Love Songs & Other Lies(68)
I feel hands on my back, arms around my shoulders. Instead of Vee’s cold skin, I feel the cold, smooth metal of the caskets under my fingertips. The soft drop of roses on dirt, the squeak of my crutches with each step I take toward my aunt and uncle’s car. Say something. I hear the slam of car doors, smell the unfamiliar scent of a home that isn’t mine. I feel the coldness from my sister, who has been silent; feel the gaze of her eyes, which are filled with tears. Eyes that won’t look at me. Cold blue eyes I haven’t seen in almost a year now. Say something.
I should be comforting Vee, telling her it will be okay, but all I can think about is how bad shit like this happens all the time. People die. It happens every day, to good people. Strong, tough people. And we can’t do anything about it. It doesn’t matter how much our families love us, or how many friends we have, or if we’re rich or poor. It’s not up to us. We’re helpless. There are so many things going through my head that I know I should say, but only one thing comes out of my mouth: “I’m going to take you home.”
She struggles to turn toward me, trapped by the blankets and my arms. Her breath is warm against my face. “What?”
“You should go home.” I can see it in her eyes; the moment she realizes I don’t want her here. It’s the same moment I realize that I can’t do this. I can’t be what she needs.
“O-okay.” She slowly slips out from under the covers and for just a second it feels like déjà vu, seeing her in my St. John’s sweatshirt, a pair of my pajama pants rolled down at the waist, so they stay on her hips. She stares at the door and not me. “Let’s go.”
*
My phone vibrates, buzzing across the nightstand. I ignore it, letting it buzz until it finally starts ringing. LOGAN flashes across the screen. I let it ring, until it finally becomes impossible to sleep through the incessant sound.
“Hey—”
“I need you to come over here.” Logan sounds fully awake.
“It’s 1 A.M. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“I don’t want to talk, idiot. Vee is here—”
I try to push away the question of why she’s at Logan’s. It’s none of my business.
“She’s crying and shit, and Cort can’t get here for a few hours.” His voice is a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what to do. Can you just come over? I need backup. I need help, man.” He sounds like he’s dealing with an active burglary taking place in his house, instead of a frantic girl.
“Call Anders.”
“Be serious.” He snorts. “I need to stop the crying.”
“She doesn’t need me, Logan. You’re her best friend.” Even as I say the words, I hate them. And I know they’re not entirely true. Not anymore, at least.
“She’s not even talking to me. She showed up crying.” Logan sounds panicked. “And I’ve tried everything. I sat with her … I held her. I thought maybe she’d tell me what was wrong, but she’s just crying.” I’m pissed thinking of him holding her, his hands on her, comforting her. I should have said something. I can’t do it.
“It’s Nonni,” I say. “She had a stroke or something. She’s in pretty bad shape, I guess.”
I dropped Vee at her house, where she clearly didn’t want to be, only so she could run to Logan. I can’t even blame her, as much as I want to. I know I can’t give her what she needs. I can’t just lie and say it’s all going to be all right, and I can’t be honest and tell her that I understand what she’s going through. I’m useless. She doesn’t need to hear my truths. The truth is, everything ends. Things go wrong, people die. There’s nothing you can fucking do about it. It doesn’t matter if you saw them two days ago or two weeks ago, there’s no way to prepare for it. God, I’m messed up. Logan can reassure her. He can tell her everything will be fine, and he’ll probably even mean it. He doesn’t know any better.
Logan is what she needs. Maybe, deep down, he’s what she’s always wanted, too. And he’d have to love her back, wouldn’t he? How couldn’t he? I’ve only known her for months and I love her. He’s known her for years—how could he not? He’s good for her. Logan’s her best friend. Part of her family. The history they share is complicated, but she knows everything about him. She will never—could never—know me like that. Vee deserves Logan. More importantly, I don’t deserve her.
I hear my name in the distance and realize that I dropped the phone on the bed when I began stuffing clothes into the canvas duffle bag that lies beside my bed.
“You coming, Cam?”
“I can’t.” I press the END button and shove my life back into bags and boxes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NOW
VIRGINIA
I spent the first seventeen years of my life in Riverton, but every time I come back it feels a little less like where I belong. When I arrive on Friday night, I go straight to the little chapel that will host the ceremony. Cort is waiting for me in front of the giant wooden doors, holding a dress bag in one hand and a paper plate covered in ribbons in the other. When she sees me, she does her best backwoods country impression. “Well, there she is, our little Virginia Miller. Television star!”