Page 79 of Never Forever

The hurt in her voice pierced my heart. She’d cared about Patrick like he was her own father. Which was why she would be gutted by the truth.

So, what was the point of bringing all that back up again now?

“Carrie, you’ve been gone for ten years. Shit has happened, okay? It’s not like we were on speaking terms. He’s okay now. I’m taking good care of him. That’s all that matters. We should go.”

She pursed her lips like she wanted to disagree, but then relented.

“Fine. Let me just hit the bathroom…”

“Upstairs,” I said. “Second door-”

“I know where the bathroom is, Matt,” she snapped.

Of course, she did.

It’s what I knew might happen. The longer she stayed in town.

All the memories would start to come back.

Her in this house. Her and Dad. The memories of that dive bar with the contest. How hard we’d all laughed. Dad got drunk and I drove us home. It had been about as good a day as I could’ve had. My whole world had been ahead of me and the two people I loved most were right beside me.

On nights like this it was hard to believe he was ever sick.

On nights like this it was hard to believe I pushed her away.

Upstairs I heard the toilet flush and the water run and I expected to hear the creak of the second step as she came down the stairs, but instead I heard the squeal of my bedroom door opening.

“Carrie?” I called up the stairs to her.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go.”

“I’m just looking around.”

Immediately, I was pissed. All this useless yearning sharpened right into anger.

She just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

I took the steps two at a time, settling into my frustration. Just holding onto it with both hands. Like a sword and a shield. I pushed open my door to find her standing in the middle of my old room in her cut off shorts and her sweatshirt.

“Carrie?”

“Look at this room, Matt. It’s the room time forgot.” She pointed at the wall of trophies and ribbons and medals. The pictures Dad had framed of the newspaper articles and the scholarship offer letter from BostonU.

I grunted. I really needed to take all this shit down.

I knew what she saw when she saw it. Her gasp gave it away.

The pictures of her. Of us. I had a wall of them, beside my bed. Dates and trips to the beach and the Fall Festival where we dominated the three-legged race for two years. The ferry. Dad. Us at meets. Her in stage make up carrying flowers I brought her. Endless pictures.

Never with her family, though. Not one.

“We were such babies,” she said quietly.

Her face in this room, against the blue walls and the posters and single bed where we’d fooled around so often and dreamed impossible dreams. It wrecked me.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right,” she said. “I’m ready to go.”