothing
that will ever be able to warm it.

I pour a glass of wine for each of us, and
then add a couple more for Trevor, Cody, and Jim. I take them to
everyone, careful not to interrupt the good conversation that seems
to be flowing. I recognize the books out on the table, and Jim
seems honestly engaged in what Cody’s saying. I know Trevor’s given
him a lot of the talking points, but he’s really selling it.

When the doorbell rings, Trevor gets up to
answer, leaving Jim and Cody alone, and I join him to give them
privacy.

The Sumners enter, and suddenly this lifeless
house that I’ve been trapped in for months feels full of family.
Cody and Jim join us in the kitchen a few minutes later, and Cody
looks pleased. I try to get his attention, but Kyla quickly takes
him for herself, stuffing some hors d’oeuvre in his face. I giggle
to myself when I catch him spit it out into a napkin when she’s not
looking.

I’m not able to talk with Cody throughout the
entire dinner, but the overall conversation and tone of the day is
so different from the last family meal I had in this room. Jim
doesn’t talk to Cody directly, but he’s not openly mean to him
either. He keeps talking with Trevor about the new deal, and how he
thinks it might work. The way he ignores Cody offends me, and I dig
my nails into my knee to keep myself calm and remind myself that
Cody seems to be okay with how things are going.

When dinner is done, I catch the two of them
actually shaking hands, and when I lock eyes with Cody, he flashes
me my favorite smile—the one that says everything is right in the
world. And even though I’ve lost a piece of my past, I feel somehow
healed knowing Cody might get to keep his.

Trevor walks out with the Sumners, and he and
Kevin make plans for a few drinks back at the hotel. Trevor’s
relentless in begging me to join them, but I know I can’t keep up
my performance for any longer tonight. I’m cracking at the seams,
and all I want to do is lay on the grass and talk to Mac. I finally
agree that we all go out and celebrate with Cody tomorrow, and he
seems satisfied to join them on his own tonight.

I almost sprint outside as soon as Trevor
leaves the driveway. The air is cold and crisp, and the early
afternoon light is beaming on the dew and ice left on the tree
branches. I find my spot at the side of the house, just outside of
anyone’s view. I know Jim will spend the rest of the day watching
football or drinking brandy in his office, and Shelly is already
drunk.

Satisfied that I’m on my own, I lay back and
drop my forearm over my eyes to block out the sun.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You
talking to Mac?” Cody says.