A Different Blue

Chapter Thirteen





I found myself in front of Wilson's house. There was construction debris piled to the side, and it looked as if the roof was being redone. Light shone from all the windows and the wide front stairs were lit in the soft glow from the light shaped like an antique brass lantern that was hung by the door. I climbed out, not knowing what in the hell I was doing but desperate for companionship. For safety. I didn't know where else to go for either. Mason would have to be told, but I wouldn't be telling him tonight.

There was a little intercom by the door and the sign that said Pemberley. The intercom was new. I pressed it once, wondering if an alarm sounded inside the house. I pressed it once more, and Wilson's voice came through the speaker, sounding ridiculously like a stuffy English butler. It was such a perfect complement to the house that if I had been in any other state of mind I would have laughed hysterically.

“It's Blue Echohawk. Can I talk to you . . . for a minute . . . please? I don't need to come in. I'll just wait out here . . . on the steps.”

“Blue? Are you all right? What happened at school?” The concern was evident even through the intercom, and I bit my lip to hold back a sob. I shook myself briskly. I didn't sob.

“I'm fine. I just need . . . to talk to someone.”

“I'll be right down.”

I sank to the step, waiting, wondering what in the world I was going to say. I wouldn't tell him I was pregnant, I was sure of that. So why was I here? The sob rose up again, and I moaned, wishing I knew how to let it out without coming completely undone like I had in the dark hallway of the school, listening to Wilson play, two months before.

The door opened behind me, and Wilson plopped down beside me on the step. He was in jeans and a T-shirt again, and I fervantly wished he weren't. His feet were bare and I looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by despair. I needed a grown-up – an authority figure – to reassure me, to tell me it was all going to be okay. Wilson in jeans and bare feet just looked like another kid without any answers. Like Mason or Colby, like a boy who wouldn't have a clue what to do if he were in my shoes. I wondered if his feet were freezing and decided I needed to get to the point.

“Remember when you told us about Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon?” I blurted out.

Wilson reached over and touched my jaw, turning my face toward him.

“You look knackered.”

I wrenched my chin free and pushed his hand away. I rested my head on my knees.

“Blue?”

“No, I'm not knackered, or knickered or whatever the hell that means.”

“Knackered means exhausted, knickered means something else entirely, but I'm grateful you are neither,” Wilson said dryly. I made a note to find out what knickered meant.

“So . . . Julius Caesar, eh? You needed to talk to me about Julius Caeser?”

“You said he knew when he crossed that river that he wouldn't be able to go back, right?” I prodded.

“Yes?”

“Well what if you crossed the Rubicon . . . and you didn't know it was the Rubicon. What then?”

“I assume we are speaking hypothetically.”

“Yes! I messed up! I can't fix it, I can't go back, and I have no idea what the crap I'm going to do.” The sob broke from me once more, and I covered my face, regaining control of myself almost immediately.

“Ah, Blue. It can't be that bad, can it?”

I didn't answer, because that would require telling him how truly bad it was.

“Nobody died.” Not yet. I pushed the guilt away. “No laws were broken, I'm not suddenly growing a mustache, I don't have terminal cancer, and I haven't gone deaf or blind, so yeah, I guess things could be worse.”

Wilson reached over and gently swept a strand of hair from my eyes. “Are you going to tell me what the problem is?”

I swallowed, fighting for composure. “I have tried to change, Wilson. Remember when we talked about redemption? That night my car wouldn't start, that night we were rescued by Larry and Curly?”

Wilson grinned and nodded, tucking my hair behind my ear. I tried not to shudder as his fingers touched my skin. He was trying to comfort me, and I welcomed it, wishing I could lay my head against his shoulder while I unburdened myself. He pulled his hand back, waiting for me to continue.

“That night . . . something happened to me. Something I've never felt before. I was heartbroken and sick inside. And I prayed. I cried out for love, not even knowing that love was what I asked for. I needed to feel loved, and it was just . . . just poured down on me. No strings, no ultimatums, no promises required. Just freely given. All I had to do was ask. And I was . . . changed by it. In that moment, I felt . . . healed.” I looked at him, willing him to understand. He seemed engrossed by what I was saying, and I felt encouraged to continue.

“Don't get me wrong. I wasn't perfected by it. My trials weren't even taken away. My weaknesses weren't suddenly made into strengths, my struggles weren't any different. My sorrow didn't miraculously become joy . . . but I felt healed all the same.” The words poured out of me, words that described a feeling I had pondered over and over since that night. “It was as if the cracks were filled, and the stones around my heart were broken up and swept away. And I felt . . . whole.”

Wilson stared at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. He shook his head as if to clear it and rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know what to say. I wondered if I had made any sense at all, or if he would start insisting I was knackered all over again.

“That is possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.”

It was my turn to stare at him. His eyes held mine until I turned away, embarrassed by the praise I saw there. I felt his eyes on my face, clearly pondering what I'd said. After a minute he spoke again.

