“I’m sure he’s moved on, though,” I said.
The truth was that I hoped Ryan was able to move forward in some way, to find a kind of peace that allowed him to forgive himself. I wanted that for him despite my lingering anger. I think it was mostly anger for not wanting any of it to be true, not wanting to see him as a flawed individual, because for so much of my time at Charity Run, he was my savior. He was perfect in my very immature eyes, and now I had to confront Ryan as another ordinary human: good and bad and the fuzzy mixture of those things in between.
I hung up with Dr. Merryweather and continued proofing my final paper for Dr. Hoskins’ Writing for Teachers course. I wasn’t getting a degree in education; rather my bachelor’s in criminal justice, but I took Dr. Hoskins’ course because I liked him. I had him for freshmen composition, loved his style, and took any class I could with him that fit into my schedule. I couldn’t concentrate, though, with Dr. Merryweather’s words repeating over and over in my head: “You must forgive him.”
It was a split second decision on my part, and I’m glad I dialed his number before I lost my nerve.
“I need a favor,” I said into the phone.
“What is it, Wright? Don’t tell me you’ve discovered information about another sex club at school,” Terry replied.
“Cute. And no. It’s not about a sex club,” I said.
“Well, can you blame me for thinking it? I mean, here you are going to school for criminal justice. Can we say, ‘Clichéd’ by the way?” Terry asked.
“Shut up!” I laughed.
“What’s next, Erin Brockovich?”
“First off, her big case had nothing to do with sexual violence. It was an environmental case. Second, I happen to be going on to law school.”
Terry whistled long and low. “Jeez, Wright. You need to take it easy and go on a date or something.”
I shrugged. “You think there’s something wrong with me that I haven’t dated in three years?”
“Yes.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s kind of why I called.”
“Wright, you’re cute and all, but the age difference would just be too—”
“Gross! I wouldn’t date you in a million years!” I exclaimed. “It’s Ryan. I’m calling about Ryan.”
“Ryan? As in Ryan Foster?” Terry asked.
“Yes.”
There was a brief pause.
“Why do you want to know anything about Ryan?” He sounded defensive.
“I just do. I have some things I need to tell him. Will you find out where he is? What he’s doing? I tried to search for him and came up empty-handed.”
“You sure you wanna go there?” Terry asked. “I mean, after everything?”
I took a deep breath. “Terry? I wanna go there. Will you just find him for me?”
Another pause.
“Yeah, I’ll do it.”
***
It took me two and a half hours to make the drive from Chapel Hill to Wilmington. I had no idea Ryan was so close. The last I heard, his family moved up north to be near relatives in Pennsylvania. I figured he’d stay there for good, but he did always tell me he wanted to live by the ocean.
I felt slightly guilty for ditching Gretchen. We had planned a girls’ weekend in Raleigh since I hadn’t seen her in a month, but she was insistent I go once I told her my plans to reconnect with Ryan.
“Well, it’s about damn time!” she squealed over the phone.
“You’re not mad?” I asked.
“God, Brookey! Are you kidding me? Go. I command you to go. Go forth and fuck his brains out all weekend. And that’s an order,” Gretchen replied.
I giggled. “I can’t promise you that. I don’t even know if he remembers me.”
Gretchen burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked.
“Trust me, Brooke. He remembers you.”
I understood what Gretchen meant, but I think she misunderstood my statement. I knew Ryan would remember me, but I was unsure if he would remember the love he once had for me.
“Thanks for being so sweet about it,” I said.
“Of course,” Gretchen replied. “But you better tell me everything. And I mean everything, Brooklyn Wright, or I will be so pissed at you.”
I grinned. “Okay.”