CHAPTER FOUR
Eden
I scrolled through the Internet page in front of me, taking a few notes here and there when something seemed important, but mostly reading the content and pausing when I needed to digest something. The information filled my mind, blocking out everything else and bringing with it a peace I craved, at least for the moment.
A knock sounded at my door, startling me slightly. I snapped my laptop closed. No one would understand this—certainly not my mother. Molly peeked in and smiled at me, closing the door behind her.
"You know what you need?" she asked.
I breathed out a laugh as I sat my laptop aside. "So many things, I don't even know where to begin."
She laughed a soft laugh, too. "No really. You need a night out."
I shook my head, leaning back on the pillows behind me where I sat on my bed. "Oh no, no. I don't do bars. And I don't even have an ID anyway."
"I'm not going to a bar. I'm meeting a couple friends from school and we're going to see this local artist who’s been getting a ton of buzz here."
I picked up my laptop and stood up to put it on my desk under the window. "An artist?" Molly was a junior at The Art Institute and studied Fashion Marketing and she had plans with her classmates often.
She nodded, plopping herself down on my bed. "Yeah. It's his opening night, but my friend Ava got into a sneak peak for students and so she gave me her two tickets for tonight. She said he's hot as sin, too." Her face went serious. "Not that you're up for looking at guys or anything, but, you know."
I laughed a quiet laugh. "It's okay, Molly."
I walked to my mirror where I sighed at what I looked like. My hair was a mess and I hadn't put any makeup on. I picked up a brush and attempted to tame my bangs at least. Molly came up behind me and gathered up my hair and started twisting it into an up-do. I tossed the brush down, grateful for the help.
"I just think this might be a safe thing to do, you know, to practice being social." She looked at me in the mirror a little nervously.
I stared back at her for a minute, thankful to have found a female friend my age. She understood so much more about life than I. "I guess it's obvious I need practice." I looked down.
Molly picked up a pin and stuck it in my hair. She smiled gently at me. "That's only natural, Eden. And after what you've been through . . . well, it's going to be a process, you know? And I completely understand that you need to start out slowly. I've been looking for an opportunity to help you get out and I think this is perfect." She put another pin in my hair.
I couldn't help but to appreciate Molly's thoughtfulness. I'd never had a girlfriend before and I supposed I still needed practice in that regard, too. I was so thankful that Molly made it easy. She started pulling some strands loose around my face. "There. Perfection. Put on something that makes you feel pretty and meet me downstairs in a half hour."
"I don't know. I'm kind of just wanting to curl up with my laptop tonight. Plus, Carolyn has that big garden party planned for tomorrow. I think that will be enough social practice right there."
"But they're not your peers, they're your mom's friends. It's not the same." She put her hands on her hips. "And curl up with your laptop?" She frowned. "Now that's just sad. And isn't that what you've been doing all day?" She met my eyes in the mirror. "What do you do on there anyway?" She raised a brow.
"Oh, just, you know, trying to catch up. Everything is so different in the outside world."
Molly studied me, a sympathetic look softening her expression. "I can only imagine. You don't have to navigate it alone though, Eden. I can help."
Warmth filled my chest and I smiled at her. "Thank you, Molly." I walked over to my desk and started organizing the papers I'd printed out earlier that day.
"So then," she continued, "I'm not taking no for an answer about tonight. You need to see the desert spring guy. His paintings are full of so much light! And that's only from the brochure."
I turned toward her, smiling a confused smile and creasing my brow. "Desert spring?" Of course, I had never told her, or anyone, about Calder's and my spring. I tilted my head, slightly jarred by the description after we'd just been talking about Calder recently. "What?" I asked.
Molly nodded. "Yeah. He paints these pictures of this perfect spring with towering rocks on all sides of it. It looks like some sort of paradise, or the Garden of Eden, and this girl—just the back of her, over and over, but," she gazed up dreamily, "they're so real, and so romantic. He's truly gifted, I'm telling you."
An artist . . . an artist?
