Chapter 41
Lydia
It doesn’t take long for my bravado to fade. By 10 the next morning I’ve seen my face plastered across Facebook, Instagram, and the local morning news. On top of that, I am now officially on administrative leave until, as my principal put it, we get this whole thing sorted out. Which would be fine, except for the fact that cross country season starts next week, and somehow, I get the feeling that if I don’t start the season as the coach, I won’t be the coach for any part of the season at all.
At least my parents are on my side this time. I spoke with them last night and they both declared themselves ready to stand in my defense. Still, I can't get all of the negative comments I read out of my mind. The ones calling me a gold digger and a sinner of the worst kind.
By the time the reporter from the Holland Sentinel shows up that afternoon, I’m actually looking forward to having a chance to tell my side of the story .
Mr. Jacobson wants me to play up the whole modified bed rest thing, so I stay propped up in bed while Cole goes to let the reporter in.
He’s been tense since his dad’s visit yesterday. He even tried one more time to talk me out of doing the article, saying this was his fight and he should be the one to bear the brunt of the media’s disdain. Then I reminded him that the whole point of doing the article was to transform me into a media darling instead of the gold digger Deb’s Deets made me out to be. In response he stalked out of the room, muttering about how exasperating I am. He’s one to talk.
I wait anxiously for Cole and the journalist to return. I’m hoping it’s a woman, because I feel like a woman is more prone to be sympathetic. Especially if it’s a woman in her twenties or thirties, since she’d take one look at Cole and understand how a woman might find herself forgetting her moral values.
“She’s this way,” Cole’s voice drifts down the hall, and I’m taken aback by the note of hostility contained in it. I know he’s against the article, but I’d have thought he’d be pleasant to the journalist in hopes of ingratiating us to them.
“Great, I’ll follow you,” a male voice responds, and I freeze in shock. Is that…No, it couldn’t be.
“Here we are.” Cole steps in the room, his face stony.
I peer around him, and my jaw drops.
“Elliot? What are you doing here?”
Cole
The fact that Elliot Small turns up as the freelance journalist for the Sentinel is just the fly on top of the pile of poop that has been the last 15 hours since the post on Deb’s Deets came out. Just when I start to think that me and Lydia are becoming a real couple, in swoops this old flame of hers to, at least as she sees it, save the day. Great, just great.
“I’ve been freelancing for some other local newspapers for the last year or two, but this is my first piece for the Sentinel,” Elliot is telling Lydia, who’s nodding along as if this is very interesting rather than completely asinine. I wonder if she agrees with me that the satchel he’s got slung over his shoulder is completely pretentious.
The doorbell rings again, and I excuse myself to go answer it, telling myself that the reason I’m practically running to the door has nothing to do with not wanting to leave the two of them alone for too long. I just happen to think walking slowly is a waste of time.
After I open the door to find a UPS delivery rather than a person, I hightail it back to the room, slowing my steps as I approach the door so they won’t know I’ve sprinted back.
“I’m surprised they freelanced this article out,” I hear Lydia saying. She gives a little laugh. “I guess I’m not as big of news as I thought.”
“Well, I have a friend on staff there who knows about our…history. He thought having me write the article might add some fire to the piece.”
“Our history,” Lydia repeats, “Right. Listen, Elliot—”
“Don’t worry,” Elliot interrupts her. “There’s no way I could write an article that makes you look anything but good.”
I freeze outside the door, waiting for Lydia’s response. Surely now she realizes I was right about him being interested in her.
“That’s sweet of you, Elliot,” she says, “but you mean an article that will make both me and Cole look good, right? Because I’m not as concerned about my reputation as I am about the effect this blog post is having on Cole’s campaign.”
My hand forms a fist of frustration. It’s not that I don’t appreciate her trying to look out for my campaign, but what I really want is to hear her tell this guy where to get off. If she doesn’t, how will I know she doesn’t return his feelings? Jealousy roars in my chest at the idea, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten so I don’t go bursting in there and drag Elliot out by his satchel.
“Sorry,” Elliot replies. “Of course Cole and the campaign will come out looking good too. I apologize, Lydia, I forgot myself again.” He sighs. “I’m having a harder time letting go of you than I thought. But don’t worry, I get it. You’re with him now. I just—” He lets out a groan of frustration. “I can’t help but wonder what we could have had, you know? I mean, was I just imagining that you liked me for a while there?”
“Oh, Elliot,” Lydia sighs. “I’m really sorry that you got caught in the middle of all this. You weren’t imagining that I liked you at one point, but then Cole came back into my life. Honestly, my heart has been his since the day I fell off my bike, and he carried me home on his back. He was my 7-year-old self’s knight in shining armor. I think there’s a part of me that was always waiting for him to come back for me.”
Elliot doesn’t respond right away, but I find myself frozen in shock. I know exactly what day she’s talking about. Lydia had begged me and Josh to take her with us on our bike ride. Annoyed when his mom insisted that we allow her to come, Josh had ridden recklessly, speeding through the trails in the woods without worrying about his little sister’s lack of experience mountain biking. Lydia, to his frustration, had held her own, determinedly keeping up with us. At least until that last mile. A squirrel dashed into her path, and with not even a second to respond she’d careened sideways and gone crashing into the brush.
Josh had immediately panicked, going off on a rant about how their parents were going to kill him, and why did she always have to ruin everything by tagging along with him and his friends, and on and on. Lydia, flat on the forest floor, clutching her rapidly swelling ankle had defiantly told him he deserved whatever punishment he got because he was a butthead. But then, when Josh turned to kick a tree in anger, I saw the sheen of tears she was trying to hold in. A compassion unlike anything I’d ever experienced filled me, compelling me to walk over to her and tell her to hop on my back and I’d get her home safely.
“Well,” Elliot finally speaks, tearing me from my memories, “then I guess that’s what we’ll put in the article.”
I should walk back into the room now, but I can’t seem to make my feet move. Adrenaline is coursing through my body as I try to make sense of Lydia’s words and how exactly they fit into my memory of that day. Because how can it be that the day she says her heart became mine is the exact same day I first found myself longing for someone to be my person, the one whom my heart loves? It’s inexplicable, and yet, it’s the truth.
For the second time in recent weeks, my eyes drift heavenward. God did this. I’m suddenly certain of it. He put those words on my heart; He filled me with compassion for her in that moment, which led her to fall for me, and then, all of these years later, He led me back to her. To Lydia. The one whom my heart loves.