Secret for a Song (19 page)

T
he
following morning, I knocked on Drew’s front door at nine a.m. He answered in
his pajamas, his hair sticking up in places, his eyes bleary. Stubble,
incredibly sexy stubble, coated his jaw and upper lip.

He
blinked at me. “Saylor?”

I
walked in, closed the door, and pulled him against me. A few moments into the
long, slow kiss, his hands tightened around my waist and I felt him harden
against me. I forced myself to pull away.

“Get
dressed,” I said, struggling to breathe normally. “I’m kidnapping you.”

He
smiled, a slow, sleepy thing that made me want to rip his clothes off. “Wait a
minute,” he said, pulling me closer. I noticed how severely he was leaning
against the wall for balance. “I really liked where that was going.”

I
put my hand on his chest. “Nope. I’m taking you somewhere on a day trip. Get
dressed.”

He
let his hands fall and gave me an appreciative look up and down. “Wow. You
look...wow.”

“Thanks.”
I smoothed my hands down the tight silky sweater I was wearing, with its deep
v-neck. I’d paired it with a push-up bra for impressive results. The whole
getup was a lot sexier than my usual hoodie-and-jeans outfit. I’d even worn
high heels instead of my boots. I wanted today to be special. “Now get dressed
so we can go.”

“Where
are
we going, by the way?” Drew grabbed his cane from where he’d let it
fall when I’d attacked him and began to make his way to the bedroom.

I
followed, trying not to focus on how much his legs seemed to want to bend and
buckle as he walked, each punch of the cane, each dragged step like a bit of
Morse code. Dot, dash dash. Dot, dash dash.

“A
little place up north called Icarus Lake,” I said. “Have you heard of it?”

I
opened his closet door and pulled out a shirt. He was right behind me, so I
handed it to him and began to riffle through the hangers for a pair of jeans.

“What
are you doing?” he asked, his voice soft like sand.

“Sit.”
I made a shooing gesture toward the bed. “I got this.”

But
he didn’t move. “No.” His voice was quiet, so quiet. “I can do it myself.”

“I
know you can do it yourself.” I turned, a sinking feeling in my chest, like my
heart would slip through a slot and disappear into my abdomen somewhere. “I
just...I wanted to make it easier—”

But
he shook his head and pressed past me to get his own clothes. I sat on the bed,
my hands folded and dangling uselessly between my knees. I hadn’t meant it to
be pejorative. I’d done my reading, and I knew that FA patients didn’t like to
be viewed as handicapped or less-than. I’d never want Drew to feel like that
with me.

But
I knew, at the same time, that when he got his wheelchair, when other people
began to see his disability first and him second, I wouldn’t be there for him
to bounce things off of me. I wouldn’t be able to come to his house and pull
his head down to my lap, raking my fingers through his hair as we listened to
music and drifted off to sleep. I wouldn’t be there to cushion any of those
blows for him. He’d be reeling from my secret and from having to be in the
chair, and all I had was now, to make it easier, better, somehow, anyhow.

“I’m
sorry,” I whispered.

He
turned, stood a second, and then sighed and sank down beside me on the bed.
Taking my hands in one of his, he said, “It’s not you. You’re just trying to
help. It’s just, it’s what I said before. If—
when
I become disabled enough
that I need constant help or someone to check on me every day, I’ll take myself
to a community. I’m not going to stick around here and slip down that slope
with the people I know.”

He
wouldn’t be going down that slope with me, but not for the reasons he imagined.
Not because he’d be going away, but because I’d make him reel away from me in
disgust long before then.

I
said, “I know. I remember.” I got on my knees on the bed and kissed him. “I
love you,” I murmured against his lips. “Please don’t forget that.”

He
held me closer.

“The
cabin’s been in our family for two generations,” I said as we drove through a
tiny winding town called Cedar Grove.