My blood ran cold and everything inside of me surged forward at once. I heard my own voice as if it was coming from outside of myself. "A girl?" I swallowed heavily. "Tell me more," I demanded.
Molly's smile faltered slightly as she tilted her head and studied me.
"What's his name?" I practically shouted, my lips trembling. It couldn't be. No way. It couldn't be. Stop even thinking this, Eden. The thought alone is going to destroy you. There are lots of artists in this world . . . surely more than a few paint springs. But desert springs? And a girl . . .?
"Eden, what's wrong?" Molly asked, a look of concern coming over her face.
I grabbed her upper arms and shook her slightly. "What's his name?" I demanded again.
Molly's frown deepened. "Storm. He calls himself Storm. Just that. A made-up name I'm sure, and it kind of sounds like a stripper," she laughed nervously, "but I wouldn't mind him taking some of his clothes—"
"Where's the brochure?" I asked. "I need to see the brochure."
"Eden—" Molly frowned.
I breathed out, calming myself. "Please, Molly, just show me the brochure."
"I'm sorry, I don't have it here. I looked at Ava's at school, but I didn't take it with me."
My body jerked and I let go of her and took off the robe I'd been wearing all day. I grabbed some jeans lying at the end of my bed and pulled them on. My whole entire body was shaking and I felt like I was at risk of having a seizure of some sort.
I reached into my closet and grabbed the first shirt I laid eyes on, something navy blue, or black. Dark anyway. It took me a couple tries to get my head through the neck hole and I started crying with the overwhelming emotion, paired with the frustration of trying to get dressed. In the background Molly was saying something and when I finally pulled the shirt over my head, her words registered.
"You're scaring me. What's going on? Is it the guy? Storm? I—"
Pulling the shirt over my head had made my hair fall out of the up-do Molly had just done and so I ran my hands through it quickly, all of it tumbling down my back again. I took several deep breaths, but the shaking continued. "I need you to get me down to that gallery," I said shakily. "I need you to drive me there right this minute."
Molly's face was a study of confusion and worry. "Okay, whatever you need. Let's go."
I nodded jerkily and slipped on some flip-flops. It was far too cool outside for flip-flops, but I hardly cared. Don't think. Just don't think until you get there. You might be crazy. If you are, it's okay. It's okay. You'll be okay.
I practically ran down the large staircase and flung the front door open. I heard my mom's voice behind us as I ran out the door. "We're going to that art thing!" Molly yelled back at her.
"Oh well, okay. Bring her right back—" Carolyn's voice was cut off as Molly slammed the door behind us.
I jogged down the short set of stairs to the garage on the side of the house and waited at the passenger side until Molly clicked it.
Once Molly had backed the car out and pulled onto the street, she turned toward me. "Do you want to tell me—"
"No, Molly, I'm sorry. I will once we get there. But right now I feel like I might throw up. Please, I just need to sit here." It felt as if my heart flipped over in my chest.
Molly nodded and turned back to the road.
Fifteen minutes later, we were downtown. As we drove past the gallery where the showing was, I turned, watching the huge line formed outside. I saw a flash of green in the paintings in the window and squinted to make sense of them, but we were too far away, and people lined up were mostly blocking my view.
"There should be parking in a garage right around the corner," Molly said.
"Let me out here, please. I need to get out here." I put my hand on the door.
"Whoa. No jumping out of the car while it's moving! I want to go in with you anyway, Eden. I'm worried about you."
I shook my head, trying to get control of my breathing. It felt like every surface of my skin was hot and prickly and I couldn't feel my extremities. "I'm okay, I promise. I just really need to get out here. Please. At the next red light, I'll hop out."
Molly pursed her lips. "All right, fine. But I'll be about five minutes behind you, okay?"
I nodded my head. "Okay, thank you." I let out another big exhale, clenching my hands in my lap to stop the shaking. I swallowed the bile trying to make its way up my throat and practiced the breathing I'd gotten so good at right after I'd left Acadia and needed to control my emotions enough to function.
