Through to You (25 page)

“I just figured I owe you an apology at least.”

“Don’t—” she says. “I mean, you don’t owe me anything.”

I’m not sure what to say next. I gesture to the second floor. “Is Owen asleep?”

Nina glances up the stairs and takes my hand. Silently, she guides me up the steps and down the hall. I get goosebumps thinking of the first morning I spent here. She peeks into Owen’s room, holding one finger to her lips. I peer around the corner too, and see him curled on top of his comforter, asleep. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sits on the floor.

“We were watching
Remember the Titans
,” Nina whispers.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She shakes her head and we drift across the hall toward her room. “It ended an hour ago, but I didn’t want to wake him up to tuck him in.”

“Good movie.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “He’s going to be a killer quarterback in a few years.”

She smiles tentatively in the dim light. “You think he can?”

“With the right person’s support.” I catch her eye.

She squeezes my palm. I didn’t even realize we were still holding hands. I’m just about to say something, but then she turns on the light in her room.

I blink. It takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust, and several more before I understand what I’m seeing. Ghouls and monsters leer from every wall.
The Creature from the Black Lagoon
hangs next to the closet. Alfred Hitchcock’s
Psycho
is by the desk.
Black Sunday
is over the bed. Every poster I saw in the closet now decorates her walls, along with a few new ones, from what I can tell.

“I was always a fan of
Forbidden Planet
,” I say, admiring the one by the door.

Nina folds her arms and laughs. “I know.”

I turn in a circle. The bed is still made, the desk is neat, and there still isn’t a speck of dust anywhere that I can see. But the room is a burst of color. It’s full of life—or people screaming for their lives, anyway.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I don’t know, I was feeling too much like I did after my parents died, before I met you. Like all I had to do was focus hard enough to make it through life. But after I watched a few of our movies again, I realized I need to have a little fun.” She shrugs, smiling at the cheesy, oversaturated gore. “Also, Aunt Car hates them.”

I let my eyes travel the room, trying to make this new image of Nina stick. There’s a stack of DVDs on the bookshelf, arranged in alphabetical order, corresponding to the posters. “I wish we had time to watch one.”

The picture of us at the lake catches my eyes, taped to the mirror.

Nina follows my gaze. “I’m going to miss you. Again.”

I take a long look at her, trying to memorize her smooth copper hair, her pale cheeks, her brown eyes, warm and sad. I reach for her, and her face dissolves. We fall into each other’s arms. It’s so different—comforting and peaceful—not anything like with Viv. I lean my head against Nina’s, and her hair smells so fresh. She rubs her hand up and down my back, and we just hold each other. Neither of us speaks.

“Cam, I …”

She lifts her head and we both pause for the same second, inches from one another’s lips. I hesitate, our eyes meet, and it feels like we’re staring at each other across a universe. I close the space and she tastes warm and sweet, like tea with the smallest drop of honey.

Nina is the one who pulls away. She wipes her face. “At least I get to say good-bye this time.”

I can’t stay. I nod, and walk the few steps to her door.

“Can I walk you there?” Nina says.

I exhale, glad she asked.

“What about Owen?”

She tiptoes across the hall to check him, covers him with a blanket, then turns the muted TV volume back on low. It sounds like the home shopping channel.

“He’ll be okay if I come right back,” she whispers. “I wish he was awake—to say good-bye.”

I touch her shoulder gently. “Maybe this is better. He might think I was a dream.”

We creep downstairs and I crack the door to look outside. “It’s still sort of snowing.”

“Won’t you be cold?” Nina asks.

The chill slices its way through my thin shirt and I close the door. “I seem to have misplaced my jacket tonight.”

“Hang on one sec.”

Nina disappears upstairs and comes back bearing a huge red hoodie with the Rams logo. On the back it says
PIKE
with my number five in white.

“It’s all I have that’ll fit,” she says. “You can have it back.”

“I never had one like this before,” I say, pulling it over my head. It smells like her. “Are you sure?”

She nods stiffly, and I can tell she’s forcing a smile. “It suits you better than me.”

We walk slowly, despite the weather.

I keep trying to think of things to say, but everything that comes to mind seems trivial now. Why bother talking about school, or the future, or anything? What do you say to someone when you know it’s your last conversation? What is there to say—besides good-bye?

The snow is lighter now, spitting from the sky one sad flake at a time. We take a left, and the corner comes into view. The street lamp mounted on top of the utility pole filters a pool of yellow light onto the snow-dusted pavement below. I come to a sudden halt, and Nina stops with me. My palms are sweaty, tucked up into the sleeves of my sweatshirt. It’s hard to swallow. My leg ought to be aching. Every other part of me is.

“I’m not sure,” I say.

“Of what?” she whispers.

“Why do you think this happened? Any of it?”

She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know, it could’ve just been some fluke in the universe. You missed her, she missed him.” She pauses and looks at me. “I missed you.”

“But there has to be a
reason
. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

I stare straight ahead, thinking of everything that’s happened here, and how stepping through that light means leaving all of it, good and bad, behind forever. She grabs hold of my hand and I slide my fingers out of my sleeve, letting them twine with hers.

“Maybe it won’t close,” I say.

She squeezes my hand, and our eyes meet, but she doesn’t say anything.

We walk toward the corner together.

The night is cold and silent. The only sound I hear is our footsteps dragging down the pavement. I focus on our feet so I don’t have to see our destination getting closer.

