Puddle Jumping(36)

She started to cry then. Like, really, really cry. But I couldn’t comfort her.

“I promise that love isn’t easy for anyone. Anywhere.”

“You’re right. But if I had to choose between having what dumb people would refer to as a normal life and having a life with Colton, I would choose your son every single time.” Without another word, I stood up and pulled the painting over to my feet, unwrapped it carefully, and let the paper fall away. “I would have boarded that plane with him, if given the chance. Spent my first year of college traveling and being there. I would have done all of it. If I had been given the chance.”

Her silence was only punctuated by small sobs.

But I barely heard them.

Because I was staring at a painting of Colton. And he was staring back at me. His body situated in a way to convey sadness. His face solemn.

There, rounded in each corner, the colors overlapped his brush strokes that bore the words I Love You over and over and over . . . creating the backdrop of his heartbreak. And mine.

“Is he home?” I asked as I moved my feet, tripping over my shoelaces in my own haste.

“Yes.”

She owed me time with him before he left. And she knew it. I watched her search for her keys in her pocket, but by the time she had them out for me, I was already at the door.

I didn’t need them.

I had my own way in.





I was worried about how he would react to me climbing through his window again after the weeks we’d had apart. One piece of me wondered if I would walk in on one of his meltdowns. Another piece wondered if he would be fine and Sheila had simply exaggerated to get me there.

On the way to his house, I called Harper and the conversation pretty much went like this.

“His mom came over . . .”

“I hate her.”

“She didn’t mean for it to happen. She asked him to tell me first.”

“Hmm. Fine. I reserve the right to revisit my hatred at a later time.”

“He painted me a picture of himself. It has I Love You written all over it.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. I’m headed there now.”

“Call me later.”

I didn’t even bother to park my car around the other side of the neighborhood. The sky was getting a little darker and I knew Mr. Neely worked mad, crazy hours. And even though I could have knocked on the door, I felt like I needed to climb up that lattice one last time.

I did, with my heart thundering in my ears and my hands shaking from the anxiety I was drowning in. But once I checked the latch and realized the window was still unlocked, tears filled my eyes and I had to take a breath before actually climbing through.

I wondered if he left it unlocked the entire time without thinking about it . . . or if he checked it every night to see if it was still unlocked, just in case I came over.

Either way . . . it made me feel awful.

I stumbled into the room blindly, hoping to God once more that I wouldn’t break anything as I attempted to untangle my feet from the windowsill. When I righted myself, I realized the art room was pretty much vacant. Everything was put away. It felt wrong. Weird. I’d never seen it like that before.

Of course, Colton hadn’t left me before, either.

After bracing myself for a moment, I walked slowly to the door and looked down the hallway toward his room, noting the soft tinkling of music filtering into the open space. I watched the lighting in his room shift, his shadow appearing and disappearing with his footsteps.

Back and forth.

Preparing to leave.

Or was he pacing?

No longer worried about my timing, I crept to his open door and stood there, watching him as he moved a foot and then back, his eyes downcast as his hands started to reach for something and then would stop and he would repeat the movement over and over again. He appeared to be so very frustrated.

I knocked gently on his wall, holding my breath as he turned abruptly and stared at my face. Just stared. No words.

“Hi,” I called to him quietly.

His reaction surprised me. In the blink of an eye he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing me to the wall and burying his face in my neck as he breathed in deeply and squeezed all the air from my lungs.

“Nothing works,” he started, his hands kneading my sides as he tried again. “I try. And try. But nothing works. I can’t focus. I can’t . . . I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.” I had to stop myself. “I apologize for not coming to see you sooner.”

“You were upset. I hurt you. Something must have happened to make you stay away from me. Is that right?” His nose was pressed under my ear and I fought back another round of tears because he just didn’t fully grasp it. He could have been repeating Sheila’s words for all I knew.

“You’re leaving.”

His body went rigid, and slowly he pulled back from me to look down at his shoes. “You’d like it better if I stayed?”

“No!” It was a lie. But it wasn’t. “This is . . . such . . . a great opportunity for you. You should go.” His eyes met mine briefly. “But I’m going to miss you so very much while you’re gone.”

He nodded a little.

“Your mom delivered my birthday present. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”