Molly's car came to a slow stop at the red light several blocks from the gallery and I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. I hopped out of the car, making my way across the street to the sidewalk.
And then I must have run although I don't remember. Suddenly I was at the end of the line of people waiting for the gallery show to start, and I was hot and breathing heavily.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It's all a strange coincidence. It has to be.
I started weaving through the waiting people, some shooting me dirty looks, a few telling me to get back to the end. I ignored them. I needed to get to the front window.
I had to see. Oh, God, I had to see.
Several people were leaned back against the glass of the front display window and I stood on my tiptoes to see above them, but wasn't tall enough. "Excuse me, I'm sorry, I need to see in there," I said, my voice quivering. The four people looked at me curiously, but all began moving out of the way, like a curtain opening.
I held my breath and fisted my hands.
And there it was. Our spring. In vibrant. Living. Color.
I gasped out a loud sob and reeled, my hand coming up to my mouth and tears springing to my eyes. The world grew bright around me, and adrenaline exploded through my body.
Yes, it was our spring. I recognized every rock, every shrub, every blade of grass.
And I recognized myself.
I was standing tall and proud, powerful and sure in front of a huge snake looming at me from our rock domain. My head was held high, my shoulders back, my hair cascading down my back and covering my nakedness with only the backs of my shoulders and legs on display. My face wasn't visible, but it was me.
My eyes moved down to the small plaque beneath it to the title of the painting. "The Snake Wrangler." I laughed out a strangled sob and then brought both hands up to my mouth and simply stood crying for several minutes until I was in control enough to move away from the window and through the people to the front of the line.
No one tried to stop me, no one told me to get to the back of the line. They just parted and let me through, shooting me looks of confusion and surprise. I was crying outright now, not even attempting to hide my tears.
I couldn't have if I'd tried.
He's here. I can feel him.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
When I made it to the front of the line, a guy in a black suit looked at me with wide eyes, his gaze sweeping down my jean-clad body. "I need to get in there," I said, drying my tears quickly with the sleeve of my shirt, my voice still coming from somewhere outside of me. I thought it sounded strong though, unwavering.
"I'm sorry. You need a ticket. All these people have tickets." He inclined his head to the line formed behind us.
"Here you go," Molly said, suddenly appearing beside me and holding something out toward the man. "Two pre-entry tickets." He took them, his eyes moving back and forth between us. He glanced down at the tickets quickly and nodded his head toward the gallery.
I rushed to the glass door and pulled it open, scanning the surroundings. As I took in the art hanging on every square inch of the gallery walls—our spring, morning glories, and me—over and over, everywhere, always the back of me, or a very slight profile, but always me. Excitement, fear, adrenalin and extreme anxiety coursed through me. But mostly awe. I felt as though my heart was beating right out of my chest. I looked around wildly.
Where is he? Where is he?
Molly's hand clamped down on my arm and I gratefully leaned in to her for support. "Come on," she said quietly. "He's gotta be close."
"Yes," I squeaked out, my blood pressure skyrocketing.
He has to be close. There's a spring. I'll wait for you. I'll be there.
We walked around a wall of art and when we came out on the other side, there he was. The whole world faded away and it was just him. Calder. My Calder.
He was alive. He was alive.
I felt the tears coursing down my cheeks again and all I could do for a full minute was stare, drink him in, allow my mind to try to make sense of the reality right in front of me.
He was standing and talking to a small group of people and as he turned his head to me, a small smile on his lips, his eyes blinked and widened, his face draining of all color. A glass he was holding in his hand went crashing to the floor as the people around him gasped. His expression was a mixture of confusion, shock, and disbelief. Suddenly his face went dreamy and he tilted his head, his eyes fixed on my face. He started walking toward me, the people around him stumbling out of the way as he merely bumped them aside with his movement, his feet crunching over the glass on the floor. I couldn't move. I was rooted to the spot.
I heard Molly breathe out, "Oh my God," next to me, but I didn't turn her way. My eyes were locked with Calder's.