We
were close, and I could feel that old excitement building in my stomach. My
family hadn’t taken a vacation to Icarus Lake in years, not since I was in
middle school. Something always seemed to come up—my dad’s business trips or my
hospitalizations. They were the perfect excuses we needed to not bond.

The
little houses we passed were quintessentially small-town. With the bluish snow
covering them, they looked just like the idyllic dollhouses my mother painted
and fussed over. I wondered what the families inside were like. Were they just
as perfect, with smiling children and parents who played board games in front
of a roaring fireplace? But maybe there were no families that like that in real
life. Maybe that was just a fantasy we were fed as children. If we told kids
the truth, honestly, who would ever want to grow up?

“So
what do you do at a lake house in the winter?” Drew grinned. “I mean, I can
think of some really fun stuff”—he put his hand on my upper thigh—“but I figure
you probably have other stuff in mind, too.”

“Oh,
I thought we could watch some TV,” I said.

Drew’s
face fell. “Really?”

“No!”
I laughed. “You don’t go out to a lake cabin and watch TV. Besides, there’s only
a small, ancient set there anyway, just in case we need to watch the news in an
emergency.”

“Whew.”
Drew wiped his forehead like he was relieved. “So, seriously, what’s the plan?”

“You’ll
see,” I said, smiling slightly. “Just wait.”

When
we pulled into the driveway, Drew blew out a breath. “Wow.”

I
smiled, put the car in park, and got out to breathe in the cold air. It was the
same air as what we breathed at home, I knew. But the air out here had always
felt different to me. Not just cleaner, but
cleansing
. As if you could
come here battered and broken and dirty, and in just a few days, come out
sparkling and shiny again. As if absolution was simply a state of mind, rather
than something you had to seek out.

I
went around and opened the car door for Drew before getting out our overnight
bags, his guitar case, and the picnic basket of food I’d packed. Hand in hand,
we climbed up the rounded stairs to the front door.

The
cabin wasn’t very big, just a two-story house way out in the country. The eaves
of the house were buried in snow. Everything was crisp and cold and quiet, like
we were in a storybook.

The
house and land were prized bits of real estate because they sat right on the
shore of Icarus Lake, which was a beautiful manmade body of water. We could sit
on the back porch of the cabin and throw a rock into the shallow part of the lake.
My parents had inherited it from my dad’s parents when they’d died a few years
ago, right around the time we stopped coming.

The
property manager had swept off the front porch and set out the doormat. I put
my key in the lock and opened the door. It was cold and still inside, with a
fine layer of dust coating everything. Through the hazy sunlight that streamed
in the windows, I saw dust motes dancing and twirling lazily. I sneezed.

Turning
on the lights, I said, “I called the real estate company that keeps an eye on
this place this morning. They should’ve turned on all the amenities for us.”

Drew
walked to the back window and looked out at the white, frozen lake. “Gotta say,
it’s nice having a rich girlfriend.”

I
put my arm around his waist. “It’s just my family that’s rich. Not me.”

It
seemed important to me to make that distinction. I wanted him to know that I
was the same as him in many ways. I’d been born into this life. I had money,
but it came with dysfunction and heartbreak. It wasn’t as rosy as it might seem
from the outside. I wanted him to know that so badly. “Come with me. I want to
show you where we’ll probably be spending most of our time.”

As
I tinkered with the back door lock, Drew said, “Wait. Shouldn’t you be
following that statement with a tour of the bedroom?”

I
rolled my eyes and opened the door. “Come on.”

I
held tightly onto his arm as he stepped over the edge of the door, the same
spot I’d tripped over so many times as a kid. I’d brushed off my knees and got
up to enjoy the back porch. If Drew fell, he could get seriously injured. And
if he did, I might not be able to pick him up. Emergency services took a long
time to get to Icarus Lake. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This
was supposed to be a good day; I was going to try damn hard to make it so.

I
heard the sharp intake of his breath as Drew took in the details of the
enclosed back porch. The crazy thing about Icarus Lake was that even a family
like mine didn’t have to have TV or the internet to find something to do
together.

