“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s the least selfish thing I can do. You just can’t see it yet. But you would. Staying is selfish.”
He started to speak but the front door opened, and his father and sister stepped into the entry below, carrying boxes of pizza and drinks. They stopped when they saw us, Amelia surprised but smiling while Mr. Whitmore’s brow furrowed as if he hadn’t yet worked out his feelings about his son’s revelation.
I turned to River.
He shook his head. “Stay…”
I could stay. They’d let me sit at their table and share their pizza dinner and I’d be part of a real family for the first time in my life. I could sit with Nancy a few minutes more and soak up her motherly love until her light went out. I could be there for River through the worst pain. But then what? The vision of him slouched in the banged-up cab of his truck with blood trickling from his ear was a warning that Alaska wasn’t done with me. It never would be.
I smiled tremulously. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Holden—”
He reached out to grab me; I felt his fingers snag my coat—so close—but I evaded his grasp and took the stairs down, past his family staring after me and out of the house, into the sallow twilight.
James was waiting for me at the car, leaning against the door, smoking.
“Get in,” I said and tore open the back door. I hurled myself inside, hiding like the coward I was. “Drive.”
James knew when to not ask questions.
He drove us through the quiet streets, the rows of perfect houses. Homes with green lawns and fences and families inside getting ready to sit down to their dinners.
Just a few more days, I told myself, hunched in my coat, shivering like a lunatic. I’ll have my money and can disappear…
But how long would that take? A few days was too long.
“No, wait,” I barked at James. “Not home. Take me to Central High.”
“Yes, sir.”
James swung a hard U-turn and took us to the school where I ordered him to park in the faculty lot.
“Wait here.”
It was early evening; the campus quiet, but the Admin building was bustling with teachers and counselors finalizing graduation requirements and paperwork.
I stormed to the Records Office and threw open the door. “I need my diploma. Now.”
Ms. Reed, the records secretary, peered at me through half-moon glasses. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want my diploma. Or whatever record that proves I’ve graduated.” I smiled showing all my teeth. “Please.”
“Name?”
“Holden Parish.”
“Well, Mr. Parish, I hate to disappoint you, but we mail those out the week after the ceremony—”
“I’m not walking in the ceremony. I’m leaving town.”
“We will mail them to you. That is standard.”
I clenched my teeth. “I won’t have an address. I’ll be…backpacking across Europe.”
I heard that was something normal people did. And I wasn’t lying about being in Europe, so I had that going for me.
Ms. Reed arched a dubious brow. “I can’t release these records to you, but if you’re going to be at a different address than what we currently have on file, give it to me and I will make sure it’s sent there as fast as possible.”
“Fine.” I fished in my coat pocket for my wallet. I pulled out the card of my family’s lawyer, Albert Bernard, and wrote my name on the back. “This is who you send it to. His office in Paris.”
Ms. Reed took the card and peered at it.
“You got that? Albert Bernard. Paris.”
“I can read, dear,” Ms. Reed said, then smiled thinly. “I’ll see that he gets it.”
“Thank you. You’ve been a huge help,” I muttered bitterly and stormed out.
I was nearly free when Ms. Watkins’s voice sounded from behind me.
“Holden? Holden wait—”
I walked faster but the woman was persistent; her heels clopped on the sidewalk as I strode back to the parking lot.
“Holden, please…”
I ground out a curse and whirled around. “What is it? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“I never heard back from you about the MFA program at the university.”
“Something else has come up.”
“You mean you’re running away.” She cocked her head, concern painted all over her face. “Are you really going to leave the country? By yourself?”
“Safer for all involved.”
Ms. Watkins’s face was irritatingly sweet in its concern. “I disagree. I’m worried about you. I don’t think it’s healthy. You need stability. Community—”
“Please don’t psychoanalyze me. It’s been tried. It failed. You’re a teacher. A great teacher, Ms. W.” I walked backward toward the car. “The best I’ve ever had.”
“Holden, wait—”
“But let’s not make our relationship more than what it is,” I said with a cold sneer, because she was still trying, goddamn it. “That’s all you are to me. A high school English teacher.”
She stopped short, the hurt coming over her face like a slap.
“Bye, Ms. Watkins.”
I climbed in the car and shut the door. The self-loathing burrowed a little deeper as we drove away, leaving her standing on the curb.
So what? Let her be the savior for someone worth saving.
James took me home and I dove headfirst into my stash of vodka and didn’t come up for three days. The money still wasn’t there, but River was. Just down the street. I could walk down the hill anytime I wanted, bang on the door, fall at his feet and beg him to forgive me.
Then the accident would screech into my thoughts with screaming tires and shattering glass. His blood, black on the white airbag…
How would I love you sound coming out of my mouth then? Tainted. Bloodstained.
“It’s too late,” I muttered. “The damage has been done.”
And it was irreversible.
Late one