“So you have this incredible experience. You call it redemption. You've obviously thought about it a great deal . . . and now you're convinced that you've messed up so badly that, what? You can't be redeemed again?”

I hadn't thought about it that way. “It's not that . . . not really. I guess I just believed that I had moved beyond my old self. And now . . . I find that I can't escape the mistakes I've made.”

“So redemption didn't save you from consequence?”

“No. It didn't,” I whispered. And that was it. Redemption hadn't saved me from consequence. And I felt betrayed. I felt like the love that had been poured over me had been withdrawn before I'd had a chance to prove I was worthy of it.

“So what now?”

“That's why I'm here, Wilson. I don't know what now.”

“And I can't advise you since you won't tell me what the problem is,” Wilson plied gently.

When I didn't respond he sighed, and we sat, looking out over the street at nothing, our thoughts filled with things we could say, but saying nothing at all.

“Sometimes there is no rescue,” I concluded, facing what was before me. I still didn't know what I was going to do. But I would manage. Somehow.

Wilson propped his chin in his hands and eyed me thoughtfully. “When my dad died, I was lost. There was so much that I regretted about our relationship, and it was too late to fix it. I joined the Peace Corp – mostly because my dad told me I wouldn't last a day – and spent two years in Africa working my arse off, living in pretty primitive conditions. Many days I wanted to be rescued from Africa. I wanted to go home and live at my mum's and be taken care of. But in the end, Africa saved me. I learned a lot about myself. I grew up – found out what I wanted to do with my life. Sometimes the things we want to be rescued from can save us.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to be all right, Blue?”

I looked at him and tried to smile. He was so serious. I wondered if he had been less so when his dad was alive. Somehow I doubted it. He was what Beverly called a mensch. An old soul.

“Thank you for talking to me. Cheryl's not great with heavy conversation.”

“Did you try Mason or Colby? They seem well-suited to solving the world's problems.”

I giggled, the laughter easing the tightness in my chest.

“I've made her laugh! Brilliant! I am good.”

“Yeah, Wilson, you're good. A little too good for the likes of Blue Echohawk. But we both knew that.”

Wilson agreed, acting as if my comment was in jest. Then he stood, pulling me to my feet after him. He walked me to my truck, tucked me inside, and pinched my cheek like I was five and he was one hundred and five.

“Six weeks, Echohawk, and the world is yours.”

I just shrugged and waved, the weight of that world heavy on my shoulders and farther from my grasp than ever before.





Graduation was held on a late May morning out on the football field. It meant plenty of seats on the hard bleachers for family and friends and relatively bearable temperatures. I say relative because it was 90 degrees at ten am. I was extremely nauseous and the heat didn't help. I considered ditching, but wanted my moment. I wanted to wear my cap and gown, receive my diploma, and silently give the bird to all the haters that rolled their eyes when I walked by or thought I would drop out before the end of sophomore year. But I had made it. Just barely, but I had. Unfortunately, I ended up racing for the bathroom minutes before we were supposed to line up to make our entrance. I threw up what little was in my stomach and tried to breathe through the aftershocks, my stomach heaving and rolling like an angry sea.

I gathered myself together, rinsed my mouth, and dug in my purse for the crackers I had started to carry everywhere I went. I was almost four months along. Wasn't the morning sickness supposed to ease up by now? I ate a cracker, gulped a little water from the faucet – trying not to wonder how much chlorine it contained – and fixed my makeup where my eyeliner had smeared and left black smudges under my eyes. Then I slicked on some lip gloss, re-attached my sneer, and walked back to the cafeteria where all the graduates were gathered, only to find that they had left to make their entrance without me. I sank down at a lunch table and began to ponder why my life sucked so much. There was a lump in my throat that pounded with the ache in my heart. I couldn't go out there now. I had missed it.

“Blue?”

I jumped, taken completely by surprise, and lifted my head from where I had cradled it in my hands.

Mr. Wilson stood about ten feet away, his hand poised on the light switch by the door closest to where I sat. He wore his customary pin-striped shirt and slacks but had left the tie at home. Most of the teachers played a role at graduation, whether it was collecting caps and gowns, mingling with parents and students, or checking for stragglers. It seemed Wilson was in charge of the latter. I straightened and glared at him, upset that he had found me vulnerable once again.

“Are you . . . all right? You missed the entrance. Everybody is on the field.”

“Yeah. I kinda got that.” The lump in my throat doubled in size, and I looked away from Wilson dismissively. I stood and pulled off my cap and tossed it on the table. I started to yank my robe off over my head, revealing the pink shorts and white t-shirt I wore underneath. We were supposed to wear dresses beneath our robes, but who was going to see?

“Wait!” Wilson called out, and he started moving toward me, his hand out-stretched. “It isn't too late. You can still make it.”