When he made it to me, he tentatively reached out his hand and felt my cheek, one of his thumbs swiping at a tear. He brought his hand back and looked at it in confusion and then back at my face. His mouth opened and closed. His expression seemed to clear as he grabbed my face in his hands, and let out a tortured gasp, his eyes going wild. "How?" he croaked out. "How, how, how?" He shook his head back and forth, his hands squeezing so tightly on my face that I cried out.
I brought my hands up and put them over his and we both sunk down to the floor. Calder's eyes roamed my face wildly and his breathing came out in sharp bursts. "You're real," he kept saying over and over. We were both on our knees on the gallery floor, Calder's hands running down my shoulders, my arms, shaking me gently. I squeezed my hands into his broad shoulders, too, convincing myself he was really there. Really real, really alive.
"Eden, Eden, I don't understand," he choked out. "How, how?"
Suddenly people were pulling us somewhere. I stumbled up as did Calder, our eyes never leaving the other as we were guided along and a door was closed. I could smell coffee and something sweet and hear the voices of the people who had come into the room with us. But I couldn't look away.
"You survived," Calder said. "God, you survived. How, Eden? How?"
"I floated," I said simply, tears coursing down my cheeks. "Just like you taught me. I floated."
Tears were flooding his eyes, too. "There was no air though. No one survived. There wasn't any air."
I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and shook my head, not able to form words, my head not clear enough to think about anything other than him . . . here, right in front of me.
Instead, I grabbed Calder's hands in mine again. We were both shaking like leaves, the adrenaline draining from our bodies. Behind me I heard lots of voices in hushed tones. "I know, there's so much, so much, and your art." I started to cry softly again. "Your art, oh my God, Calder. It's so beautiful." I breathed out a small sob. "You're an artist."
"Where are you living, Eden? Eden." He shook his head as if the words coming out of his mouth didn't sound real to him.
"With my mom, and my cousin, Molly," I said.
His eyes grew wide. "Your mom? Eden—"
"Hey what's going on in here? People outside are—" I turned toward Xander's voice just as he stumbled back against the wall. "Holy shit," he breathed out, and then, "Holy shit!" He rushed toward us and started shaking me slightly. "Holy shit. Holy shit." He threw his arms around both Calder and me and we stood there crying and squeezing each other until Xander pulled away and blotted at his own eyes with the cuff of his shirt. "How Eden?" he finally managed, his eyes roaming over my face with a look of wonder.
I opened my mouth to speak when a woman's voice came from behind us. "Maybe we can all have coffee after the show and go through the details?" she said very calmly. We all turned around and I wiped my eyes and attempted to get my breathing under control as I took her in. She was beautiful with dark brown, shiny hair that hung smoothly to her shoulders, and large green eyes.
"Madison, I'm cancelling tonight's show," Calder said, looking back at me, his eyes scanning my face again as if he still couldn't believe I was real.
Madison put her hands on her hips. "Calder, this show could mean everything for your career. Don't do that. It's only three hours. Three hours you'll never get back."
"Eden," Molly said gently from behind me, "let me take you home, honey, and you can call, uh, Storm, after his show. Right after his show, okay?"
"Calder," I said, still staring at his face. "His name is Calder." He was even more beautiful than I remembered him; his dark, silky hair longer, his bone structure more defined, a slight scruff on his jaw and his deep, dark eyes pools of joy as he stared back at me.
The woman named Madison let out a loud sigh. "Well that sounds like a good idea. This is a huge shock. Both of you can get yourselves together and we can all have a nice little reunion after Calder wows the crowd and makes a huge name for himself."
We? I looked back at Madison and held my hand out. "I'm Eden," I said softly.
Madison glanced down at my still-shaking hand and then took it in hers. She stared at me for several long seconds. She had said this must be a shock—she must know who I am. Does she know I'm the girl in all of Calder's paintings? Finally she said, "I'm Madison, Calder's girlfriend and the owner of this gallery."
