These Are the Moments (10 page)

Chapter 23

Now

She signed onto her computer as soon as she got home, and he was already online waiting for her.

SGuidry4: So, how have you been?

WMLake3: I’ve been good. Back in Covington, working for a law firm. Living at home and trying to save some money. How about you?

SGuidry4: I’ve been pretty okay. Doing a lot of traveling. Living out of suitcases, waiting for layovers and eating a lot of airport dinners. Basking in the luxury, you know.”

She laughed, in real life.

WMLake3: I bet you enjoy that.

Claudia pushed open the door. “What’s so funny?”

“Get out,” Wendy shouted, throwing a pillow at the closing door. “

SGuidry4: It’s not too bad. Work is my whole life, basically.

She wondered where he was right now.
At his apartment in New Orleans? Out of the country?
She’d seen pictures of him in Costa Rica not too long ago. But where in the world was Simon right now?

Probably alone and bored, with nothing but his overactive mind for company. What other reason did he have for contacting her?

WMLake3: Yeah, I understand what you mean.

SGuidry4: Are you still painting?

WMLake3: More than ever, actually. I’m hoping to maybe get a spot in a local gallery here.

SGuidry4: Really? That’s amazing. I knew you would; you’ve always been crazy talented.

WMLake3: Thank you.

SGuidry4: So . . . this wedding, huh?

WMLake3: Apparently, it’s really happening.

She picked up the engagement announcement from her bedside table. It was bright pink with gold polka dots, and in bright white letters, it read, “We’re Engaged!” On the back, there was the photo captured by the hidden photographer. Coming Spring 2015.

SGuidry4: And you’re the—

WMLake3: Maid of honor, it would seem. Best man?

SGuidry4: Good guess.

WMLake3: Are there words for this kind of thing? Insanity? Dumb luck?

SGuidry4: I think I’ll go with irony.

WMLake3: That’ll work.

She sighed, biting the inside of her cheek. Only she and Simon fully knew how weird this was. How
hard
it could be. Up until now, talking to him had been off limits; but now, she was curious.

WMLake3: So, uhh, how do you feel about it? Or is that too much to ask?

SGuidry4: You can ask me anything. I’m an open book. I think we’re just going to have to make the best of this. I mean, we have a history, but we can be friendly, right?

WMLake3: Right.

Yeah, totally.

They dove right into each other again, talking back and forth about their jobs and their lives.

How was his family? How was hers?

Did you see that Covington got a new movie theater?

Things like this could keep them occupied for hours.

WMLake3: This is weird. It’s weird, right?

She didn’t mean the talking. That was a routine. It was the
feelings
part of this talking. It was like she was talking to someone who wasn’t there anymore. Not a ghost, but more like a memory of a person.

And he had changed.

Not wholly, but partially.

And Wendy wondered,
what if she didn’t know him anymore?
She’d never not known him. She didn’t even know what that was like.

For too many reasons, that made her a little sad.

SGuidry4: What do you mean?

WMLake3: All of it. Owen and Viv. You. Here. Talking to me.

SGuidry4: I can be a fairly reasonable person sometimes.

It was her turn to ask what he meant.

SGuidry4: I mean, I can’t hate you forever. Not that I don’t hate you. I do, mostly. But I’m not blind enough to believe that what happened with us was all your fault.

WMLake3: Uhh . . . thanks? I guess?

She was used to Simon hating her. If he wasn’t hating her, he was loving her. And one was a hell of a lot easier than the other.

SGuidry4: I’m just saying. What happened with us was a mutual effort. I pushed, and you lashed out. We’re even.

WMLake3: Yeah, I guess.

SGuidry4: Do you ever wonder—

WMLake3: Wonder what?

SGuidry4: I don’t know. I just think about it sometimes. If I’d never asked you that question.

WMLake3: Yeah?

SGuidry4: Do you think we’d still be together?

Wendy had thought about this a lot. The yelling. The crash of his fist through the bedroom wall. The instant regret she felt, knowing that she was making the wrong move, but making it anyway.

Would they be together?

Now?

WMLake3: Honestly? I do.

SGuidry4: Yeah. Me too.

Wendy searched her feelings.

Was she sad?
Slightly.

Was she relieved?
Yes.

Was she confused?
Always.

WMLake3: Are you happy?

SGuidry4: Happy? That’s a complicated question.

WMLake3: I’ve got time.

