Chapter Thirty-Nine
Keeley
When we get back to The Serendipity, I unlock the door to my apartment and head straight to the window so I can unlock it and climb out, knowing Becks is right next door doing the exact same thing.
Quick as a cat, I maneuver onto my desk and grip under the window. I tug at it, pulling it upwards.
It doesn’t budge.
I tug again.
Stuck.
What on earth?
For a moment, I wonder if The Serendipity has a sick sense of humor because, all summer, it’s been locking me places with Beckett. But tonight, of all nights, it decides to try to stop me from getting to him?
No. No way.
I pull again, and this time, the window flies open. So suddenly and with such force that I stumble backwards and knock the box of Gramps’s things from where it sits on my desk.
“Oh, come on!” I say in exasperation as papers and records go tumbling every which way.
Beckett’s form appears outside the window.
“Everything okay in here?” he asks, ducking to poke his head inside. Before waiting for my answer though, he easily vaults through my open window—way more cat-like and graceful than I will ever be—and kneels to start cleaning the mess.
“It is now,” I say with a goofy grin. This man, I tell you.
As Beckett and I stack everything neatly back in the box, his fingers linger on a faded LP cover.
I peer over his shoulder at the record, which is called “Moondance” by some old guy named Van Morrison.
He smiles fondly at it, nostalgia sweeping over his features. “This was one of my Gran’s favorites. She used to play it all the time when we were kids.”
“No way,” I say. “Gramps used to play this all the time, too. In fact, I’ll maybe bring it with me tomorrow when I go see him. It might cheer him up.”
Gramps hasn’t been too well lately, so Ez and I decided to go see him in the morning. I kind of wanted to ask Becks to come with us, too, but I know he’ll need to pack.
Pack.
The word hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Definitely,” Beckett replies. “You should do that.”
He passes me the record and then pops the lid back on the box. The two of us then climb out to the fire escape.
I don’t prop my window open like I usually do. In fact, once I’m out, I shut it almost defiantly, like I’m volleying a metaphorical ball into The Serendipity’s metaphorical court.
Your move, building. I dare you.
Outside, we sit down, and I rest my head on Beckett’s shoulder, as I’ve done so many times over the past few weeks. I’m still clad in his jacket, and I savor the feel of his warm presence and comforting smell.
“You feeling a little better now?” he asks me softly.
I nod and shake my head at once. “Mmpf.”
“I get that,” he says.
“It was a good idea to come home instead of staying at the fair. I was about to flood the place,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
He matches my tone. “Jeez, Keeley, after that Ferris wheel ride, there was a second when I thought I might have to spend the remainder of my time in America in jail.”
“If they locked you up, you wouldn’t be able to get on a plane tomorrow night,” I say.
This is also meant to sound jokey. Light.
It doesn’t.
“If it helps, I kind of wanted to cry, too.” Beckett smiles at me softly, his eyes indeed a little misty. “Can’t believe tonight’s our last night. I wish I could stay.”
“I wish you could too.” I look at my hands. “People leaving always makes me feel a bit messy inside, and I feel extra messy tonight.”
“I understand.”
Embarrassed, I look away. I hate being vulnerable like this, showing my emotional cards.
But Becks reaches over and puts a gentle hand on my chin, tilting my head so I’m looking straight into those amazing hazel-green eyes. “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, Keeley.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t think you even want to begin to know.”
“Try me,” Beckett says lightly. “You can always tell me anything, Keeley.”
I hesitate again—my eyes still fixed on his—and I realize I really can trust him, really can bare all my vulnerability. All my inner ugly.
“Remember I mentioned that my parents had a messy divorce?” I begin hesitantly.
“I do.”
“After the divorce, my mom was so hurt, so cut up, that she didn’t want to be around my dad anymore. Couldn’t be around him, in fact. Even the risk of running into him around town was too much for her. So she left.”
I hesitate, my breath a little shaky. I hate this story and never tell it, but Beckett’s silence, giving me space to talk and share, helps me continue with the next, most painful part.
“She gave up Ezra and me willingly. Handed full custody to my dad and walked away.”
Beside me, Beckett stills, statue-like, as he absorbs this.
The admission hurts to speak aloud—that the one person who was meant to love me most, love me unconditionally, left me.
Chose to retreat to her hometown three states away over staying with her kids. Her only son and daughter. Removed herself from our lives entirely.
I know now that my mother was going through some depression and anxiety issues at the time. I understand that, logically. But my heart still squeezes every time I think about the fact that she begged my dad not to leave her. And then, when he was no longer part of the equation, I was in turn easy to leave. Or at least, easier to leave than I should have been.
And that fact has become like a root buried so deep in me, so ensconced in shame and unworthiness, that I’ve never tried to dig it out, but simply tried to bury it deeper.
“I guess she didn’t really want us, when it came down to it.”
My eyes burn as I pick at my fingernails, the remnants of my shameful admission still ringing in my ears.
When Beckett finally speaks, his voice is rough. “I’m so sorry, Keeley.”
I shrug. “It is what it is. But when she left, she broke my heart.”
“That’s awful, Keeley. Truly awful. I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“It was a long time ago, but I guess I still get triggered when people leave—it was a huge step for me to let that lie in my article about Noeleen and Douglas, to not focus on her leaving, but on the good times they had. Because that’s what I wanted— want —to do with you, now. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened, right?”
“Like I said earlier, it’s okay to cry. What you went through was awful.” He pauses. Swallows. Clears his throat. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier tonight—and what if this didn’t have to be temporary? What if I didn’t have to leave?”
I smile sadly. “But you do. You’ve got your job. Your home. Your family. A niece or nephew on the way. You’ve even got a demo to bring back home to kickstart the crazy successful music career I want you to have.”
“But I’ve got you, here in Serendipity Springs. And what I want is to try to make this thing between us into something more. Something that goes beyond the summer.”
These are words I simultaneously ache to hear and ache because I hear them.
Because it’s not enough. I’m not enough to make a person change their entire life plans.
History has shown me that. And even though this summer has taught me not to focus on the ending, I know the ending is still inevitable.
If Beckett stayed here and we stayed together, I’d live in fear. That dark ugly root in me would twist as it reminded me, over and over, that I was the wrong choice, and one day he’d realize that, and he’d leave.
That’s why it had to be just for the summer. Temporary. Neatly in its own little box.
Because, that way, we can never break each other’s hearts, like Noeleen and Douglas. Like my dad broke my mom’s. Like my mom shattered mine.
“It has to be this way,” I say softly, and the ugly words stick in my throat uncomfortably even after I speak them aloud. Festering there, like a chokehold. “I’m moving to Boston for my job, and you’re going home to Ireland.”
He nods, and in the darkness, his hand finds mine. He squeezes.
“I love you,” he says.
My heart flips over. It’s both too soon and too late for these words, and I don’t want this to go any deeper between us than it already has when I know that it has to end here and now, but I can’t hold back the words as I say, “I love you, too.”
That much will never change.
“C’mere,” he says, pulling me towards him. And then, he gathers me into his arms and holds me tight.
Like he’s never going to let go.
But I know he is, because I’ve told him this is what we have to do.
Because he’s Beckett.
I lean into his embrace, silent tears streaming down my face as I let him hold me, one last time.