My blood ran cold and I swallowed heavily, my eyes flying to Calder. He closed his briefly and opened his mouth as if to speak, the color draining from his cheeks again, his eyes agonized and full of regret. "Eden . . ." was all he managed.
I took a deep breath, looking over at Xander who had a look on his face that was equally incredulous and now also pained. Xander looked at Calder. "Whatever you need," he said simply.
"I want to cancel it," Calder said, looking at me. "Madison, I need to talk to Eden. Now."
I shook my head, taking a big gulp of air. "No. It's three hours. We'll talk afterwards, all right?" I managed a smile, drawing in another big, shaky breath. "Us, you and me, we can wait three hours. This show won't wait." I smiled at him. It seemed utterly ludicrous that we would do anything other than hold on to each other for dear life right now, but even in my shocked, confused, joyful mind, I recognized he had a life that I wasn't a part of anymore. A terrible sense of grief gripped me at the knowledge that he had a girlfriend, but I took a deep breath and focused on him right in front of me. He was alive.
"Will you stay in here and wait for me?" he asked.
I glanced at Madison who had a worried look on her face, her lips pursed. I couldn't bear being in a room, or even a building, with Calder's girlfriend for three hours. It would kill me. "No. I'm going to let Molly take me home and I'm going to get cleaned up and I'll come back in a few hours, okay?" I brought my hand back up to Calder's cheek and he leaned into it. Madison cleared her throat and I brought it away, but didn't glance at her.
"No, Eden, no. I just . . . I need . . . I can't let you walk out of here. No."
"Calder," Madison interrupted. "I have to insist you stay here for at least a couple hours. We've hired all these people. They're all depending on you. And you have a contract with the gallery. Just a couple hours, that's all," she finished, her voice holding a note of anxiety.
"I'll take her," Xander said, glancing between us. "I’ve got her. I'll keep her safe, brother. Okay, Calder, yeah?" He looked at Calder worriedly.
Calder breathed out and then nodded his head, looking half stunned and half miserable.
Xander nodded. "All right. I've got her. Trust me? I'll text you her number and her address and I'll send yours to her phone, too. I've got her."
Calder brought his hand to his head and gripped his hair, bringing his lips together in a thin line.
I took a deep, calming breath. I was still shaking slightly and my brain seemed to be filled with white noise. "A few hours," I whispered.
Calder simply stood there—his expression one of anguish—his hand shaking as he reached out to touch me one last time, and then let his hand fall.
"Okay. Thankfully only a few people from the gallery saw that so not much damage control to do. Lori, will you open the doors again and just explain that—" The door closed behind me, shutting out Madison's voice. I walked out of the gallery on wobbly legs. People were flowing through the doors now and I only noticed a few curious glances my way. Xander held me on one side, Molly on the other.
Outside, it had started to pour down rain and the people in line were pressed up against the wall and window of the gallery, taking cover under the small overhang.
"Well this came out of nowhere," Molly said, stepping back under the cover of the doorway.
There was a brief discussion about whose car I'd ride in, but none of it registered and when Xander took hold of my arm and pulled me along, I let him. We both ran through the rain.
He helped me up into some kind of dull red, beat-up truck and I leaned back in the seat as he got in the other side and started the engine. I ran my hands quickly over my partially wet hair and then ran my palms over my jean-clad thighs. My mind and my body were weak with the toll of emotions slamming into me so fast and furious that I could hardly make sense of them all. Calder was alive. Calder was here, in Cincinnati. Calder was selling his art. Calder had a girlfriend. I closed my eyes.
"I didn't mention to your friend that I don't have a license," Xander said, running his own hand through his wet hair and then down his shirt. "I didn't know if she'd let you ride with me. The whole no ID thing tends to really get in the way." He trailed off, glancing over at me, a look of incredulity still on his face. He turned on his windshield wipers. My heart took up the same rhythm as the squeak of the blade clearing the water off the glass.
I gave him a small smile. "I know. And Molly, she's my cousin."
He looked at me questioningly as he pulled into traffic.
