“Greg—” I reach for him, but he takes a step away and gives me a long, searching look, like he doesn’t recognize me anymore.
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Ruby, I love you, but I can’thold that thoughtforever.”
“You think I’m doing this for fun?” I yell. I’m so frustrated, I can’t explain fast enough—all the words are wrong, and Greg looks so hurt, and everything is going sideways.
“I mean—I can’t—” Tears are trembling in the corners of my eyes, and I take a sharp breath in, trying to hold them back. “I don’t know what to do for Mom anymore. I couldn’t follow through there. And I don’t want—I just—I can’t stand to fail at this too!”
Greg pulls me into a hug, and some of those tears break free. “Hey, shh, shh. You’re okay. It’s okay.” His lemon smell wraps me up, and one hand runs up and down my back. “I know I can’t fully understand what you’re going through,” he says, voice raspy. “But you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do anything else.”
“It’s not okay!” I pull back, wiping my cheeks roughly with my palm. “I can’t just—justsquanderthis chance! I’m doing this for you too!”
He laughs desperately, no joy in it. “I don’t want you to do this! You don’t have to get his password. We’ll figure something else out.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Ruby—” He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Let’s back up, go back to your mom for a second. What if you tried being honest with her? Really honest. Put all your cards on the table. Say you can’t figure out what her unfinished business is and explain everything you’ve done so far.”
“And how will that help? What if that makes her feel even worse, on top of everything she’s been through?”
Greg puts his hands on my arms. “Maybe compared toeverything she’s been through, whatever you say can’t be that bad.”
He’s not making sense. I jerk out of his grasp, even though the look on his face is making my heart break.
“Don’t go,” he says. “Please.”
“It’s just one more weekend.”
Greg stares at me for a long moment, until something in his head seems to click into place and he looks away. “Call me when you’re ready to talk, then,” he says and walks back inside, leaving me on the balcony by myself.
Chapter
49
It’s Friday afternoon, and Mark Winterson is driving his Mercedes like a maniac.
We’re on a two-lane road snaking through the Angeles National Forest, headed around a blind curve, and he’s decided to hop into the wrong side to overtake multiple cars in a no-passing zone.
“God, where did these people learn to drive?” he mutters to himself, designer sunglasses glinting in the light. “They’re barely going the speed limit.”
It seems like a rational response to slow down when you’re taking hairpin turns three thousand feet up into the San Gabriel Mountains, but what do I know? If another car came around the bend and hit us head-on, we’d probably tumble down the side of a cliff.
Finally, he gets back onto the right side of the road, and I stare at the craggy mountain face rising up above us, waiting for the terror to leave my body. The mountains are strangely green because of the rain we’ve had recently, and tall stalks offoothill yucca with crowns of pale yellow flowers whip past us on the side of the road.
“My mom called that one Our Lord’s Candle,” I say, voice wavering, pointing to the yucca blooms. “Doesn’t it look candle-like?”
“It does,” he says, smiling like he just remembered I exist.
And then it occurs to me that I should probably update her, at least.
ruby.ocampo:
Mom, Mark and I are driving out to Vegas!
I can’t stand the idea that there’s nothing I can do for her anymore. I’m still sharing updates with her, hoping against hope that something will be the difference-maker. Maybe seeing that we’re going on vacation together will make her think it’s really serious? Put her at ease enough to let go?
But I’m not holding my breath the way I used to as I upload a photo of Mark Winterson in profile, speeding through the mountains.
sampaguita72:
