Rewind to You (32 page)

Thick clouds cover the sky outside, making this house of laughter, light, and rekindled memories dark and strangely foreign.

My dad is gone.

I study the carpet where I found him earlier this afternoon. My backpack, the Bible, and a few pills lie on the ground. I wonder what would have happened had I not been here, had I never followed the address Sienna gave me. How long would he have lain here before someone found him?

Surely someone would have come. But the more I think about it, the more I realize what a lonely life my dad lived. Will anyone come to his funeral? If so, will they feel sadness or nothing more than pity, as though the death of a druggie is wholly expected? Even deserved?

Everyone wants a friend.
I recall my own words to Sienna, something I’ve always believed, that people are genuinely good, decent. I’m finding that hard to believe now.

I cross the dark room and pick up the envelope, finally opening it. I sift through the stack of papers: a last will and testament, bank statements, titles and trusts, my dad’s marriage and divorce certificates. He even has instructions on his burial: a funeral home, a prepaid plot in a cemetery, even a prepaid casket. It seems unlike him to have planned this all out so carefully, and it makes me regret, once again, how little I knew about my dad.

Lastly, I find a small envelope with the words F
OR
A
USTIN
penned across the front. I tear it open and read:

Austin,

I’m watching you through the window now. We just got back from a walk on the beach, and you’re mowing the lawn. You don’t know what these past couple weeks have meant to me. Walking the dogs, talking about old times, seeing you smile. You showing up on my doorstep was nothing less than a gift from God, and for that miracle I’ll always be grateful.

If you’ve opened this letter, it means I’m gone. You’ll find my will and other documents with this letter. I don’t have much, but what I have is yours. About $30,000 in Wells Fargo bank. The house is yours, too. It’s paid off, so do what you want with it. Hold on to it, sell it, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re happy, that you do the things in life that’ll give you no reason to go looking back and regretting.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Austin. I promise, all along I thought I was doing what was best for you, but now I realize I made another mistake. Big surprise. I should have been there to watch you play ball. I should have been there to see you graduate. I should have been there for so many things I wasn’t, and I wish I could make it all up to you. Just know that while you’re on the field of life, even though you can’t see me in the crowd, I’m cheering you on.

I love you, son.

Dad

I hold the letter in my hand, reluctantly realizing what this means. Thirty thousand dollars? A house? After working, scrimping, and saving for the money that disappeared with the blink of an eye to pay Turbo’s vet bills and the repairs on Jesse’s café, this is unreal. Thirty thousand dollars, no transplant, and my football scholarship still in place. It’s everything I ever dreamed of—independence, money, football. My dad was right. The pieces fell into place.

The documents crumple in my fist. I slam them down on the coffee table, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I want to tear them up. Burn them. Thirty thousand dollars, a house, a football scholarship, and every other dream that used to mean everything to me . . . I’d trade it all, if only my dad could come to one game.

I walk to the front door and yank it open. He’s gone. I stand on the porch, swaying like a battered palm tree in the wind. A drop of rain hits my cheek. A few beachgoers hustle down the street away from the ocean. The faint sounds of St. Simons drift toward me on the wind, the outside world seeming to go on as though this is any other day.

He’s gone, I think over and over, as though repetition will somehow dull this harsh reality. The urge to escape drives me to my motorcycle, and I take off. Where to, I have no idea. All I know is I can’t stay here. Rain sprinkles down, cool and refreshing, but it stings my face the faster I drive.

If life is meant to be lived with no regrets, then I’ve learned one thing: You’ve never fully lived until you give your all, and you haven’t given your all until you give a part of yourself.

But none of that matters now. I gave everything, and it was all for nothing. I have more regrets now than ever. A cold shudder trickles down my spine, but warmth flickers within at the thought that maybe there’s one thing I can mend before it becomes a regret. I don’t have to lose Sienna, not for good. Rain washes over me as well as the reassurance of this thought, easing the pain.

