The Leaving Season (5 page)

I was grateful for the wind on my cheeks, for the cool air that numbed my skin. As the school receded in the distance, I saw my friends spill out of the doors and wrap their arms around one another, consoling themselves. My eyes stung with tears, and I turned forward to let the wind whisk them away, temporarily at least.

We pulled into a driveway and Lee wordlessly took my phone from my purse, tapped the keys, and then handed it back to me. He shrugged. “In case you need it.”

I stopped short when I saw where we were: Nate's house.

“You should probably be here, don't you think.” It wasn't a question. He was right. This was where I should
be: with Nate's family.
My
family.

I nodded and slowly dismounted the bike. “You coming in?”

“Not my thing.” He was on his scooter and gone before I could thank him for the lift.

For the rescue.

For
not
saying,
It'll be okay.

I stared at the front of the house, willing my feet to move forward. I knew I had to go inside and see Nate's family, to console them, to be consoled by them. But I couldn't! I looked at that house and remembered the thousands of times Nate and I had made out on the creaky porch swing. I heard the sounds of Nate's footsteps on the front stairs as he ran down to greet me at the door. I smelled the hot buttered popcorn and melted Junior Mints he liked on movie nights with his family.

My fingers trembled as I sent my mother a text, telling her where I was. They fumbled on the keys so badly that autocorrect couldn't even hazard a guess, translating the message into “Agnats hiss” instead of “At Nate's house.” I pressed Send anyway and stood at the end of the driveway to wait. I couldn't go inside alone. I couldn't.

A few minutes later, my father's car pulled up and my mother and sister jumped out. They hugged me between them, and my father wrapped his arm around my shoulder. Emma, in her precious Brownie outfit and freshly ironed sash, tugged on my hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. I
scooped her up in my arms and her legs wrapped around my waist. I held her tightly all the way inside the house.

The Binghams were assembled in the front living room, much as they had been on my last visit for Nate's going-away party. Could that truly have been just a couple of weeks ago? My brain couldn't reconcile that—it simply wasn't possible. But there was Nate's great-aunt Pamela in another classic knit shell and matching twill pants set from L.L.Bean. She sat in the same chair as when I'd met her.

I carried Emma in with me, finding a place for her on the couch where she could sit with my father, who quietly introduced himself to Aunt Pamela and the others in the room. I braced for what must surely come next: Nate's parents.

“Be strong, sweetie,” my mother said in my ear. “I'm with you.”

We entered the kitchen together, hands clasped, and were stunned by the frenzy of activity, a sharp contrast to the gloom of the front parlor. Mr. and Mrs. Bingham dashed from counter to counter to window to door, constantly in motion but never bumping into each other, almost as if their movements were choreographed. I recognized Nate's older cousins and aunts and uncles, each on a cell phone, all talking at once. There were two televisions in here and three computer screens, all set to different news channels. Nate's cousin Brad, a freshman at our high school, was manning the media, constantly changing the stations in search of updates.

“No, there isn't any reason to suspect terrorism,” Mr. Bingham was saying into his cell. “We've heard nothing about motive.”

“—not going to give up, not this soon,” Mrs. Bingham said into hers. “The reports are sketchy at best. . . .”

She spotted us both and leaned over a table to embrace us with her arm and elbow. “Lillian, thank you.” She kissed my cheek. “Middie, sweetheart.”

Perhaps the only sign that something was amiss was her untucked blouse and her lack of makeup, save for a dash of lip gloss. Otherwise, she was the same army general that I knew so well.

“I'll be in touch. Yes, thank you, Reverend.” Nate's mother clicked off her cell, and she came over to hug us more thoroughly. “Oh my goodness, Middie, you're shaking.” She held my hands in hers and rubbed them together as if she were warming me up. “We have plenty of coffee if you want a cup.”

“Caroline, why don't you take a seat,” my mother said, “and I'll bring
you
some coffee.” She got a shush and a wave in return.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Bingham said. But her voice cracked as if even she could not believe she was playing the good hostess at a time like this. She quickly composed herself. “Brad, honey, would you pour coffee for Middie and Lillian?”

Nate's cousin seemed reluctant to leave his computers, but he did as he was asked, bringing us two mugs of black coffee before quickly retreating when we thanked him.

My mother handed me hers and shooed me away. “Would you find some cream and sugar for mine, sweetie?”

