Falling Into Us (23 page)

She smacked my arm, but it was an empty protest. “You’re such a pig.”

“Yep. Oink oink.”

She just giggled, and god, did I love her cute little laugh. “Get in, hot stuff. This time
I’m
gonna take
you
for a ride.”

“I love it when you take me for rides.” I grinned as I slid into the passenger seat.

Becca ignored my not-so-subtle innuendo. “It’s a hybrid, sss-so it gets forty-two miles per g-g-gallon city, and forty-eight highway…” She backed out of my driveway, rattling off all the various specs of her new car. It made me seriously happy to see her so excited that she didn’t even notice her own stutters, which only happened when she was super nervous or excited. Or during the throes of passion, you might say. She tended to stutter a little as she came, and that always put a smile on my face. It was adorable, to me. A part of who she was, and knowing she felt comfortable enough with me that she didn’t even get embarrassed when she stuttered meant a lot to me.

We passed my dad pulling into the driveway, and he gave us a cursory glare, lifting his eyes derisively at Becca’s
foreign
car. Buying foreign was a sin in his book; the fact that Becca was half-Arabic bugged him to no end, and we’d actually gotten in one of our worst fistfights over that very fact. He’d used a derogatory slur about her during my junior year, and I’d flattened him without hesitation. We’d gone three rounds right there in the kitchen until we were both bloody and needing stitches. Neither of us got them, though, and damn it if we weren’t alike in that way. I’d left in a red rage, still bleeding, and Becca had met me at our tree with a first aid kit. She hadn’t asked what the fight was about, thank god. I don’t think I could have told her without losing my shit all over again.

I forcibly moved my thoughts away from my dad and listened to Becca chatter happily. I’d tuned out and had no clue what she was talking about, so I had to play catch-up, realizing she was talking about having already started on the required reading list for her classes at U of M.
 

Of course Becca would be already registered and have the books and reading, and I wasn’t even sure which school I was going to. Becca refused to weigh in on my decision. She never brought it up, ever. She said she wanted me to make my own decision. She loved me; she’d support whatever I chose. I knew deep down she wanted me to go U of M with her, but she’d never say that. She’d said we’d make our relationship work even if I chose Nebraska, and I knew she meant it.

I held her hand as she drove, listening to her talk, letting her words wash over me. It wasn’t that I wasn’t paying attention—I just knew that sometimes she needed to just talk, get out all the words she’d held back throughout the day. It was one of the ways she coped with stuttering, I’d discovered. She kept quiet during the day, only saying what she was sure she could get out fluently, and then when we were alone, she’d just ramble without expecting me to respond, and she’d let herself stutter, let it happen as it would, knowing I didn’t care.

I tuned back in as she made a left turn onto the main road through town. “S-so anyway, I’m pretty excited about this lit class I’m in. It’s err-early eighteenth-century British literature. We’re f-focusing on Defoe, Jonathan Swift, and Galland’s translation of
One Thousand and One Nights
, which is really unusual. It’s a higher-level class, since I’ve taken most of the freshman-level classes already.” I’d only heard of Defoe, but wouldn’t have admitted that except under duress. “My major coursework classes are the ones I’m most excited about. It’s all undergrad stuff, of course, but U of M is a respected university, ee-even if they’re not really ranked in the speech-language pathology field. My graduate work will probably be at somewhere like the University of Iowa. They’re the b-best, I’ve heard. I c-can’t say I’m excited at the idea of living in Iowa, but…it’s far enough away that I don’t have to decide n-now.”

I laughed. “But you’re already thinking about it?”
 

She grinned at me. “Yeah, you know how I am.”

I snorted. “Yeah, you’re a career overachiever.”

She frowned at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
 

Uh-oh
. “It’s a good thing, Beck. You’re just always prepared, and you’re fucking amazing at everything. Like, I don’t think you could fail at anything, even if you tried.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “I got a D on a test once.”

I stared at her, unsure if she was kidding. “Dear Lord, a D? When was this? Second grade?” I teased.

