30.
“Suppose you’ve no direction in you,
I don’t see but you must continue”
—“TO A THINKER,” 1936
I step out the back door of the building and into the dark drizzle with no plan or direction or any idea of what comes next. Maybe after hearing everything I should think she’s a horrible person who doesn’t deserve another chance. Maybe for a lot of people it would be easy to think that, and decide that who she is now is made up of the things she’s done. But I can’t. I can’t draw that line between wrong and right anymore because she exists somewhere in the space between those absolutes.
It’s a truth I’d rather not know. The reality of what happened to her and Shane, and what I saw in her when she said she could never go back make me wish I’d never found the journal in the first place. Never thought there was a different version of the story. Never hoped I could have a hand in writing it. But mostly, it makes me wish I’d never let it mean so much to me.
I round the corner, more lost and low than I’ve ever been, and just beyond the streetlight’s reach, standing beneath an awning with his hands in his pockets, is Trevor Collins. Solid, and real, and waiting for me. The sight of him lifts some of the heaviness from my chest, and I take a few tentative steps toward him.
He looks relieved when he sees me. “Parker, hey.” With a hand on my shoulder, he ushers me under the awning with him. “I was getting worried. Thought you might’ve run off and disappeared with that girl.” He pauses, and his eyes search mine in the dim light. “Was it her?”
I glance up at the apartment window above the gallery, where drawn curtains hide a lost girl who doesn’t want to be found. And now it’s my choice. I can let her stay that way, living a life I’d never wish on anyone, or I can change it for her. Against her will.
I don’t have to weigh the options long to realize it’s not my place. No matter how much I want it to be different. Trevor’s eyes trail up to the window too for a second, then he looks back at me. Waits expectantly for an answer.
“It wasn’t her,” I say, and again, there’s that sick, empty feeling. The words taste wrong.
Trevor’s face falls. “Oh no.”
“I was wrong,” I say, “about everything.” I lean against the wall, and he does too, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. I don’t like lying to him, not at all, but I made a promise to Julianna. “That girl was the artist of those paintings, but her name is Hope and she had no idea what I was talking about,” I continue. “I think she thought I was crazy at first, but then when I had nowhere to go she let me stay for a while.” I look down at my hands. Fumble with them like it’ll keep me from crying.
Trevor reaches over and lays a warm hand over mine. “I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to find her.”
I try to shrug it off, try to tell myself not to cry about this. Not right now, in front of him. “It’s fine,” I say, but my voice has that shakiness that comes along with holding back tears, and I’m sure he can tell. “It was a stupid idea anyway,” I add. And then I take a deep breath and watch the mist come down in the glow from the streetlamp, and I realize how true it is. Bringing them back together was a ridiculous idea, and a naive thing to hope for, because life doesn’t work like that. Julianna had said it herself.
“It wasn’t stupid at all,” Trevor says. He turns, and I can feel him looking at me. “It was pretty impressive, actually, the way you chased that girl down.”
That almost gets a laugh out of me. I turn to him and he looks at me then—really looks at me, in a way that’s surprising because it’s so serious. “You know what is stupid?” he asks, and he pushes off the wall and stands so we’re face to face.
“What?”
His eyes run over mine, and for the second time tonight, everything speeds up and slows down in the space of a few seconds. He steps closer. Brings both his hands to my cheeks. Pulls me into him gently. Speaks words I barely hear. “That’s it’s taken me so long to—”
His lips on mine finish the rest with a kiss that’s light and soft, almost a question. Warmth spreads out in me, and I want to answer him and sink into this kiss, and this feeling. I want to forget about everything that Julianna said and lose myself in this moment, with the rain falling soft and the smell of the wet pavement rising all around us, and his hands on my face like it’s where they belong. I want to believe in this moment so much.
But I don’t. I can’t. I can’t because of what I know, and what I’ve seen, and everything it means.
I pull away. Trevor lets go.
He leans back against the wall and avoids my eyes as I search for something to say to explain. A way to tell him how badly I wish things were different, but I know it’s too late. The low hum of an engine, distant at first, then all of a sudden close pulls us both out of the heaviness of the moment. Before we can say anything, the Silver Bullet pulls up right in front of us, and Kat jumps out.
“Wow. I spent the whole drive back getting ready to apologize for taking off and being gone for so long, but—” She steps past the headlights and stops between us, smiling. “But now I don’t feel bad at all. Actually, it looks like you guys owe me a big, fat thank you.”
When neither one of us say anything, she catches the tension. “Or maybe not.”
“Where were you?” I ask, needing to change the subject.
“It’s a long story.” She looks from me to Trevor and back again. “Probably as long as this one right here. Why don’t we go get some food and caffeine, and then maybe we can all share. Yes?”
Trevor clears his throat and pushes off the wall without looking at me. “Food sounds good,” he says flatly. “Let’s get outta here.”
Kat holds out his keys, and he takes them and gets in the driver’s seat without saying another word. When I go straight for the back door on the passenger side, she follows me, grabs my wrist before I can get in, and gives me a What happened? look. I shake my head without answering and open the door.
What happened is I just lost my last chance. And I hate myself for it.