I knew she was sending me off while she spoke to Mrs. Bingham, but I looked for the cream and sugar anyway, finding it on the counter closest to the sink. While I stirred some of each in, I glanced out the window at the twins on their swings. Nate's brother sat on the ground, staring up at the basketball hoop with a ball balanced on his knees. I had a feeling the girls were ignorant of the real reason everyone was at the house, but Scotty was old enough. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes as I imagined Nate's parents delivering the bad news, but I wiped them off with a napkin before I turned away from the window.

I carried the coffee back to my mother, who was attentive to Mrs. Bingham's every word.

“—not exactly the most reputable government we're dealing with down there,” she was saying with disdain. “Who knows the level of corruption in that country? Am I right, Tom?” she called over her shoulder to her husband, who nodded.

“You're right, Car.”

“No group has claimed the attack, right, Tom?”

Mr. Bingham gave her a nod and a thumbs-up. “Right, Car.”

“We haven't seen his body, Lil,” Mrs. Bingham went on. “No one has seen the
actual
bodies.”

My mother nibbled her fingernail. “But the photos—”

“Those could be anyone! That village could be anywhere!” Her voice quavered as it rose. She seemed to sense she was sounding a bit hysterical, and she took a deep breath, exhaling through pursed lips. “All I mean to say is, we're not giving up hope, not yet.” She saw me and pulled me in to her. “You wouldn't give up either, would you?”

“Never,” my mother said firmly.

“That's why Tom and I are going to Honduras ourselves.”

My mother's face creased with worry. “Are you sure that's safe?”

Mrs. Bingham nodded and reached for her husband's hand. “It's what we have to do.”

The room suddenly quieted and, for a moment, we heard the little girls outside giggling and squealing, cheerfully caught up in their swings. Inside the kitchen, we all managed a smile, and then a CNN reporter returned after a commercial break to update everyone on the attack.

Nate's mom slipped into her husband's arms while my mom hugged me closer.

I envied those little girls; I would never be that innocent again.

For seventeen years of my life, death had been a stranger to me. I'd never known anyone who'd died. One set of grandparents was still living, while the other pair had died before I was born. A few students at my school had lost their older brothers or sisters overseas, but they weren't people I was close to,
so while I mourned
for
them, I couldn't mourn
with
them.

Nate's death, on the other hand, felt like my own. From the moment I'd heard the news at school, I couldn't think, could hardly speak. While I was at the Binghams', I was surrounded by activity. There was food to cook, dishes to wash, and coffee to brew. I shot hoops with Emma and Scotty and pushed the twins on the swings like Nate used to. I didn't cry. Especially not in front of the kids.

But at home, I could not stop weeping. Leaving the hub of noise and optimism of the Bingham house meant returning to my empty bedroom, where there would be no FaceTime call, no text messages, no emails. Nothing.

And the more time that went by without them, the more likely it seemed that there would never be one again.

The shock of that realization was overwhelming. Fortunately, Haley arrived on my doorstep with Katrina and Debra and an offer to spend the night.

In my room, Katrina sat on one side of me on the bed, leaning her elbow on my pillow while Haley and Debra sprawled on the floor. “I don't think I'll ever stop crying,” I said. Debra climbed onto the bed and passed me a fresh box of tissues.

“You will. You have us. And we will always be here for you,” she said, settling herself in on the other side of me.

“I've never even been to a funeral,” I said.
Oh god, what was I saying? How could I even think such a thing?

I felt Debra's hand brush my hair away from my face.
“You and Nate were the perfect couple,” she said. “We were all jealous of you.”

“Debra!” Katrina snapped.

“It's okay.” I tilted my chin. I loved Nate; I
wanted
to hear about us, especially the good things.

“We figured you guys would get married someday and live happily ever after.”

The girls were silent and I could feel their sorrow. The loss of Nate hit all of them at the same time, and they all suddenly stopped breathing.

“So did I,” I said.

Debra smiled at her lap and then up at me. “We kind of assumed we would be your bridesmaids.”

“You did, huh? A little presumptuous, aren't you?” I asked with a hint of a smile. I had indeed imagined all three of them as my bridesmaids, with Emma as flower girl and Allison my maid of honor.

“But you wouldn't have made us wear ugly bridesmaids' dresses, would you?” Haley asked from the floor.

I shook my head. “Never.”

“Not like my sister! Remember her wedding last summer and that hideous dress she put me in?” Katrina became animated. “Yellow. Yellow like the sun.” She made a face. “And me with my red hair. I looked like I was a corncob on fire.”

“Oh my god! I remember that!” Debra cried.

The girls laughed as they recalled all the horrible
bridesmaids' dresses they'd seen or worn. It broke some of the tension in the room—for them.

