Falling for You (21 page)

“Please?”

Silence
.

“It’s okay. I’ll be here. Take your time.

“We’ll all be here.

“Lots of people have gathered over at the school, to hold an all-night vigil for you. I’m going over there to tell them you made it through the surgery.

“But I’ll be back.

“I promise, I’m not leaving you, Rae. Never again.

“You have my word.”

two months earlier

painful

FOR ALMOST A MONTH I WAS ON MY OWN.

According to Carol, Dean had come to the store at closing time that Monday night. He’d brought Mom a box of her favorite cookies and apologized for treating her so badly. After they’d locked up the store, Carol told Dean he needed to go, because she needed to get home and needed to get Mom home too.

But Dean clung to Mom, squeezing her tightly against him, kissing her cheek and telling her how much he’d missed her. When he asked her if she missed him, Carol said, she’d nodded and started crying.

Carol tried to convince Mom to ask Dean to come back the next day, when they could talk things out over lunch or a cup of coffee. But Dean sweet-talked her into leaving with him. Carol felt bad for me. I knew she’d tried her best to keep Mom away from him. It wasn’t her fault. Dean had a
hold on my mother that seemed impossible to break.

Carol said she’d left a note for me with the night manager of our hotel, letting me know my mom had gone off with Dean, but I never got it. I found out what’d happened on Wednesday, when I showed up at Rite Aid again.

After Mom disappeared, I checked the house multiple times each day, before and after school, and a couple of times each evening. But it stayed dark. I finally checked out of the motel and moved back into the house. It was scary living there by myself, but what else could I do? I didn’t have enough money to stay in the motel. Besides, if the two of them came back, I wanted to be there.

The day I moved back home, I checked the mailbox. It contained only a few days’ worth of mail, which surprised me. Dean must have come home while we were at the motel. And if he’d been back before, then most likely he’d be back again.

The only question was—when?

The weeks before Valentine’s Day were insanely busy at work. In a way, I was glad. My brain got a break from the constant worrying. Nina put me in charge of decorating the shop with as many hearts, cupids, and teddy bears as we could find.

At school, when the big day arrived, it seemed everyone had been bitten by the lovebug except me. I went to the benches before the bell rang and found myself sitting alone. After all, there were Candygrams to open and lockers to decorate.

Mrs. Knight, the assistant principal, walked by with a
bunch of newspapers in her arms. “Would you like a copy?” she asked me.

“I’d love one.”

I said thank you as I took it, and then immediately flipped it open to find the poetry pages. There were about the same number of anonymous poems as last time. The poems with names attached were, once again, less personal. There were poems about cupcakes, about coffee, about stars, and about kittens. In contrast, the poetry that people had submitted anonymously was generally darker. Much more personal. There were poems about the pain of losing someone, the pain of watching your parents split up, the pain of struggling to fit in.

So much pain.

As I sat there reading, something didn’t feel right. What was it? Weren’t all these poems a good thing? Hadn’t Ms. Bloodsaw said I had started a poetry revolution?

And yet, there were people around me right now who hurt. And I couldn’t do a single thing about it, because I didn’t know who they were.

That’s when it hit me. We were sending a message that said, Fine, if you want to cry, just make sure no one can see you.

Your pain is not something I want to see.

It hit me like a punch in the stomach.

I stood up and rushed to Ms. Bloodsaw’s classroom.

“Hi, Rae,” she said when she saw me. “What can I do for you?”

“You have to stop allowing anonymous poetry,” I said. “Please. I think it’s sending a bad message.”

She gave me a funny look. “I don’t understand. You’re the one that started it.”

“I know. But what if kids feel like they have to hide when things are bad? What if they should get help and they don’t?”

Ms. Bloodsaw shook her head. “I’m not quite following you, Rae. It’s just poetry. If it gives kids the freedom to share their feelings without being ridiculed, certainly that’s a good thing, yes?”

“Ridiculed?” I asked.

“Some teens can be very cruel. I’m sure you know that. If everyone had to give their name, they might get picked on. Or they wouldn’t submit anything in the first place. Isn’t that why you wanted to submit anonymously, after all?”

Was she right? “I don’t know. The issues we have to deal with are personal, and, yeah, it can be hard to share them with others, but maybe we should. Maybe we could help each other, you know? Because the thing is, not everyone is cruel.” I paused. “I’m not. You’re not.”

The bell rang. In a minute students would start streaming in.

She stood up. “Rae, I think you’re overthinking this.” She reached over and gently squeezed my arm. “Feel free to put your name on your next poem if you’d like. That’s your choice. But I will still allow the anonymous submissions.”

Felicia bounced in then, carrying a bunch of Candygrams.
She was one of the members of the Key Club, which sponsored the Valentine’s Day fund-raiser.

I gave her a puzzled look as she handed one to me. “Do you know who it’s from?” She shook her head. “Are you sure it’s for me? Because I don’t think anyone—”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting me. “I’m positive. Your name is right there. See?”

She pointed to the name on the folded note, which was attached to a box of candy hearts. “I gotta go. Lots of deliveries to make and I’m only supposed to miss twenty minutes of class.”

Maybe it was from Alix. Girls sent them to their best friends all the time. Although Alix and I had discussed it, and we both agreed it was kind of stupid. Why use Valentine’s Day to tell your best friend she matters? You should say that anytime, for any reason—and on more than one day a year.

I opened the note slowly, my eyes scanning the signature first. My heart sank to my stomach.

Rae,

I miss you. Every day, I miss you. So much has happened that I want to tell you about. Can we talk? Maybe have coffee or get together at the Mushroom? Hey, remember our first date there? It was so much fun.

