Has to Be Love (27 page)

Rhodes presses his fingers to my lips, and instead of the flutters that used to pass through me, I get a cold wash of uncertainty. I should have slowed us down. Last night was definitely too much, too fast.

He stopped the second I said “stop,” but I waited too long, and now I'm faced with the knowledge that maybe we both screwed up—at least to some degree.

“You
are
that girl. I want you, Clara. All of you. I want to kiss every inch of your body and feel myself inside you, and I want to read together and find new authors together and write and laugh and be … I like you. A lot. I guess I'm not supposed to, but I can also see far enough into the future to know that four years' separation is nothing.”

The cold disappears as heat flushes my body, and I stare at the porch.

“I can't. I'm not ready. For … for that …” Maybe I'm also a complete moron.

“It's just because you're so sheltered.” He sounds impatient again. “And you've got that whole Mormon thing—”

I hold my hand up to silence him and find the strength to look him in the eye. “Don't you dare bring up my religion if you're going to do it in that voice.”

“It's just—”

“No. Here's the thing. I get that you think my walking away was stupid. I get that. I'm sure we could have stopped what we were doing and watched a movie or something, but …” I'm not sure what else to say because humiliation ran me out that door. I can't imagine what it would have been like to sit and watch a movie with him after having my shirt off.

“You can be angry at God or the world or whatever that your brother died, and I could do the same with my mother. Instead I'm going to do what I
feel
is right. I'm seventeen. I don't believe people should have sex before they're married—even if there are times when I wish I didn't believe that. If you think how I feel is brainwashing, fine. But give me a little credit for being smart, okay?”

“Okay.” He leans back with a faint smile. “This is the strength I was talking about.”

I step back, not expecting a compliment from him after that.

“Anyway.” He sighs. “I got an email from the principal this morning. My guess is that either your father called them or someone from the school said something about us maybe being inappropriate. Nothing serious at this point, but him questioning me officially is enough to mark my record.”

My gut drops. “I'm so sorry.” I rub my forehead. What a mess—another Clara special. “I'll write a letter or something if it comes to that. Talk to my dad.”

“Whatever. I mean, it sucks, but I'll deal …” He shakes his head and sighs again. “Please don't stay here. Please go to school. Whatever you do … just … please.”

Now he's trying to tell me what to do again. Trying to make me feel stupid if I want to be here. “If I'm so talented, I can use it anywhere, Rhodes. I gotta go.”

Part of me, surprised as I am that he was interested in the first place, expects him to argue or to beg me to stay or to pull me into his arms.

“Stay in touch, Clara. I still want to say I knew you when.” He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before stepping back and shutting the door between us.

I stare at the door for a moment. Being here doesn't make sense. I don't understand where any of my decisions are coming from right now. At all.

My phone rings and I snatch it as I walk back toward my truck because if I'm going to get lectured, I might as well get it from all sides. “Hey, Dad. What's up?”

“I feel …” His words come out weird and slow, and I leap into the driver's seat and start the car.

“Dad?”

“I think … Clara … I think …” His voice slows down like it's warped.

A wave of ice passes through me, leaving fear prickling my skin. “Dad! Where are you?”

“I … home … I …”

As much as I want to keep him on the line, I flip over and dial 911. I can't take something else falling apart. I just can't.

36

I'm numb and in shock and terrified as I sit in the hospital with Dad. They're calling it a mild stroke. I'm calling it something that could have taken my last parent away from me. He fell on the stairs when he had his stroke, and they seem to be more worried about that than the stroke. He hit his back. He can't feel his legs.

A day later, I've had no sleep, and numerous tests have led to no good answers as to how much damage was done to Dad's spine.

Tears slowly roll down my face as I sit in the corner and hold Dad's hand while he naps. Cecily stayed here half the night with me. We slept on the vinyl couches in the waiting area and watched HGTV until she had to run home this morning—an hour away.

Dad keeps insisting he's fine. But people who are fine don't pass out and don't ride in ambulances and don't have doctors prescribing them medications so hopefully they won't have to do all of those things again. They can feel their legs.

I can't leave Alaska. I was stupid. I made all the wrong decisions about everything. If I'd stayed on my first path, I'd be marrying Elias this winter. I'd have a house. A family. I could be around for Dad. If Dad died, I'd have someone. Even just thinking “Dad” and “die” in the same sentence chokes up my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

After an hour, when the sleepy numbness spreads from my hand to my elbow, I finally let go of Dad's hand.

I curl up in the small chair and close my eyes. I can't leave here. Not this room. Not my town. Not this state.

The wall comes in and out of focus as I stare at the whiteboard with Dad's nurses' and doctors' names. Exhaustion seeps into every pore as I slump lower in the chair.

A clicking noise and the soft pad of the hospital door closing make my body jump. Did I drift off?

Suki pauses with bags of lunch.

“Your dad's been sleeping a while?” she asks quietly.

I nod.

“Good. His body needs the rest. That man is so stubborn that even now he's trying to say he's just fine.” She rolls her eyes with her classic Suki smile.

“But he's not.” I stare at Suki, waiting for her to contradict me or feed me some BS line.

“No.” She sits next to me and sets our bags of takeout on the small table as her smile fades. “No, he's not. But right now I think the worst-case scenario is that he'll be in a wheelchair. That's rough, but it could be worse.”

“He could have another stroke,” I say. “He could forget who he is …” My throat swells. “Who I am.”

Suki frowns. “And I could have gotten hit by a semi when I went out for lunch.”

I rub my face with both hands. “I'm glad he has you.”

Suki pulls me into a sideways hug. “I'm glad I have him too.” She plants a kiss on my head. “And you.”

With those two words my throat swells again.

“He'll be okay,” I whisper to myself.