I smiled along with them, but I couldn't shake the image of Nate and me walking down the aisle. The plans we'd had, the future we'd envisioned for ourselves, the life we'd expected to lead for years to come. I pulled out my laptop and found the beautiful vintage dress I'd bookmarked. I must have been staring at it for a while, because the chatter stopped and Haley's face appeared over the top of the screen.

“What is that?” she asked me.

“A . . . dress,” I said, leaving out the
wedding
part. But the girls knew anyway.

I was about to delete the bookmark when Haley stopped me. “Don't get rid of it. Not yet,” she said. “It's a memory—”

A shade,
I thought, remembering Nate's boxes.

I was too tired to disagree, so I simply closed my laptop; not long after, we went to sleep. Well, they did, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the images from CNN. The burning buildings . . . the bodies.

My friends had done everything they could to shield me from more updates, but the pictures in my head had been planted from the very first moment, and I couldn't shake them. I cried softly to myself and in the dark saw a head stir; Haley and the girls were sleeping on the floor under comforters and tucked inside sleeping bags.

I held my breath and my sniffles and waited for whoever it was to fall back asleep. After a while, I heard a gentle snore
and knew I alone was still awake.

I carefully slipped out from under the sheets and eased my way past the girls on the floor. On my desk was a photo of Nate and me from a pool party last year, a picture I'd considered putting into his box but nixed because of its size.

I crawled back into bed with the photo and crushed it to my chest. I didn't need to see it to know what it looked like. We were tanned from working at the farm and fit from our morning runs. He'd liked my bathing suit: boy shorts in light blue and a tank top trimmed with white stripes. A little boring to me, but
he
liked it, so I wore it whenever we went swimming.

As I tried once more to close my eyes, my phone buzzed on the bed. A text message?

I snatched up the phone and slid my finger across the screen.

breathe

What . . .

I stared at the screen. . . . Lee? And then I recalled him putting his number in my phone.

I waited for another word, another something, anything.

breathe

Was it that simple? I took a deep breath and felt a hiccup in my chest, then slowly exhaled. I remembered the ride on Lee's Vespa, the wind wiping away my tears.

And I breathed.

More than a week passed before I felt like I could come up for air. I did what I could to help Nate's parents leave, visiting with the twins and Scotty while their grandparents got settled in. No one knew how long Mr. and Mrs. Bingham would be gone.

But eventually I had to find normal again. And that meant school.

“Are you sure you want to go, sweetie?” my mother asked. Emma wanted me to stay home and watch cartoons with her.

Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to do
anything
, but what was my alternative—staying home forever? I felt restless:
my legs and elbows and fingers were trembling and spastic after many sleepless nights.

Besides, the people who knew Nate, who knew me, were at school. We needed one another. School would be my refuge.

“All right, but if it's too much, come home.” She offered me the car, with a reminder to fill up the tank and get Emma from Brownies, and kissed me gently.

At the front door of the high school, I stood outside for a long time and watched students enter. They were still in shock: Nate was one of their own, beloved by all. No one wanted to believe he was gone. Groups of girls huddled together as they went through the doors, merged with one or more groups just like them, and collectively moved inside as a single unit. A few boys shuffled in next, tall and lanky like Nate, athletes like Nate, but solitary in their grief. They bobbed their chins at each other, unspoken words of encouragement and sympathy in those subtle nods.

I urged my feet to walk up the steps to the front door, but I didn't step all the way in. I kept one foot outside and my hand braced on the metal frame.

Movement and color caught my eye and I turned to glance down the hallway toward the door to the gym. A group of girls wearing school colors was draping red and black and white crepe paper across the glass trophy case.

Nate is in there,
I thought. His trophies, his awards, his team photos. They were honoring him with their colors,
paying tribute with what they could: crepe ribbons and construction-paper cutouts.
He's not dead!
I wanted to shout.
His parents are going to pick him up!

My heart started to race and my hands shook. I felt my temples pound, and the heat in the building, the humidity, was stifling and sudden.

This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come. I wasn't ready.

I stepped backward, nearly stumbling over the threshold until I was outside again and the door had swung closed. I pulled my cell out to text my mother, to tell her I was coming home, when I saw Lee's message:

breathe

I held the phone up to my face, my lips to the word.

breathe

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose, holding my breath until it was ready to burst from my lungs, and then slowly, slowly, slowly I exhaled and opened my eyes.

I turned away from the school and walked back to my car.

When Nate's father came back on his own a few days later, I felt a heavy pit in my stomach. There were rumors the Binghams had fought about returning home so soon, but Mr. Bingham insisted his wife just wanted to be thorough. However, it was looking unlikely Nate would be found alive. Rescue workers had been doing their best, but the location and the possibility of further violence hindered their efforts.

