This Is Falling (34 page)

“Good. That’s the first time I wanted it. And
I like getting what I want,” he says, pulling me into a deep kiss
that lasts until the old grandfather clock propped up on the mantle
begins to ring out twelve times for midnight.

The fire is starting to spark less and less,
but I don’t want to leave this spot. For some reason, looking at
the flames has me in a trance. And after a few silent minutes, I
get an idea—more of an urge really—and I squirm out of Nate’s hold,
getting to my feet. He looks up at me and starts to push himself
up, too, thinking I’m ready for bed, but I hold up a finger; he
sits back down. “Be right back,” I say, rushing to my purse in the
guest room.

It doesn’t take me long to find the pictures
of Josh, because I stuffed them in my purse when I packed for this
trip. I wanted to explain them to Nate more, and then I wanted to
get rid of them because I was tired of holding on. But for some
reason, being here—with Nate, in this perfect moment—has put things
in fast-forward for me, and I’m prepared to fully let go…of
everything.

When I come back to the living room, Nate is
sitting with his elbows propped on his bent knees, and when I come
close, he leans back, welcoming me back into his embrace. “Does
this gate thingy open?” I ask, pulling on the small wire frame that
covers the front of the fireplace.

“Sure. Why, you want me to throw another log
in?” He crawls up on his knees and opens the gate a little, but
before he reaches for another log, I stop him.

“No, actually…I kind of wanted to throw
something
in
?” The few photos I’ve kept, I now hold in front
of me like a poker hand; when I do, Nate stumbles back on his
legs.

“Your pictures…of you and Josh,” Nate says,
and I nod slowly to confirm. He pulls them from my hands, flipping
through them slowly, pausing for long seconds while he looks at
each one, until he’s seen them all at least twice. Then he piles
them into a neat stack, but keeps them grasped firmly in his hand.
“I don’t know, Rowe. I think you should hang on to these.”

“I don’t want to anymore,” I say, and my
conviction stuns me. I reach to take them back, but Nate leans away
from me, pulling my photos to his chest and then moving them behind
his back. “Nate, I know what I’m doing. Please?”

“Rowe, I…” he starts, but then he looks down,
pulling the photos in front of him, looking at the corners poking
through his closed fist while he shakes his head. When he looks
back into my eyes, there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

“Nate, you’re not making me do this. I hope
that’s not what you think. It’s something…something I’ve been
trying to do…for months. For years! This isn’t about you. It’s
about me. I promise,” I say, reaching forward again. But Nate only
holds them tighter, his eyes flicking between his fist and my eyes,
until eventually he stands and pushes the photos into his back
pocket, and reaches down for my hand to lift me to him.

“Tomorrow,” he says, pulling my chin up
gently with his thumb, and then reaching around to sweep my hair
behind my ear with his other hand. He leans in and brushes my lips
lightly with his, sliding both of his hands up until they cup my
face. “If you still want to throw them in the fire tomorrow, I’ll
build you one, just for that. But just do me a favor…wait until
tomorrow. Just to be sure?”

My eyes are closed, and our lips are still
breaths apart, but I can tell this is important to him, so I nod
slowly; I feel his body release and exhale when I give in. Maybe
he’s right, and maybe I should be sure. But I don’t think my mind
will change, and feeling so certain—feels good enough for
tonight.

Nate

I can’t do this anymore. No matter how this
plays out, Rowe is going to hate
me
at the end. Not because
any of this is really my fault. She’ll hate me for lying, but I
think she’ll forgive me for it eventually. The long hate—the kind
that’s going to last—will be the misplaced kind. The kind she needs
to place on someone because her heart is broken. And me not telling
her—me putting this off—is just dragging things out. It’s selfish,
because I don’t want her to hate me yet. I love her too much. But
if Rowe needs to hate me to get through life, I’m willing to be
that person for her.

She whispers in her sleep. I watch her lips
move every time we sleep together, like they’re telling the
universe secrets. Tonight, I can’t help but feel like they’re
trying to tell me something, like they’re begging for me to be a
man.

