That drink tasted like the first day of autumn. Cool. Refreshing. Like water from a garden hose, except without the metallic after-bite. I felt as if I’d arrived at the end of a long journey.
Friendship was more of an adventure than we intended for it to be. Maybe it was Ponce’s magic fountain. Maybe it was Sadie Kingston growing a freaking brain and a pair of cojones. I’d been waiting for a feeling and had gotten it backward. The feeling had been waiting for me. Choosing forgiveness takes more courage (and far less energy) than sustaining anger.
I decided.
Forgiveness (n.) releasing the toxins of bitterness.
Tears fell from my eyes as I said the two words I’d withheld, though they’d been given to me many times this year.
“I’m sorry,” I told them.
And to be sure they understood, I got specific, starting with Gina and Gray. “I shut both of you out, because you were in the front car . . . because . . . I blamed you. I thought you couldn’t understand, and really, I didn’t understand, or even acknowledge, what you’d been through either. I’m sorry we didn’t talk. Sorry for my anger. Sorry I pretended to sleep when you visited. I pushed you away. I pushed you together.”
“Sadie.” Gina tried to stop me.
“We still messed up,” Gray said.
“You’ve given me a year of apologies; I still owe you a few more,” I said.
They nodded and slid closer together.
Max placed his hand on the small of my back, and as I continued, I inched toward his strength. “Guys, I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me the truth. And that all those times when you apologized, I wasn’t listening. We lost Trent together, and I’m sorry it took me a year to start healing. And Max . . .”
“Hey, we’re good,” he said.
“We are good,” I said with a slight grin. “But I should have Skyped with you. Should have shown who I was and trusted you to see me the way you do. I was scared I’d lose you, too.”
He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “I get to see you now every day. We’re all better than we were.”
“Hear, hear,” Gina said.
“Hear, hear,” we all echoed.
No blubber sessions followed. No conversations. We all filled up another cup and chugged.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Outside the Spring House, the sun scorched us. I lowered my sunglasses and squinted at Gray, who pointed in the direction of the gift shop. Woe to us if we didn’t commemorate the experience with a souvenir magnet.
Max used the coupon and bought two bottles of water. “For next year,” he told me, and dropped them into my bag.
“Who’s driving?” I asked.
They all paused nervously.
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I drove the whole way here.”
Our laughter started as a peep and became thunderous. The three of them happily decided they’d share shifts on the way home.
Three hundred and sixty miles with Gina, Gray, or Max at the wheel was much quicker than one mile with me. Every time we stopped, we rotated seats. Shotgun controlled the radio, and whoever sat there kept us on a steady diet of hard rock and easy listening. We had musical whiplash by the time the radio died. After that, we told stories.
We laughed harder than I thought was possible. We cried some, too.
The tears led to talk of autumn and the future. Gray was headed down the road to Valparaiso for his freshman year; Gina, Max, and I had two more semesters at Coast Memorial. Bells and teachers and crowds weren’t so bad.
With friends.
About halfway home, I texted Mom.
Me: The Social Experiments worked.
Her: You better not be driving and texting.
Me: Not a chance.
Her: Be safe. I want to hear all about it.
I had plenty to tell.
Back at the yard, Metal Pete was still up and working in the garage. He slid out from under a Honda Civic and yelled, “So did you find the fountain?”
“Yeah, it was under a big sign that said ‘Fountain of Youth,’” I answered.
Metal Pete grinned. “Go figure.”
I gathered up my bag from the truck, ran the keys back to him, and scrubbed Headlight between the ears.
“You’ll tell me about it?” Metal Pete asked.
“Tomorrow, when I come to work.”