I was terrified about returning to school, but I had to do it. In the time I'd been away from classes, homework was piling up, and students and staff were returning to their regular schedules. My parents were good about keeping the television off, but at school, kids were on their phones in every one of my classes. When they saw me coming, they'd turn them off or mute the sound, but I could tell what they were watching by their furtive glances.

Haley stuck to my side for most of my first day back, and thankfully no one asked the dreaded
Are you okay, Middie?

At the end of the day, I was exhausted. I felt like I'd been sleepwalking with my eyes open and holding my breath. After the last bell rang, I asked Haley if she wanted a lift home, but she shook her head.

“Is it field hockey practice?”

“Um. No.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot and her gaze found someone beyond me. I turned and saw Katrina and Debra waiting outside the auditorium. “It's the planning committee for the memorial. For Nate.”

My heart began to hammer in my chest. “So soon? It's only been a few days.”

“Nearly two weeks, Middie.”

I sucked in a breath. The façade of my “normal” day immediately fell away, and I felt weak in the knees.

Of course there would be a memorial. Mr. Bingham was back, and he didn't have Nate, which meant . . .

Haley touched my arm. “I don't have to go.”

I thought a moment. “Can I come?”

“Are you sure?”

No, no way was I sure. But this was for Nate.

The auditorium was filled with students; everyone wanted to be part of Nate's memorial. There was a solemn friendliness in the air when we walked in. At the front of the room, Mr. Z was writing a list of people who were planning to speak at the memorial. I saw Ms. Templeton's name there and Principal McMahon's. He asked for a show of hands of who would like to say something. About two dozen students responded and he started writing their names down.

It all felt so
final
. While I knew Mrs. Bingham was probably wrong about Nate still being alive, holding a memorial for him so quickly felt like we were giving up all hope.

Nate's cousin Brad was up at the board with Mr. Z. He looked exhausted. “I'm gonna tell a story about Nate teaching me how to fish when we were kids,” he said quietly. He glanced sideways at the guidance counselor. “He was a good teacher.” Murmurs of assent rippled through the room.

“That's terrific,” Mr. Z told Brad with an encouraging grin. “Anyone else?” He looked at me. And then
everyone
looked at me. My face flushed at the attention, for no good reason at all. “Middie? Would you like to speak at the service?”

Immediately, my friends and Nate's friends chattered words of support. Haley put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “You can do it, Mid. You'll be great.”

Me? Great?
My hand went to the photo of Nate and me
from the pool party; I'd tucked it into my purse so I could steal a glimpse of it whenever I needed to. I felt safe knowing I had that picture with me.

“I . . .”
I love Nate. I loved him. I don't want to let him go.
I heard the words in my head, but I couldn't force them out. “I . . .” And suddenly the room began to spin around me. I tried to hold it together as best I could, but I could feel my whole body trembling, my grief bubbling under the surface of my skin, ready to explode at any moment.

I hit the road and drove. It was selfish, this desire to get away, but I couldn't help it. Everything I saw in our small town reminded me of Nate. That Taco Bell was where we'd hang out after football games on Friday nights. That alley behind the library was where we'd park until our breath fogged up the windows. That movie theater was where we'd cuddle in the back row during the scariest parts of horror movies.

Roseburg was crowded with memories of Nate. I kept driving—and driving—past most of what I knew, all of what I'd grown up with. I was far from town when the car stopped moving. Oh, it slowed down first, but I didn't even realize it until it simply stopped.

I eased it to the shoulder and stared at the red lights on the dash as if they were alien hieroglyphs.
What are you telling me, car?

Out of gas. That was what it was telling me. I had a vague recollection of my mother saying I needed to fill the tank, but
when was that? Today or yesterday or a week ago? I leaned my head against the steering wheel and laughed softly to myself. I couldn't even do
this
right. I couldn't escape without messing it all up.

I tried starting it again, but it was done. I called my parents—neither answered their cells. I managed to get Haley for a minute. But she didn't own a car, so she was no help. 911 was not exactly appropriate. I stared at my phone, hoping it would reveal a number for a mechanic. Instead it gave me a last option.

Lee pulled up about fifteen minutes later on his Vespa with an empty gas can and we sped off without a word. The closest town was a tiny place called Lookingglass. It was so small it had only one gas station, which was closed when we arrived. A handwritten sign on the door said “Back in 10.”

Lee tapped his finger against the sign and cocked an eye at me. “But when was it put up? One minute ago or nine?”