She didn’t look at me as she answered. “It was the end of the year, last year. This year, whatever. Senior year. In my stupid research paper writing class. I mean, the whole point of the thing was learning to write for research, going past the block-outline method. There aren’t supposed to be any tests other than the papers themselves. So then she springs this idiotic mu-mu-multiple choice test on us, no rubric, no warning. No one got better than a C because no one had studied for it or even had any c-clue what the questions were talking about.” She was getting worked up just thinking about it. “God! That one test, that D-plus? It took me down four-tenths of a percent! I would have graduated with an even four point three if it wasn’t for that stupid f-fucking teacher!”
 

Damn, she used the F-word.
 

I couldn’t help laughing a little. “A whole four-tenths of a percent? That bitch.” There might have been just a little sarcasm in my voice.

Becca’s head swiveled slowly toward me, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set. “It’s a b-b-big d-deal…to m-mmm-me.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, babe. That was a dick thing to say.” She snatched her hand away and drove in silence until I couldn’t take it anymore. “Becca, I’m sorry. I wasn’t making fun of you. I’m just saying, you still graduated with one of the highest GPAs in the entire
state
. I know it was a big deal for you, though. I’m sorry.”

“And that four-tenths of a percent could have been the difference between
one of
the highest and
the
highest.” She glanced at me. “Like how if you’d missed even one catch, it might have made the difference between breaking the record or not.”

I nodded. “I know, Becca. I was just being stupid.”

“Well, you
are
a guy.” She smirked, and I knew she’d forgiven me.

“Yeah, and guys are idiots. I don’t know why you put up with me.” I really didn’t, in truth, but I let it sit as a joke, knowing Becca would have a field day if she sensed that insecurity in me.

“It might have to do with what you did last night.” She licked her lips and winked salaciously at me.

“Which part?” I asked, deadpan.

She pretended to consider. “Hmm. Probably that thing you did with your tongue.”

I nodded seriously. “Oh, that. Well, I’ll have to make sure to do it again, if that’s why you put up with me.”

“You’d better, farm boy.” Ever since we watched
The Princess Bride
together last year, she’d taken to calling me “farm boy,” which she found cute for some reason. I let it go, because arguing was futile.

I slid my hand onto her thigh and cupped her sex. “Pull over, and I’ll do it right now.”

She clamped her thighs around my fingers, feigning horrified shock. “No! It’s broad daylight!”

“That didn’t stop you from letting me go down on you in the bed of my truck yesterday. It was daylight then, too.”

“Barely. The sun was going down. And that was at our tree. There was no one to see. This is a busy road.”

“So let’s skip dinner and head to the tree,” I suggested.

“I would, but I’m hungry. I never ate lunch.” She grinned at me. “We’ll go after dinner.”

She was as eager as I was, as insatiable. More so, if anything. I’d heard other guys complaining that their girlfriends never wanted it as much as they did, but I didn’t seem to have that problem. She was often the one trying to get me up for round two…and three. I couldn’t stop her some days.
 

Then her phone rang. There wasn’t anyone but me and her parents who would ever call her. Nell and Kyle were up north together, so it wasn’t Nell, and her mom and dad were at some fundraiser gala weekend in Washington, D.C., so it wouldn’t be them.
 

Becca stared at the screen of her phone. “Hmm. It’s Mrs. Hawthorne. I wonder why she’s calling me?” Becca fumbled a Bluetooth earpiece out of the center console, fit it into her ear, and touched a button to answer the call. “Hello? Hi, Mrs. Hawthorne, how are—
what?
” Becca’s face paled. “Are you fucking kidding me? He’s—what? No. Please, no.”

She hit the brakes and skidded off the road on the shoulder, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, tears flowing, shaking her head in denial.
 

“Becca?” I shoved the shifter into park for her and touched her shoulder. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer me. “No. No. It’s not true.” She turned to look at me with horror in her eyes. “And Nell? Is she okay? Oh, god. Oh, god. Okay, we’ll be there. Yes, he’s with me, I’ll—I’ll tell him. Sh-shit.
SHIT
!” She ripped the earpiece out of her ear and threw it so hard it smashed against the dashboard.
 

“Becca? What
happened
?” Something bad was going on, and my stomach was flipping. “Why wouldn’t Nell be okay? Talk to me!”

