“He still looks at you like he used to, even before you got together, like you’re the most important thing in the world. Like if you were trapped on railroad tracks he’d break every finger to get you free without even noticing… and if he couldn’t, he’d sit on the tracks and hold your hand and watch you instead of the train.”
I take a deep breath and feel like I have to defuse this. “That’s kind of extreme, isn’t it?”
“Nope. Intensity isn’t creepy from people who really love you. Don’t you think your dad would have gone blind instead of you if he could have?”
“I know he would’ve.”
“Scott too. He doesn’t have a crush on you or just want to get in your pants or think you’re better than nothing. He loves you. And I couldn’t watch that anymore, when you’re not even together, and see Rick barely look at me at all. I was just a check mark to him, too. I don’t believe in soul mates either—”
“God, if Scott was my soul mate, I’m screwed.”
“But it still showed me you can get a hell of a lot closer than I was with Rick. Then goofing around in the mall put me over the top.”
And just like that, I understand what this is really about. God, I’m an idiot sometimes.
I pull my hand back.
“You think I should have stayed with him.” I hear my voice and it’s freaky. Flat. Dead.
“Parker, no, I’m on your side!”
Hands grab at mine and I pull back, more because I instinctively don’t like being grabbed than not wanting Sarah to touch me.
“Please, Parker, it doesn’t matter what I think—”
“Of course it matters! If it didn’t I wouldn’t be here!”
“Parker—”
“Wait, just… just wait.” I dig my phone out of my pocket.
“You asked about my date. I found out Jason and Scott are friends. And when Jason stopped Isaac and Gerald, it was Scott who came first and Jason followed him. He said he thought Scott was ready to beat the shit out of them if he hadn’t stopped him.”
“I know.”
“What?! How the hell do you know?”
“Other people saw and word got around.”
“Why didn’t you tell me!”
“Why would I? You hung up on me just for telling you he was in your Trig class.”
Shit… I did hang up on her then… That’s not how it seemed at the time. I thought I was just…
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry—”
“Yeah I do.” I swallow. “Anyway, I texted him.”
“Really? When?”
“Sunday.” I hand her my phone.
I lean away and rest my head against the arm of the sofa. The coarse weave, like burlap, is rough but somehow pleasant. It’s nice to feel something, to keep me grounded while I sort this all out.
“Wow,” she says.
“You were always on my side, but if it were you, you’d have forgiven him. Wouldn’t you?”
“If it were me, sure I’d have been mad, I’d have frozen him out awhile. Then I’d have probably thawed out and made him buy me an expensive dinner or something. That doesn’t mean I think you should have. Maybe I’m wrong—maybe staying with him would have been weak and you did the right thing. Do you know what I mean?”
“Sort of. You’re still not telling me everything, though. I can tell.” I sit up straight but don’t turn to face her. “Just say it.”
“Please,” she says in a small voice. “Can’t we just forget it?”
I hear that she’s doubled over, face on her knees. I bow my head from the weight of it. I’m more than an idiot sometimes. Sheila was right; I can be totally blind.
I slide off the couch to sit on the floor at her feet and clasp my hands together on the back of her neck. I whisper into her ear.
“I love you, Sarah. I’m not going to throw you away.”
She sniffs. Is she crying? Sarah crying is more rare than Sarah laughing.
“You threw Scott away.”
This hits me in the chest like a physical blow.
“That was because of what he did, not what he said or believed. It’s not the same.”
“He was my friend too.”
Oh God. This never crossed my mind. Never. “I didn’t make you throw him away.”
She doesn’t answer. Her breathing is ragged. I open my mouth to say more, to convince her, but now I just want to un-say it because I see what a gift she gave me back then and how hard it must have been.
I let go of her and hold up my right hand, fingers spread.
“Face,” I say.
“Mm-mm.”
“Please?”
She knows it’s not fair to hide her face from me just because my eyes can’t see it like anyone else’s would, and I don’t abuse this request by making it often—it’s been years in fact. She lifts her head and presses her face lightly against my palm, her nose between my index and middle fingers. Her face is tightly scrunched up, her eyes squeezed shut, her cheeks damp.
“Oh, Sarah…” I climb up and wrap my arms around her. She pushes her face into my neck and gasps.
“He… he was… he…”
“Shhh…” I say. “We have all afternoon.”
“He was… so… upset…”
“Scott? Yeah, I—”