Where Silence Gathers (26 page)

Twenty-Nine

The bell rings overhead. It's the last day of school, and the Emotions following my former classmates around are Relief and Excitement and Joy. I stand in a corner and wait for the tide to slow. At the end of the hallway I can see Georgie and Briana. It's as if nothing has changed: Georgie talks without taking a breath and Briana listens intently, nodding and smiling in the right places. They're the reason I'm here—I wanted to experience this last day with them, even if I ruined my chance to be part of it. The sight of my friends brings Regret to our tiny school. He leans his hip against a locker and folds his arms. He observes Briana and Georgie with a pinched mouth.

“You know what I've learned?” I ask abruptly. Georgie slings her arm around Briana and they head for the doors. Neither of them looks back.

Regret focuses on me now, and he actually seems curious. “What?”

“I may regret what I've done, but I regret what I didn't do more.” The Emotion stays where he is, even after I've pushed away from the wall. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away, and then I'm the one that's gone.

On my way out, a couple kids wave at me. They say
have a good summer
or
I'll see you soon
as they pass each other, and I think of what Forgiveness said about time. It's always moving even when we feel like it's stopped completely.

Dong. Dong. Dong.
Bag in hand, I halt on the front steps and listen to that damn clock boom over the mountain. It stands there so piously next to the school, like it's all-powerful and untouchable.
Acting on impulse, I march toward it. There's a small door around the back, right at its base, and after testing the knob to find out whether it's locked, I go inside. I climb the stairs and enter the tiny room that's awash with the gold of sunset. One wall is entirely overtaken by the face of the clock, and the shadows of the hour and second hands fall over me. The air is so stifling in here, the heat so overwhelming, that I open the tiny window beside the door. For a moment I watch the seconds tick by. Then my stomach twists and, dropping the bag, I grab the giant hand.

“What are you doing?”

His voice makes me jump, and I spin around to face him. Even though I knew I would see him again, even though I've been expecting him, the sight of Forgiveness is terrible and exhilarating. Like watching lightning streak across the sky and then getting struck by one of the bolts.

“Turning back the clock,” I answer, wishing he wasn't so beautiful. I take hold of the hand again, pushing and pushing and pushing. My muscles bulge with the effort.

“Why are you turning back the clock, Alex?” He asks this as though I do it every day.

I laugh. “Because maybe, just maybe, it'll actually work.”

Forgiveness is silent now. That's okay. I have enough words. Too many words, actually. They pour out of me like blood from a wound. The clock moans and grinds as I force it backwards. “Of course, it probably won't. This isn't a fairy tale. It's Franklin. But you never know if you don't try, right?” I free one hand to swipe at my nose. “All I'll accomplish is confusing the hell out of the people in town. That'll be funny, though. Worth it.” Another laugh.

“Alex.”

“I hate when you say my name like that!” I snap, letting the hand go again to glare at him.
Dong. Dong. Dong
.

“Like what?”

All his questions. I hate his questions. I want them to stop forever. “Like you
know
me,” I hiss. This time when I move to face the clock, Forgiveness is in my way. His eyes are gentle but unrelenting.

“You didn't love him, Alex,” he tells me.

“Now you're telling me how I feel?”

“Think about it. Did you ever seen her when you were together? Love?” He takes a step closer and I instantly retreat. My back hits the wall, and since there's no plaster, a piece of wood digs into my spine. Forgiveness invades the space around me, infecting the air and my breath and my thoughts. “It's okay to be afraid. It's normal. You've never let yourself wonder about your future before because you always assumed you wouldn't have one.” Then he shocks me by wrapping his fingers around my wrists. “Let the clock keep going, Alex.”

Alarm slams through me. I'm not ready for this. “Let go of me! Let go!” I try to wrench away, but Forgiveness only brings me toward him. His skin is warmer than I thought it would be, and, like him, his touch is kind and devastating. Calming, I hiccup and stare at his chin so I don't have to meet his eyes. “I don't want to forgive Nate Foster,” I whisper brokenly.