“I know you don't want to leave, Clara.” She pauses. “But you really should go home and try to get some actual sleep.”

I start to open my bag, but I'm so tired I can't imagine eating.

“Yeah.” I let out a sigh. “Cecily will be back soon, I think.”

“I'll call you if anything changes,” Suki assures me.

I walk toward the door but pause before leaving. “Suki?”

“Yes?” She smiles her classic wide smile.

“Thanks …” I hold up my bag and nod toward Dad. “For all this.”

“Take care of yourself, Clara.”

And I would if I had any idea how. I stumble toward the front door of the hospital, and Cecily steps inside just before I make it outside.

“Kind of a crazy couple of months for you, huh?” she asks as she changes direction, walking outside with me.

I lean into her. “Yeah. And so much has been going on with me that I feel like I know nothing about what you're up to anymore.”

“Taking pictures,” Cecily says. “Hanging with my dad. Counting days until I go to school.”

“Oh.”

“And Rhodes is going to take off tomorrow, so I got the gig of taking care of Ms. Bellings's house.”

I stop in the parking lot. “He
what?”

“He accepted an offer to spend the summer in Greece, got a lecture from the principal about boundaries with students, and … I can hardly blame him for taking off.”

I close my eyes briefly before I start walking again. “I'm not surprised. Yesterday I sort of told him that he was too much for me right now.”

“I see.”

“What happened between us wasn't really his fault. I let him think I was ready for more when I wasn't, and he stopped the second I said ‘stop.'”

There's a swirl of sadness that I wasn't expecting at the news of him leaving.

“I have to stay at Ms. Bellings's house tonight because Rhodes is crashing in Anchorage to catch his morning flight. Wanna come?”

“No,” I say, not wanting to relive that memory of what happened in that house on top of the worry that comes with almost losing Dad. “Just home and sleep right now.”

“I can do that.”

“You're awesome, Cee. Thanks.” I give her a lazy half hug and hope that I can turn off my brain when I get home.

“I'm the best.” Cecily sighs as we climb in her car and head for my house. “So, you sort of skimmed over Rhodes, but how are you really?”

One second I'm staring out the window of her car, and the next moment everything I'm thinking and feeling all spills out in a mess.

How my face can't be fixed after all the years of hope. How Elias should have been the perfect-feeling solution to that, but how I freaked out over starting our forever now. How Rhodes liked me even though I'm so ugly, and how I ran from him when I panicked. I tell her how far we went, and how I wish I hadn't. How stupid I feel over the whole situation. How I told Columbia I wasn't coming and was sad about that, but am now glad about that. How I threw up in the local plastic surgeon's office. And I can't be fixed, which brings me back to the beginning again.

Cecily's arms are around me before I see her coming through the faucet my eyes have become. We're in my driveway, and I have no idea how long we've been here.

“I've been a terrible friend,” I say as I tighten my hold on Cecily. “I'm so sorry.”

“No, you've been a
distracted
friend.” She grips my shoulders and leans back, studying my face. “And there's something I should have done a long time ago. It just felt awkward.”

“What are you talking about?”

She climbs out of the car, runs to my side, clasps her hand in mine, and starts pulling. I follow her through the living room of my house and into the bathroom. She tugs on me until I'm standing in front of her facing the mirror.

I swallow the familiar threat of bile as I stare at my marred face and turn my gaze to the floor.

“No. No way.” Cecily's hands are in my hair, pulling it back, and the rubber band snaps as she settles it into place.

“I'm already having a pretty terrible day, Cee. I can't eat. Dad's in the hospital. I've lost two great guys in a couple weeks. I let Columbia slip. What are we doing?”

Her fingers grasp my chin lightly. “Look up.”

I obey, but tears press against the back of my eyes as we look at one another in the mirror, and as I try to look at her smooth skin instead of my gashes.

She runs a tanned finger over the scar that took some of my eyebrow. “You have a line here.”

“I know.” Why is she making me stare at the thing I hate most about myself?

Then her finger touches next to my eye, following that scar into my hairline. “You have a red line here”—then she touches the one from my nose—“and here”—and then from my mouth—“and here.”

My short, shallow breaths echo in the small bathroom. Having Lachelle put makeup on my face was exposing, but not like this. Now it's almost like the welted marks are being etched into me all over again.

“They are just lines on your face. They say nothing about who you are as a person. They say that you were part of a huge experience. I don't notice your scars anymore. I see them, but they're just lines. Why are you letting lines skew your perception of who you are? You're amazing. Funny. Wicked smart. Loyal. Sweet. Your writing blows me away. Your mad skills on your horses and four-wheel are practically
legendary,”
she teases. “This is one thing. One thing about you. Not everything. Not anything that defines who you are—”

“But they do,” I argue. “They define a
lot
of who I am and how I think. How can they not?”

“Only if you let them. This is you, Clara. You're my best friend. You're a million things that have nothing to do with those scars, and a million tiny character traits that
do
have to do with those scars. I get that they're significant, and I get that you hate the fact they'll always be there in some form or another. I would too. I just want you to make sure they're not swaying your opinions or your decisions when they shouldn't.”

“What you're really trying to say is don't let them stop me from going to New York.” I push out a weird laugh as I stare at the lines on my face.

Cecily snorts. “Of course that.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course.”

“But don't be surprised when guys like you
despite
your scars. It's not
despite
anything. People like you because you're you. Don't let Elias stop being your friend, and don't jump in with Rhodes again, or someone like him, if you're letting your warped perception of how you look change how you act.”

My heart is squeezing in my chest. “Embrace it, right? Like Dad says?” I
don't know how.

Cecily shrugs and steps next to me. “I don't know if I'd be able to
embrace
my scars if our positions were reversed. I just don't want you to think that the scarring on your face detracts from who you are.”