My
grandparents had had a big fireplace put in at one end so we could sit out here
even in the winter. In one corner we had a small outdoor kitchen with a sink, a
stove top, and a grill. And, of course, a well-stocked liquor cabinet. Icarus Lake
was beautiful, but it wasn’t magic. My parents still needed their alcohol.

“I’ll
get that fire going and we can stay out here all day,” I said. “It actually
keeps this whole place really warm. That’s thermally-insulating glass. Or
something.” I gestured to the floor to ceiling panes surrounding the porch.

Drew
sat on a loveseat close to one of the panes. “This is absolutely amazing. That
lake...it looks like glass.”

“Yeah.”
I smiled and put my hand up to the window pane. The water really did look like
glass—like a mirror. I could see the reflection of the clouds above. “I used to
ice skate there when I was little.”

I
remember looking down at my reflection as I skated, my black curls streaming
behind me as I executed really complex moves I’d long since forgotten. I
remembered feeling, for the first time, powerful and beautiful and just right.
I felt as if I belonged there, gliding along the smooth surface of that lake,
more than I belonged anywhere else on earth.

I
sometimes liked to imagine that there was a parallel universe under the mirrored
surface of the frozen lake. In that universe, another young girl like me
existed, ice skating, too. Only she’d look
up
instead of down and she’d
see me, looking down at her. She’d think I was just her reflection, just like I
thought she was mine. And in that way, we’d complete each other, make each
other so happy, simply by existing.

It
felt delicious to me, this daydream. That my existence could be the cause of
someone’s happiness—was there anything more life-affirming than that? I turned
to Drew. Kissed him on the lips. Sat down on his lap.

“I
love you,” I said.

He
didn’t say it back, just as he hadn’t said it back the previous two times I’d
said it. I’d noticed it, of course, but it hadn’t seemed laden with meaning
till now. Maybe Drew wasn’t in love with me. Though the thought hurt like a
splinter to my heart, I knew it was better this way.

W
e
sat on the loveseat, with the fire crackling, for hours. We didn’t really talk,
just sat and watched the frozen lake and the occasional winter bird that flew overhead,
its bright purple or crimson feathers like ink drops splashed against the gray
paper sky.

When
the fire died out, I put more wood on, and re-lit it. Then I cracked open the
picnic basket and brought out a plate of fruit and cheese and some sparkling
grape juice.

As
Drew bit into a slice of apple, he said, “I know what you meant, before. When
you said I’d see for myself what there was to do up here.” He shook his head
slightly, gazing at the panorama of the frozen lake, the odd scraggly tree, its
branches snow-heavy and dripping with icicles, its frigid fruit. “You could
stay here forever and just do nothing.”

I
kept quiet, letting the fire make all the noise we needed. In that moment,
everything was perfect, just as I’d wanted it to be for that one last day.

In
four days I’d tell Drew the truth. He’d see me stripped down, bare to the
bones. I’d cut away the veneer of normalcy and he’d see the infection and
disease clinging to my chest, like an ugly baby afraid to leave its mother’s
breast. He’d see me for what I really was. All of this—all of what we had,
would be gone. I knew that. I had to accept it. I hoped, with time, I would.
And I hoped that Drew would go on without another thought for me, the
thoughtless girl who fell in love with him.

He
cupped his fingers under my chin, raised my face to his. “You okay?”

I
nodded as the world shimmered through my tears. “Play me a song?”

He
looked at me another long second, but then nodded and reached to the floor to
grab his guitar case. He fumbled with the buckles, his fingers not quite
grasping them the right way.

I
held my breath, hoping that he’d get it on the next try. It seemed so very
important to me in that moment that he open that guitar case. I didn’t know
why, but I thought if he wasn’t able to, if he asked for help, I might just
break down and sob right there on that porch, on our dusty loveseat. But he did
get it, and the guitar was out and in his hands a heartbeat later.

“What
should I play?” he asked.

