Chapter Thirty-Four

Sunday, April 5th

“I got into Long Beach State,” Gabby says. “A full ride to an NCAA school.”

“That’s great.” I’m trying to hide my frown, just like she’s trying to hide her smile.

We’re in her car, out by Lake Fenton. She kisses me as softly as she did that first time, at Charlotte’s party. “Carson, we can make it work,” she whispers.

“I believe you,” I say. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a lie or truth because love is an act of faith.

“You should think about moving,” Gabby says in a voice so small for someone so tall.

“Maybe.” I pull her closer. Maybe is a great word because it’s never a lie.

“You don’t need to stay in Michigan.”

“I know.” I applied to a few colleges in Michigan, but nothing I’m excited about, although maybe because of the turnaround at GM, Dad might be going back to work.

“Both of your sisters live in California and—” Gabby starts, then her tongue clicks to a stop. Caitlin kept to her word. She’s never called. She’s not coming home. I’ve not kept the promises I made to myself but I’m breaking one to Caitlin. I’m going to tell my folks she’s alive, to give them the money, to let them find peace. I told myself I was waiting for Caitlin, but that’s the last lie I’ll tell. I’m waiting for me, to find the same courage I showed locating Caitlin in order to tell my parents at least part of the truth.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, then go silent watching the sunset. It all seems too perfect.

“Have you thought of happy ending for your story yet?” Gabby asks.

“Not yet, but, I’m going to finish the story.” Although I vowed I was done with creative writing club, I couldn’t quit writing. Gabby, like that old song says, is my soul and inspiration. Part of shooting the ball, she always said, is knowing you might miss. But isn’t it better to shoot, to try and maybe score, than to not even get out on the court? I’m writing, not for an audience, but for myself. Writing is a way of knowing, and I guess I still have a lot to learn. I’m not ready, like the character in Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise, to announce, “I know myself, but that is all.” I’ll never be Josh Brown, but that’s his loss because it means he’ll never get a chance to be me.

“I told you I wanted a happy ending,” Gabby says.

“Good thing writers can do that in fiction, since I didn’t get one in real life.” I don’t tell her I’ve written her that happy ending—or as happy as I can view the world through a Caitlin-tinted lens. It will be my going away gift for Gabby.

“Carson, I wouldn’t say that,” she says. Her eyes move off the sunset and onto me.

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t bring Caitlin home, but you tried,” she whispers.

“I don’t think there were any right things I could have said to her,” I say, then sigh. “You know, in some way, all of this was never about her. It was about me.”

“You?”

“To prove to myself I could try to fix our family. I failed, but I tried.”

“What did I tell you at that party when we kissed the first time?” she says, then answers, “You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

“Well, actually the Great One said that. You just quoted him,” I tease.

“But you said I am the Great One!” she says, acting all mock hurt.

“The Great Gabby!” We laugh, kiss, cuddle. It won’t last forever, even if I move to Cali, but it is enough for now. Like the clicking sound of a seatbelt telling me I’m safe, the touch of Gabby’s skin tells me everything is all right. Not forever, not in the past, but for now.

On the ride back into town, Gabby circles the McDonald’s parking lot where Mom’s Malibu awaits my return. She circles like she doesn’t want this car ride to end.

“Gabby, is everything okay?” I ask.

“Carson, I’m ready,” she says.

“Well, if you’re ready, then we need to find a hotel,” I crack. “Or my house.”

“No, not for that,” she says, then laughs. “I want us to go to prom, go public.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Really,” she says as that wonderful, if mischievous, grin spreads over her beautiful face. “But you know what that means, right?”

My face is all frown, no smile. “We have to sit with Charlotte and—”

I cover her mouth then clutch my throat like I’m choking. I cough loudly, roll my eyes, and hiss the name, “Josh.”

“Everybody, even Josh, deserves a second chance,” says the always-optimistic Gabby.

“Do you want to come meet my parents?” I ask.

“Not tonight, but soon, real soon,” she says.

“Why the change of heart?”

“I guess I’m ready for my dad’s disappointment.”

“With me?”

“No, with me,” she says. “He’s got to know. He’s got to accept me and my choices. Just like you need to tell your parents about Caitlin.”

“Do you think he’ll be mad?” I ask, avoiding her statement about Caitlin.

“Furious,” she says. “More for lying than anything else, but he’ll get over it. You can forgive most anything. You say you learned from me, but, Carson, I learned from you too.”

“Well, there’s a lot I want to teach you and—” I whisper.

“Carson, you’re impossible,” she says,

“No, we’re impossible,” I say, and she looks hurt. “Did you think you’d end up with someone like me? I never thought I’d love someone like you. Never thought I’d be so lucky.”

She doesn’t speak as she pulls the car into the parking lot. I kiss her, then start to open the door. “Please don’t leave,” she says. It’s not the three words I want, but it’s enough for now.

“That’s what I should say to you,” I say. “But you’ve got to pursue your dreams. Maybe I’ll come to California, maybe I won’t. You know your future, but I’m still figuring out mine.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabby says, or something like it. It’s hard to tell because she’s crying.