Chapter 24

Then

Time pass
ed
quickly
.

Three months felt pretty special. It was a huge accomplishment to a high school freshman, and it left Wendy feeling like
hey, we’re actually doing this
. He wanted to celebrate. And she wasn’t going to argue.

Things had been . . .
trying
lately. Trying. That was a good word for it. They were trying to be okay. They were trying to stop fighting, once and for all. They were trying to be happy, not just sometimes, but all the time.

And for the most part, it was working.

“On Wednesday,” he’d said, meaning their anniversary, “I’m going to pick you up before school. Be ready, okay?”

“What time?”

“5:45.”

She stared open-mouthed at him. “That’s a joke . . . right?”

It wasn’t.

On Wednesday, she woke up before her alarm. The sun wasn’t up yet, as she caked her makeup on beneath the harsh glow of her bathroom light. Her eyes were droopy and tired.

At 5:45 sharp, she got a text: “I’m here.”

Downstairs, she locked the door behind her and climbed into the passenger seat. Simon smiled, and she immediately felt more awake.

“Happy anniversary,” he said, leaning into her, saying it directly over her lips.

She kissed him. “Happy anniversary back.”

He drove her across the street, and it wasn’t hard to figure out from there. As they walked through the woods, heading toward the pond, he draped his arm around her and she let him support her. Morning was always cold without the sun, and Wendy shivered beneath his hand.

“Best memory,” he said, “from the last three months.”

“So sleepy,” she groaned.

“Come on,” he said, lifting up her shoulder.

She picked her head. “All right, all right. Watching the rain. You kissing me. Oh, no wait. Maybe the day we found the pond. I don’t know. This is hard.”

He laughed. “Okay, you can take two then. Mine was that day at the pond, definitely. I don’t know. It was when I first
really
knew.”

He paused, snapping his head away from her. She pressed, “Knew what?”

They were at the pond again, just the two of them, alone in the world. He directed her over to a fallen tree trunk, and together they watched the mist hover over the water. She knew what he was going to say. She hoped she did.

“Want to know why I dragged you out here so early?” he asked.

She shrugged. “So you could kill me? No witnesses. A river nearby. It’s the perfect plan.”

“That’s a really good point. I’ll keep that in mind for when I
actually
plan to do you in.”

“Do me in? Your murder-sayings are a little outdated, don’t you think?”

He ruffled her hair. “Can we not talk about murder right now, please?”

“Fine. But I’m watching my back.”

He angled himself in her direction and pointed at the skyline. “Look.”

When she turned around, the sky molded itself into pink and lavender blooms, looking more alive than she’d ever seen it before. The sun was making a grand entrance, laying out a carpet of soft, brilliant clouds. There was so much sky to see from here. She couldn’t imagine a better person to see it with.

“Wow,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen a sunrise before.”

“Never? Not even on the beach?”

“No,” she said, falling back into his arms and landing against his warm chest. “Never.”

“I’ll take you one day.”

“Yeah?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“Yes,” he said. “Someday when we’re old enough to take trips together. I’ll get us a condo. We’ll wake up early, watch the sunrise, then have breakfast somewhere.”

His words took shape in her head like a movie, something she wanted to play over and over again. He spoke with such conviction that she believed every syllable. They had a future. She was sure of it.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his backpack.

She sat up, tucking the stray hairs behind her ears. “I didn’t get you anything. Don’t hate me.”

“You don’t have to get me anything,” he said. “Well, actually, I do want something, but just wait one second. Close your eyes.”

“You really are going to kill me, aren’t you?”

He made a face at her. His
seriously, Wendy
face. So, she closed her eyes.

“Open your hands.”

She did.

He placed something in them. Something cold.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

When she looked down, there was a rectangular palette in her hands. There were colors in it, so many of them, reds and blues and greens and more.

“Watercolor paints,” she said, looking up at him. “How did you . . . you did this . . .?”

She couldn’t make the words match her feelings.

“I bought you paper, too,” he said, pulling a pad from his backpack. “And some different kinds of brushes. I did some research, and these had some good ratings. I know you’ve been playing around with it at school, but I figured, maybe you could try at home.”

Her eyes pinched out tears. “This is amazing.”

He gripped her hands, and cleared his throat. “Wendy, I believe in you. So much. I know that you can do anything and everything, just like you said. I can’t wait to see what you do. I can’t wait to be just a small, tiny part of it.”