I got out of bed hours ago, and I’ve just
been sitting here, in this chair by the window, torturing myself
with her beauty. I’ve counted every freckle on her arms, memorized
her eyelashes and the way they cast perfect shadows along her pink
cheeks. I’ve watched her lips for so long that I anticipate when
they’re going to open to breathe. I won’t sleep any more tonight. I
can’t, because as soon as she wakes up, I’m going to tell her, and
then I won’t have any more time with her,
like this
.

Every time she pulls the blanket in close, or
rolls to her other side, I hold my breath. And finally, the thing
I’ve been dreading happens, and she stretches out her arm and feels
that I’m not there next to her. Her eyes struggle to open at first,
and I hold my breath, the voice in my head wishing—begging them to
close again. But they don’t. And in minutes, this will all be
over.

“Hey,” she whispers, her lips giving way to a
yawn. “Are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” I whisper back, unable to push my
lips into a smile. I’m sad. I’m so unbelievably sad, and I can’t
fake it any more.

“You’re not…I can tell. What’s wrong?” Her
voice is so fucking sweet while her fingers rub the sleepiness from
her eyes.

I can’t get my voice to work at first, and
all I can do is stare at her, which only makes her more suspicious.
“Nate? Tell me…are you sick?”

“No, baby. I’m not sick,” I say, my chest
crumbling around my heart. Everything inside me hurts right now.
“I’m okay. It’s fine…” I almost try to convince myself to play this
off, to abandon my plan. But that wouldn’t do me any good.
Everything would still be waiting for me in the morning. I
understand Rowe’s parents, and I know her dad had the best
intentions with everything. But I hate them for putting me in this
position.

“Tell me,” she says, her voice a little
louder now, and I can tell she’s fully awake. “You’re kind of
scaring me.”

She sits up, the blankets pooled around her,
and the only light in the room is that from the half-moon
reflecting off the clouds outside our window. “I love you,” I
start, just needing that to be said, needing that to be the first
thing she hears.

“I love you too.” She says it back quickly,
and I can tell she’s full of worry now.

“Rowe, I know something. Something that…God,
I wish I didn’t know. And I’m not supposed to tell you. But I
have
to tell you. Because, if this were the other way
around, you’d tell me, and I’d want you to.” I’m talking in
circles, and I’m sure none of this is making sense to her. But I
can almost see her eyes working the puzzle out, the tears already
forming in the corners.

“Tell me,” she says, almost breathlessly.

“Before your parents left, your dad came to
see me. It was before my game, before you and your mom got there.
He…he told me something, and Rowe…it’s killing me. I hate that I
know this, and I hate that I’ve lied to you.”

“Tell me!” She’s crying now, gripping the
blanket close to her with one hand while the other covers her
mouth, and her body is starting to shake. “Just say it. Say
it!”

“You’re going to hate me,” I say, and in that
moment, our eyes lock, and I know that she will. This is that
time—there’s no going back from here. “Josh died, Rowe. A few weeks
ago.”

Her eyes are locked open, dripping tears down
her cheeks, while the rest of her body remains rigid, frozen. I
lean forward from the chair, making a movement toward the bed, but
she reacts quickly, almost scurrying backward away from me. “No!
Don’t!” she yells, and my heart literally rips in half. “How?
Why?”

“I don’t know, Rowe. Your dad…he didn’t want
you to find out until the semester was over. He was afraid this
might set you back. He only told me because he wanted me to be here
for you when you found out. But I just can’t know
this
and
not tell you. You deserve to know…”

“You shouldn’t have,” she bites back. “You
should have kept this to yourself!” She’s not looking at me any
more, and her stare is wide, and off somewhere else entirely. Her
knees are pulled tightly to her body, and her arms are wrapped
completely around herself.

“Rowe…” I begin, but I don’t know what to
say, so I just sit there and wait for her hate to grow.

“I was better off not knowing,” she says, her
voice an angry kind of calm. Minutes pass before she speaks again.
“Are they even selling the house?”

“Yes, that part’s true,” I say. “But the
trip—” I’m unable to stop myself, and the second I say it, I know I
shouldn’t have let out so much. But it’s too late. Her eyes are on
me like lasers.