"I found my mom," I said in answer.
Xander's eyes widened in shock as he glanced at me. "What? How? I . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head in wonder. "My God, Eden, and how? How did you survive? Holy shit," he repeated.
"I'll tell you all of it, Xander, when we get to my house. I think I need a couple shots or something."
Xander stared at me for a few seconds and then looked back to the road, letting out a small chuckle and shaking his head. "Yeah, you and me both."
"I can't believe I'm driving away from him right now," I said, almost to myself.
Xander gave me a look of sympathy. "I know it probably feels all kinds of wrong, but this show, Eden, it could be his big break. It's just three hours and it'll give you both a chance to get some equilibrium back."
I nodded, looking over at him and putting my hand on his shoulder. "I looked for you," I said quietly. "After Acadia . . . once I got to Cincinnati. I looked for Kristi, and for you. I was still looking for Kristi as of today." I breathed out, shaking my head.
Xander looked over at me shocked. "She left for college. Remember she was leaving—"
I nodded. "I know. I even got her last name from the ranger station once I finally got the nerve up to call. I thought the police might . . . I didn’t even know, but anyway, she was already gone obviously, but they gave me her last name. That's all they'd give me though. Smith. Her last name is Smith." I shook my head and Xander chuckled softly.
"Yeah, not the most uncommon name."
"No. Do you know how many Kristi Smiths there are in colleges all over the country? Some not even listed." I sighed. "I knew though, Xander, I knew she wouldn't leave you drifting alone through the world. I knew she must have helped you. I still wouldn't have ever stopped searching for you."
Xander looked over at me, his eyes filled with warmth. He looked back at the road and frowned. "I actually lost touch with her. We didn't have phones for so long and when we moved apartments, I couldn't find her number. I searched everywhere." He glanced at me with a look of regret. "You would have been out of luck even if you'd have found her. She wouldn't have known how to reach me."
"I'd have known that Calder was alive though," I said. "And I'd have known you were both in Cincinnati." I let the weight of that fall over me for a second and then glanced at Xander.
Xander reached over and grabbed my hand. "Thank you for looking for me."
"I was so worried about you," I said sadly. "I knew you had heard about Acadia and I could only imagine how you were feeling . . . and I thought you were mostly all alone out there."
Xander looked over at me sadly. "Only I wasn't."
I let out a small half-laugh, half-sob. "No, you weren't. Oh my God." Tears streaked down my cheeks and I swiped at them.
"He was supposed to meet me at the bus station on your birthday," Xander said quietly. "We had talked about taking a bus to Cincinnati on your eighteenth birthday. It was the only connection any of the three of us had to anywhere and we knew we needed to leave town. He probably didn't even have time to tell you that plan."
I shook my head, staring at his handsome profile, so familiar and yet still different - older, more manly. Xander kept staring straight ahead at the road where Molly's car traveled right in front of his truck. The rain continued to fall in sheets. It wasn't letting up.
"You guys never showed," Xander said, his jaw tensing and a look of pain washing over his features. "I went back the next day, too, and I sat there and waited for you. I thought maybe it had taken you a little extra time and I didn't want to miss you. But when I realized you hadn't been able to get out of there, I knew something had gone wrong. I just had no idea . . ." He shook his head slowly as if denying his own memories. When he looked over at me, there was anguish in his expression. "I waited for Kristi and she drove me out there the very next morning—I didn't know, I had no idea. I'm so sorry." His voice caught on the last word and his expression was filled with so much pain and regret.
"Xander," I said, reaching my hand out to him. He grasped my hand in his, squeezing it tightly. "None of us knew how crazy Hector had gotten." I shook my head. "You couldn't have known. And honestly, if you had shown up any earlier, you may have very well been among all those people. You showed up to save Calder. That's what matters now."
He looked at me again, so much agony in his expression. I could see in his eyes that he carried the weight of every "what if" scenario imaginable on his back. And no one's back was strong enough to withstand that type of weight. Xander had broken just a little bit. But Acadia had broken all of us in ways both big and small.
