Just Like Fate (3 page)

I sit next to Teddy, my head on his shoulder, in the hospice
waiting room. My mother cries softly into my stepdad’s button-down dress shirt. I stare at them, wondering if the last of
Mom’s makeup will be smeared on the white fabric, the little
bits of normalcy of her appearance washed away with tears.

My aunt faces the window, across the room from any of
us—on her own island. Just then, I hear the scraping of shoes
and look up to see Natalie walk in.

Her face is red and blotchy, but her back is straight, her
eyes determined. I’m alarmed at how . . .
right
she looks. I
have this irrational hope that my grandmother is somehow
fine. That she’s cured and waiting to go home. But then my
sister turns to my brother and says it’s his turn.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Teddy says, untangling himself
from me. “Keep it together, Caroline.” His voice is serious,
but in his expression I see impatience. He wants his time with
Gram, too. So I just nod and let him walk away.

Natalie doesn’t take his place. Instead she walks over to
kneel in front of my mother, whispering to her. My mom then
turns to cry on her, reminding me that they have a bond I
don’t. Or at least one that I won’t have once Gram is gone. I
wait, and it’s just a few minutes later when my brother comes
out. His voice is broken from crying, and—unable to bear seeing his face—I don’t look up at him.

“Hurry,” he says. I stand and start toward Gram’s room,
hands shaking, heart about to burst.
I shut the door and walk to the chair next to Gram’s bedside. She’s lying there, her eyes closed, and all at once I think
that maybe it’s too late. I’ve already lost her. I stare down,
relieved when I see her chest rising and falling.
I drop back into the chair next to her, banging my knees
on the metal workings of the bed. I don’t even wince, only lean
closer to Gram. Her head rolls to the side, and she opens her
eyes to look at me. She’s suddenly so old—lost in her own skin.
“Caroline, at last,” she says weakly. “My favorite.”
I cover my mouth as hot tears spill over my cheeks—sobs
shake my body. She watches me with weary eyes, eyes just like
my mother’s.
“We’ve always taken care of each other, you and I,” she
says. “But now you’ll have to take care of yourself.”
“But I want you,” I say like I’m a child. “I can’t do it without you.”
She smiles gently. “You tend to the things at home for
me,” she says. “Walk the cat, water the flowers.”
“I will.” My grandmother’s cat, Junior, walks on a leash
and hates everyone but her. He’s a menace, but when I asked
her last year to get rid of him, she said he’d only leave when
she did. Back then I never even thought it was a possibility.
Gram reaches to run the backs of her cool fingers over
my cheek, and I clutch her shoulder like I can hold her to
this earth. “Don’t ever give up on yourself,” she says. “Life is
hard sometimes, and I’m sorry I won’t be here for you.” A tear
slides over her temple.
“I’m scared,” I say.
“Shh,” she says. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not. We all die.” Her
words give me chills. I swallow hard as her breaths become
uneven. “Try to make good choices, but when you make a bad
one, learn from it and move on.”
“Gram—”
“And be careful who you love, Caroline,” she whispers.
“Never let them take too much. Never let them take what’s
you
.”
I nod, not fully getting her meaning but wanting to encourage her to go on. To keep talking. But Gram just stares at me
for a second, smiling softly until her mouth goes slack.
“I love you,” she says finally. It’s so quiet, it’s barely there
at all.
“I love you more,” I return, a stillness coming over me—a
thick crushing pressure that’s about to destroy me. Because
as we stare at each other, I watch the life fade from my grandmother’s eyes. And then she exhales one more time, long and
deep . . . letting go.

I stumble from the hospice, my body on autopilot—empty
and numb at the same time. The conversation I just had with
Teddy is on repeat, cruelly infecting me with regret and shame.
I get in my car and start driving, words in my head swirling in
dark, black spirals.