I had stood up too quickly, and the room swam around me. Ohh, please, no! I bore down on the nausea and willed it away, only to realize I wasn't going to make it to the bathroom this time. Throwing my robe aside, I raced toward the door, flying past Wilson, barely making it to the trash can before I threw up the crackers and water I'd just consumed. I felt hands in my hair, pulling it back from my face and wanted to push Wilson away . . . oh, please, no . . . but I was too busy shuddering and heaving to follow through. I eventually gained dominion over my stomach and wished desperately for something to wipe my mouth on. Almost immediately, a neatly folded square of cloth appeared in my line of sight. I took it from Wilson's hand gratefully. It was the second time I'd used one of his handkerchiefs. I hadn't given the last one back. I had washed it and pressed it, but I knew it smelled like cigarette smoke and I was too embarrassed to return it. I straightened, and Wilson's hand released my hair as he stepped back from me.

He turned and left quickly, only to return less than a minute later with a little paper cup of icy water. “Compliments of the teacher's lounge.”

I sipped the water, grateful – but again – refusing to acknowledge it.

“If you think you can, I think you should put on your cap and gown and head out to the field. You haven't missed anything important.”

“Ha! I'm not walking out there by myself.”

“I'll walk with you. Easy peasy. Once you're seated, the embarrassment will be over, and in the end you will be glad you didn't miss your own graduation.”

I looked over at my cap and gown wistfully. Wilson must have seen my hesitation and pressed me further. “Come on. You like making entrances, remember?”

I smiled a little, but the smile fell as I considered the likelihood that I wouldn't make it through the ceremony without needing to make another run for the commode.

“I can't do it.”

“Sure you can,” Wilson picked up my cap and gown and held them out to me, an encouraging look on his face. He reminded me of a dog begging for a walk around the block, his big, heavily-lashed eyes pleading, his mouth turned up the slightest bit in supplication.

“I can't do it,” I repeated more forcefully.

“You need to,” Wilson said just as forcefully. “I get that you're feeling dicky –”

“I'm not dicky, whatever that means! I'm pregnant!” I whispered, interrupting him. Wilson's face went slack, as if I'd just told him I was having an affair with Prince William. The lump was back, and I felt a stinging in my eyes that caused me to blink rapidly and grit my teeth.

“I see,” Wilson said softly, and his hands fell to his sides, my cap and gown still held in his hand. A strange expression stole across his features, as if he was putting everything together, and his jaw clenched as his gaze stayed locked on my face. I wanted to look away, but pride kept my stare steady and belligerent.

I took the cap and gown from him and turned away, feeling suddenly very shy in my short Daisy Dukes and my flimsy t-shirt, as if my skimpy choice of clothing underscored my humiliating confession. I suddenly despised myself and wanted nothing more than to get away from Darcy Wilson – the one teacher, the one person, who seemed to give a damn about me. He had become a friend, and I realized in that moment that I had probably disappointed him. I started to walk away. His voice was insistent behind me.

“I didn't go to my father's funeral.”

I turned, confused. “Wh-what?”

“I didn't go to my father's funeral.” He walked toward me until he stood directly in front of me.

“Why?”

Wilson shrugged and shook his head. “I thought I was responsible for his death. The night he died we had a huge fight and I stormed out. I didn't want to go to medical school; he thought I was being a fool. It was the only time I had ever fought like that with my father. Later that night, he had a massive heart attack in his car in the hospital parking lot. He had been paged but never made it through the hospital doors. They might have saved him if he had.

“Naturally, I blamed myself for the heart attack. I was devastated and guilty . . . so I didn't go.” Wilson stopped talking and looked down at his hands as if they held answers that he had yet to find. “My mother begged and pleaded. She told me I would regret not going for the rest of my life.” He looked up at me. “She was right.”

I looked down at my own hands, knowing exactly what he was trying to say.

“Some moments you don't get back, Blue. You don't want to spend a lifetime wondering about those moments you didn't seize, about the things you should have done but were too scared to do.”

“It's just a stupid ceremony,” I protested.

“No. It's more than that, because it means something to you. It's something you've earned and no one can take it away from you. This journey hasn't been an easy one for you, and you deserve this moment, maybe more than any student out there.” Wilson pointed toward the football field that lay beyond the walls of the cafeteria.

“Nobody will miss me. I don't have anyone out there waiting to see me walk across the stage.”

“I'll be there, and I'll clap and holler and yell your name.”

“If you do, I'll kick your ass!” I snapped, horrified.

Wilson busted out laughing. “There's the girl I know.” He pointed to my cap and gown. “Let's go.”

I ended up attending my graduation ceremony after all. Turns out, I hadn't missed much. I walked out onto the field, Wilson by my side. I held myself stiffly and didn't hurry, and I made my way to my empty seat without flinching, although heads were swiveling right and left. Wilson sat with the row of teachers and true to his word, whistled and yelled when my name was called. I have to admit I kind of liked it, and my classmates and the other teachers laughed, most likely thinking Wilson was clapping because he was glad to get rid of me. I tried not to smile but, in spite of my best efforts, at the last minute a huge grin split my face.