The Edge of Always (13 page)

She doesn’t seem fully convinced of that, but I see a tiny ray of hope in her face and that’s what I wanted to see.

“I really am sorry,” she says, but instead of telling her not to be, I let her have this moment, too, because it feels more like allowing herself some closure. “I bet you never bargained for this kind of crazy baggage.” She wipes her fingers underneath her eyes.

Trying to lighten the mood some, I rub my hands across her bare knees and say, “I’d still love you if you were one of those chicks who runs to the bathroom to gag themselves after they eat, or if you had a secret clown sex fetish.”

She laughs lightly through her tears, and it makes me smile.

I raise her chin with the edge of my finger and get serious again, looking deep into her beautiful watery-blue eyes.

“Camryn,” I say, “Lily just wasn’t ready. I don’t know why, but you can’t blame yourself for her, or for anyone else. And you have to understand that we’re in it together. All of it. Do you believe that?”

She nods. “Yes.”

I lean in and kiss her first on the forehead and then on the lips.

Silence ensues and the atmosphere in the room feels different. Brighter. I know that Camryn isn’t going to be one hundred percent overnight, but I can see that she’s better already. I can tell just by looking at her that she feels less burdened now that she got a lot of that shit off her mind. She needed this. She needed someone to straighten her out. Not someone indifferent, or someone who will only give her the cookie-cutter answers to everything.

She needed
me
.

I stand up and take her hand. “Come here.”

She follows. I pick up the pill bottle from the table beside the bed and then pull her along with me to the bathroom inside the room. I lift the toilet lid and hand her the bottle. And before I even get a word out, Camryn turns the bottle upside down without hesitation and dumps the remaining four or so pills into the toilet.

“I still can’t believe I was that weak.” She stares at the water as the pills circle it and are sucked into the pipes. She looks over at me. “Andrew, I could’ve easily become addicted to them. I can’t imagine—”

“But you didn’t,” I interrupt before she drills it any further into her head. “And you’re entitled to a moment of weakness. Enough said.”

I walk out of the bathroom and pace the bedroom floor. She follows me out and stands in the center of the room, watching me.

“Andrew?”

I stop and turn to face her and say, “Give me one week.”

She looks slightly confused.

“One week for what?”

I smile faintly. “Just agree to it. Stay here with me for one week.”

Growing more confused by the second, she says, “Ummm, all right. I’ll stay here with you for one week,” though it’s clear in her face that she really has no idea what she’s agreeing to.

But she trusts me and that means everything to me. I’m going to give us what we both need, whether she wants it or not.

Day Three

I never thought for a minute that I could’ve done what I did. Andrew calls it a moment of weakness and maybe he’s right, but it will take a long damn time for me to forgive myself for it.

Michelle has made it clear that she isn’t judging me, and although it does make me feel better, I feel a sense of humiliation whenever I’m in the same room as her or Aidan. Maybe that’s why it feels so bad, because they’re so understanding.

One week. No idea what Andrew meant by that, but I owe it to him not to ask questions and to let him do whatever it is he plans to do. He’s been very secretive the past few days, often taking his phone calls into other rooms so that I can’t hear. I only tried to listen in once, just by becoming extra quiet on the couch when he stepped into the kitchen to talk to Asher. But then the eavesdropping made me feel guilty, so I turned the TV up so that I couldn’t hear.

And I may have only been taking the pills for a week, but apparently it was long enough to still feel messed up three days after the last few I popped. I feel off, unable to sleep even worse than before I started taking them, but the mild headaches are finally starting to wear off, at least. I can’t imagine being addicted to them for months or years. I feel sorry for people who are…

Day Four

Aidan walks in with a small stack of mail in his hand, sifting through each piece as he walks through the living room.

He looks at one white envelope awkwardly for a moment and holds it up, glancing at me first until Andrew walks into the room.

“Looks like this is yours?” He glances at me again, but hands the envelope to Andrew.

I get the strangest feeling from it, so instinctively I get up from the recliner and walk up next to Andrew to check it out.

