This is What Goodbye Looks Like (18 page)

“I’ve heard this a million times already.”

He groans, not even trying to hide his frustration. “And you still don’t think it’s right to take her off life support?”

“No, I don’t think it’s right to kill my sister. Not when there’s still a chance she’ll wake up.”

“A practically nonexistent chance.”

“Which means the chances aren’t
completely
nonexistent, and I’m not giving up on her.”

It’s what she would have wanted, and I know it. Everyone has always underestimated Camille since she’s so tiny and frail looking, and it drives her insane. Mom and Dad have always babied her, but I’ve never done it, and I think that’s why we’re so close. She’s naturally a spitfire, and I’ve always encouraged that side of her, whether it’s standing up to bullies at school or trying out for the most competitive gymnastics team in San Diego. And it’s honestly not hard to encourage her, because she always comes out on top.

“Lea, you’ve always been protective of Camille,” Dad says. “But this isn’t her you’re protecting. She’s just a shell now.”

“She’s my baby sister, and she always will be,” I snap. “Now did you need something? Because I’d like to go now.”

He hesitates a moment and then says, “I wish you’d just go to a school around here. I hate having you all the way across the country.”

I heave in a deep breath. As far as Dad knows, I came to this school solely because of its academics. He has no idea that Seth goes here, no idea what my actual goal is. Part of me wants to explain to him how important it is to me that I stay here, but instead, I just say, “I know. But you keep telling me that I need to move on from the accident. So this is me moving on, okay?”

“Okay,” Dad says grudgingly. “But pick up the next time I call. I don’t want to have to be worried about you this entire semester. And if you decide at any point you want to come home—”

“I’ll let you know the second I want to come home,” I say. ‘But, like I said, I’ll be fine.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Okay. Just let me know if that changes.” He sounds a little choked up as he adds, “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

But the words sound practiced and robotic, and for not the first time, I wonder if they’re just as much of a lie as everything else I say to him these days.

Chapter Eighteen

My camera is a comforting weight in my hands as I stare out the library’s window, watching the drifting snow. The sun has broken through a small part of the cloud cover, but snowflakes continue to fall like slow-motion diamonds, and my hands itch with the urge to take a picture of the glittering image. Landon drove back to the shop and picked up my camera on Tuesday, but I haven’t had the guts to take any pictures yet. After so many months of abandoning my photography, a mixture of dread and excitement fills me at the thought of restarting.

“It’s one of those days, isn’t it?” Seth says from behind me.

I jump a little at his voice. He’s strangely sneaky for a blind guy, although it’s probably just because he’s late to practically everything, so I never quite know when to expect him.

“One of what days?” I ask.

“One of the days when the snow is perfect. Everyone’s always in a better mood on days like this.” He strides over to my side and then adds, “Except you. You’re in a bad mood today.”

“Frustrated mood,” I correct. I don’t bother asking how he knows something’s off with me—he seems infinitely sensitive to changes in people’s tones, and I’ve probably sounded pissed off ever since I hung up on Dad earlier this morning.

“Want to tell me why?”

“No.”

I expect him to argue, but instead he just reaches out and touches my arm, letting his fingers gently glide along the sleeve of my hoodie until he finds my shoulder. He lets his hand rest there, and my breath catches for a moment, but I don’t move away.

“Are you going to go all quiet on me today?” he asks. “Because I thought we were over that.”

“We are,” I say, and it feels good to know it’s not a lie.

An entire week has passed since we visited the camera store, and I’ve spent time with him almost every day, either in the cafeteria or in class or during our tutoring sessions. Being around him is becoming easier and easier, but it’s also getting harder and harder to remember why it’s such a bad idea to befriend him.

“I’m just...” I rub at my temples, trying to clear my head. “Like I said, I’m frustrated today, and I’m not talkative when I’m frustrated.”

“Well, then let’s add an item to today’s agenda,” Seth says. “First, we’ll work on the thesis project. And then we’ll try to figure out how to get you to relax.”

“Good luck with that,” I say, but I take a seat at our usual table, figuring we can at least get started on the first agenda item.

“Pancakes or waffles?” Seth asks as he sits across from me. Koda settles at his feet, but not before leaning over to gently lick my hand.

I give the dog a pat on her head as I say, “I think breakfast already ended.”

“No,” Seth says. “I mean, do you like pancakes or waffles better?”

A smile creeps up on me, and I can’t fight it back. He’s been asking me these either-or questions all week, saying it’s the only way he’ll ever get to know me, since I’m always so quiet. It started off with relevant questions: Did I find Chemistry or Physics easier? (Chemistry, always.) Was I planning to go straight to college or pause for a gap year? (Gap year, definitely, since I’ve hardly paid attention to any college admission stuff.) East Coast or West Coast for vacations? (Wherever I can most easily forget the past year of my existence.) Now he’s running out of questions that are even slightly relevant to our lives at Harting, but he still won’t stop asking any either-or question that pops into his head.

“You know, most people ease into the whole getting-to-know-you thing,” I remind him. “It’s not supposed to be an interrogation.”

“I’m impatient. So sue me.”

I sigh a little, but carefully consider my answer. “Waffles. They’re better because they’re symmetrical.”

He makes a tsk-ing sound and shakes his head. “Pancakes. They’re better because you get more of them.”

“Well, it’s official then,” I say. “We’re completely incompatible.”

I mean it as a lame joke, but as soon as I say the words, I realize it’s a valid reminder. I clear my throat and say, “So. We have Parker’s photos, we have his notes, and we have my camera. Does this mean we’re ready to start with the rest of the pictures?”

“Not unless you’ve figured out his thesis yet.”