“There’s no trip.” Her face has gone through
so many emotions in the last few seconds, and the one looking back
at me now is full of anger. All I can do is shake my head
no,
and when I do, Rowe is quick to get to her feet, and she
starts shoving all of her belongings into her suitcase, not even
taking time to change from her pajamas.

“Rowe, you can’t go back,” I say, reaching
for her arm, but she jerks it away from me.

“Watch me.” She’s so angry, and I know I’m
going to get the brunt of it, so I close my eyes and take a deep
breath, readying myself.

“I’m coming with you,” I start again, but she
cuts me off.

“I don’t want you to,” she says, her fingers
already dialing her phone.

“Rowe, you need to process this. Stop. Just
wait until morning, and then we can call your parents and figure
out what to do.”

“Ha! Don’t you think the three of you have
figured enough out for me? ...Hi, I need a cab,” she’s says,
snapping her fingers at me suddenly and holding the phone away from
her ear. “Address.”

“Don’t. Do. This,” I whisper one more time,
pleading with her. I reach to touch her arm, but everything about
her is cold. I may as well be touching a statue. She looks down
where my fingers wrap lightly around her arm, but her stare is
blank, and Rowe…Rowe is gone.

“Address,” she says once again, her voice
seething, and her eyes narrow, and so very angry. Everything about
the way she’s looking at me right now is killing me, but I take it.
Because I know as soon as she’s done being angry, she’s going to be
destroyed. And I guess I’d rather see her mad at me instead.

“Seventy-four seventy-one North Meadow
Drive,” I relent, then listen to her repeat it to the person on the
other line. I sit back and let my head rest against the window
while I watch her make her arrangements to leave my parents’
home—to leave me. I’m helpless. I could bully her, because I’m
stronger. I could physically keep her from leaving. But then
what?

This…
this…
has to happen. My only hope
is somehow, in the end, she’ll come through her broken heart
completely. And still want me.

I watch her wheel her luggage down the hall,
and I stand several feet away from her in the foyer, just watching
her pull her jacket tight from the chill. I would give anything to
be able to close this gap, to put my arms around her and let her
cry on me for hours. But I’m not the one she needs right now. And
unfortunately, the person she does, is gone—forever.

Chapter
29

Rowe

Flying angry makes flying easier, too. Maybe
it was because I hadn’t slept much, or because it was six in the
morning when my plane took off. Whatever the reason, I barely even
registered the five hours it took me to get to Phoenix from Baton
Rouge. I charged the American Airlines ticket, and it was pricey.
And my parents would pay it. They owe me that much.

I was ready to walk through this door and rip
into them. I pushed my key in, my face showing everything I’m
feeling. But then nobody was home, so I started looking around, and
all of my verve completely deflated.

Boxes take up places where furniture used to
sit. The walls are empty, dust and dirt on the walls outlining
places that used to showcase family photos. Even the simple things
are strange—like the fact that the cord from the lamp that used to
sit behind our sofa is no longer taped along the floor to the other
side of the wall. Everything—
everything—
is gone.

I take a trip upstairs, because I like
torturing myself. It feels good, takes away the other things I’m
trying not to let simmer to the top of my mind. I’ll be angry about
this
instead. My room is nothing more than a pile of boxes,
stacked neatly in the middle, and labeled “North Room 2.” My
parents’ room is pretty much the same, except there’s a tattered
looking air mattress with a few rumpled blankets sitting in the
middle of the room. The move, it seems, is happening very soon.

“Hello?” my mother’s voice calls from
downstairs, and my heart starts thumping fast again, my hands
naturally forming into angry fists.

“Rowe? Are you here?” my father calls out
now, and I exit their room, charging down the stairs. “Oh, honey.
You’re home,” he says, opening his arms, expecting me to hug him. I
can’t come near him—I can’t come near anyone!

“What were you thinking?” I growl, rushing
beyond their reach to the foyer, where my bags are still dropped by
the door.

“Nate called us, told us you were coming
home.” My dad’s voice is calm, and I don’t know why, but it only
makes me angrier. I don’t like being coddled. This is coddling.