Just before Andrew moves it out of my view and lets his hand drop to his side with the envelope clasped within it, I see Natalie’s name scrawled across the front.

He knows I saw it, too.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll let you see it some other time.” And then he slips the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans.

I totally trust him, but I’m human and a small part of me is nervous about this whole situation. Why would Natalie be sending Andrew letters? Trust or not, the first thing that always comes to mind, no matter who you are, is wondering if something might really be going on between them. But that’s absurd, and I push that thought out of my head as fast as it came.

They’re plotting against me.

I just wish I knew what was going on.

Day Five

I talk to Natalie, my mom, and then to Marna on the phone today. Marna tries to act as if nothing ever happened with the baby, and she does as good a job as Michelle did my first day in Chicago. She’s so kind and careful. My mom, on the other hand, can’t seem to talk about much other than mine and Andrew’s relationship. She hounds me every chance she gets about when we’re getting married, and she has it set in stone that we’re doing it the same way everybody else does. I try to tell her that I don’t want a fancy dress or a chapel or thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers that are going to die the week after, but it’s as if she doesn’t even hear me. She just wants us married. Maybe that’ll make her feel better about him sleeping in my room. I have no idea what goes on inside my mom’s head, and half the time I don’t think she does, either.

Andrew goes to a doctor today here in Chicago for a checkup. And like every time he goes to one, I’m sick to my stomach until it’s over. Thankfully, he came back with good news.

Day Six

I talk to Natalie again on the phone, but I still don’t bring up anything about the envelope. She’s not acting herself much, either. It’s obvious she’s trying really hard not to spill any of Andrew’s secrets, which only makes for conversations full of awkward, silent moments. I want to laugh at her for sucking at acting normal when all she wants to do is tell me everything and get it over with.

Day Seven

This One Week has been one of the longest weeks of my life. I hang around in bed because it’s starting to get colder, but I’m also nervous and just can’t bring myself to do anything else. Andrew was up an hour ago, and I’ve only seen him come back into the room once, and that was to find his shoes. He kissed me and smiled down at me like he was secretly excited and then walked back out without saying a word.

I roll over onto my side, curled up within the blanket, and stare out the window. The sun is shining bright today, and the sky is blue and cloudless.

I hear the three of them stirring in the house.

Andrew’s shoes squeak down the hardwood floor outside our room. He opens the bedroom door and stands in the doorway, looking across at me.

“Get up and get dressed,” he says with his hand still on the knob.

I just look at him for a second, thinking maybe he’s going to explain what for, but he just points at my shoes on the floor as if to say to
put them on
, then closes the door and leaves me here.

I do exactly as he says. I get up and put on my favorite jeans and a long-sleeved, oversized knit sweater, then a pair of socks and my loafers. When I head out of the room and into the den, Michelle is curled up in the corner of the couch with a blanket over her legs watching TV. She turns her head to see me, and she’s smiling warmly as if she knows something I don’t. And surely she does.

“He’s outside with Aidan,” she says, nodding in the direction of the front door.

Growing more nervous, I walk slowly to the door and open it.

Stepping out onto the rock front porch, I see Andrew and Aidan standing on the side of the road in front of the house with Asher, and they’re all leaning against the side of the Chevelle.

For a moment, I’m thinking,
All right, so Asher visiting is what this is all about?
Not that I’m not happy to see Asher, but face it, that’s not something I would think would warrant this hush-hush thing Andrew has been planning.

It’s the car, I realize, but that’s about all I put together on my own. I have a theory as to why he’s here with it, but at this point I’m just going to try my best not to think about that.

I walk quickly down the rock steps and give Asher a big hug.

“You’re lookin’ great, girl,” he says with those nearly identical Andrew dimples and bright green eyes. Then he squeezes me tight and lifts me a little off my feet.

“It’s great to see you,” I say, beaming.

I keep glancing between him and Andrew, who’s smiling so hugely that I doubt he’ll be able to hold in whatever it is for much longer.