“Yes, you do.” He says it against my temple. His lips are how I imagine clouds would feel.

As always, Forgiveness is right. Ever since the night in the mines, when I put the gun down, the choice has been obvious. I close my eyes, relaxing against him. And then—for the first time since I can remember—I go completely, utterly, incandescently still.

Nate Foster's face fills me up. His sad, drooping eyes.
I see their faces in my sleep. Every night. I can never escape it … and I don't deserve to.
He made a choice to get in his car drunk one night, and he changed the course of my life forever. But some of the fault could belong to my father. Some of it could belong to me. It doesn't matter anymore.

“I forgive you,” I breathe.

But it's not finished yet, not yet. One more person lingers in my head, and I can smell chocolate. A tear falls down my cheek and off the edge of my jaw. “Revenge.” The name slips out, soft. The breeze carries it away. Forgiveness still hears. He follows the direction of my gaze, out the window. Standing in the middle of the street, looking back up at us, Revenge lifts one hand in a solemn wave.

Then he's gone.

It's the easiest and hardest thing I've ever done. To let go. To not need him anymore. It's difficult to imagine a world without Revenge in it, without that fierce ache for reckoning that has existed inside of me since the accident. He may have been the cause of it, but he never would have been able to haunt me if I hadn't wanted him there.

Now the only one left is Forgiveness. I focus on his face again, and he's so, so careful. His hands cup my face as if I'm something precious and breakable. He gives me time to turn away or stop him, but I don't. His lips brush mine. He tastes fresh and overwhelming as his essence continues to sweep through me, a sensation akin to falling. All too soon he's pulling back, putting distance between us, and I hit the ground. I open my eyes.

Forgiveness doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't even breathe. This time, he's the one who's turned to stone. He almost looks … lost. Trembling, I rise and step closer. And I put my hand on his chest.

He makes the smallest of sounds, almost a sigh. He's been waiting for this, too. Wanting it, too. I come alive when I hear it, and there's no more hesitation.

I rise on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. His palms skim up my sides, leaving a trail of goose bumps. He tries to be gentle with me at first, like before, but my desire for him is too fierce. I open my mouth and the kiss deepens. We stumble into the wall again. Our ragged gasps are deafening and frantic. Forgiveness is everywhere, everything. For a few minutes I'm only aware of him. His hands, his heat, his skin against mine. Then we're slowing down, and he's pulling back. I let him. Our eyes meet again, and I absorb his expression, fighting the urge to pretend that this can have a happy ending. That nothing will change.

“I'm not going to see you again, am I?” But it doesn't sound like a question. He doesn't answer. Really, he doesn't need to. We could say all the things we're supposed to say in a moment like this. Goodbye, love, live. So I just smile and say, “Thanks, Forgiveness.”

He brushes a strand of hair away with the tip of his finger. “Actually, it's Atticus.”

Unable to resist, I lean into him again. Our foreheads press together. It's the most beautiful-hideous thing, choice. It doesn't define us … it reveals us. Who we are, who we've been, who we'll become. All we can do is try to make the right ones.

Suddenly the warmth against my skin is gone. The room is empty save for the clock. Blinking rapidly, I approach it and put the hands back to where they're supposed to be.
Dong. Dong. Dong.
Outside, the sun is a sliver on the horizon. This is the only place on the entire mountain that anyone can watch it disappear. I shuffle to the window and pull myself up on the sill. Eleven minutes pass, and eventually the sun leaves our half of the world to go light the next. The sky darkens into a blend of black and purple. It feels permanent, in a way, and impossible that it could be bright again. Morning will come, though, as it always does.

We just have to wait for it.

Almost the entire town turns out for the graduation ceremony. Which isn't considerable, granted, but there are enough people that half the folding chairs in the gym are full. Missy, Saul, and I manage to snag spots one row behind the students.

I lean my chin on the back of my hand, which rests on the edge of the metal chair in front of me
. Georgie talks out of the corner of her mouth. “I can't believe you dropped out when we were so close to graduating,” she hisses. The tassel dangling off her cap sways.

