Forgiven (Ruined) (22 page)

             
I look around at the others.  "Celebrating what?  Did something good happen?"  The awards!  The awards aren't yet, are they?  I didn't miss them!  "Did we – it's not yet is it?"

             
"Relax," Dexter says.  "The awards are in November and we're still looking good for them.  Nope, we're celebrating three things.  First, we got a budget!"  He whoops and points at Zach and Tyler who'd taken over the budget procuring proposal project, which I'd totally forgotten about.  Quick mental date and time math, performed better than almost any other Willow math, shows I missed the budget meeting.

             
We already
had
a budget, but I'm not going to say so.  Instead, I'm grinning at the others who are grinning at me.  "How much?"

             
Dex makes wild gestures at Zach and Ashley who look at each other, trying to decide who gets to announce, and finally start talking together, tumbling over each other.

             
"Enough to stipend the engineering students so maybe some of them will stay."

             
"Enough to pay our anchors."

             
"Enough for our illustrious leader to not be contemplating working at Taco Hell in her spare time."  Zach grins at me.  "We could use you here instead, Willow."

             
I blink a couple times and clear my throat.  Never was good at the mushy stuff, even before – even before the first of my changes.

             
After a few very loud minutes, Dexter gets the floor again.  "The second thing we're celebrating is that Tabitha staged a coup while you were gone."

             
I look around wildly, my smile freezing.  She's not here, no sign of her, and what are they saying?  Did they replace me while I was gone?  They said they could use the "illustrious leader," not
me
, but then they said "We could use
you
here
Willow,
" not, "It will be great to be able to pay for Tabby."

             
"I don't understand."

             
"What's to understand?"  Ashley has missed the look of panic on my face.  "She tried to take your place.  stomped on over to the admin building on campus and made a nuisance of herself, finally demanding they replace you with her or she'd leave."

             
"And?"  My pounding heart is nearly choking me.

             
Ash grins.  "You see her anywhere?"

             
That's when it finally hits me.  They chose me.  I'm here, I'm good to go, I'm staying.  I have a place, a job that pays, friends who would have gone to bat for me, and people who act as if I've delegated even when I can't bring myself to yet. 

             
I take a very deep breath, clink glasses, raise mine, and Dexter says, "Wait!"

             
"Because?"
             
"Because one more thing we're celebrating."  Big grin in my direction.  "You.  Welcome back, Willow."

#

             
Over the next couple days I get back on track at the station, in my classes, at home, and most definitely with Kellan.  Most nights he stays with me or I stay with him.  My parents sleep on the far side of the house.  If they know exactly how much we're together again, they don't say so.  For now it's easier for me to have Kellan stay at Bruce's house – his apartment is too far from everything and he can't drive me to school in the mornings.

             
He's got a lead on a job at the VA hospital, though, and is looking not only at physician assistant training, which would earn him a promotion fairly quickly, but at then using that job for money to live on while he goes to school to become a psychotherapist.

             
"Not sure where I went wrong with you kids," Bruce says one night, putting on a very old man's voice.  He's not very good at it.  Bruce is way too vital.

             
While Kellan and I both go still, afraid whatever teasing thing Bruce's voice promises will go awry, he goes on.  "I have all this money and all this house and you both want to work your way through school, earn degrees, and go pay rent while earning a living.  Where did I go wrong?"

             
"In your defense," I tell him, "you only had four years to try and indoctrinate me.  Plus, you're paying for my math tutor."

             
"And not seeing great results from it either," says my mother. 

             
I throw my napkin at her.

             
"In my defense," Kellan says.  "Oh, wait, I don't have one.  I must've gotten the wrong genes, Dad.  The
work hard and you shall prosper
genes."

             
Bruce sighs.  "Didn't anybody get the Let Bruce support you while you eat bonbons and shop genes?"

             
"Can I volunteer for that?" Mom asks. 

             
It's the first lighthearted exchange between them in some time.  It's nice.  It's also nice that Mom's only on her first glass of wine as we finish up dinner and start waiting for one of Mama Lita's peach pies for dessert.  I don't know where she's finding peaches in October and I'm not going to jinx it by asking.

* * *

             
Things are getting back to normal in other ways, too.  By late October I'm in the promised walking cast, though it's more of a hobbling-slash-limping cast.  Emmy has successfully switched her major to journalism from business, easily and mid-semester because she was taking a lot of journalism classes next semester anyway.  They saw no reason to make her wait.

             
"You heard from Reed?" Emmy asks as we stroll together to The Coffee Mug after classes. 

             
"Yeah!  I can't believe I didn't mention.  What are you doing?"

             
Emmy's getting us a table and almost tackling me into it.  "Seating you.  What do you want, your usual latte?"  She's got a job now, but there's no reason for this.

             
"Shut up," she says in response.  "Let me treat.  I'll explain why later."

             
"But don't you want to hear about Reed?  Because he had news!" 
             
Emmy glances at her watch.  She's one of the few people I know who still wears one.  It suits her – it's a Minnie Mouse.  "There's time.  Let me get the drinks."

