Page 71 of What You Left Me
“It’s not. It won’t be.” Spencer looks at the body on the car. “I caused this. I bought the whiskey. I told you to leave early. I drove too fast. You can’t change any of it.”
“Shit,” Fly whispers.
“Whether you live or you die, this is what it is for me. This is what I have,” Spencer says. He falls to his knees, then sits back, staring at the scene of the crime. “If anything, you made it worse. You made me relive this part.”
Fly wraps his arms around Spencer. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but it isn’t enough.
Nothing ever will be.
Part Five
39
MONDAY, JUNE 18
Aminah gives me shotgun. Daniel turns the air vents so they’re facing me. Cameron pats my head from the back seat. And the Prius does what it always does, takes us where we need to go without complaint. It’s stunning outside. Picturesque in a surreal way, like the sun has managed to crack everything open and make it sparkle. Trees shimmer in the unyielding light, dripping leaves. There are no shades in the sky, no varying levels—it’s as pure a blue as a child’s crayon portrait of the perfect day.
“Which one is it?” Daniel asks as he turns down the cul-de-sac.
“Orange one with the basketball hoop. You can’t miss it.”
“That’s right,” he remembers. We can see it from the start of the block. Cars are everywhere, parallel parked on both sides of the street. “Looks like we’ll be walking.” We follow the curve of the cul-de-sac and go back out onto the perpendicular street, driving a full block and a half before we find an open spot.
“You forgot your coffee back at your house,” Aminah notices.
“It’s okay. I had some before you guys picked me up,” I tell her.
“There’s a little left of mine, if you want some. It’s in the cup holder back here.”
“Mine too,” Cameron adds. “But I know you don’t like my sugary drinks.”
“I do though,” Daniel says with a smirk.
“No way. Sorry I don’t punish myself with plain iced coffee likesome people.” She catches Daniel’s eye in the rearview mirror to give him a pointed look.
“You guys really don’t have to be so accommodating to me,” I interrupt.
Daniel starts parallel parking. “This is not accommodation. It’s kindness. Mine expires in twenty-four hours, so you better use it up. It’s the best Groupon deal you’ll ever get.”
I clutch the door handle as he cuts into the tight space. He comes inches from grazing the car to our right, but he makes it work.
“I’m not the only one going through it, though,” I counter.
“But you’re the reason we’re here, so you get the love today, kid.” Daniel opens his door and gets out. He fixes his black dress shirt in the window, the same one he wore to prom. Prom—three weeks or a trillion years ago.
“Accept it. It’s how it has to be. Next week, you can take me to get my car washed or something. Right now, you’re ours to watch over.”
The rest of us get out and begin our walk to Martin’s house. When we turn down his cul-de-sac, the sound of conversation is so loud it’s like we’re entering a festival.
In a weird way, we are.
So many people are everywhere, on the lawn, in the open garage, bleeding out onto the sidewalks, all different ages and varying energies: some more formal in their dark ensembles, others casual, some bold enough to wear bright colors. I know faces now from the other weekend—shuffling in and out of the waiting room. Daniel, on the other hand, knows their names, and as we pass by, he shares anecdotes. It’s what he’s always done, tell us stories about the strangers we call classmates. I never really listened before. Now I find myself wondering who might’ve been my friend. Whose path might cross with mine still. What spaces in my life I’ve yet to notice.
Martin…Are you here?
Brooke finds us first. She’s woven dark red flowers into the intricate bun on the side of her head. “Thank you,” she says as she hugs me.
“For what?” I ask, even though I know where this is going. A twinge of jealousy pinches my face into something like a grimace. I do my best to mask it before she answers, forcing myself to lift the corners of my mouth into a smile.
