The Chance: A Novel (12 page)

Her gasps turned to sobs, and Ellie wasn’t sure if she could catch her breath. She definitely couldn’t talk. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on to him, clung to him as if being here with him might save her.

“Shhh . . . It’s okay.” He stroked her dark blond hair and held her.

Ellie didn’t want to ever let go. Even in the midst of the horror of that evening, she knew without a doubt that she would remember this moment forever. Sure, Nolan teased about marrying her one day, but they’d never hugged like this.
So even on the worst day of her life, she would always have this memory.

The way it felt to be in Nolan Cook’s arms.

When she could finally talk, she stepped back and searched his eyes. “I’m moving. Tomorrow morning.”

“What?” Clearly, Nolan’s response was louder than he intended. He lowered his voice. “Tomorrow? Ellie, that’s crazy.”

“It’s t-t-true.” She drew in three fast breaths, the sobs still drowning her on the inside. “My mom . . . she’s pregnant.”

Nolan raked his hand through his hair and took a step back. He turned to the door and then back to her. “That’s a good thing, right? I mean . . . she’s not too old.” His face was pale, and his words sounded dry. “You’re moving because she’s having a baby?”

Ellie hated saying the words, hated believing them. But it was too late for anything but the truth. “My dad’s not . . . He’s not the father.”

The night air was absolutely still, not a bit of distant ocean breeze. A chorus of frogs provided a distant sound of summer, but otherwise, there wasn’t a single sound between them. Nolan’s eyes grew wide, and he came to her slowly. “You mean—”

“Yes.” This time the tears that found their way to the corners of her eyes were hot with shame. How could this be happening? “She cheated on him. That’s why we’re moving.”

Again Nolan stepped back, and this time he leaned against the house. As if he might drop to the ground if something didn’t hold him up. “You mean . . . like you’re moving to a new house. Away from your mom?”

“Nolan . . .” She felt her heart skip a beat, felt her head spin. “We’re moving to San Diego. My dad and me. Tomorrow.”

His eyes grew dark and angry in a hurry. He shook his head.
“No.” He pounded his fist into the pillar that held up his front porch. Then he walked out onto the grassy yard and shouted it again. “No!”

She waited, her arms crossed, wiping at the occasional tear on her cheeks. “I . . . don’t want to go.”

“Then you can stay here.” He came quickly to her, his breathing faster than before. “My parents would let you. You can finish high school, at least.”

“Yeah.” Ellie bit her lip and nodded. “Maybe.” No matter what they decided or what she wanted to do, she couldn’t stay. Her father wouldn’t dream of letting her stay. He always came to get her if she wasn’t home on time.

“San Diego?” His anger subsided, as if his plan was enough to convince both of them that somehow, come morning, they’d still live a few streets away from each other. “Why there?”

“Camp Pendleton. They offered my dad a job.” She shrugged, and a chill ran down her arms despite the summer heat. “Even before he found out about my mom. He wasn’t going to take it, but then . . .”

Neither of them said anything for a long while. Nolan put his hands on her shoulders, and they looked at each other. In his eyes she could see memories from nearly a decade of growing up together. He shook his head. “You can’t leave, Ellie.”

“I know.” She shivered a little, unsure of her feelings.

“Come here.” He held out his arms, and she came to him. Once more he hugged her, rocking her slowly, as if by holding on here and now, they could avoid what was coming. After a minute or so, he pulled back, and some of the sadness left his eyes. “I have an idea.”

“What?” She looked down, wishing he would hug her again.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand. “Follow me.”

The feel of his fingers around hers was all she could think about. That and the crazy way her mind raced, desperate to stop the clock. They ran behind the house and through a side door in the garage. Nolan flipped on the light. “Over here.” He worked his way around a stack of boxes and file cabinets to an area of fishing poles and tackle boxes. Letting go of her hand, he dug around until he found an old metal container about the size of a shoe box. It was dusty, and a cobweb hung from it. Nolan grabbed an old newspaper and wiped it off.

“What is it?” Ellie held on to her backpack straps.

“My first tackle box.” He grinned at her. “I used to take it everywhere.” He kicked at a bigger red plastic chest. “I use that now. More room.”