“You’re a pretty big part of it,” she admitted, staring at the paints in her lap. “I can’t believe you did this. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Wendy couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this happy. She was in love, officially and assuredly, with her best friend and boyfriend, someone who believed in her, someone who would be there for her. All signs had pointed here.

“Will you do something for me?” he asked.

“Of course. Yes.”

He smiled, halfway. “Paint me something.”

She smiled back, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you.”

He pulled back. There it was. The first
I love you
. Just spit from her mouth without any build-up, without a proper introduction, just an honest truth that couldn’t be suppressed any longer.

She widened her eyes. “Oh my gosh.”

“You love me?” he asked, brushing a hand around her ear.

She nodded. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you, Wendy Lake,” he said. “So much.”

And he kissed her, just as the sun made its debut, just as the world started to wake up in every corner.

Chapter 25

Now

Wendy swirled the paintbrush in the pigmented water. On the page, streaks of rain cut diagonally behind a window, lit by a single floodlight. She didn’t know how this had happened. But here she was, painting through her own life, and she had the 8x10’s to prove it
.

Simon’s texting had been a fluke. It bothered her at first, staring at the phone, wondering if it would ring or light up with his number. But it never did. And after the initial aggravation wore itself thin, she was able to bounce back fairly quickly. So what if he didn’t text her? She had better things to worry about.

Like politics.

And swine flu.

And more recently, Claudia.

Mom and Dad were worried.

“Is she eating?” Mom had asked. “Because she tells me she’s eating, but I’m finding bundled up napkins of food in the trash. She’s not eating. I’m calling the doctor.”

“Wait, Claudia’s on a hunger strike?” Dad asked.

“No, Bill,” Mom scoffed. “She’s heartbroken.”

“Oh,” Dad said. “Right.”

In truth, it was only one bundled up napkin, and it had been Wendy’s —she wasn’t a fan of broccoli. The house had been more inhabitable when Wendy was harboring the teenage heartbreak. She’d been open about it, talking it out with Mom and crying to Dad. But not Claudia. She’d kept her mouth shut about the whole thing. Drinking. Partying. Being your regular teenage girl in the throes of breakup land.

As Wendy stared into her cup, there was nothing but afternoon ahead of her. Upstairs, a door clicked open. A moppy-headed Claudia emerged on the loft, pants-less, mascara crusted around her eyes.

“Hi,” she croaked, the rasp of a party still stuck on her tongue.

“You look good,” Wendy said.

Mom and Dad were away on retreat, leaving Wendy in charge. Her main role? Chauffeur. Her reward? A stocked fridge and money for pizza. For all intents and purposes, she was an adult babysitter.

The night before, Wendy had waited up.

“Just let me know when you need me,” Wendy texted, already half-asleep on the couch.

“Got a ride,” Claudia answered.

“A sober one?”

Wendy could almost feel the eye roll on the other side of the phone. “Please.”

When Claudia stumbled in, scratch-free and wasted, she gave Wendy a thumbs-up and crawled up the stairs into bed.

“Do you need a trash can?” Wendy had called up after her. No response.

Now, Claudia dragged her feet down the stairs, flinging herself onto the couch. “I’m a dead person.”

“You look it. Need some medicine? A shower perhaps?”

“Both.”

Wendy grabbed some medicine from the kitchen and dumped it in her sister’s hand, before parking herself in front of the easel again.

“I saw Casey last night,” Claudia said in a croaky whisper.

“Oh shit,” Wendy said, biting at the tip of her brush. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Of course not. “Okay.”

“He was really upset,” Claudia said, turning onto her side. “He cried for like . . . two hours.”

Wendy didn’t know how to answer. The wrong thing would shut Claudia down again. Saying nothing could mean Claudia would never open up again. So Wendy went with a safe, obligatory, “Wow.”

“Yeah. I think I really messed up.”

“Do you mean,” Wendy started, paused, then said, “You regret breaking up with him?”

“I don’t know,” Claudia said, shooting up off of the couch, pulling her T-shirt down. “Whatever. I’m going out tonight.”

“Again?”

Claudia scrunched her face at Wendy and started to head back into her room. She stopped in the doorway. “You wanna come?”

Claudia didn’t normally ask Wendy to do things with her. But Wendy would never say no when Claudia asked. Which was how she found herself saying, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Claudia said, smiling with a twist.