Lies You Never Told Me(79)

He already has his phone in his hand. “Bluff, Utah.”

“What?”

“That’s the halfway point.” He shows me on a map. I make a face.

“I bet we can find something more scenic nearby.” I look at the map, the towns familiar after staring at Aiden’s atlas so long, so longingly. “Zion, maybe. Or the San Juan Forest. Or . . .”

“Anywhere.” He slides his other arm around me. I press my face against his neck, breathe in. “I’ll go anywhere you want. It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re together.”

So similar to the promise Aiden made. I close my eyes. I try to believe that the worst might not happen, for once.

I make myself imagine it. The two of us—no, why not the five of us? Gabe and Caleb and Irene and Brynn? It’s my fantasy, so I’ll invite everyone. The five of us camping together in the brilliant sandstone towers of Zion. Irene blasting music from her portable speakers, and Caleb building a fire, and Brynn in hot-pink bedazzled hiking boots, and Gabe . . . Gabe with his arms around me, laughing, telling jokes, until it’s very late, the fire goes down, and we go back to our tent.

I’ve been hungry for family my whole life. I wasn’t born with one. But somehow, maybe, I’ve found them along the way—in spite of everything.

Becky’s going to pick me up soon; I have to go back to the group home and pack up my things. Not that I have much to pack. But I leave early tomorrow, and she wants to make sure I’m ready. I lean against Gabe, knowing we should turn back up the trail, not ready to admit it.

“Um. I haven’t been able to do any shopping, what with the hospital and everything . . .” he says. He looks suddenly bashful, his cheeks pink. “But I’ve got kind of a . . . a thing for you. For Christmas.”

Now I’m blushing too. “Oh . . . oh, I didn’t . . .”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “It’s nothing big. I mean, I made it. Irene helped me. I . . .” He trails off, then rummages in his pocket. There’s a small lumpy package, wrapped in purple glitter paper.

I take it from his hand. It’s light in my palm, the paper rough-textured. There’s no box; it’s a pendant, a chunk of jagged wood set in resin. The wood’s painted red and white—it looks like a fragment of a design, but I can’t make out the picture. Feathers, maybe? An angel wing?

“It’s . . . kind of dumb,” he says. “It’s a piece of my skateboard. The one that got smashed in the accident? I . . . you know, since that’s how we met, I wanted you to . . . to have it.”

I stare down at it, my fingers curling around the sides. “It’s beautiful.”

He helps me put it around my neck. Light as the wood is, there’s a satisfying weight to it. I can’t stop touching it, the resin cool and smooth beneath my fingertips.

“Thank you,” I say. “I wish I had something for you.”

He shakes his head, looking pleased. “Don’t. I’m just glad you like it.”

Maybe it’s the necklace that reminds me. It’s while we’re walking back to the parking lot that I remember I have one more confession to make.

“Uh. So. About the accident,” I say. My stomach twists into a knot. I steal a glance at his profile.

“Yeah?”

“Um . . . the thing is . . .” I hold my breath for a moment, then say the rest in one big jumble. “I-may-have-been-the-one-who-actually-hit-you.”

His mouth drops open. He stops in his tracks, and turns slowly to gawk at me. I squirm under his gaze, wondering if this is somehow the final straw, the deal breaker. After everything we’ve been through together—is this one foundational lie the one that makes him walk away?

But then the corners of his eyes crinkle up, and he bursts into laughter.

And then I’m laughing too, the two of us clutching each other, breathless with it.

I don’t know how long we stand like that. But before I know what’s happened we’re kissing, a hard, desperate kiss, like we’re trying to impress the memory of it into our lips. Then we cry a little, both of us. His tears mix with mine on my cheeks. I’m afraid to move, because when we move again, all bets are off. We’ll have to go.

When we make it back to the parking lot, his mom’s van is already there, and Becky’s car is a few spots away. I wipe my face.

“Just a few months,” I say. “See you in Bluff?”

He doesn’t smile this time. We kiss again. It’s softer. Gentler.

“Just say the word,” he whispers.

I watch him climb into his mom’s van. I wave at Vivi one more time. Becky pretends to text someone on her phone, trying to give me a minute, but I know she’s watching.

I touch the pendant again. A splinter of wood, broken and made into something new. I don’t know if the fractured picture is really an angel wing or not, but I know what Gabe has given me.

I know he’s given me flight.