Water pools in low spots on the road. I snap to and see that I’m drenched. It’s one of those times when you realize you’re driving and yet you can’t recall anything about the past several minutes. I refocus on the road a fraction too late. A car peels out onto the main road, obviously not seeing me. I should have seen this coming. I brake as the inevitable consequence flashes through my mind and paralyzing shock knifes through my veins.

I turn, trying to dodge the car without skidding. But it’s not enough.

It’s too late.

I hear the screech of the car’s brakes, the flash of headlights blinding me. The last two thoughts to cross my mind are of Sienna and the sickening realization that I’m not wearing my helmet.

CHAPTER 44

Sienna

T
he line between dreams and reality is getting foggy. Even my seizures seem to have stopped, ending the rewinds that took me back to Austin. Now that I’ve finally put the accident behind me, will I ever have a seizure again?

Time is the key. Just as the ache at the loss of my dad ebbed over the past year, the memory of Austin will subside. Whether I want it to or not.

I walk through our empty home one last time, through the backyard and the unkempt garden, barren places that echo with memories. I’m moving on, finally. Everything is how it should be, but even as I tell myself this, I know it’s bogus.

I step back inside. Mom finishes a conversation on her cell, wearing a smile a mile wide like she won a cruise.

“What’s up?”

She breathes out a sigh of relief. She’s already calling another number on her cell. “I can’t believe it. It must have been Gary. Gary must have done it.”

“What? What did Gary do?”

“The café,” Mom says, as though I should have caught on already. She holds the cell to her ear and looks at me. “The damages are paid for! There won’t even be a lawsuit. Gary told me it would all work out. He told me not to worry. Still, I never imagined he’d step in and . . . Gary?” she says, her attention snatched away as Gary answers. She gives a grateful yet slightly embarrassed smile, as though he is standing right in front of her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

I consider what this means. Any money at this point helps. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Gary, should have been nicer to the guy. He obviously cares for my mom.

Mom listens to a reply I can’t hear, her brow furrowing. “You know what I’m talking about,” she says. “The café? The burned balcony? Th-the damages are . . . paid.”

Mom falls silent. I wonder what Gary could be saying on the other end.

“Uh,” Mom says, her mouth hanging open. It’s not like Mom to use
uh,
or any other filler sound that would make her seem unsure of herself. “Well, yes. I just got the call. That café owner won’t be pressing charges.”

A brief pause.

“Yes, someone stepped in and . . . paid for the damages.” Color rushes to my mom’s cheeks, and I can tell she regrets her hasty assumption. Big time. Her eyes roll upward, searching the heavens as her mouth forms the silent word
why
. “I apologize. This is completely my fault.” She pauses as though Gary cut her off. “No, no. Gary, you are so sweet. You’ve done so much for me already.”

The rest of the conversation is uncomfortable, to say the least. She hangs up the phone and suddenly looks all white like a ghost when she turns to face me. Poor Mom. More than awkward.

“I don’t know,” I say, addressing the question on both of our minds. “Maybe Brian’s parents?”

Some of the color returns to Mom’s face. “Yes, maybe. Why—
why
—didn’t I think of that before?” she says and pulls her cell back up to eye level. Brian’s dad—Don Lewis, the wealthy doctor so generously involved with the community in Georgia—has plenty of money, and he’s just the kind of guy who would do something like this.

“Hi, Judy,” Mom says when Judy answers. This time, she treads carefully into the topic of the café’s paid-for damages. She has the phone on speaker mode so I can hear.

“I have no idea,” Mom says after Judy tells us that it is as much of a mystery to her as it is to us. She tells Judy all about her ill-fated phone call to Gary, and Judy commiserates with her.

The news of the paid-for damages is such a distraction, we don’t shed a tear as we leave our house for the last time. Spencer snags what’s left of the mail, and together we head to Brittney’s reception. Mom sits behind the wheel, deep in thought. I surf the Internet on my iPhone, finding myself on sites like weather.com and Expedia, checking the temperature in Savannah and prices on airplane tickets to Florida I’ll never buy.