The room is bare—Gram is gone, a single rose on her pillow
instead. My brother’s bloodshot eyes find me. He’s destroyed.
“Did she wake up?” I ask him, scared of the answer. If she
didn’t wake, it means that she never got the chance to say goodbye. And if she did, I wasn’t there. What did she think?
“Caroline,” my brother says looking away.
Caroline.
The
use of my full name breaks me.
“Did she ask for me, Teddy?” My voice is high and frantic. My
brother’s eyes glass over and he nods before wiping hard at his face.
“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.
It’s not your fault.
It’s not your fault.
It’s like an echo in my brain as I push harder on the accelerator, fleeing the family I can’t face. I’ve just lost the most
important person in the world, and I wasn’t there. I stare at the
road ahead, thinking that my sister was right: There’s no one
left to pick up my pieces.
I drive aimlessly, looking for a distraction. The radio
blasts music, but the words are only screeches of noise. I don’t
realize where I am until I see the rows of cars outside the party
house. I try Simone’s phone, but it goes to voice mail. Then I
try again. Voice mail again. I can’t help it, but I resent her for
it. I slam my phone down on the seat and search for her car
among the others.
I didn’t get to say good-bye.
I want to replay the entire night, make a different choice.
But I know there aren’t any second chances. I screwed up. I
ruined everything.
Simone’s car is nowhere to be found and I feel the panic
start to seep in, threatening me as it waits to take me over
completely. I drive by the party once again, debating going
inside—even though the thought of it turns my stomach. I see
an open space right in front and go to swing in, but I have to
brake fast before I nearly crush the guy sitting on the curb. He
looks up, shielding his eyes from my headlights. It’s the blond
guy from earlier, and he stands so I can pull into the space.
Once parked, I click off my lights and roll down the passenger window. “What are you doing?” I call to him. “I could
have run over your foot or something.” He ducks down, looking in before smiling.
“You came back for me.” He grins, but when I don’t smile,
his expression falters. “I got ditched,” he says. “My friend was
parked here, but he left with some girl. I thought maybe he’d
remember he brought me and swing back through. Guess
not.”
I don’t care,
I think.
I don’t care about anything.
I glance
past the guy to the party house, people still on the lawn holding hands or holding cups as I sit in my car, wishing I never
came here tonight.
“So . . . ,” the guy says. “Are you getting out?” He’s standing there in his white thermal shirt, his pulled-from-the-floor
jeans. Everything about him looks easy and carefree. I can’t
even imagine what that’s like anymore.
“I don’t think so,” I say quietly. He takes a step closer,
resting his elbow on the top of the car as he stares in, getting a
closer look at me. Then his mouth falls open.
“Oh my God,” he says. “Are you okay?”
I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and see that
my mascara has run. I swipe under my eyes and then wipe the
inky black on Simone’s skirt. When I’m done I turn to the guy,
thinking he’s the only person who even cares how I am right
now. “What’s your name?” I ask.
He seems caught off guard. “It’s Christopher . . . uh,
Chris.”
“The answer is no, Christopher,” I tell him with a pathetic
shrug. “I’m not okay. Not at all.”
He looks me over, confused, concerned. Rather than
press me further about my disheveled state, he nods toward
the house. “We should skip the party, then,” he says. “It’s lame
anyway. Maybe we can go grab a coffee? I know a place still
open.”
I lean my head back against the seat, utterly lost. I can’t go
sit in a well-lit café talking to a stranger when I’m not even sure
where I’ll sleep tonight. “I can’t,” I tell him. “I have to go.”
“Again?” he asks quickly. “Is it me? I can certainly tone it
down.”
“It’s not you.” I debate telling him the rest and then opt
not to. “And I’m sorry that . . .” I’m sorry for so many things
that I can’t even finish the sentence. I switch the car into gear,
but I haven’t even eased off the brake before Christopher is
talking fast.
“Listen,” he says. “Is there any chance you could give me
a ride to my friend’s house? He’s not coming back, and to be
honest, the only reason I didn’t call a cab in the first place was
because I was hoping I’d bump into you again.” He smiles
sheepishly, maybe embarrassed for having admitted it. “And
look,” he says softer. “We did. It’s kind of like fate, right?
I look doubtfully at Christopher, not sure if I should give
him a lift. I’m eventually going to have to answer to my family;
I’m just not brave enough yet. But I’m not brave enough to be
alone either. So after a quick nod, I unlock the car door for
him to get in.

The starless sky is unsettling as I drive through the darkened
neighborhood toward the freeway. The houses pass in blurs
of porch lights, and I’ve nearly forgotten where we’re headed
when Christopher starts playing with the air vents.