I tap a finger against the table, beating a dull rhythm against the wood. I suddenly feel antsy, and lounging around the warm library doesn’t seem nearly as appealing with my nerves full of anxiety. “Two of Parker’s photo sets were taken on campus, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you could get me to where he took the shots?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really going to ask the only blind person on campus for directions?”

“I trust you.”

He smiles, and even though it only lasts for a slight second, it’s still enough to make me smile back.

“Is it really smart to trust me so soon?” he teases. “We haven’t even gotten to the chocolate-or-vanilla question yet.”

“Chocolate is always better. No exceptions.” I reach out and give his sleeve a tug. “Now let’s go find those spots. I want to see if maybe there’s something important about the pictures’ locations that we missed.”

He nods in agreement and stands from the table, but then he asks, “Did you bring your coat?”

“No,” I admit. “I wasn’t expecting to spend much time outside.”

He takes off his sweatshirt and hands it to me. “Then you’re wearing this, okay?”

“I already have a sweatshirt.”

“Me, too,” he says. “And I’m giving it to you.”

I sigh. “Are you always this stubborn? Or are you going to get easier to deal with when you come down with hypothermia out there?”

“I have the blood of a polar bear, I’ll be fine. Which reminds me: polar bear or penguin?”

I roll my eyes. “They live on separate continents, so I don’t see why you can’t like them equally.”

“Good answer.” He tosses the sweatshirt in my lap. “Now put that on.”

I get the feeling we’re going to be stuck here forever if I don’t go along with it, so I pull the sweatshirt over my head, making sure he hears my exasperated sigh. I head out of the library, breathing in deeply as I step into the biting cold. Everything here smells clean—the freshly crushed leaves, the new snow, the sharp wind.

“Parker took the second set of pictures at the East Gate,” Seth says, nodding in its direction. “There’s a path that leads around the science lab that’ll get us there.”

“Is the path usually icy?” I ask, glancing down at my cane. For the most part, Harting is pretty good about keeping its pathways usable, but there are a few spots on campus I have to routinely avoid.

Seth shakes his head and continues toward the science lab. “No. Usually it’s clear, although sometimes there’s a little ice.”

“That’s fine,” I quickly say, feeling a little self-conscious. “I mean, a little bit of ice isn’t too big of a deal. I can manage.”

That small smirk plays at his lips. “Lea, you do realize everyone at this school has publicly fallen on their ass multiple times, right? So when you do eventually fall, it’s not like you should get embarrassed about it.”

“You’ve fallen before?” I ask. His gait is always so confident, it’s hard to imagine him ever doing anything as awkward as slipping.

“I have a long history of slipping,” he says with a wry smile. “My mom actually wanted to move somewhere warmer when I was little, because she was worried I was going to hurt myself.” He suddenly turns away, but not quick enough. I catch the blush invading his cheeks. “That’s why I got Koda,” he admits. “It was either get a guide dog or move.”

“You mean you didn’t want her at first?”

He chuckles at my incredulous tone, and it’s my turn to blush. But, luckily, he can’t see it, so I stay beside him as we start down a small stone path. We’re the only ones on this part of the campus, since I guess everyone else is smart enough to stay inside and out of the cold.

“I’d always thought guide dogs were such a blind person thing,” Seth says, his words slow and careful. “You know? I mean, if a person has a guide dog, there’s no mistaking that their vision is either total crap or nonexistent.”

“And you didn’t want that?”

“No. With my cane, I could fold it away, make my blindness invisible to other people. You can’t just tuck a dog away.” He reaches down and pats Koda’s head, and she licks at his fingers. “Of course, as soon as I got Koda, I realized I’d been an idiot. I’m blind. I shouldn’t have to try to hide that, not from strangers or friends or myself.”

“That’s... brave.”

“Nope,” he says. “That’s just life.”

“You make it look so easy. Blending in, I mean.” I thump my cane against the ground, making a hollow metallic noise. “I always feel like everyone must be staring.”

“Honestly? That’s probably because everyone is, just like they stare at me.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly, shooting him a scowl even though I know he can’t see it.

He just shrugs. “But I also think it doesn’t matter much what people do and don’t look at.”

“That’s easy for
you
to say,” I mutter.

“Exactly,” he replies, tapping the side of his sunglasses. “Take it from a blind dude. The things that really matter about a person aren’t things you can physically see. So if someone wants to stare at you, who cares? It’s not like they’ll get to see the real you without your permission.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I struggle to come up with an answer. But then Seth’s phone rings, saving me from having to respond. He has different ringtones programmed for his contacts so he can tell who’s calling and texting him, and while I’ve heard lots of them over the past couple of weeks, this ringtone is new. It’s a clip from a techno song that reminds me of a siren, and judging by the wince Seth gives as he answers, it’s not a coincidence.

He stops in the middle of the path as he answers. “Mom, I’ll call you later,” he says, his tone strangely sharp. “I’m busy right now.” He pauses as he listens to her response, and then lets out a tight sigh. “Okay, but can we just talk about it later?”

He starts to pull the phone away from his ear, but then the annoyed edge suddenly falls away from his expression and is immediately replaced with concern. “Mom, what happened? Why are you crying?”

He holds up a finger to me, silently asking for a minute. “Take your time,” I say quietly, and he nods his thanks as he turns away.

There’s a long pause, and I fill the awkward silence by taking out my own phone and pretending to check my texts. It’s kind of pointless to pretend to be occupied, since he can’t even see me, but it still feels weird to be staring right at him while he has this conversation.

In the corner of my eye, I watch Seth’s shoulders stiffen as he listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. “No, I’m not coming home,” he says, the sharpness creeping back into his tone. “I already told you that last night. I just can’t keep doing this, okay? If you and Dad are going to battle it out, get it over with. Quit trying to use me as a bunker.”