I’d really love to see you. Even if it’s just as friends. To talk. You said we could still be friends. Remember?

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love,

Nathan

Scars

by Rae Lynch

When a wound

is fresh,

my pen is

the ointment

and my paper

the gauze.

What a surprise.

I’m not the only one.

We write

to remind ourselves

we have a voice.

That what we

feel,

think,

worry about,

matters.

Scars form

and we try

to hide them,

as if they define

who we are.

They don’t.

Like it or not,

hurting is a part

of the human experience.

Maybe we shouldn’t

be so afraid

to let the world

see our scars.

Sharing brings people

together.

It’s secrecy that can

tear people

apart.

special delivery #3

ON THE WAY TO WORK, I THOUGHT ABOUT HOW NATHAN HAD reached out to me. Was I being a hypocrite, saying one thing but doing another? Hey, everyone, share your pain because maybe we can help each other, but sorry, Nathan, that doesn’t apply to you.

No, I’d given him lots of chances, and each time, he’d blown it. I couldn’t be there for him the way he wanted me to be. I just couldn’t. Like Leo had said, I needed to look out for myself. And Nathan needed to find someone else to talk to. I had to get him to see that.

In the parking lot at work, I noticed Leo’s white Honda, and I felt a sting in my heart. I hadn’t talked to him since our date, the night everything fell apart. He’d come around the flower shop a couple of times, once to borrow something and a second time to order some festive Valentine’s Day arrangements for the
coffee shop. I didn’t help him either time. I’d let Spencer do it. I think Spence figured out something had happened between us. But he didn’t ask, because Spencer’s cool like that.

Mister gave me his usual happy greeting when I walked through the door of Full Bloom. “Aw, look at you, Mister,” I said, admiring his heart-covered bandanna. “Even you’re celebrating Valentine’s Day.”

Spencer hung up the phone and called out, “Would tomorrow just hurry up and get here already?”

I laughed. “But, Spencer, it’s the day of
love
. Bask in it.”

“I want to bask in my bed is what I want to do. I think Nina and I did something like sixty-seven deliveries between the two of us. And there are still more to do.”

“I’ll go tell her I can do the rest.” I headed toward the workroom. “Hey. What was your best delivery today?”

He stood up, grinning. “Oh, that one’s easy. The only place busier than Full Bloom is probably the courthouse downtown, where people are getting married right and left. Anyway, a lady from Missouri called and said her daughter was getting married and asked if we could make up a special bouquet for her to carry. Oh, Rae, you should have seen the girl’s face. She was literally tickled pink. Her guy is in the military and ships off in a few days. Super-sweet couple.”

It made me smile, because I knew how rewarding it was to be a part of deliveries like that one.

“But you know the best part?” he asked. “The bride asked
me to stay for the ceremony. I was one of their witnesses!”

“Aw, that’s great, Spence. Did you cry?”

He dabbed at his right eye. “You know me. More sentimental than Mr. Hallmark.”

I patted his shoulder as I walked past him toward the door. I could see Nina putting the finishing touches on a few more bouquets.

“Oh, Rae, wait a second. This came for you today too.” Spencer handed me an envelope. As I took it, images of Maddie and Ella flashed before my eyes. With everything going on, I hadn’t thought about them much lately.

I opened the envelope and pulled out the card and fifty dollars cash. I read it out loud to Spencer.

Please deliver a bouquet to the following address:

The Crestfield Hospital, Room 1241

The flowers are for George. Sign the card “From a Friend.”

Nina stuck her head out the door. “Rae, if you don’t get started like
right now
, we’re not going to get all these flowers delivered. Come back here so I can show you what’s what, okay?”

“I’ll be right there.”

“I don’t want to worry Nina about this today,” I told Spencer.
“There really isn’t any time to make a new bouquet. Can you pick one out of the case for me?”

“You bet. I’m sure I can find something George will love.”

I went to the back, where Nina ran down the list before she helped me load the van with all the flowers. Spencer brought me a beautiful bouquet to take to George that wasn’t pink and red like most of the others. It had wild grasses, gerbera daisies, roses, and peonies in a pretty woven basket.

Nina had provided me with a route that would take me through our town quickly and efficiently. I decided before I got started on her list, I’d stop at the hospital and deliver George’s flowers first, since the hospital was close by.

When I got there, I parked and made my way to the twelfth floor.

“Can I help you?” asked the woman behind the desk.

“I have a delivery. For George? He’s in room twelve forty-one. Should I take them to him or would you like to do it?”

The nurse took the flowers from me. “Thank you. I can take them to him.”

“Is he going to be okay? I mean, what’s he here for?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t share any patient information. But, yes, he is going to be fine.”

“That’s good.”

“Thanks again,” she said as she whisked the flowers away.

As I spun around to make my way back to the elevator, I practically ran right into Leo.

missing you

“HEY,” LEO SAID. HE BUSTED OUT HIS WARM, ENDEARING SMILE. Man, I’d missed that smile. Man, I’d missed Leo.

“Hi.”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, he raised his eyebrows and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day?”

I squeezed my hands together nervously. “Yeah. Wow, what a day. I think everyone and their dogs are getting flowers today.” Then I remembered the reason he was probably hanging out at the hospital. “Wait. Is your grandma still here?”

“Well, she was here. Then she went home. And then she came back. She gets to go home again today. Hopefully for good this time.”

“Are your parents here?” I asked.

“My mom is with her, getting her ready to go. I went and
brought the car around to the front entrance. That’s where I was coming from.”