I had left him there. I couldn't even let myself go there in my mind. At least not right then.
"How?" I took a deep breath, "How did he survive?" I asked quietly, the last word coming out on a squeak and causing Xander to glance over at me worriedly before looking back at the road.
"The cell he was in. I know you'd never been in there, and I hadn't either, but Calder described it to me as a little cement box, solid. Some water flooded in, but there was a drain in the floor and that kept it low—thankfully—because he was mostly passed out. He doesn't remember much. And of course, he hates himself for that. There's not a lot Calder doesn't hate himself for."
Xander was quiet for a minute and another tear slipped down my cheek.
"The whole thing collapsed, Eden, you know that. Flattened. When I got there, the water had receded, but there were body parts sticking up from the rubble and just . . ." He grimaced. "It looked like the depths of hell," he finished quietly. I recalled the lifeless, bloated bodies floating in the cellar. The images had haunted me for three long years. I wasn't sure they'd ever go away.
"It was," I said. "That's exactly what it was."
He squeezed my hand again, but kept looking straight ahead. "It looked hopeless. But then I heard this very small banging and I followed the sound. I pulled as much debris away as I could and there he was, half dead, shot, bloody, swollen, beaten, air-deprived, in shock, but alive, sitting in the corner where the drain was, a space barely big enough for his body. It was like a f*cking miracle. He was banging a small piece of concrete against the floor, over and over again. He was mostly out of it, mumbling about springs and Elysium and you, and Mother Willa."
He lapsed into silence as we turned on to my street.
"We got him out of there and back to Kristi's friend's house. Kristi even delayed her move to help us and make sure we were okay." He paused, staring off behind me. "I was so scared of the police. After Clive . . . but now, if I had called them . . . if you had seen Calder on TV, this would have been different." He shook his head. "Kristi tried to convince me, but I wouldn't listen and Calder begged us not to, too, once he was coherent. There was so much we didn't understand then, so much that terrified us."
"Xander, I didn't call the police either. I still haven't called the police even though my mom . . . well that's another story, but, I know. I know."
He nodded and pulled behind Molly into my mom's driveway.
"He's still out there," he said.
I bit my lip. "I know." I opened my mouth to go on, but my mom swung my door open and offered me her hand, putting an umbrella over us and practically pulling me out of there. It seemed she'd been watching for us to return home. Molly must have called her from the car.
We ran through the rain into the house and after we'd dried off with a towel, Xander and I sat in the living room drinking hot tea instead of the shots we had talked about. Suddenly, I was chilled to the bone. I felt like I'd never get warm. But somewhere underneath the shock and the sadness that both our lives were so different now, there was a current of wild joy that ran through my bloodstream.
He was alive.
My mom introduced herself to Xander, but then Molly, thankfully, pulled her away so that Xander and I could talk.
I told Xander everything I'd been through since we got in Clive's police cruiser that fateful day. Xander got up and hugged me several times and my mom fluttered in and out of the room worriedly. Molly pulled her out again a few times, but I shook my head to let her know it was okay. I could see how much she needed to feel useful to me, in even the smallest of ways, and perhaps she needed to hear this as well.
Xander told me that he and Calder had been doing construction work, mostly—anything where they could get paid under the table. They'd both gotten good at it and so far hadn't been between jobs for long. It paid their bills. And I had to admit that a fierce pride flowed through me as I listened to how they'd survived.
"I worked and supported us for the first year," Xander said, his eyes darting to mine and then away. "Calder, he . . . he didn't do much other than lie around with this blank expression on his face." He ran his hand through his hair. It was a little longer now, too, and it suited him. He was quiet for a minute, seeming to be lost in the recent past. "I thought he was in shock, you know, and obviously grieving profoundly. I was, too," he said quietly, letting out a harsh exhale. "After his wounds were healed, I did what I could for him, which at the time wasn't much more than keeping him fed and hydrated." He paused again, so long I thought he wouldn't continue. Pain pulsed through me, and a lump formed in my throat, but I held the tears at bay. I felt like I'd already cried a river.
