Only One (Reed Brothers)

Carrie

That was the worst date in the history of dates. Nick was quiet at dinner, and I tried to talk to him about all the things I’d normally talk about with a guy—school, friends, social events—but he didn’t act like he was enjoying our discussion. I don’t think he enjoyed our date at all. In fact, I think he’d rather have been strung up by his toenails from the clothesline and beaten.

We walk quietly back from the pier restaurant, only now he’s steps away from me across the sand. He may as well be miles from me, because that’s how it feels.

“Did I say something to make you angry?” I ask quietly.

“What?” He jerks his head in my direction.

“What’s wrong?” I stop and put my hands on my hips. He looks up at the moon instead of at me and takes a deep breath.

“I just…” he starts. But then he stops. Even in the moonlight, I can see the tic of his jaw as it clenches. “Nothing.”

“Are you angry because Dale was at my house?”

Tic.

“I didn’t invite him over,” I rush to explain. “He saw me sitting on the deck and he came over and introduced himself.”

Tic.

“You were really quiet at dinner.”

Tic.

“After the way you greeted me on the beach, I thought you at least liked me.” I wish I hadn’t said that.

Tic.

“Well, thanks a lot for dinner,” I say. Then I start walking away.

“Wait,” he calls. He runs up behind me and gently tugs my elbow. “Just wait.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I’m…kind of disappointed.”

I pull my head back, my eyebrows probably shooting high on my forehead. “In me?”

“Yeah.” The word is little more than a breath. “Well, not you,” he says a little louder. “In the situation with your mom. I don’t know how to explain it.”

I huff out a sigh. “Great,” I mumble. “Now she’s ruining this too.”

His head jerks toward mine and his eyes narrow. “Why can’t you see it?” he says. He shakes his head. “I don’t understand it.”

I toss up my hands. “Understand what?”

“I just don’t get it. If I had one more moment…” He holds up one finger and his voice cracks. He clears his throat. “If I had one more moment with my parents, I’d take it and use it all up, enjoying every second. And you’re just throwing it away.”

I look everywhere but at his face. He’s too intense for me right now. But he takes my chin in his grip and makes me look at him.

“You’re wasting time,” he says.

I shake free of his grip. “You don’t understand the situation,” I growl. “You’re judging me and you have no idea what she did to me.”

“Then tell me!” he cries. “Tell me about it. Get it off your chest so you can get over it.”

“She left me. She never came back!” I yell. There’s so much fury in my voice that I startle myself. “She picked some man over me and my dad and she left!”

“She’s here now!” he yells in my face. When did we get this close? He points to the beach house. “She’s inside and she’s reaching out to you. Take it. Take her, before it’s too late.”

I cross my arms. “I can’t.”

“Then you’re not the person I thought you were.” He steps back from me, and I feel like there’s a gaping chasm between us.

“Maybe I’m not.”

“It’s going to hurt like hell when she’s gone,” he tells me.

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me. It’ll devastate you.”

“No.” Just that one word. That’s all I have left.

“You need to forgive her.” He tips my face up again, but his hands are gentle, and so are his eyes. “You need to let her forgive herself. You’ll regret it if you don’t take this time with her.”

“I don’t remember you being such a great son, you know.”

He chuckles. “You’re right. I was awful. And if I had that one moment…” He shakes his head.

“What would you do?” I glare at him. “In that one special moment. What would you do?”

“I’d be sure they know how much I love them. How grateful I am that they gave me life and that they gave me memories to cherish. I’d tell them what kind of a father I’ll be, and that I learned it by watching my dad. And I’d tell them what kind of woman I’ll marry, because I’ll look for my mom’s qualities in every woman I ever meet. I’d tell them as much as I could. Because I can’t tell them shit anymore. Not and be sure they’re listening.”

I shake my head, because I don’t know how to protest that.

“They’re gone,” he rushes to say. “But your mom is not. She’s inside, and she’s reaching out to you.” His voice goes so soft I can barely hear it. “Forgive her. It’s easy.”

I sputter. “It’s not easy.”

“It is,” he corrects. “Try it. Say it. I forgive you. See? Easy.” He grins.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say. I turn to go inside.

He suddenly grabs my hand and jerks me against him. His arm slides around my waist and he whispers in my ear. “Don’t waste what little time you have left.”

I take his face in my hands and press my lips to his, mainly because I want him to shut up, but I have another reason, too. I want to see if we still have sparks. A little zing skips up my spine, even though his lips are frozen against mine. Then he kisses me. His mouth is soft and gentle, but then it’s not. He kisses me and it’s like no other kiss I’ve ever gotten. His tongue slips tenderly into my mouth and I tentatively reach out and touch it. My heart skips and my belly clenches. But then he puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back. I stand, rocking on my wobbly legs like a newborn colt.

“Wow,” he says.

“Yeah,” I breathe, my heart racing.

He turns me toward the house and pops my bottom. I yelp and glare at him.

“Go work on that other stuff. While you still can.” He chuckles. “Good night.”

“I don’t like you very much right now,” I call as I go up the steps.

“I like us enough for both of us.” I see him adjust his shorts and it makes me laugh.

