“You’re trying.” He tries to disguise his scoff, but I hear it. (For a moment, a terrible, unexplainable second, all I feel is fear.). “All right, answer me honestly: Were you ever planning to tell me your name?”
I stare at him, because his question dumbfounds me. I don’t know—I actually don’t know.
But my silence is answer enough. He laughs, harsh and un-Levi-like, very much like his father, and I want to scream.
“Why?” he asks.
I swallow hard, but there’s still a lump. My words come out as hoarse whispers, incomplete, raspy. “At first it was funny, you trying to guess. And then…I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t know.” I’m breaking. It’s not enough. Papa’s dying. I love you. I’m hiding. Please, come find me.
Levi backs up, down the steps, hands in his pockets. His eyes are on me, but they’re not really, like he can’t see me anymore because I’m so small, so invisible. He stops at the bottom and nods once. “See you around, Bee.”
That freezes the very blood beneath my skin. The last time he said that there was so much hope and joy in it. Before, it reminded me of an ocean I could float in forever, or eating ice cream sundaes for breakfast, or meteor showers. Now, it reminds me of a promise being broken, and it makes me cry.
And Levi—he sees my tears. He sees my hands shaking at my sides, and the way my chest heaves, and he turns and walks away.
Chapter 40
Being more open with Gretchen starts now, when I’m upset.
I’m a lot hurt and a little bit angry, but more at myself than at Levi. He left me alone on the porch when I was begging him for help, bleeding, suffocating—but I realize it was all in my head, that I never asked him to stay, never told him I needed him.
I want to kick myself. I had the chance, and he’s Levi: of course he would have helped me. Of course he would have listened. It would have helped him to understand, if I could have gotten the words out right. In fact, the more I look back, the more I understand: He was begging me to talk, and I turned him away.
That night, after a sullen dinner with Astrid and Millie, I grab my phone and pull up Messenger. The app says Gretchen is online, so I take a deep breath and send a message.
Bee
Can I tell you something?
Gretchen
Obviouslyyyyy
Bee
I fought with Levi and it was horrible.
Gretchen
What?!
Bee
We fought a few days ago, but then Mama called about…you know.
Levi and I never worked it out, so we fought again today. I remember thinking one thing and saying another, or not saying anything at all.
I don’t know how to fix it.
Gretchen
Bee, I’m so sorry. But…he knows what you’re going through right now. He might need a bit of space, but he’ll always come back to you.
Bee
He walked away.
I couldn’t talk to him. I didn’t want him there, so he left.
Gretchen
Has he ever given you reason to think he’d give up on you all together?
Bee
No.
Gretchen
Exactly. Even if he’s upset, he’ll come around. He’s probably feeling bad right now that he left you earlier.
Bee
Gretchen, he’s really mad at me.
I haven’t told him my name yet.
Gretchen
WHAT?! Phew. Okay.
Ummm…..
Shit.
I thought you were going to do that ages ago?
Nevermind. There’s no time like the present, right?
Bee
Right?
Gretchen
He needs to know you’re on his side. He needs to know that you’re all in. Telling him will do just that.
I breathe through my teeth; it sounds like a hiss. She’s right, for the most part. But what happens if he’s no longer all in, like I (and maybe he) once thought he was? I feel cracked, and it’s like he’s seen everything inside—that I’m barren and empty—and now he knows I have nothing to give him.
Bee
Okay.
Gretchen
You’re an idiot. Go talk to him already.
Bee
I can’t tonight. I’ll go to the shop tomorrow.
Gretchen
You do that. Tell me how it goes?
Bee
Yeah.
Gretchen
I LOVE YOU FOREVER, BERNICE AURORA WESCOTT.
See? It’s not that hard to say.
Bee
That’s because it’s not yours.
Gretchen
sigh I tried.
Well, practice in front of the mirror or something.
I manage a smile and our regular I think you’re crap before I lie down in bed and dream that the stars haven’t gone out over my life.
When I open my eyes again, it’s still black as pitch outside.
Someone’s knocking on my door.
“Yeah?” I ask, but it’s a whisper and I hope whoever’s there can hear me. (My throat feels weird, like there’s something stuck.)
My mom opens my door and whispers, “Bee, are you awake?”
I’m tempted to not answer, so I compromise: I nod.
“Okay. Do you want to talk?” she asks, a little louder.
I shudder. “No, thanks.” Same words I said to Levi. Haven’t I learned?
She sits on the edge of my bed and runs her hand down my arm. Her fingers are cold. “Bee, it’s okay to be scared.” I turn around, and instantly her arms encircle me. “We’re all scared,” she adds, with less confidence, so I can see the side of her that isn’t Mom. It’s the side that’s Wife, and suddenly my heart is full of secondhand sadness.
“I know,” I whisper. Someday I hope to be brave.
“I’m here, Baby Bee. You can always talk to me.”
But I still don’t want to talk, because that requires walking straight into the pain, willingly, with no guarantee that it will make anything better. I’m not ready to try, not yet, so I just let my mom curl up beside me and cry silently, her tears wetting my pillow.
After psyching myself up, it’s more than disappointing to get to Mike’s shop the next afternoon and see…no one. There are no cars parked out front, and the garages are closed. It’s at the last second before I turned back out of the lot that I see the little light in the office (it’s too bright out).
I pray Levi’s parked around back and pull my car into one of the many free spaces. It’s a little strange, being here, after what’s happened. I’ve been by a few times in the past month—usually just to sneak a kiss. But standing here in the empty lot, I’m reminded of that first time Levi spoke to me and I thought I was going to die because I was going to screw up the conversation or stare at him too hard or something awful.
And then I kept seeing him everywhere and he liked me and then—then he loved me.
I want to go back to that.
My skin practically burning from the sun and my fears, I walk up the steps to the little office, knock on the door, and crack it open. “Hello?”
Someone’s standing on a chair in the back, changing a light bulb, but it’s not Levi. “Be right with you,” Keagan says.
My spirits fall. “It’s just me,” I say.
“Bee?” Keagan looks over his shoulder at me, wobbles a bit, and laughs as he adjusts his weight. “Good to see you! How’ve you been?”
Typical, sweet Keagan, always jumping straight into things. Too bad I’m not in the mood. “Oh, um, I’m okay.”
“How’s your dad?” he asks, turning just enough so he can jump off the chair.