Ellie was completely confused. “Okay.”

He looked around. “I need a shovel.”

She spotted a small one on his dad’s workbench. “There?”

“Perfect.” He grabbed it and handed it to her. His eyes danced as he tucked the box under his arm, the way he always did with his basketball. He took her hand again. “Come on. Trust me.”

He led her out of the garage, and together they ran to the front of his house. “Wait here.” He set the box down on the porch and held up his hand. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Whatever he was up to, it was helping. Ellie loved his sense of adventure, even on a night like this. She looked at the stars and tried to imagine leaving for San Diego in the morning.
Please, God . . . don’t let this be the end. Please . . .

He was back, and this time he had a pad of yellow paper, a pen, and a flashlight. He put them, along with the shovel,
inside the box. Then he tucked the box under his arm, and with his free hand, he took hers once more. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t have to ask where. He was taking her to their spot at the park, the place where they always wound up together. Edgewood Street was empty, and the road between his house and the park completely quiet. They crossed and entered through the old iron gate. The park was open only to locals, but Ellie and Nolan always felt it belonged to them. It just seemed that way.

He closed the gate quietly behind them, found the flashlight in the box, and flipped it on. Sometimes the moon was enough, but not tonight. The sky was darker than coal, and the stars dotting the black sky weren’t enough to mark their way.

Like always they ran past the smaller trees to the biggest one in the park, thirty yards from the gate. Their tree. Nolan set the box and the shovel beside the largest root, the one they used as a bench. “Here’s the plan.” He was out of breath, probably because he was excited about his idea. Whatever the idea was. He sat down, turned off the flashlight, and positioned the pad on one knee. “We’ll write each other a letter and put it in the box.” He thought for a moment. “Today’s June first. We’ll bury our letters here by the tree, and eleven years from now”—he smiled—“on June first, we’ll meet here and read what we wrote.”

Ellie knit her brow, but she couldn’t stay serious with that look on his face. Her laughter caught her off guard, soothing the desperation in her heart. “Why eleven years?”

“Because. In English we’re reading this book called
The Answers
. It’s about the future. It’s sci-fi, and it talks about how in eleven years there’s a weird convergence or something, and overnight all the answers happen.” His words came fast, like they were trying to keep up with his racing mind.

“Answers to what?” She laughed again. She’d never seen him like this.

“You know.” He looked around, trying to find the right explanation. “What color is the wind, and how deep is the ocean, and what causes dreams, and lots of stuff. Those kinds of answers.” He paused. “I mean, only God has the answers.” He gave her a silly grin. “I don’t know. Eleven years seems easier to remember.”

“Hmmm. Okay.” She bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing again. As crazy as he was acting, he was clearly dead serious. “So we write each other a letter . . . and we don’t read them until then.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, and his shoulders sank a bit. “Unless your dad changes his mind and doesn’t move you to San Diego tomorrow.”

Sadness tugged at the magic of the moment. “Eleven years, Nolan. That’s so long.”

“Well . . . I mean, we’ll see each other before then. We’ll write and call, and I’ll come visit you. But . . .”

She could see where this was going. “Just in case . . .”

“Right.” His enthusiasm waned, and his eyes grew damp. “Just in case. We’d still have this one chance.”

She nodded slowly. One chance. Just in case. The idea felt so sad, she could barely stand up beneath it. She took off her backpack, dropped it to the ground, and took the spot beside him on the tree root. “What’s the letter supposed to say?”

“Umm.” He looked around as if grabbing ideas from the thick night air. Gradually, his eyes found their way to hers. Even in the dim light, she could see that he looked nervous. He held her gaze for several heartbeats. “Let’s write how we feel about each other.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You already know.”

“Well . . . not really.” He found his easy grin again. “I mean, you know how I feel. How I’m going to marry you someday.” He winked at her. “But seriously. Just write how you feel, Ellie.”

Usually, this was the part of the conversation when she told him he wasn’t going to marry her. He would go off and be a famous basketball player, and she would write a bestselling novel. But tonight—with the minutes falling away much too fast—she couldn’t bring herself to say any of it. She reached for the paper. “I’ll go first.”