I look at the Chevelle and then at Asher. I do it again.

“So, you drove all the way from…” OK, so this is a little more confusing than I anticipated at first. The car was in Texas, and as far as I know, Asher was in Wyoming. Finally, I continue, “What’s going on?”

Asher looks at Andrew, and Andrew steps out front and center. “I had Asher drive the car here,” he says.

“But why?”

Asher crosses his arms and leans against the back door of the car. “Because he’s crazy,” he says, laughing lightly. “And because he didn’t trust a delivery service to ship it here for him.”

I turn to Andrew again, waiting for him to spit it out. A cold breeze rushes through the my knitted sweater, and I hide my hands inside the sleeves.

“You have five minutes to throw all of your stuff in your bag,” he says, and my heart is beating erratically before he finishes the sentence. He taps his wrist where there is no watch. “Not a second more.”

“Andrew—”

“This isn’t up for debate,” he says. “Go get your stuff.”

I just look at him, face blank.

My theory was right, but I didn’t want it to be. I don’t want to go on the road… I mean, I
do
… but it’s not right. It’s just not right.

“You have four minutes now,” Asher says.

“But we can’t just leave like this,” I argue. “It would be rude.” I point at Asher. “And Asher just got here. Don’t you want to visit with—”

“I can visit my big brother anytime,” Asher counters. “Right now, I think you better do what he says or you might end up on the road wearing the same panties for a week.”

A few more seconds pass and I still haven’t moved. I’m in a state of mild shock, I guess.

“Three minutes, babe,” Andrew says and is looking at me with a serious face. “I’m not kidding. Get up there, throw our shit in our bags, and get in the damn car.”

Oh hell, he’s back to his old self again…

When I start to argue again, Andrew’s eyes get all feral-looking, and he says, “Hurry up. Time’s running out!” and he points to the house.

Finally, letting down my guard and going with the moment as much as I can allow myself, I glare at him and say, “Fine.” I’m only agreeing to it because I know he’s trying make things better. But I feel guilty as hell.

Disregarding his playful five-minute demand, I turn on my heels and walk very slowly back toward the house, purposely taking my time, partly my way of silently arguing the situation.

“You knew about this, Michelle?” I ask as I walk past her and down the hall.

“Sure did!” she yells back at me. I can hear the smile in her voice.

I push open the bedroom door, set my bag on the bed, and start stuffing everything inside of it. Then I go into the bathroom and grab our toothbrushes and various bathroom necessities. I yank our phone chargers from the wall and then my phone from the nightstand and chuck it all into my purse. I make my way around the room, hoping that I’m not missing anything.

Looks like Andrew already packed his stuff at some point and I never noticed.

Then I just stand here, scanning every inch of the place around me but not really seeing any of it. I don’t want to do this, but maybe it’s the right thing.

I hear the horn honk three times, and it snaps me out of my thoughts. Grabbing my bag, I swing it over my shoulder and grab my purse from the bed.

“See you around!” Michelle says from the couch.

I stop just before I go past her, and I lean over the back of the couch to give her an awkward hug, hindered by the bags on my shoulders.

“Have a great time,” she adds.

“Thank you for inviting us,” I say.

With a big smile, Michelle waves me on, and I head out the front door.

When I make it down the steps, Andrew pops the trunk on the Chevelle, and I toss my bag inside. It’s long past the five minutes he gave me, but I dare him to say anything to me about it.

“Are you ready?” Andrew asks, shutting the trunk.

I inhale a deep breath, look at Asher and Aidan and before I answer, I go over to hug them both.

“Glad you came up,” Aidan says.

“Keep my brother in line,” Asher says.

I smile at them both and hop in the front passenger’s seat and Andrew shuts the door for me.

They say their good-byes. A minute later Andrew slides into the driver’s seat, and a wisp of cold air escapes into the car behind him.

He looks over at me. “So this is how it’s gonna’ go,” he says, resting his wrists on the steering wheel. “We head southeast, toward the coast—”