“Don’t cry. Don’t be sorry,” I say. “We’ll figure something out. I’ve taken two trips to California and come up empty-handed. Maybe the cliché is right. The third time is the charm.”

“A lucky charm,” she says, then kisses me soft, softer, softest.

I close the door as others open before me. As I get into my car and start home, I think how Gabby never says she loves me. She’s the writer, not me. She doesn’t tell. She shows.

* * * *

“I’m going to prom,” I tell my parents as I sit down at the dinner table.

“That’s wonderful, honey,” Mom says.

“Carson, I’m going to start back to work soon, but we have a lot of bills,” Dad says.

“I have the money. Don’t worry about it,” I say.

“Where did you get the money?” Mom asks. I’m a little hurt they’re not asking who I’m going with, but we’ve been without money longer than I’ve been without a girlfriend.

I pause. I could say from Tim, but that would lead to more questions, which might lead to more questions, including the biggest one I have. He gave me the money, so why didn’t he claim the computer? He’s taking Thien to the prom. I wonder if I sold out my friendship or saved it.

“Carson, your mother asked you a question,” Dad says.

I take a deep breath before I dive into the deep end. “From Caitlin,” I say, as calmly as possible, which is impossible.

“Caitlin!” they both seem to shout at the same time.

“Caitlin’s alive.” I pause for them to catch their breath.

“Carson, you’ve talked with her?” Mom says.

“She’s living in California.”

“You’ve seen her?” Mom says.

“No, we’ve just talked on the phone,” I lie.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dad says, not angry, not sad, not anything but relieved.

“I promised her I wouldn’t, but don’t worry. She seems happy,” I confess. I wanted her life broken so I could save her. I wanted her addicted to something other than star-struck dreams.

“I need to talk with her,” Dad says. “To tell her how sorry I am about—”

“I promised her I wouldn’t tell you how to contact her,” I say.

“Carson, listen, son. You need to tell us so we can get her to come home,” Dad says.

I pause. My parents’ faces have gone from happy to hurt to hopeful, now back to hurt. This is the scene I’ve avoided since homecoming game night.

“Please,” Mom says. “We could talk to her. We could—”

“I told her everything I could think of, but she’s happy where she is.”

“But—” Mom starts, but Dad reaches over to touch her hand. She squeezes his hand tight, like someone hanging on to a thread for dear life. And that’s what I’ve given them, a thread of hope among my tangle of lies. They’d given up on this moment, so they can’t respond to it.

“This is for you.” I take the envelope from my pants and hand it to Mom. Tempted as I was, I left all the money intact. I took the thousand Caitlin gave me. I’ll give Tim his money back, and I’ll spend the rest on Gabby—on the prom this spring, on a flight to LA in the fall, or maybe moving there. I’m not sure of my next step, but this conversation is an overdue start.

Mom looks surprised when she opens it, her tear-filled eyes wide and wet.

“It’s to pay back the money she ran up on Grandma’s credit card,” I say. “She wanted me to tell you how sorry she was. I told her that you’d forgive her, not because she paid it back, but because she said she was truthfully sorry. If I talk to her again, can I tell her that? Can I?”

I look at Dad’s wet eyes. Behind the eyes, I imagine, he sees the movie of Caitlin’s life—her birth, childhood, teen trauma and disappearance. Does he hear the click of the gun?

“Can you forgive her?” I ask again.

My parents look at each other, but say nothing. Twenty plus years of marriage allows them to communicate without a sound. Finally, Dad—it has to be Dad—says, “We all made terrible mistakes. If she can forgive us, then we can forgive her.”

“Forgive you?”

“Carson, you can’t know what we’ve felt, losing a child like that,” Mom adds. “It would be one thing if she’d died, but she disappeared. There’s no worse feeling for a parent than not knowing. You can only imagine fates worse than death.” If I ever doubted my decision not to tell my parents about Caitlin’s new life, these words washed them all away. I protected them.

“If I talk to her again, I’ll tell her,” I say in what I hope is my last lie. I know I’ll never see Callie Bangs or anyone like her on my computer again. That’s behind me, I pray. I doubt I’ll see Caitlin Banks either. Maybe we’ll talk on the phone, maybe we’ll never talk again. She’s not Caitlin anymore, but she was once. Now she’s someone else. She’s just a stranger I used to know.

“Maybe she’ll come home one day,” Mom says loudly. Dad and I nod in agreement.

I’m pretty sure there’ll be no homecoming, just like I doubt I’ll ever become the bestselling author I aspire to be—or even as great as Josh Brown, but I’ll hang on to these dreams, hopes, aspirations or whatever they need to be called for a while longer. If we don’t have dreams in our lives, that just leaves us with nightmares. Sometimes the nightmares are what we don’t know, sometimes they’re what we know and fear. Maybe the only thing to fear isn’t fear itself, but letting your dreams die or allowing your dreams to destroy you. In these trips between Michigan and California, in these encounters between my past and my present, in these possible futures presenting themselves to me, I’ve covered plenty of miles. I’m not tired. Instead, I’m stronger because I’ve narrowed the distance just a little between who I am and who I want to be.