Except Nina’s black boots come to a sudden stop. Her fingers tighten around mine.

I look up.

“What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer. She lets go of my hand and walks slowly down the sidewalk. By the way she tilts her head and scans the horizon, it’s clear she’s listening for something.

“Nina, what?” I ask again.

But then I hear it.

I turn in time to see headlights careen around the corner behind us. The car fishtails on the slick pavement, regains traction, and plows a course straight for Nina. The vehicle passes into the light. It’s a deep shade of blue.

I fly the distance between us and crash into her, struggling to push her to safety, but she flails her arms and pushes back, trying to get
me
out of the way. The headlights bear down on us. I can’t think or hear over the roar of the engine. It’s too late to do anything but plant myself in front of her, close my eyes, and wait for impact.

My heart stops in a squeal of tires.

The world goes silent.

Hot air breathes against my legs, and I crack one eye open. The chrome grille of Viv’s car sits inches away from my knees—her headlights cutting me in half. I open both eyes and squint at the smooth front of the vehicle, gasping when I hear my heart still beating in my ears. A short-haired silhouette leans out of the driver’s-side window.

“Get out of the
way
, Cam.”

“No.” A snowflake lands and melts on my cheek.

She hits the steering wheel. “Just—get in the car.”

“No.”

Nina’s breathing is ragged behind me.

A car door slams. The headlights vibrate with the motion. I make out a tall form in the glare, coming toward us around the car. She’s changed into jeans and a sweater. Tears shine in her eyes as she steps in front of the headlights.

“Please … come with me.” Her voice breaks. “We have to go while there’s still time.”

A heavy tear rolls down her cheek, and I can’t help it … a small part of me aches for her, even now. “Viv, I’m leaving without you.”

She stops and narrows her eyes, uncomprehending, then glances at Nina next to me. One hand moves slowly to her mouth. “With
her
?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Just me.”

Her face crumples. “You—can’t.”

“I am.”

I look past her to the utility pole on the corner. She follows my gaze.

Her voice quavers. “But I just got you back.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say, turning. “I’m not him, Viv.”

She grabs my arm. “I don’t care—let me go with you. Please—there’s nothing left for me here—”

I pull away until her grip loosens to a tentative touch. I stare at her lank curls, dusted with snowflakes. Her eyes are dark hollows. She sways on the curb, as if the frigid breeze might knock her over. I think of all the choices that were made to get each of us here, all the different ways this night could possibly end. I understand her well enough to know she regrets what she did—on some level. She meant every word when she said she did it because she loved him.

“Let me go.”

She stares at me a moment longer, until the disbelief in her eyes goes dim and her hand slides from my arm. She turns away without looking back and gets into the car. The engine revs with a roar that makes my heart skip. The headlights blind me to everything but the sound of the motor and the heat of the grille inches away. Nina’s frozen hand reaches for mine, and I force myself to swallow. I listen to the engine idle, and wait, my brain fixating on the rhythmic cycle of the engine until it accelerates with a sudden rumble. I gasp—

The car reverses, backing slowly into the street.

Viv’s face is a shadow as the headlights pull away.

I start to exhale, but the blue car keeps reversing diagonally across the road. It moves slower until the brake lights illuminate and it comes to a stop. Under the street lamps, vapor curls from her tailpipe like smoke from the end of a cigarette.

“What is she doing?” Nina asks.

As if in answer, the sound of tires peeling over pavement screeches across the road. The car roars straight for us, headlights switched to bright, blinding me so it seems like she’s coming from every direction. Nina’s hand tightens in mine, but there’s only time for her to pull my arm and cry out.

The engine whooshes past—too close—but not close enough.

It takes too many seconds to blink.

I spot the car careening down the road. She must have missed. She’ll come around for another pass.

But she’s going too fast—she’s headed straight for the pole.

Just like in my dreams, I scream, but there’s no sound. I can’t look away. I wait for the explosion, glass, fire. There’s a shattering impact and a flicker of green.

The car clips the pole, demolishing the side-mirror and the remaining bushes. It skates a sharp arc over the lawn and bumps down into the school parking lot before curving back toward the road.

I step back instinctively, only to find Nina’s arms locked around me. I clutch her to my chest. She’s staring down the road, one hand over her face. I pull her tighter. We watch Viv’s little blue car pull out.

And drive away.

THERE
’
S A CANDY-BAR WRAPPER FROZEN TO THE GROUND
.
The wooden pole has a layer of dirt below the frost and a new scar from the impact of Viv’s mirror. The bushes look like hell. I walk straight over and stick my hand out into the dark. It takes a little fishing around, but eventually my fingers slip into the familiar electric green a foot or two off the ground. I let out a breath, relieved.

Nina studies the rocks, the grass, the horizon, looking everywhere but at me. Her face is very serious. She’s got on the same hooded jacket she wore the last time we were here, when she tried to warn me about Viv. For some reason that picture from the lake comes to mind. She and I—Nina and Cam—holding that stupid fish and laughing on a warm summer day. I try to match up that image with the one in front of me, where she’s bundled in her coat. I can’t make out how the summer smile might fit in on her face.

“What if I stayed?” I ask.

“What?” She comes over, shaking her head. “You have to go.”

I can’t help myself, even though I know she’s right. But it doesn’t seem fair to say good-bye now, when I’m just beginning to understand her … when she’s done so much to help me understand myself. A strand of copper hair escapes from behind her ear and I brush it back.

“You could come with me?”