Part 31 (1/2)

But then the alert I set on my phone goes off and she breaks the kiss.

”Ignore that,” I say into her mouth, kissing her again. She lets my tongue swipe hers a couple of times before she breaks it off again. ”Don't you have to get that?”

”It's my alarm. Don't worry about it.” I kiss her again.

She breaks it again. ”Alarm for what?”

With a moan, I say, ”To let me know it's time to go.”

She starts to pull away, but I hold her tighter. ”No.” I tuck her head beneath my chin and close my eyes. ”I wish I could take you with me.”

”Yeah. I'm sure your coach would love that,” she says into my neck. ”You'll be back soon. And then...” she sighs. ”You're gonna be busier than ever with school and practice and games. You'll forget I even exist.” She laughs, but it doesn't sound like she's joking.

Taking her face in my hands, I look directly into her green eyes. ”I could never forget you exist. Ever.”

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

”I'm serious, Rose. During these past two months, you've come to mean so much to me. Even before that. The first time I saw you, sitting in that wheelchair, as silent as-” I pause to find the perfect a.n.a.logy ”-the midnight sky in the dead of winter...I knew I needed to meet you. Know you.”

Her smile is still so sad.

”Nothing was going to stop me from getting close to you, Rose...” I'm suddenly at a loss for words, so I kiss her. Again. I don't want to stop. And this time, she doesn't pull away. I do. Because my face is wet. And when I look at her, there are tears all over her face. ”Rose. What's the matter?” She's crying so hard that I'm thinking, Is she really gonna miss me that much?

”Nothing, nothing it's just so cold out here. My eyes always tear so bad,” she says it all in one breath.

”Oh.” I wipe the tears with my thumbs, but her cheeks are so wet, I pull my sweater sleeve out from my jacket cuff and wipe her face with it. ”Then let's get you inside.”

She nods.

Back inside her house, I give her one last hug and one really long kiss goodbye. I can still taste the salt from her tears on my tongue. When we're finished, I don't say the words, I just let the kiss say goodbye for me.

The drive home is ridiculously solemn. I don't even turn on the radio.

After my CAT Scan on Monday, the first thing I do is call Rose. I want to Facetime her, but she won't have anything to do with that. I had asked her why once, but she said she doesn't like the camera and would rather stay away from it. She could have fooled me about the camera, considering her house is filled with photographs her mother took of her. Rose on the farm. Rose on her horse. Rose on the stage in her dance costumes.

But then again, they're all photos from before. And that makes me sad all over again.

As much as she's loosened up around me since my birthday, she's still struggling with the effects of her accident. She doesn't talk about it either. EVER. Even when I come right out and ask her about it. Eventually, I stop asking. I'm afraid I'll ask one too many times and she'll just stop talking again. I don't want that to happen. I always wondered how she could willingly stop talking in the first place. And why?

So I'm not going to ask any more questions. If she wants to talk about it when she's ready, she knows I'll listen.

I have to see Rose one last time before I leave for Florida. I can't help myself. So on Christmas Eve morning, I call her and ask if it's okay to come up.

”Of course it's okay,” she says over the phone. ”I'd love to see you. But you don't mind driving all that way? Isn't it, like, almost three hours away?”

”Not quite, but it doesn't matter. I'd really like to see you.”

”Okay,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

”Good. I'm leaving in about five minutes. See you about twelve thirty?”

”Yup. See you then.”

27.

ROSE.

He never showed up. Twelve thirty went by. One thirty. Two. By two thirty, I had a feeling it was more than traffic. Especially since he didn't respond to my text asking him if everything was all right. I don't know his home phone number. I don't even know his home address. Something had to have happened. He wouldn't just not show up. He's the one who asked me if he could come up.

I text him again.

ME: Ben. Just let me know you're okay. It doesn't matter you didn't come. Please. Thanks.

My stomach hurts. I can't settle down. I want to go downstairs to dance, but everyone's home. Even Terri. Dancing is how I relieve stress, and right now, I can't dance, and as awkward as I am now, I still need it as an outlet.

”Rosebud, what's going on? You've been jumping around like a bean all day.”

”I don't jump, Daddy.”

He's watching me from the kitchen table. Decorating cookies with my mom and Beth all day is usually one of my favorite things to do on Christmas Eve, but today...it's just not happening.

”You know what I mean, Bud. You're jittery.”

”I'm fine,” I snap at my father.

”What's going on?” Beth asks, more quietly than my father had.

”Nothing.” I'd tell Beth, but my father's still watching and my mother hears everything. Not that it'd hurt anything for them to know I'm worried about Ben, but it'd be just one more thing they'd question me about relentlessly.

Beth nods. ”Okay.”

But later on in my room, I tell her why I'm nervous.

”Did you try calling him?”

”No. I texted him though. Twice.”

”Can't hurt to try and call.”