Chapter Two
Gavin
Charlie Yates was actually sitting beside me in the rental car.
I’d had some surreal moments in my life—also involving Charlie Yates, come to think of it—but this one had to take the cake and the freaking cherry on top.
I’d checked the car rentals on a whim, not wanting to go back to my dorm and twiddle my thumbs while I waited days for another flight. Now here I was with…him. Of all people.
“I could have walked faster than this,” he grumbled. It was the first thing he’d said in miles.
I snapped, “And it’s my fault two lanes are blocked up ahead? I’d go faster if I could.” The sun was distressingly low in the sky, and we were barely in Sacramento.
He stared at the minivan ahead of us. “I didn’t say it was your fault. I’m saying it took us three hours just to get out of the city, and now we’re crawling slower than I walk.”
“At least there’s no fog here. And the rain is lessening.”
He apparently couldn’t argue with that, although I bet he wanted to. Instead he shrugged. “True.” He scoffed. “I hate those dumb decals. Baby on board. Right, because now people won’t hit you when they totally would have before.”
“I guess they figure better safe than sorry.” As the radio blared a commercial, I pressed the scan button.
“I just wish the universe would give us a freaking break already. I mean, really? A truck had to jackknife and spill its gravel over two lanes?”
“It could be worse. I hope no one was injured.”
Charlie shot me a glare. “Obviously I also hope no one was hurt, Saint Gavin.”
My stomach did a weird little twist. I hadn’t heard the nickname in so long, but now it was thorny with derision instead of the laughing tease that had accompanied it under the hazy August sun to the song of cicadas.
As we crawled along, I eyed the yellow baby sticker on the minivan—it really was stupid—and tried not to hum along to the new Taylor Swift song.
I could only imagine the crap Charlie would give me for that.
He probably listened to cool indie bands that pressed their own LPs and didn’t believe in iTunes.
“Hanukkah is late this year, huh?”
I blinked in surprise that he knew. Which was silly, because it was on the calendar, so why shouldn’t he have noticed? “Yeah. But it’s never been a big deal in my family. We’re not very good Jews. My parents are in Jamaica anyway.”
I kept my eyes on the road, but could feel his assessing gaze. “They’re not going to be in Norwalk?”
“Nope.” I worked on a casual tone, as if everything was totally normal with my folks.
On paper, it was. They’d be home for New Year’s Eve, and they did invite me to Jamaica—I was the one who said I wanted to go skiing instead.
Although as soon as they found out Candace was involved, they couldn’t endorse it fast enough.
And that was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to go to the resort. There would be so much time to talk, and even if I finally had the guts to say it, I knew they wouldn’t want to hear it.
“You’re not meeting them down there?”
The traffic had sped up to twenty whole miles an hour, and I pressed gently on the gas. “Nah.”
“Then why are you going home?”
“I’m going skiing in Vermont with Candace and her family.”
“Right, of course. Candace.” He drawled her name in a sing-songy way that had me gripping the steering wheel.
“Yes. Candace.” He muttered something under his breath, and I snapped off the radio, protective anger surging up. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Charlie flipped the radio back on and jumped from station to station.
Man, he had some nerve. As if he had any right to say a thing about Candace after what he’d done. I thought of the tinny dance music and crowded tables of the pizzeria that night in junior year, the smell of grease in the air and blood dripping on the white tiles.
I opened my mouth to tell him that Candace was an amazing person and I wasn’t going to put up with a single insult about her. And besides that, she and I were only friends now. But no. Forget it. I didn’t have to justify anything to Charlie Yates.
I didn’t owe him any explanations. Not anymore. Not after what he’d said and done.
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to pull over and kick his butt out.
This was my rental car. It was on my credit card.
Why had I given in? Ugh, this was the worst. I wanted to sing pop songs at the top of my lungs and stop at cheesy roadside attractions—the World’s Biggest Random Whatever.
But Charlie would undoubtedly roll his eyes and grumble and basically make it no fun at all.
When we’d first met, Charlie had been the most fun person I’d ever met. But that was a long time ago.
His phone buzzed, and I couldn’t help but listen to his half of the conversation as I turned down the radio so he could hear.
“Hey, Mom. Yeah. We’re fine. I know, crazy coincidence.
Ha, yeah, a Christmas miracle.” He was silent for a few moments.
“It’s slow going. Hopefully it’ll clear up soon.
