“I don’t know,” he said, holding out the flowers to me. Roses this time, dark red. “It had just happened when I drove by. All I saw was a bandana in the road.”
He stepped past me then, inside, but I just stood there in the open door, frozen to the spot. Behind me, I could hear my mother, William, and their dates talking, the happy sounds of people meeting who have something important in common. The world always goes on, even when your own part of it stops. I knew this better than anyone. I was aware, too, how quickly you could lose the things you thought would be around forever, or at least long enough for you to change your mind.
“Louna?” Ben asked from behind me. “You coming?”
MAKE A WISH, the cake had read, and right then I knew what mine was.Please, God,I thought, as I stepped over the threshold, hurrying down the stairs. When I got to the sidewalk, I reached down, unbuckling my shoes. Then I left them behind as I ran, barefoot, toward the growing sound of sirens.
At first, all I could see were red and blue lights, flashing.Traffic had slowed to a crawl in both directions, a single officer trying to wave people through one lane at a time. On both sides of the street, people had gathered, either alone or in clumps, eerily silent as they watched the paramedics working on someone by the curb.
My heart was in my mouth, the beat filling my ears, as I rounded the corner, dodging around two women with strollers. One had a hand to her mouth, the other her baby in her arms, its chubby cheek pressed against her own. “Careful,” she called out to me, her voice sharp; part admonishment, part warning. But I’d been that way all this time, and it hadn’t changed a thing. Maybe it was better to barrel through life, breaking fragile things and catching on every jagged edge. Neat or messy, calm or crazy, I still ended up in this same place.
Finally, I reached the intersection, stumbling to a stop. I was vaguely aware of my feet hurting, skin split in places as I stood on the curb, scanning the stopped traffic all around me. Emergencies shouldn’t feel the same, with similar colors and noises, when each one is so unique, all its own. I thought of myself all those months ago, standing in the emptying hallway at school, gradually more and more alone as I stood on the edge of knowing and not, a place I’d later tell myself I would have returned to a million times over if I could. But now, I realized it was really no better, that uncertainty. Even when there’s still hope, it’s hard to see, especially with tears in your eyes.
“Miss!” I heard as I stepped off the curb, in between two cars. I could feel the heat coming off them, the warmth ofthe pavement under my feet, one of which was definitely bleeding now. A policeman blurred in my side vision, still yelling at me. “You can’t go there. Turn back!”
I didn’t, pushing through past idling engines, the distant sound of radios, the hushed whispers of another set of bystanders, now watching me.
“Miss!” the cop yelled again. He was coming toward me now. I squeezed around a final bumper, feeling hot chrome on my leg, then looked to my right, where the EMTs were huddled over something bulky in the road, a blanket draped across it.
Everything got slower, suddenly: the banging approach of the cop’s footsteps, the slow roll of a nearby car creeping forward, my own breath, now audible and jagged in my lungs. One of the paramedics was on his radio now, another racing along the opposite sidewalk with a gurney, wheels rattling. Every sound so specific and unique I already knew I’d remember it later, and forever. A sob escaped my lips, primal and terrifying, as I felt the cop grab my upper arm.
“Miss!” he barked, pulling me back. “You cannot be here. Go back to the sidewalk.”
“No,” I said. His broad shoulders and dark uniform were blocking my vision: all I could see was myself, thrashing, in the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. The outside view, again, but this time I was fully within it as well. Why was it that you felt most alive at the moments so close to death? “You don’t understand.”
I was out of control, I knew this. He had to seize my other shoulder as I continued to try to dodge past. “Can I getsome help here?” he barked over my head. Finally, I craned my neck enough to see around him. The paramedic was replacing his radio slowly, exchanging a look with his partner, who wasn’t rushing anymore.
No, I thought, a million memories spilling over in my brain all at once. That damp sand on the dark beach, a boy in a white shirt, billowing, the bouncy notes of a pop song ringtone. All familiar, like a slideshow I’d watched so many times. But then, as the cop gripped my arms, pushing me back, something else: a room full of flowers. A scruffy dog in my side view, his head out the window. Candles lit and then re-lit, a group of people moving on a makeshift dance floor. All those weddings, and kisses, and leave-takings, the faces of so many brides and grooms blurring in my head.Love is what it’s all about, William had said to me all those months ago, although at the time, these were just words. I wondered if he’d feel differently now. I knew I did. Because standing there, tears streaking my face, I would have given anything for another shot at what I’d passed up, uneven and imperfect as it was. Life didn’t begin cleanly, and it surely never ended that way. We were blessed with whatever we had in the middle. It made sense that it be messy, too.
“Getback,” the cop shouted, pushing me off him with both hands, and then I did lose my grip, stumbling over my own feet and bumping against a parked car behind me. I could feel people looking at me, the sudden glare of attention as I came back into my own body and awareness, this here, this now. I put my hands to my face, sinking to my knees in the grass by the sidewalk, my feet throbbing beneathme. I was still there, huddled into myself, when I felt something scratchy and alive brush my cheek, then nose. I opened my eyes.
Ira.
“Hey,” I whispered, not quite sure he was real, even as I reached out, touching the wiry scruff at his neck. His tail, now waving, thumped the car behind him. “What are you—”
A shadow fell over me then, and I looked up, past his wriggling body, to see Ambrose standing above me. I thought I might be dreaming until I saw the pink soda in his hand, along with the end of the dog’s leash, his wrinkled shirt, that one curl loose over his forehead in the heat. Not the idealized details of dreams or fantasies, but those of real life, this life. As he crouched down, his face worried, to get closer to me, he was about to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. Already, I was reaching up, my arms tight around his neck, and I pulled him to me and pressed my lips against his. At first I could feel his surprise, but then he was responding, his hand moving through my hair, fingers against my neck. It was primal and epic, nothing like mellow, and as it went on for what felt like forever, I could hear traffic beginning to resume, Ira circling us, barking, the world moving on. This time, though, I was okay to be left behind a few minutes for a kiss, a beginning, my own walk, sunset or not. Whatever I was allowed.
CHAPTER
27
“BEE? IT’SLouna. Can I come in?”
No answer. I looked down at the water in my hand, then my watch, which told me we had ten minutes before the ceremony was supposed to begin. Reaching down, I tried the knob. When it turned, I gently pushed it open.
“Bee?” I said again, peering inside. The room where she’d been getting ready was just above where the ceremony would take place, by the hotel’s infinity pool: I could see the chairs we’d lined up earlier, now filled with guests, through the window. “Are you in here?” Still, nothing.
I pulled out my phone, ready to send aBRIDE AWOLtext if necessary, then walked past the small sitting area, closer to the window. Down below, I could see William up by the flower-covered arch, checking his own watch. I saw him shoot a look down the aisle. A second later, my phone beeped. My mom.
WHERE IS SHE?
I walked over to the bathroom door, which was closed, and stood listening for a second. Nothing. Then, distantly, a sniffle. Shit.
BATHROOM, I texted back. Then I knocked. “Bee?”
A pause. “Yes?”
“It’s Louna,” I said. “We, um, need to get downstairs.”