“Okay.” He looked relieved. He handed her the paper and pen. He flipped on the flashlight. “Here. Use this.”

She propped the flashlight so that it shone straight on the paper. “Don’t watch.”

“I won’t.” He chuckled. “That’s the whole point. We can’t know what the letters say.”

“Not for eleven years.”

“Right.” He looked satisfied.

Ellie stared at the blank paper. She glanced at Nolan and saw that he was looking up, staring at the stars through the Spanish moss overhead.
Okay,
she told herself.
How do I feel?
A whirl of emotions swept through her all at once, and she forced herself not to cry. Not here. Suddenly she wanted to write this letter more than anything else they might do tonight.

She positioned the pen at the top of the page.

Dear Nolan,

First, I’m only doing this because you won’t read it for eleven years. Ha ha. Okay, here I go. You want to know how I feel about you?

She stopped and stared at the same sky. They weren’t in a hurry. It was just after nine o’clock, which meant they had two hours. How did she feel? Her eyes found the paper, and she started writing again.

These are the things I know for sure about how I feel. I love that you’re my best friend and I can come over here whenever I want. I love that you stuck up for me at recess in third grade when Billy Barren made fun of my pigtails. Sorry you got in trouble for tripping him, but not really. I love that, too.

I love that you’re not afraid to get mad, like when those jerks on the football team dumped their Cokes down that skinny kid’s shirt. I love that you were the first one to bring him a bunch of napkins. Really, Nolan, I love that. And I love watching you play basketball. It’s like . . . I don’t know . . . like you were born to play. I could watch you on that basketball court all day.

Let’s see . . .

She looked at him again and tried to imagine saying good-bye in a few hours. Tears stung her eyes.
Not now
,
Ellie. Don’t think about it
. She sniffed and found her place on the paper.

Here’s the part I could never tell you right now. Because it’s too soon or maybe too late, since I’m leaving in the morning. I loved how it felt earlier tonight when you hugged me. It never felt like that before. And when you took me to your garage and then over here to the park, I loved how my hand felt in yours. If I’m really honest, Nolan, I love when you tell me you’re going to marry me. What I didn’t really understand until tonight is that it isn’t only those things that I love.

I love being here, me and you, and just hearing you breathe. I love sitting beneath this tree with you. So, yeah, I guess that’s it. If we don’t see each other for eleven years, then I want you to know the truth about how I really feel.

I love you.

There. I said it.

Don’t forget me.

Love,
Ellie

Not until she signed her name did she feel the tears on her cheeks or notice that one of them had fallen onto the paper. She dried it with her fingers, folded the page, and sniffed again. She handed him the paper. “Your turn.”

He must’ve seen her tears, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he put his arm around her shoulders and held her for a long time. “We’ll see each other. We will.”

Her tears slowed. She nodded, because there were no words. Finally, he let go of her, settled against the tree trunk, and took the flashlight. He positioned it beneath his arm and started to write. She didn’t want to stare at him, but whatever he was putting on the paper seemed to come easily. He stopped and grinned at her. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to say this.”

She laughed, because that was the effect he had on her. His letter wasn’t overly long. Most of one page, but he didn’t take another break as he wrote. When he finished, he folded his the same way she had. Then he lifted the old tackle box to his lap, opened it, and held it out to her.

She felt a ripple of doubt. “You’re not gonna come back and read it, right?”

“Ellie.” He raised his brow. “We’re burying it. Neither of us can dig it up for eleven years. No matter what.”

She ran her thumb over the cool yellow lined paper and then dropped her letter in the box. He did the same, and then he shut the lid. Using the flashlight, he found the shovel and stood, staring at the ground. “How ’bout right there? Between the tree roots?”

“Where we usually have our feet.”

“Exactly.” He handed her the flashlight, got down on his knees, and began digging. She aimed the light at the spot where the hole was appearing. The ground was soft, and he had the hole dug in no time. “There.” He stood and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. “That’s big enough.” He set the shovel down and lowered the box into the space. It fit with five inches of room on top. “Perfect.” He brushed the dirt off his hands. “You bury it.”