” Charlie tapped his fingers on the heel of his sneaker where his ankle was crossed over his other leg. “Uh-huh. He’s good. He says hi.”
I cleared my throat and called, “Hi, Mrs. Yates.” I hadn’t talked to her in years, but she’d always waved if she drove by me on our street.
“We will. Yes, Mom. We’re not twelve. Wait, she is?
Of course.” When he spoke again, his voice was suddenly gentle and sweet in a way I’d forgotten Charlie could be.
“Hey, Bear. How was today? Did you go to Madison’s party?
” He listened, hunched over toward the window.
“Yeah, I’m on my way. I’m doing everything I can to beat Santa there, okay? I promise.”
Right.
Here was the reason I couldn’t pull over and tell Charlie Yates to find another way home to Connecticut.
Ava had only been six when she was diagnosed.
I could still remember the way Candace’s eyes had glistened for a little girl she’d never met as she’d whispered, “They say it’s leukemia.
Isn’t that terrible?” And it had been. Awful and unfair, and I’d wanted so badly to go down the block and knock on the door to tell them how sorry I was. Tell Charlie how sorry I was.
For everything.
As he gently teased his little sister on the phone and listened like every word she said was the most important he’d ever heard, memories flashed through my mind of the first time I’d seen Charlie.
It was the summer I moved to Norwalk after eighth grade.
My parents were at work, and I was moping around my bedroom.
I’d heard Ava’s joyful shriek first, and had pressed my nose against the glass of the window.
As I watched, a gangly boy piggybacking a little girl had raced past my new house on Tremont Street like a bat out of hell, a burst of fearless abandon.
They’d been gone in a flash, leaving the serene, tree-lined street quiet again but for the muffled drone of a lawn mower under the blazing July sun.
I stood there at the window for another minute, hoping.
Then I’d heard Ava’s ecstatic shout again.
I’d watched as Charlie had zoomed by a second time, Ava bouncing wildly on his back.
I’d realized they were circling the block, and on the next pass, I stood on my lawn, not even pretending to be doing anything but waiting for them. Charlie had slowed when he spotted my awkward wave.
“Hey! You’re new.”
“Um, hey. Yeah. I’m Gavin. We just moved here from Long Island.”
“Want to go swimming?”
It had been as easy as that.
“Well, did you tell Madison that you wanted to play with Whitney too?”
I smiled to myself. It was nice to hear that Ava was embroiled in eight-year-old schoolyard-type politics. It was so…normal. I’d glimpsed her once in a while, but the last time I’d really seen her had been more than a year ago.
My throat tightened at the memory—Charlie piggybacking her around the block like he used to, this time on a fall day with crunchy leaves underfoot and a heavy gray sky that seemed ready to collapse with impending rain.
It had been chance that I’d passed the window and saw them.
Ava hadn’t shrieked this time, and Charlie walked carefully, no reckless flight with sneakers slapping the pavement.
Ava’s cheek had rested on his shoulder, and her bald head was too pale.
Even though she’d been seven, in a way she’d seemed even smaller than she had when I first met them.
I’d pressed my nose against the glass as they went by, too much of a coward to go out and say hi. I’d assured myself I was perfectly justified after the pizzeria incident, but had still waited to see them pass again. The sidewalk had remained empty but for Mr. Garrison walking his black lab.
“Okay. Love you too, Bear. Give me a growl.” Charlie laughed softly and scratched behind his ear, and a rush of nostalgia flowed through me. He had a chicken pox scar back there that he’d said still itched after years.
From the corner of my eye, I watched his long fingers on his neck, wondering what they’d feel like touching me now that we were grown up. His jaw was more prominent, his full lips a red that was positively…the only word that came to mind was juicy.
Stop. Stop right now. He would never want me again. I blew my chance. Besides, I don’t want a jerk like him.
As he hung up, I stared straight ahead, trying and undoubtedly failing to pretend I hadn’t been listening. It was pointless, so I cleared my throat. “How is she?”
Charlie was silent so long I thought he wouldn’t answer. “In remission. For now, at least. She’s still weak, but getting stronger.”
“I really hope she’ll be okay. I’m sure she will be. She’s tough.”
He shrugged and tapped at his phone, the careless tone back. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see. I need to piss. Want to stop soon?”
“Sure. I think there’s a McDonald’s coming up.”