             
I stretch my leg out along the length of the booth she's left me in.  October sunlight falls over me and it feels great.  Sometimes it feels like the warmth of this fall is healing my leg.  Maybe soon I'll be out of the walking cast.  Then they've threatened me with a cane, though my PT said I could keep crutches instead if I wanted.  I'd shaken an imaginary cane at him and said, "You kids stay off my lawn!" which made him eye me warily and suggest I keep on with the crutches when I'm un-walking-casted.

             
Watching Emmy as she waits for the barista to supply our caffeine, I wonder idly what she meant by, "There's time."  Just that quickly my news and her comment crash together and I panic.  We have to get out of here!  This is where he's going to be and I can't be here, it wouldn't be fair, he deserves privacy!

             
"Em," I say, panicky, when she returns with the drinks.  "Can you get those in to go?"

             
"No," she says, wryly screwing up her face.  "Bad for the environment.  Drink your coffee."

             
"We can't stay here," I tell her, almost on my feet, except she's grinning kind of cat in the cream like and I'm confused.

             
"So," she says.  "I'd mentioned Reed.  Tell me the news?"

             
A sneaking suspicion starts sneaking up on me but I tell myself not to be crazy.  It's late afternoon and gorgeous outside.  We've got most of The Coffee Mug to ourselves.  There's just a couple making eyes at each other and playing footsie, two guys doing homework at the same table, and one girl who looks completely stoned, or asleep, or maybe even dead.  I kind of squint at her until I see her chest rise and fall.  Then I turn to Emmy.

             
"Reed's met someone," I say.

             
She nods.  "Know that."

             
Because I told her. 

             
"Online.  Through social media."

             
"Hopelessly old fashioned," she nods.  "Not news.  Know that."

             
I frown at her.  "Here's something you don't know and why we should
go
.  He's been afraid it's some kind of cat fishing thing, that she'll turn out to be a dude or somebody's grandmother or, I don't know, somehow awful.  But he finally got the guts, and he's meeting her.  here.  Today.  Any minute now."  I try to swallow my latte in a rush.  "Ow!"

             
"No hurry," Emmy says, looking past me toward the door.   "I don't think he'll mind if we're here.  And the girl meeting him isn't a dude, or a grandmother, or awful."

             
I hear the door jangle shut behind me and turn, seeing Reed Miller stepping into the restaurant.  There's a swirl of movement from the other side of the booth and I turn to see Emmy get to her feet and stand facing Reed.

             
He's still blinking the sun out of his eyes, looking around the room.  He looks briefly at the sleeping/comatose woman, and then, slowly, directly at Emmy where she's standing.

             
He mouths her name. 
Emmy?

             
And Emmy grins, and goes straight to him, right into his arms.

* * *

             
A week later the police come to the house.  Kellan's not home, and neither are Bruce and Mom, so my first reaction is panic.  It makes sense, given my past.  But it's just a courtesy call, probably because Bruce, and now my mother, too, are so prominent in the community. 

             
After the two officers calm my instant fears, they refuse the invite to come in and say they're just following up.  That's about the time I realize they're the two I met in the hospital.  I forgive myself forgetting – I wasn't at my best.

             
"What can I do for you?" I ask, leaning against the doorjamb.  It'd be easier if they did come in.  I'm healing, and apparently doing so is exhausting work.

             
"We just came to drop off a report.  Investigations proved that it was Stacee Jacobs, sister of the deceased, Aimee Reynolds, who was delivering packages to Mr. Kellan Avery."

             
I probably wouldn't be privy to this info if the tall, skinny, blond cop didn't go on.  "She's also the person who pushed you into traffic, Miss Blake."

             
"What?  How do you know?"

             
Because smile, you're on camera, it turns out.  One of the buildings across the street has surveillance cameras at the front door that take wide angle into the street.  I'm not sure what took them so long to determine this if she's on camera, but I don't care. 

             
I don't care because when they caught up with her, she was in our neighborhood, and this time she had a gun.

             
"You need to sit down," the bald cop says, taking my arm as I start to sag.  He comes into the house then, walking me over to the dining table.  He sits down opposite me while the blond perches nearby, twitchy.  Good cops probably should be twitchy.

             
"Is there anyone you'd like us to call?"

             
I'm not sure which one says that, because I've got my head down and my ears are buzzing loudly as apparently my head decides whether or not it would be a good idea to faint.

             
I hold a hand up.  "Just.  Need a.  Second."

             
So let me get this straight, says the voice in my head.  You're 19 years old and two people have now wanted to kill you?

             
The little voice in my head never misses an opportunity to be sarcastic.

             
When I hear them stirring, I look up.  It's only been a couple minutes.  "Sorry.  It's just, Kellan isn't living here right now, so her targets were his dad, my mom – or me."

             
"She's already made one attempt on your life, ma'am," says the blond officer.  "It seems highly likely – "

             
"Yes, I get it."  Don't really want that spelled out, thanks.  "And where is she now?"

             
"In custody."  The bald black cop stands, ready to go.  "When she was apprehended, she pulled the gun on the officers.  She won't be making bail before the trial."