“Christopher . . . ,” I start.
“It’s just Chris,” he interrupts. “Only my nana and my family physician call me Christopher anymore. Maybe a professor
or two. I’m a freshman at Clinton State, in case you’re curious.”
I glance sideways. That’s the same college Teddy goes to
in the next town over, a college I’ve visited at least a dozen
times. “Do you know Teddy Cabot?” I ask, wondering if he’ll
tell my brother he saw me at a party right after my grandmother died. And wondering if my brother would be sickened
by the thought.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Chris says. “Sounds handsome,
though. Should I be jealous?”
“No,” I say, relieved and a little grossed out by the joke.
“He’s my brother.”
“Interesting. Is he the overprotective type?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “He’s never needed to be.”
Teddy has always stuck up for me. He’s never judged me—at
least not yet. But what does he think now? How can he defend
me after what I’ve done?
Chris grows restless and begins to tap his thumb on his
thigh like a fidgety child. “Did you think the weather was
weird today?” he asks. “I totally dorked out with a few friends
and we”—finger quotes—“
borrowed
a telescope from the science building to watch the cloud patterns. It was pretty cool.”
When I don’t respond, Chris begins to adjust the passenger seat, sliding and reclining it until he’s almost in the backseat. He looks like he’s settling in for the night. “You’re not
laughing at any of my jokes,” he says. “I’m debating whether
or not you want me to shut up, but I feel wholly compelled to
impress you.”
When I look over, he smiles broadly, and I think that he’s
the exact kind of cute that I could fall for—if my heart wasn’t
already broken. I turn away. We reach the stoplight of an intersection, and Chris reaches to turn down the music.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he says in a quiet voice,
“but why were you crying earlier?”
The light turns green, but I don’t move. I’m frozen by the
emotions flooding me, threatening to rip me to shreds in front
of him. I can’t say it out loud. Finally I compose myself and
drive a few blocks.
“You’ll need to make a right here,” he says, sounding
defeated. I ease my foot on the gas, making the turn.
“My grandmother died,” I whisper. It feels like saying it
can make it happen all over again.
“I’m so sorry,” Chris says. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“Oh.” It’s a stunned word, a sad one. Chris looks out the
window. And now I’m the one who can’t handle the silence.
“We’re not leaving the state, are we?” I ask him, filling the
void. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve crossed four county lines
already.”
“Why? You want to make a run for it, Thelma.”
Despite all that’s weighing me down, I choke out a small
laugh.
“That was a laugh,” he says, pointing at me. “Sure, it was
a pathetic one, but it means all is not lost. I’m still impressive.”
I fight back my smile. “Which way, Christopher?” He
starts giving directions, and I turn left down a residential
street.
“It’s around here somewhere,” he says under his breath.
I look over at him. “Are you telling me that you
don’t know
where your friend lives?”
“Of course I know,” he says. “It’s just that at night, all the
streets look the same. But it’s definitely in this neighborhood.
I remember that old church on the corner.”
I groan and slow down to ten miles per hour as he studies
the houses on one side, then the other. He snaps his fingers,
startling me.
“I just realized that you never told me your name,” he
says. “What is it?”
“Caroline.”
“That’s pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“And sweet.” He’s quiet, but the minute he opens his
mouth, I interrupt.
“You’re not going to break into
Sweet Caroline
, are you?”
He abruptly closes his mouth and shakes his head no.
When I see that it’s nearly eleven and Simone still hasn’t
returned my calls, I feel abandoned. And then I wonder if this
is how Gram felt in her last moments.
“Wait, there it is,” Chris says, motioning to the left side.
“The one with the truck in the driveway.” He scoffs. “See. I
knew exactly where it was.”
I pull to the curb, letting the engine idle as Chris checks
for his wallet and keys. When he’s done—taking way longer
than necessary—he clears his throat. “Do you think I can call
you sometime?” he asks.
There’s a weird twist of excitement and sadness mixed
together as I look at him. “Are you hitting on me five minutes
after I told you that my grandmother died?” I ask.
He winces. “Wow, I’m a douche, huh?” He says it so
innocently that I have to smile, even though I feel like a traitor for the gesture. Chris runs his hand through his hair,
embarrassment painting his cheeks pink in the light of the
streetlights.
“You’re fine,” I say. “It’s me. I’m running a little high on
the bitch-o-meter tonight. I’m not myself.” I look down. “I
don’t know if I ever will be again.”
“I really am sorry about your grandmother, Caroline,”
Chris says in his most serious tone of the night. I mean to look
at him, to thank him, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll give him the
wrong idea. And I can’t be that selfish—not this time.
“You seem really great,” I tell him. “I’m just not in a good
place. My life’s a mess, and you deserve better than that.”
“That’s possibly the nicest rejection I’ve ever gotten,”
Chris says, soft but playful. “So thank you for that.” He opens
the door and climbs out. Under different circumstances, I
would have given him my number. Just not tonight.
“Well, Caroline,” he says as he holds up his hand in a
wave. “Sweet Caroline. It was a pleasure meeting you—officially. Maybe next time I’ll get that number.”
There’s a small panic that I may never see him again, and
so despite my vow to not lead him on, I smile. “Tell you what,
if I ever happen to randomly run into you when I’m not crying
and miserable, the digits are all yours.”
Chris grins. “I’ll hold you to that.” And then he closes the
door and jogs up the driveway.