Ouch. I can see how badly my words have stung her. Her face looks like I’ve slapped her. “You used me,” she says. I can tell how hard it is for her to put on a cool tone in order to look like she’s got herself under control. “For sex.”
“No, look…” I pause because, essentially, she’s right. Even if I don’t want to see myself as that kind of guy, I have to admit that that’s exactly what I did. And it wasn’t even important to me. I could have done without the sex. But I was bombed, and she was there, and then… Well, one thing led to another. In the meantime, I don’t even know how the night played out. I only know that we got together, but how it was? No idea. My God, I’m a real shit.
“Yeah. I did. I’m sorry, Harper.”
The skin around her eyes turns red. It’s clear that she’s trying really hard to make sure I don’t see her cry. She turns away for a moment and looks in the other direction, most likely to get herself together before looking at me again. She swallows. “And I thought I saw something in you. I really thought you were more than what women say about you. Clearly, I was wrong. But let me make one thing clear, Knox.” She takes a step forward. Her voice has grown dark. “I’m going to go now. You for me are history. But not because you won and because you hurt me. No. Because your stupid ass isn’t worth a single second more of my time.”
In one last graceful gesture, she raises her chin, turns, and stomps off. I watch her go. It’s not true, Idocare about her feelings. We used to be a little crew. Aria, Wyatt, Gwen, Harper, and I. We spent half our lives together before all that shit between Aria and Wyatt went down. I know that Harper’s got power. Somewhere beneath her hard shell, there’s a soft core. But unfortunately, I am just as sure that I’m not the man who’s supposed to discover it. The one it’s meant for. Maybe she wanted me to be but… Shit, I’m an asshole. Totally broken. I can’t even be in the presence of an ice-skater without getting this claustrophobic feeling that’s ready to take me off to whereeverything’s dark. Where the screams are the loudest. Where naked fear overcomes me, makes my hair stand on end, and makes me feel like I’m a little kid again. Helpless and panicky in a moment of my life that broke me.
My feet are moving without me being aware of where they’re taking me. I put my board, helmet, and sunglasses into the trunk of my car, then I walk off downtown. My limbs feel numb as I shuffle through the snowy streets and come to a cast-iron door. Two stone ravens flank the fence, their watchful eyes trained on the horizon. My heart is beating into my throat as I put a hand on the ornate handle and step into the cemetery.
Every time I feel the frozen ground beneath my feet here, I get the feeling that countless lost souls are drifting around me and whispering in my ear that I shouldn’t be here, that I don’t belong here. I’ve never liked cemeteries. They freak me out. Still, I walk on, step by step, making my way through the snowy lanes where one headstone follows another. In the distance an owl cries.
Suddenly I stop. Cold air fills my lungs as I gasp for breath. Even after so many years, it’s really hard for me to come here. It’s painful. Every time it’s like my heart is being torn into tiny pieces, pieces I’ll never be able to reassemble.
My sight is blurry with tears as I go onto my knees and stretch out my hand to wipe the dancing snow off the gravestone. It’s hard to swallow when my mother’s name becomes visible. Eliza Winterbottom. I pause a second at thez, whose lower line has become slightly faded. “I miss you, Mom.” My voice is trembling. I’m ashamed I didn’t even bring flowers. “I miss you so much.”
Nothing but silence. I’d love an answer. An answer I know will never come. I slowly sink onto the ground. “She’s like you, Mom,” I whisper. “She’s like you, and that makes me nuts. Every time I expect to feel bad in her presence, that…that I’ll hear the screams, but…I never do. I want to stay away from her but it’s so hard.” I gasp for breath. Tears are running down my cheeks. I wipe my gloves acrossmy face and shake my head. Snow trickles from my hair. For a long time, I’m quiet, my eyes trained on my mother’s name.
“Already another year. December sixteenth. Ten years today,” I mumble at some point, so quietly that I can hardly understand myself. “Another year, and I still feel guilty. I’m so sorry, Mom. I am so sorry that you had to die because of me.”
18
Can’t Get You Out My Mind
Knox
All the way through the cemetery, I felt like I’d taken leave of myself. I feel lonely and abandoned in this town, the town I loved so much until it decided to welcome death.
My hands buried into my coat pockets, I leave the cemetery behind and take the street to the right, heading downtown. One of William’s carriages is coming toward me, on the horse one of the girls that helps him out at the stables. Smiling, she lifts a hand to me in greeting as she zips past with tourists in the back.
At the bell tower I stop. Spirit Susan, Aspen’s spiritually touched dance teacher, is in a penguin outfit, just like the group of kids behind her. Seeing me, she shoots a smile and nods in the direction of Vaughn, our local street musician. He nods, strums his guitar, and begins to sing “Little Drummer Boy.” I join the group of glittering-eyed onlookers who have gathered to watch the show. Spirit Susan is a talented dancer, her movements are elegant, like liquid silk, weightless, while the kids give it their best. Vaughn gives the firstpa rum pum pum pum pum, the kids turn their heads in time, right, left, right, left, while a little boy with a long open beak framing his entire face gets caught on the tips of the penguinqueen’s tiara. Attempting to bat off his beak with her underarm, he starts crying and the whole formation falls apart. Only Spirit Susan is in her element, her lids heavy, the movements full of passion, as if this little square was her Broadway. It’s all so absurd, I can’t help laughing until someone elbows me in the ribs. I look to my side and see our old Patricia—the baker from the little pastry shop. Her watery blue eyes tunnel into mine, then she nods her wrinkly chin to the right. Following her eyes I discover Wyatt’s sister Camila. She’s standing at the edge of the square, arms wrapped around herself, watching the show.
“It’s a shame she doesn’t dance anymore,” Patricia says. “She was so good.”
“Yeah,” I answer, without taking my eyes off Camila. “She was.”
A few of Patricia’s thin hairs fall onto her forehead, as she shakes her head sighing. “It’s just terrible what all the Lopez kids have been going through ever since their mother Inès left us.” Her sunken lips form a thin line. “You as well.” She casts me a brief sidelong glance. “Cut the crap, Knox. Don’t give up. Life is too precious.”
Once again I feel a weight on my chest. I absentmindedly run my hand across it, as if I could make it disappear. I look from Camila to Spirit Susan and her penguins, who have brought themselves back under control and are now dancing in time.
“Maybe it will get easier at some point,” I say quietly.
Patricia nods. “It will, my son.” She reaches out a delicate, papery hand and caresses my head. She used to do that when I was younger, and for some reason the gesture gets rid of the pressure and makes me feel warm. “It will when you let it.”
Dad is sitting at the table when I get home. He’s digging through a pile of papers and only looks up when I enter. His eyes are red. For him in particular this is a tough day.
His forehead is deeply lined. “I didn’t hear your car at all.”
“It’s still at the foot of Aspen Highlands. I was in the mood to walk.”
My father’s eyes rest on me for a moment too long. “I understand.”
I point to his papers. “Can I help with anything?”
He sighs, gathers the papers together, and puts them into a single pile. “No, it’s fine. But you could do something else for me.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
