Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Lainey
Fifteen Years Ago
A s I rode in the backseat, I stared at the backpack on my lap. I didn’t know what was inside of it. I couldn’t remember putting a single thing in it or zipping it up. And as I glanced down at my outfit, I couldn’t even recall getting dressed or climbing into this seat or how long we’d been in the car.
The radio was off, and Mom and Dad, sitting in the front, were silent.
Have they been quiet the whole time?
My stomach tightened every time we went over a bump, my breakfast threatening to come up. Nothing was settled anymore. My gut was a bundle of sadness and acid; some days, the acid stayed put, and other days, it came spewing from my mouth.
Have I even eaten breakfast?
When was the last time I ate?
The sky was darkening. I wasn’t sure if it was Tuesday or Wednesday, even though it was probably Thursday, and coffee was all I’d ingested in the last week.
I clutched the bar on the door and watched LA fly by through the window.
There was one thing that I did remember—when I’d sat just like this, folded into the corner of the seat, gripping the door that my father had locked, wishing for the car to turn around and go back to our house instead of Manhattan.
This time, we were headed to the airport, and I didn’t have that hope.
I had given up on hope.
Fuck hope .
The car came to a stop outside of Departures. Both front doors opened, and I took that as my cue to get out. I put the straps of my backpack on my shoulders and stepped onto the curb. My parents joined me, their faces looking so different as I studied each one.
My dad, always a thin man, had hollow cheeks and a gaunt neck. Mom looked like she hadn’t slept in a year; the bags under her eyes were turning dark, and her eyes were rimmed in red.
“Your passport,” Dad said as he handed me the small navy leather-bound booklet. “And here’s enough cash for at least a week or two. I didn’t have time to get it converted. Use your credit card. This is just for incidentals.”
I shoved the hundreds into my pocket. “Where am I even going?”
“I pulled a few strings and got you into a school in Spain,” he said. “You’ll be starting classes in two months. A driver will be at the airport, holding a sign with your name on it. He’ll take you to your apartment.”
“My apartment?” I whispered.
I remembered when we’d talked about this.
USC was off the table.
I couldn’t go there … with him.
But I wanted school. I needed the schedule and routine and to stay busy. My parents supported that decision.
Different states were thrown out during that conversation. All possible options. I told them I wanted to go as far away as I could and I wanted to go right now. I didn’t want to wait until classes started. I needed to escape everything that reminded me of Pen.
My parents didn’t want me to leave so soon. They’d lost one daughter; they weren’t ready to say goodbye to another.
But I’d begged.
I needed to be alone with my grief.
I couldn’t hear Mom cry another tear. I couldn’t hear Dad pace the kitchen all night, unable to sleep.
If Dad had told me where he was sending me—which he probably had—it hadn’t registered.
I was as empty now as I had been when I rushed into the hospital and was told she was no longer breathing.
Nothing was sticking.
I was a slick, oily slide, and everything that came in rolled right off me.
“Do I have clothes?” I asked.
“We’ll ship them to you, honey.” Mom tucked some hair behind my ear. “This all happened a little fast, and I didn’t want you to have to worry about lugging around suitcases. You have enough in your backpack for a couple of days, and there’s laundry in your apartment if you need to wash what you have.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“We’re going to miss you.” Mom’s voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes.
I’d never seen my family cry more in the last I didn’t know how many days than I had in my whole life.
“I’ll miss you,” I replied.
Arms were around me. The scent of Mom was so off; there were hints of wine and even smoke, something she’d quit when I was a kid. The hug grew stronger when Dad joined us, his chin resting on top of my head. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and the whiskers stabbed through my hair and into my skull.
I didn’t pull away.
The pain felt oddly comforting. It gave me something to focus on.
Instead of … her.
When the hug ended, I said, “I’ll call.” Did I even have my phone? I felt my pocket, and it was in there, taking up the whole space. “Will my phone work there?”
“I almost forgot.” Dad rushed back to the car and returned to us. “I got you a new one.” He handed me a phone. “Why don’t you give me your old one?”
I reached into my pocket and switched devices with him.
“Our house line and both of our cell phones are saved in there,” he said, nodding toward the one now in my hand.
“What about all the other numbers?” I asked. “I don’t know them by heart. And the texts that are all there …”
From her.
From … him.
“Do you need their numbers?” Dad asked. “You’re leaving, Lainey. You’re starting fresh. That life … it’s behind you.”
I nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“We’ll be coming to visit soon, baby.” Mom hadn’t stopped touching my hair. “A couple of weeks, tops.”
“I have a colleague who lives not far from where you’ll be,” Dad said. “She’s worked for my company for as long as I have. I trust her. I put her number in there, and she’s going to be in touch when you land. If you need anything, ask her. Don’t be afraid.”
I nodded again.
Because it felt like I was supposed to.
“We love you,” Mom said.
I could barely hear her over all the noise outside the terminal.
“We’re only a phone call away.” Dad’s eyes were filling with tears. “We love you very much.”
I didn’t know if I had any tears left. I’d shed so many that I felt dry.
I was holding each of their hands. Both felt different. Like the grief had even changed their skin.
I gave them a squeeze. “See you soon.”
I walked into the airport, moving in a daze, so disassociated that by the time I came to, I was in the window seat, looking out onto the wing of the plane.
We were already in the air.
And in my hand was a photograph. I didn’t remember putting it in my bag and taking it out. But there was a picture of Rhett and me. We were on the beach. His arm was around me in a way where his tattoo was showing, and the R necklace dangled from my throat. I was looking at the camera, but he wasn’t. He was gazing at me.
The smile on his face … for me.
Warmth.
When all I felt now was coldness.
“Can I get you anything?” someone said.
I looked across the two seats beside me, not realizing they were empty, and at the flight attendant standing in the aisle.
“You were sleeping when I came by during the drink service,” she said. “You slept right through dinner too. I’m happy to get you something now that you’re awake.”
I’d been … sleeping?
Did I want anything?
The thought of putting something in my body made my stomach churn.
“I’m okay.”
She nodded. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”
“Wait,” I said as she started to walk away. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
“Of course.”
I handed her the photo. “Can you put this somewhere I’ll never have to see it again?”
She took the picture from me and glanced at it. A soft, understanding smile came over her face. “Are you sure? He looks like he really loves you.”
I touched my throat, where the necklace still sat, and I mashed my lips together, holding back a cry. “Yes, I’m sure.”