40. Gone
CHAPTER FORTY
gone
Ican’t.
Forrest has been talking nonstop about his internship and the future job and the house he wants us to have together. I think he dreams of mowing our lawn, and I dream of getting out of New England.
I turned down Professor Rupert’s offer for Arizona, and I’ve felt like the world around me has been shrinking ever since. It’s smothering and crushing and—
I can’t.
While we were getting through finals, I kept my anxiety to myself so I wouldn’t start a fight while we were dealing with that and moving out of the dorms, but we need to talk now before I implode.
I’m driving to Forrest’s mom’s apartment, where he’s staying for the summer. I’m going to tell him we need to slow down. I’m going to make him hear me. I’m going to make him listen this time.
I park and take the stairs up to Mrs. Dane’s unit two at a time. I can only imagine what I look like with how she recoils when she opens the front door.
“Camilla,” she says. “Come in. Are you alright?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dane. Is Forrest here?” I ask, breathless. My lack of air has nothing to do with running up the stairs. I just can’t breathe. I’m hot and sweating, and I feel like somebody is tightening their hands around my neck.
“Oh, sweetie. Please call me Leslie. No. He went out with some colleagues after work today.” She places a hand on my shoulder, and I realize I’d been looking around the room like a trapped animal needing escape. “Why don’t you go to his room. I’ll call him and let him know you’re here. Lie down.”
She nods encouragingly until I agree.
“Ok,” I say, gulping down air. “Ok thank you.”
Her eyebrows are drawn together, making her look so much like Forrest when he’s concerned for me. I haven’t seen that look in so long. It feels like he hasn’t seen that I’ve barely been holding it together. He’s always understood me, usually better than I understand myself, so why can’t he see?
I walk down the hallway to Forrest’s room and softly close the door behind me. But I can’t lie down. I can’t even sit. I start pacing in the small space, getting more and more uncomfortable each time I pivot. The walls are so damn close together.
I’m on fire. I place a hand on my chest and feel my hammering heart beneath my damp shirt. I need to change. I yank open one of Forrest’s drawers. Pajamas and boxers. I shove the boxers aside, looking for a T-shirt I can steal…
I find it instead.
I freeze.
Disguised as a small, black velvet box with rounded corners is a bomb about to decimate my life.
No.
I stare at it, waiting for it to explode, but of course it does nothing. It’s just a box.
But it’s not just any box. I know what it is. I should put the clothes back, close the drawer, and wait for Forrest. We can talk. We can figure this out.
I don’t do that though. I reach out, and I lift the tiny box. It’s heavy with the weight of my entire future.
I pry open the lid and find a sparkling single diamond on a white gold band.
Just looking at the portion sticking out of its foam home, I can tell it’s my size.
This isn’t his mother’s old ring, a vintage family heirloom I could understand him wanting to keep after his parents divorced.
This is shiny and new, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s meant to be mine.
I snap the lid shut and toss the box back where it came from, shoving the drawer closed. It gets caught on the clothes I’d disrupted, but I don’t stop to fix them.
I can’t.
I need to get out of here. I need to go.
I wrench open the door, and I run.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Dane,” I call as I flee to her front door.
She looks up from her place on the couch and says something about trying to reach Forrest, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
Then, I’m gone.
Forrest
“Cam!” I cry as I fly out of my car, not even bothering to turn off the engine after I throw it in park at her curb. The house is dark and there aren’t any cars in the driveway, but I have to try anyway.
I got home late from work today, much later than I intended. My boss wanted to take me out to dinner afterward. Then other architects joined for drinks, and I couldn’t leave. I didn’t want to leave. Things were going so well.
Time got away from me. I wasn’t checking my phone. I didn’t see Mom’s missed calls or texts until well past dark.
Cam’s phone went straight to voicemail, so I drove here probably faster than was strictly safe.
“Cam?” I call again as I reach the base of the treehouse ladder. If she’s upset, I know she’ll be up there. She’ll be angry I took so long, but she’ll be there, waiting for me.
I start climbing.
As I do, I can feel that the treehouse is empty. There’s a kind of quiet that can’t exist when Cam is around. She’s life itself, bright and beautiful. This place is dark, still, barren. Cold, even though it’s summer.
Something is wrong.
“Cam?” I try one more time when my head clears the treehouse floor. I sweep the small space in a second. She’s not here.
But the space isn’t empty. Under a rock, in the middle of the floor, is a single sheet of paper. A scrap really.
I recognize the beautiful handwriting as Cam’s.
When you read this, I’ll be on my way to Arizona. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.
I call her again. Nothing. I text her. It won’t go through.
She’s gone.