“Thanks.”

I turn after Spencer says it, doubting I heard him right. He sits at my side, watching me. “Thanks for what?”

“For being a good sister.”

Shock is an understatement. I’m touched by these words I never expected Spencer to say.

I smile. “You’re welcome.”

His lips twist to one side. He never was one to hide his emotions well. “Are you really leaving in two weeks?”

I give a sad grin. I’ll miss this kid, maybe even more now that I know he’ll miss me, too. Spencer grabs my hand and places something inside. I feel a stitch in my heart as I look down at a Batman stunt figure Dad gave him years ago.

“You can have it,” he says.

Letting go of something this special isn’t like Spencer. I smile, realizing this as the step forward that it is. I guess this summer changed both of us. I reach over and hold Spencer’s hand, giving him a nod in reply because my throat is too tight to speak.

The reception at The Dominion Club is beautiful, the dining room as graceful and stylish as the bride. Brittney and her husband are all smiles. Beef tenderloin and Tuscan pasta sauté are served on fine china. Kyle’s eyes are glued on me the whole time, like they have been since I returned from Georgia. I’m probably the most doting maid of honor ever, constantly asking Brittney if I can get her anything just so I have an excuse to avoid Kyle. It’s over between us. Done. I can’t go back, not now that I know what love really is.

I’m seriously resenting the high heels on my feet near the end of the event as Brittney dances with her new husband, twirling and smiling and laughing. It reminds me of how I felt with Austin. Still, Austin wouldn’t even show up on the beach that morning to hear me out. And I haven’t heard from him since.

I feel a gentle hand on my back and turn to see Kyle. His dark eyes stand out over his perfectly fitted tux, and I’m reminded of all the high school dances we went to.

He extends a hand. “Can I have this dance?”

I feign a grin. Somehow I knew this was unavoidable. “Sure,” I say, placing my hand in his and letting him guide me to the dance floor. Kyle’s arms encircle me. Despite myself, I notice the familiarity of his touch.

We make small talk, artificial and stiff at first, but then the conversation naturally flows into something more genuine, and he even manages to make me laugh. He draws me in closer, his touch disturbingly soothing, tempting.

“You look beautiful,” he says, eyeing my dress. “Downright sexy, actually.”

I smile and suppress a bitter laugh. “How many other girls have you said that to in the past three years?” It rolls off my tongue, thrusting me into dicey territory. This isn’t the time or place.

He rolls his eyes and says, “Do we really have to do this?”

The nerve.

“There was Courtney,” I say, drawing back. “And she’s not the only one, am I right?”

I recall what Austin told me about finding Kyle in the grill with another girl. I already knew about Courtney; it’s the reason we broke up in the first place. But as Austin said it, I finally admitted what I should have all along: Kyle is a liar.

Kyle has lied to me more than once, just like he lied about Turbo. Just like I knew he carelessly lied to his parents and teachers and even his friends from time to time. He hasn’t changed. Not really. And lies have a way of stacking up, swelling bigger and bigger with time.

What’s more, I love someone else.

“Drop it, okay?” Kyle says. He takes my hand as if to pull me back into him to finish the dance. That’s when he notices.

He pauses, then turns my hand over. His eyes travel up from my fingers, his cold gaze colliding with mine. “Where is it?”

At first, I say nothing.

“Where is the ring, Sienna?” he demands.

I glance down at the distinct tan line his ring left on my finger this summer. When I took the ring off a few days ago, I expected to feel something. Remorse, confusion, or maybe even freedom. But I felt nothing.

Sealing the ring in an envelope with a letter as I planned to would have been so much easier. Writing the words out on paper is one thing. Breaking up face-to-face is another. Now I admit that the letter idea was a cop-out. I may not have felt anything the moment I took Kyle’s ring off, but now . . . now I do, and I realize this is the way it was meant to be.

I take a deep breath, still hating the idea of hurting anyone, let alone a friend. “You’ll get it back.”