Letters to Nowhere(90)

Then on floor, I felt like I was only going through the motions. Stacey was on the sidelines during the whole routine, gesturing for me to raise my chin, to smile, to look like something other than a robot, but my legs and arms felt like lead, not the light flower I was supposed to mimic in my choreography. Nina stopped me after I finished my routine and told me I lacked artistry. I wasn’t sure how I could fix that by the next day, but I had a feeling my chances for the Pan Am team had just narrowed, and it seemed like my life was spiraling out of control. Instead of wanting to come back better tomorrow, I just wanted to crawl into my hotel bed and fall asleep so Nina’s grating voice could leave my head.

Blair was on her phone in the lobby of the hotel when we returned from dinner, probably being forced to give a play–by–play of the entire evening workout to her overbearing mother. Grateful that I was still pissed off at my parents and couldn’t fall apart at the thought of not being able to call them, I went up to our shared room alone. After a quick shower, I flopped onto my bed and pressed my face into the pillow, falling asleep almost instantly.

A little after eleven that night, the door opened and Blair finally came in. I squinted into the dark and then sat up quickly when I saw the person who had followed her into the room.

“Jordan! What are you doing here?”

He looked very serious and free of his usual amused expressions. “Blair told me you sucked today and I thought maybe…maybe…”

“Maybe both of us could help you,” Blair finished for him. She sat beside me on the bed and Jordan sat on her bed.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “I’m not sure how much I like the idea of you two talking about me when I’m not around.”

“This is hard for us, too,” Blair said. “We had to plan what we were going to say. It’s like an intervention.”

I rolled my eyes. “I promise I’m going to do better tomorrow. Stop worrying about me. It’s not like either of you can do the routines for me.”

Blair nodded at Jordan, cueing him to give his speech or whatever. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. I couldn’t help smiling, because nervous Jordan just might be my favorite version of him.

“When you asked Tony to steal confidential files from the police department—which was kind of hot, by the way, totally CSI—” Blair narrowed her eyes at him and he shook out his head, refocusing. “—Anyway, what did you want to see? What were you hoping to find?”

I figured that had been obvious, but I answered anyway. “I just wanted to know if they were in a lot of pain. If they were ripped into pieces like I kept seeing in my head.”

A few tears spilled from my eyes, and I saw that Blair’s face looked identical to mine, and I started to think maybe she really was here to help me.

“And what did you see?” Jordan asked, though I was sure he’d looked at the folder himself, along with Bentley.

“They were whole people. The car wasn’t as smashed as I’d imagined.” My voice caught on the last words, and I tried to keep swallowing the giant lump in my throat.

Jordan leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I talked to Tony’s mom this morning. I told her you were having a hard time and you thought the details would help. She told me something that wasn’t in the report. The paramedics only took five minutes to respond and they were already gone. She said the autopsy determined that they were dead on impact.”

“It was quick.” Blair barely choked out the words. “Most likely they didn’t even feel anything.”

I nodded, trying to breathe through the pain myself, through the images of them just after.

“I know that I told you the other day that I hated them, too, for leaving you,” Blair said. “But I didn’t really mean that…”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I get why you said it—”

“No.” She shook her head, cutting me off. “I mean I know they made a big mistake, but I can’t make myself only see their big screwup. Remember when we decided we wanted to try real golf and not miniature golf because we were professional athletes and all?”

“Yeah.” I took a tissue from Jordan’s hand that he’d retrieved from the dresser in our room.

“I think we were ten and eight, maybe,” Blair said. “And your dad gave up his entire Saturday to take us to the real course. He showed us how to hit the ball and then after, like, three holes we got bored and started tumbling all over the golf course and instead of getting mad at us for not paying attention, he decided to challenge us.”

I smiled to myself, remembering. “Nobody in the world had ever done three back handsprings and then hit a golf ball.”

“Right,” Blair said, nodding. “And we’d get so dizzy and then swing the club around and miss everything. Your dad thought it was so funny and he kept taking us around the whole course. Then we got to order lunch off the grown–up menu and you got oysters and ate one and nearly barfed and I got lamb and once I figured out that it was actually a sweet little lamb, I couldn’t eat it. And your dad let us get dessert even though we didn’t eat our lunch.”

I wiped my nose on my sleeve, despite the fact that I was holding a tissue, and nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

“That was like the best day of my life,” Blair said. “You know how my parents are. So strict, so critical. And your dad let us try and screw up and he didn’t wait to teach us a lesson or anything. I thought he was the most patient dad in the whole world.”