“Anything,”
I said.

So
he strummed to me, his fingers slipping and falling sometimes, as if they
didn’t have the strength to pluck that delicate line of steel, to inspire it
with enough energy to make the music that sang to my soul.

I
pretended not to notice as I stared straight ahead at the frozen lake and
thought about what would happen if, tomorrow, I threw a great boulder out onto
it, right dead in the center. Would the boulder just crash right through to the
deep, cold water underneath, never to surface? Maybe it’d create a spider web
of cracks, starting from the center and shooting outward, until every last part
of the pristine surface was cracked and mottled, never to be the same again.

I
put my head on Drew’s shoulder and listened.

We
went indoors when the light faded to eat dinner. I set the small kitchen table
with the chicken salad I’d bought the night before, and lit the small tapered
candlestick in the middle. Drew sat down, smiling, his face glowing in the
candlelight. “Fancy.”

“I
wanted it to be special,” I said, my cheeks growing hot. “It’s sort of stupid,
I know.”

“Hey,
Grayson.” Drew put his hand on mine and waited till I met his eye. “It’s not
stupid at all. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. Thank you.”

I
could tell he meant it, so I smiled. “You’re welcome.”

As
the light faded outside, the sky changing from a bruised purple to velvet
black, I felt anxiety beating its wings somewhere inside my chest. It was too
soon. I had to come clean too soon. Maybe I should wait till he’d got his chair.
At least I could help him get through that. How could I just lea—

“Is
this about the thing you have to tell me?”

I
looked up from my plate to see Drew watching me, his fork poised in the air.

“What?”
I took a drink of the grape juice. It was sickly sweet, like they’d added in
three times as much sugar as they should’ve.

He
waited silently for me to answer.

I
set my glass down and met his eye. “Yeah. I wanted this to be something you
could remember, even after I tell you.”

My
throat began to ache, the way it did when I watched a touching movie or read
something especially poignant in a book. The way it did when I’d once seen a
dead baby bird in our yard. Not knowing what else to do, I’d looked away and
pretended it didn’t hurt.

He
leaned forward, his elbows on my grandmother’s linen tablecloth. “I told you.
There’s nothing you can tell me that’s going to change my mind about you.”

I
smiled and shook my head, thinking how easy it was to say that, to make great
declarations when you didn’t know the person before you was a complete and
total liar. That the very visage you saw was made of smoke and flashy lights,
designed to make you believe you were seeing something other, something
different, something better. How easy a fool the heart was, and how quickly the
mind followed.

“I
don’t want to talk about that right now,” I said. “Please.”

“Okay,”
Drew said. Then, looking straight in my eyes: “I love you, Grayson.”

There
it was. I held my breath as I wondered what to say, how to respond, whether to
acknowledge that it was the first time he’d told me that. But then I tossed my
frantic thoughts aside.

I
just set my fork down, stood, and held my hand out to him. He took it, and with
his other, grabbed the cane that was resting against his chair. Slowly, we made
our way down the dark hallway to the master bedroom that was once my
grandparents’, and then my parents’. It stood empty now, the big four-poster
bed with its floral quilt waiting patiently like a small ship.

I
lay down and held my arms out to Drew. He set his cane down, took his shoes off
and lay on top of me, holding the brunt of his weight off his elbows as we
kissed. After a minute, he pulled away. In the darkness, I couldn’t see his
expression, but I felt the soft sigh of air as he said, “Wait.”

He
sat up, and I followed, reaching out to turn on the lamp on the bedside table.
“What’s wrong?”

He
bit his bottom lip, as if he was trying to hold in the words he didn’t want to
say. “I...I don’t know if I can hold myself up if I’m on top.” He looked down
at a large red rose on the quilt as he said it. “My legs aren’t really feeling
up to much.”

“That’s
okay.” I reached out, touched a lock of his hair gently. “I love you, Andrew
Dean.”

I
climbed into his lap and kissed him until we both were able to forget what he’d
said.