Becca was sobbing, her head against the steering wheel. I lunged out of the car and circled around to the driver’s side, tugging open the door. Becca fell against me, and I had to hold her with one arm and unbuckle her with the other. I gathered her limp form in my arms and carried her around into the grass at the side of the road, kicking her car door closed behind me. I sat down with her on my lap and held her.

“Becca, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

She sniffed and choked on her breath. She looked up at me, and I could see the tragedy in her expression. “There was an accident. Up north. It-it’s Kyle. He’s—he’s—h-h-he’s d-dead.”

I didn’t hear her right; that was my first thought. I misheard what she said. “What? What do you mean? Kyle? Kyle Calloway?”

“Yes, Kyle! Our Kyle. He—he’s dead. A t-tree fell on him. Nell’s parents are on the way back from Traverse City with Nell. She’s got a broken arm, and she’s…she’s not talking.”

“How…I don’t understand. How can Kyle be…” I was unable to process what I was being told.

“I don’t
know
! All I know is what Mrs. Hawthorne just said. There was a bad storm, a tree fell and hit Kyle, and now he’s dead.” She struggled in my arms, squirming to stand up. “We have to go. We have to meet them at their house in half an hour.”

I was frozen. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t possible. He’d…he’d told me he was going to propose to Nell. Just this past Thursday he’d told me. I’d told him he was crazy-train, he was barely eighteen, but he’d insisted that he knew he loved Nell enough that he didn’t want to wait till they were older.
 

It was all a joke, that was it.

I fumbled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed his number, listened to it ring and ring and ring…it went to voicemail. “Hey, this is Kyle. I’m probably out being awesome somewhere, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you. If I feel like it.” The snorts of laughter in the background as he recorded the message were mine.
 

I felt a small, cold hand take the phone from me. I let her. She tugged me up to my feet, hauling me bodily up. “Come on, baby. Nell needs us.”

I stumbled, and she caught me with her shoulder under my arm. I stared down into her wet black eyes, and I saw a compassion there, a love, an understanding. Her own sadness was taking a back seat to her sadness for me. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. All I knew was I needed Becca to get through this, and I could only hope she’d stay with me, keep loving me through it.
 

I found myself in the leather seat of Becca’s Jetta, the new car smell almost cloying now. Becca’s iPhone was plugged into the auxiliary jack, and when she started the engine, a song came on: “Your Long Journey” by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. My eyes burned, and my throat closed. Becca went to turn it off, but I stopped her. She took my hand in hers and drove, letting the music play. A song I didn’t know came on, and I picked up her phone to check the Pandora display: “Been a Long Day” by Rosi Golan. It was a quiet, beautiful song, piano providing a backdrop to a sweet female voice.
 

We pulled into the Hawthornes’ driveway, gravel crunching under our tires. There were several cars in the driveway already. Becca tangled her fingers in mine as soon as I was upright and out of the car; she basically had to drag me into the house. I didn’t want to go in. I didn’t want to see the grief of other people. That would make it real. If I kept pretending it wasn’t, maybe it wouldn’t be.
 

Mrs. Hawthorne opened the door, her eyes red but dry. “Jason, Becca. Thanks for coming. Nell is in her room.”

“How is she?” Becca asked.

Mrs. Hawthorne squeezed my hand, touching Becca’s forehead with her own. “Not good. She…she watched him…go. She’s totally unresponsive.”

Becca sniffed softly, and I watched her literally square her shoulders and push her own emotions down. She tugged me by the hand up the stairs, stopping at Nell’s bedroom door. Becca tried the knob, found it unlocked, and went in, with me trailing behind her.

Nell was lying on her side in her bed, eyes dry, a note clutched in her hand. A cast covered one entire arm. She stared into middle distance, not even registering our arrival. I didn’t know what to do, where to look. She was clothed in an old hoodie of Kyle’s and a pair of black underwear, lying on top of the blankets. I focused my gaze on the Avett Brothers poster on the wall as I drew a blanket up to her waist. I sat in Nell’s desk chair while Becca climbed onto Nell’s bed behind her, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

“Nell?” Becca’s voice was hesitant. Obviously, she didn’t know what to say. “What—what ha-happened?”

Nell didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, her voice was a raw, barely audible whisper. “He…died.” Her eyes flicked up to me. “He’s gone.”