I burst into tears. They spilled down my cheeks and chin, and I let them. I didn't care if Lee saw me crying, if people in passing cars knew I was weeping, if the whole town of Lookingglass could tell I was falling apart.

Lee's mouth opened and he started toward me and then stopped. “Hey, Middie. Hey. It's only a few minutes.”

But I couldn't stop. I cried fat, ugly tears. My face, no doubt, turned blotchy and red and puffy and hideous.

Lee didn't pat my shoulder or tell me
There, there
or ask me
Are you okay?
He just stood and waited for me to finish.
Finally spent from sobbing, I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

Lee chewed the corner of his lip and then jerked his chin at me. “You got some snot right there.”

I brushed my nose again with my hand and looked at him. “Did I get it?”

“Little bit more.” I used the sleeve of my shirt this time, and Lee bobbed his head. “Got it. Want an Icee?”

I stared at him.
An Icee?
My car was back on the side of the road without gas and Nate was gone and he wanted to get an Icee?

It was so absurd that I just muttered, “Yeah, okay.”

We left his scooter and the empty gas can at the station and stepped across the street to a convenience store. While Lee ran in to get the slushies, I waited outside, looking around. I couldn't get over how quiet it was. Not that Roseburg was all hustle and bustle, but this town was a mere blip on the map. From where I was sitting, I could see a few houses with large yards and older cars, a bait shop with a motorboat parked in front of it, and a grocery store. Thankfully, there was nothing here to remind me of Nate. Nothing at all.

Lee appeared a few minutes later with a pair of Icees for us. He waved over his shoulder at a girl in the window: from here she looked pretty, with short blond hair and a round face. She smiled as she waved back at him.

“Your girlfriend?”

“That's Liza,” Lee said, stabbing a straw into the plastic top of the drink and handing it to me. “Hope you like blue.”

“She's cute,” I said as I sucked up a mouthful of sugary ice. After a few long sips, my drink was half-gone. “Thank you.”

Lee shrugged and dug a hand into the pocket of his jeans. He peeled open the wrapper of a Snickers bar and held it out. “You want—”

“Yes.” I snatched it out of his hand before he could finish and took a gigantic bite.

Lee's mouth was open. “What I meant to say was, you want to hold that for me while I put my change away?”

I glanced down at the candy bar, midchew. It looked like a bear had gotten at it. “I'm sorry.” I started to hand it back, but Lee shook his head.

“That's okay. I don't really like chocolate.” Clearly a lie. But whatever.

I finished the bar in a few quiet bites and then leaned back against the bench with a sigh. “Thanks for picking me up. How did you get to me so quickly?”

Lee sucked down some slushie. “Out here already. I was working.”

“Working?”

“Are you . . . surprised?”

“I-I'm not . . . I just . . .” I
was
surprised, actually, nearly as shocked as I'd been when he'd told me he had a girlfriend. From all that I knew of Lee Ryan, from everything I'd heard from my friends and from Nate, he was a loner with barely
passing grades and no ambition. His habit of calling me “Yoko” did not endear him to me at all, although his kindness today certainly did.

“I work at a charter thing up the street,” he said, gesturing with his slushie cup. “I organize nature tours for people.”

“You . . . do?”

He ignored my remark and instead shaded his eyes as he looked across the street at the gas station. “Still closed.”

“That's a long ten minutes.”

Lee shrugged. Then he held my gaze for a long moment. “What are
you
doing this far from home? Running away to join the circus?”

I nodded quite solemnly. “I am.”

Lee grinned mischievously. “I was a lion tamer for a while.”

I played along. “Really? What happened?”

“I tamed him. The act was over,” he said with a perfectly straight face. “What about you? What's your gig?”

“Um, magic act,” I said.

He wagged a finger at me. “Watch out for those rabbits. They really don't like living in top hats.”

“Got it.” I saluted him with the candy bar wrapper.

“So if the circus thing doesn't work out, you gonna go back or . . .”

I took a deep breath and looked out over the horizon. The sun was beginning to fade, and the sky was turning
orange. “They're planning a memorial for Nate.”

Lee's neck stiffened, but that was the only sign I could tell he was bothered by what I'd said. “And . . . ?”

“And . . . it's too soon, you know? It
just
happened. I mean, god, can't we wait a little bit and see if, you know, if . . .” My voice trailed off. Did I sound like Mrs. Bingham? Was I holding out false hope like she was?

“You can't stop people from doing what they want to,” he said. “If they want to do a service or some shit like that, well, whatever.” He shrugged again, but it felt like forced bravado. “You gonna go?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”