The Speed of Light: A Novel(58)

Then the room goes silent. Connor jumps up, mutters “God dammit,” and bolts forward to manually skip the slideshow forward, but not before I see it. Diana, smiling big as life, Connor kissing her demurely.

Her hand thrust forward, displaying her bright, shiny diamond ring.

My breath leaves me.

They were engaged?

I fight not to react. I know all eyes are on me, but as Connor and his mom argue and fumble with the projector, I slip up the stairs as quickly as possible, not looking back.





CHAPTER THIRTY

Up in the silent kitchen, my hands shake as I take out my phone and type out a text to Nikki.

I am in hell.

My phone buzzes with her response within moments.

Well, you are in North Dakota.

I scoff. Very funny. Seriously, this is terrible.

You’re meeting the in-laws. What do you expect?

The in-laws. The phrase jolts me. Before today I could picture it. I’ve been picturing it since we met, if I’m honest. The fantasy of it.

But now the reality doesn’t seem as possible. Now I’ve seen a glimpse of Connor’s past life with Diana—healthy, adventurous Diana. I try to reconcile it with his life with me—needy, fragile me.

More ugly words swirl about my mind, taunting me. Telling me I’m fooling myself to think this could work. Even a fixer has limits when the burden is too great.

Burden. The word strikes me hard and fast, a white-hot poker straight to my core.

A sob wells up in my throat, threatening to escape, and I clamp my hand over my mouth.

“Oh God, honey, are you getting sick?”

I whip my head to the right, and I see Arielle standing on the other side of the screened-in patio. I shake my head, lowering my hand.

“You can’t take any more of that shit downstairs, either, huh?” My shoulders sag, and as she slides open the screen door, I catch a pungent whiff from the cigarette in her hand. “Well, come on. It’s a hell of a lot better out here.”

I step out and gasp at the grand canopy of stars that lights up the black sky. The water is still, and the stars are mirrored in the lake so you can’t tell where the sky ends and the water begins. My feelings, too, are a mixed-up jumble inside me. I love Connor and he loves me.

He loves me. I’m sure he does. But when does love become obligation?

I sigh, leaning forward against the railing of the deck, wishing I had the answer.

“Does the smoke bother you?” Arielle asks.

“No,” I say. “Just . . . tired.”

She nods without looking over. “So when were you diagnosed?”

I pause, unsure for a moment, then give in. “About eight months ago.”

“How long have you known you had it, though?”

I glance at her in surprise, but she keeps her eyes on the stars. Then I sigh. “The first signs were about nine years ago—bad headaches; my eyes wouldn’t focus. The funny thing is, I’d almost forgotten about it. Isn’t that stupid?”

“It’s not stupid to try not to think about the bad stuff,” Arielle says softly. “So when did you know for sure?”

“This time around, my foot went numb, and then I had some muscle spasticity. That’s how I was eventually diagnosed.” I narrow my eyes, turn toward her. “Do you know someone with MS?”

“My aunt.”

I swallow. “How is she?” Please be okay. Please be okay.

She shrugs. “Same old feisty Aunt Maria.”

She meets my eyes and smiles. I smile back, my shoulders sagging in relief. Arielle is definitely my favorite in this family.

We stare out at the stars again until I clear my throat. “I’m really sorry, by the way. About Cam.”

“Thank you.”

“Is it . . . is it hard being around them all the time?” I motion back toward the house.

She sighs. “Oh yeah. Especially with this shit. I thought they weren’t going to do it anymore, but Irene is a stickler for tradition. But it’s her way of dealing with it, so I get it.” She drops her cigarette and crushes it underfoot. “Sometimes I wish I could just go, you know? Just me and Ella, and nobody else. We don’t need anybody else, you know?”

I nod vigorously.

Arielle laughs bitterly. “But who am I kidding? Ella does need them.” She stares at the stars again, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear it. “Maybe I do, too.” She gives her shoulders a little shake and then turns back to me. “I do need a change, though. Something different. Christ, even just a new piercing, or blue hair—or maybe another tattoo. Anything to show I’m still here, you know. I’m alive and I’m still in control of my own goddamned life.”

I want to hug her, to comfort her, to thank her, this woman I just met who is making so much sense—who has experienced an entirely different tragedy and yet endures the same emotions I can’t seem to express. But she turns toward me and abruptly changes the subject. “Let me guess: you’re out here because they got to the ‘Connor and Diana Montage of Love.’”

She says it in such a mocking, sickeningly sweet tone that I have to laugh. But it quickly fades. “I . . . he never told me they were engaged.”

Her eyes widen. “God dammit, Connor.” I say nothing, and she sighs. “I’m sure it’s because it’s painful to talk about, you know? It all ended pretty abruptly. I mean, she called from her internship in Boston to say she wanted to break up. Pretty sure she was already with somebody else.”