"One day, I came home from work and he wasn't there." He shook his head slightly. "I looked everywhere and all I found was a receipt for a bottle of whiskey that he'd gone to the store and bought, trying to self-medicate, I guessed. I finally found him up on the roof, at the very edge, swaying and crying." Grief flooded Xander's expression. "I talked him down, dragged him back inside, got him settled down. A few more minutes though, Eden, and . . ." He trailed off and I reached out and put my hand on his knee, gripping it. "If he hadn't jumped, he would have fallen."
"I know that pain," I said. "I know. Thank God you were there."
Xander studied me for a minute and then nodded. "He should be the one here right now," he said.
I shook my head. "No. I hated leaving him, but after everything, I'd never forgive myself if he didn't have this opportunity again. His art. His destiny," I finished on a whisper.
Xander pressed his lips together. "It saved him once, you know." He looked off over my shoulder again. "After that day on the roof, I didn't know what else to do. I went to an art supply store and spent money we didn't really have to buy every supply I could think of. I brought them home and he didn't seem interested, but the next day I came home and he'd painted something. I recognized it as part of that spring where you two always met."
Tears filled my eyes this time. I couldn't help it.
Xander sighed. "Each day I came home, he'd painted a little bit more. After a while, it was all he did. You. Over and over and over. It was like it was the one thing that brought you back to him, at least in some way."
But he never painted my face, I thought, wondering why. Had he been unable to?
Xander took in a deep breath. "I'm the one who encouraged him to take an art class at the community college. The teacher there saw his talent and called her friend, Madison, who owns the gallery he's at tonight." Xander looked at me guiltily. "She was very obviously interested in him, right from the beginning. I mean, more than just his art. I encouraged it, Eden. I encouraged him to try to find some happiness with her. I encouraged him to give Madison a chance. Truth be told, I practically pushed him to it." He grimaced and looked down.
"You couldn't have known," I said softly, my heart hurting. "You're his friend. You love him. You were only trying to help him move forward." Tonight had been his opening night at Madison's gallery. If I was doing the math correctly, did that mean they'd been together a few months? Half a year? I didn't ask Xander. I didn't think I wanted to know.
Xander scrubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah. And now? God, this is all so incredibly unbelievable."
I laughed softly and raised my teacup in the air, furrowing my brow at the ridiculousness and tragedy of it all. If I didn't laugh, I was going to cry more tears I didn't think I had.
"Calder, he's . . . the same, but he's different. It's like he's been so damned destructive recently. He bought himself this beat-up motorcycle and he drives it without a helmet, too fast. He volunteers to do the roofing on our job sites, not because he enjoys it, but because it's the most dangerous part." He brought his eyes to mine. "It's almost like he doesn't actually want to take his own life, but he doesn't fear death either. He tempts fate at every turn by taking these crazy risks." He let out a deep breath and I could see how much it affected him. I couldn't blame him. Calder was all he had.
"Xander," I said and sighed sadly not knowing what else to say.
His phone suddenly dinged, indicating a text. Xander shook his head as if to bring himself to the here and now and glanced down at it. "He's home," he said.
"Already?" I asked, looking at the clock on my mom's mantle. It'd only been two hours since we'd left the gallery.
"I'm surprised he lasted that long," Xander said, standing. "Come on, I'll drive you." He took me in a hug and said softly, "I'm so damn glad to have you back, Eden." His voice was choked with emotion. I hugged him back tightly.
Despite my mother's hand wringing, I got back into Xander's truck and hugged him again when he dropped me off in front of Calder's building, waiting until he saw me enter the main doors. I waited for the elevator for a minute, my mind reeling. I didn't know if Calder was off limits because of Madison, but I desperately needed to be in his arms. I needed him. But had he found a way to do as Xander encouraged? Had he moved on? When the elevator didn't immediately come, I ran up all fifteen flights of stairs.