I push open the screen door and stumble to a stop when I find Patty sitting on the couch. She smiles at me and drags a hand across her short, choppy hair. “Have fun?” she asks.

“Some of it.”

She grins. “Did he kiss you?”

I touch my fingertips to my lips and nod my head. He kissed me. God, did he kiss me.

She sets her coffee cup on the side table. “Do you want to walk to the lighthouse with me? You could tell me all about Nick and your date,” she says. “I could use some sea air.” She waits a beat. “Do you remember how we used to go there and sit at the base of it, and watch the stars? You would lay your head in my lap and we’d talk.”

She would stroke my hair and we would talk and talk and talk. Suddenly, emotion closes my throat and I can’t do more than nod. “I remember,” I choke out.

“So, do you want to go?” She moves to stand up.

“No.” I clear my throat. “No, thank you.”

“Oh.” She visibly deflates.

Have I been stupid? Have I been holding this stupid grudge when I should be doing more? “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Okay,” she says softly.

I go to my door and step inside, but at the last moment I turn back. “Patty,” I say. She turns to look at me, a wry smile on her face. “Do you think I could take a rain check? Maybe we could go to the lighthouse tomorrow?”

She nods, and I see a wet tear slide down her cheek. “Yeah, sure,” she says quietly. “Whatever you want.”

I step into my room, close my door, and lean heavily against it. I need to think about this. I need to think about what Nick said to me. Does it matter? Is it too late?

###

I wake to a thump outside my door. What was that? I toss the covers off and walk to the door. I open it and look out, and find my mother standing in front of the hallway closet. She has a towel shoved under her nose, and another lies at her feet. Is that blood?

“Mom?”

She turns to face me, still holding the towel under her nose. Her eyes are wide and fearful. She shakes her head and mutters something, but I can’t hear her.

I walk toward her. “Mom?” I say again. I reach for the towel and pull it down. It’s soaked in blood. She reaches out and puts her hand against the wall, her eyes closing. “Mom!” I scream as she crumples into a heap on the floor.

She gurgles like she’s choking, so I roll her onto her side. She goes limp.

“Mom!”

I jump to my feet and rush to the phone to call 9-1-1. I confirm the address. No, she’s not responsive. Yes, she has been going through chemo. She makes a gurgling noise again. I throw the phone down, run back to her, and roll her over. I’m terrified she’s going to drown in her own blood.

I run to the door and see a man getting something out of a car next door. “Help me!” I cry. Then I rush back to Mom.

The man opens the door. He’s blond and covered in tattoos, but I don’t care. He could be a serial killer and I would welcome having someone to help me. I pull Mom up so that she’s reclining against me, braced by my arms. She’s only barely conscious.

“Help me!” I sob.

He runs forward, and a woman comes in the door behind him. “Did you call 9-1-1?” he asks.

“They’re on the phone,” I say. The woman picks the phone up and starts to talk to them.

“They’re on the way,” she calls out. She stays on the phone with them while the man comes to kneel by me.

“My name is Matt,” he says. His voice is calm, even though his muscles are bunched tightly. His eyes are so serious as he takes in the situation. “What kind of treatment is she having?” he asks.

“I…I don’t know,” I say. I suddenly hate that I don’t know.

He takes a corner of the towel and wipes Mom’s face very gently. Why didn’t I think of that? “What’s your name?” he asks me.

“Carrie,” I choke out. I start to rock. Mom moans in my arms so I stop. I squeeze her tighter, because I don’t know what else to do.

“Carrie,” he says softly, “would it be okay with you if I take your mom from you so that you can go and get dressed?” I look down and see that I’m wearing a T-shirt and some tiny sleep shorts. “You’re going to want to ride in the ambulance. I want you to be ready.” He motions like he’s asking for permission to take her from me.

I slide out from beneath Mom and he very gently takes my place. He feels for her pulse at the same time and says something to the woman with him. I run into my room and jump into a pair of jean shorts and put on a bra. I don’t even take off my sleep shorts. I don’t have time. I rush back out to my mom.

The paramedics are in the house now, and there’s a flurry of activity as they bring a stretcher inside.

“Are you alone here, Carrie?” Matt asks.

I nod.

“Do you need to call someone to tell them about this?” he asks.

“My dad,” I say. I step back as a paramedic rushes past me. “Is she okay?” I ask hesitantly. No one answers.

“Do you want to give Sky your dad’s number so she can call him for you?”

I look up at him. His eyes are soft. “What?” I ask. I heard him clearly, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“We need to let your dad know what’s going on,” he says gently.

“I can do it.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial. It rings twice.

“Carrie?” Dad barks. His voice is nasally from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

My voice breaks. “Daddy,” I whisper.

“What is it, Carrie?”

They take Mom out the door on the stretcher, and I follow. The woman the neighbor called Sky puts a pair of sandals on my feet. I keep walking, the phone pressed against my wet face. I watch as they put Mom into the ambulance.

They motion for me to climb in too, so I do, and they buckle me in.

“Carrie!” Dad yells through the phone. The doors of the ambulance close. “Carrie, you have to speak to me!”

I swallow hard. “I think I wasted my one last moment,” I whisper.