Regret pushes his shoulder against mine. I ignore him. “Just add it to the long list of mistakes I'll make throughout my life.”

She scowls. “Well, are you going to fix it?” Yelena Prichard glares at us and Georgie's arm moves. I suspect she's giving her the finger.

We watch Briana walk across the platform. She takes the diploma from Principal Bracken. “I'm going to try,” I say. Georgie's turn comes shortly after. Then Yelena's. Then Rachel Porter's. There are some that dropped out, like me, who sit in the small crowd. It happens so fast. Soon they all have their diplomas and we're all standing, cheering while they file out the door and toward their futures. The moment the last kid is gone everyone moves, off to make their celebratory dinners or go back to business as usual. I stand there for a second, people parting around me like I'm a stone in a river. Part of something and forever separate.

Then someone's arm is wrapping around me and a voice is saying, against my ear, “Come on, then.” Georgie. I hesitate, though, and search for my aunt and uncle. Saul and Missy wave at me, giving permission even as Worry holds both their hands.

So we all go to the last bonfire. Since I'm driving myself, I make a stop at the apartment. By the time I get to the lake the party is well underway. Georgie greets me with her usual flair and soon flounces off to be with Billy. Briana is there, talking to Rachel Porter. Smiling, I move to stand by the fire. I toy with the bundle in my hands.

It takes me a while, but eventually I throw my father's shirt onto the pile and watch it catch the flames.

Georgie comes to stand beside me. The shadows dance and quiver over her perfect skin. “I think I'm going to stay here for a while,” she murmurs.

Now I look at her. “What about California?”

She shrugs. “Some dreams are just that, Alex. Dreams. They're fun, they keep us going, they're what make us human. And they change. I'm okay with that.”

I face the fire again and watch the remains of the shirt become ash. Then I say, “Bullshit.”

“What?” Georgie turns to me and frowns.

“You heard me. Bullshit. You're scared.”

Anger quivers into view and puts his hand on her back. “You're one to talk,” my friend snaps, her eyes bright and defiant. “You didn't even finish high school.”

“That's right. I didn't. And I regret some of my choices. But I'm making new ones.”

For once, Georgie doesn't press for more or try to argue a point. She just absorbs this, then clears her throat. She's still angry, still frightened, but there's nothing I can do about that. Our emotions and our choices are our own. “So what's next for you, then?” she asks awkwardly. “Mark texted me. He said he was tutoring you.”

I let her change the subject. “He is, since I'm so behind. Andrew pulled some strings, and I'll be able to finish school at Green River this summer. After that, who knows?” That's the most terrifying part about life, I think; not knowing how things will turn out. But I'm learning that it's also the best part. I have a life to live, to fear, to discover. I think of that night I went to the lake with Revenge, leaping into those freezing waters without hesitation.

Someone turns on a radio, and Elvis sings over the crickets. Groans erupt down the beach. “Turn it off!” Marty Paulson shouts. Briana flinches from her place next to him. She must feel my stare, because our eyes meet across the fire. Our last conversation plays in my head:
No one comes out of the closet in Franklin. We're not as progressive as the rest of the world. We still play Elvis every day, for God's sake
.

During all of this, I was so convinced that things had to change. And I was right. I'd just been pursuing the wrong things. Suddenly I know what I have to do. “Georgie, make sure they don't turn off the radio,” I say in a rush, moving away. Frowning, she calls after me, but I just take my keys out. “Make sure!” I jump into my car and tear off.

Our local—and only—radio station on the mountain stands next to Ian's store. All the lights are on and I can see Joe through the front window, drinking out of a coffee mug. He's an old man with peppery hair and a penchant for bulky vests. Rapping on the edge of the screen door, I wait for him to look up before going inside.

“Alexandra Tate,” he greets in that throaty voice everyone knows so well. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” There's a book resting on a stool, one of the romance novels he pretends aren't his. They're the reason he sometimes tries to talk like he's British.