The Arrangement 3 Read online

Page 2

 

  Slowly, I pad across the room. The cold tiles chill my bare feet. Sean is still playing the lament when I come up behind him. It’s a song I know well. I slip onto the bench and place my fingers on the keys. Sean glances at me, but he doesn’t stop playing. I move my fingers with his, playing with him. Our shoulders brush together occasionally as I reach in front of him to press a key. Sean’s blue gaze cuts to the side. He watches me as he plays. Neither of us says anything. When the song ends we both sit there, staring straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry,” Sean says. “I shouldn’t have walked away like that. ”

  I find a way to act like it didn’t matter. I pretend that I don’t know his secret. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. It’s fine, Sean. ”

  His blue eyes slip over me. Sean hesitates before saying, “You play very well. Who taught you?”

  “My mother. ” I feel nothing. If I keep thinking it, it’ll happen. Eventually I’ll feel nothing. Eventually, every last part of me will go numb. I won’t react to his voice or his touch. I can do this. I stare straight ahead.

  “She must be a wonderful musician. ”

  I know he’s searching for kind words, but I don’t care. I answer bluntly. “She was. She died along with my father in a car wreck last year. That was my favorite song. I bugged her to help me with it frequently over the past few years. ”

  Sean watches me as I speak. Finally, he says, “You’ve been through a lot. ” It’s a statement. He leaves it hanging in the air, so I nod.

  “Yeah, but who hasn’t?” I try to sound apathetic, but I don’t pull it off. I shrug and add, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, or so I hear. ” I glance at him, expecting him to make light of it, but he just nods.

  “That’s what I hear, too. ” After a moment, he says, “What other songs do you know?”

  I look at the piano in front of me. A million memories of me and my mom flash by. She loved playing classical music. I preferred darker things, more contemporary stuff. I touch the keys lightly and start playing. To my surprise, Sean joins in. Neither of us speaks. We play like that, alternating songs until sleep pulls at me so hard that I can’t keep my head up.

  My fingers fumble a few times and Sean stops. He turns to me and stands. Leaning over, he scoops me up and cradles me in his arms. “Avery, I’m sorry if I hurt you. ” He sets me down, looking into my eyes. Sean presses his lips gently to mine and a surge of guilt nearly strangles me. I do everything I can manage to kiss him back and not act like his cheating bothers me, but it does.

  That night I barely sleep. I keep seeing a beautiful woman holding a sweet baby in her arms. They’re just faces, only something my mind dreamed up while I slept, but I feel like I stabbed them in the back. I’m not cut out for this. I wish I was dead inside. I wish I lost the ability to feel anything. I fall asleep thinking, wishing that I was someone else.

  CHAPTER 3

  The next morning, Sean is gone. He slipped out without waking me. There’s a note on his pillow. I open it, and think of that crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. My heart clenches. I can’t breathe. Pressing my eyes closed, I chase away the pain. Inhaling slowly, I open his note.

  I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean for things to go that way. I hope you’ll take this morning off and return tonight in time for dinner. There are some more things I’ll show you later. See you then.

  -Sean

  I dress quickly and call Miss Black to tell her that Sean set me free for daylight hours. She wants me to stay put, but Sean wanted me to go out. Eventually, Miss Black folds and I leave the hotel. When I finally get back to the dorm, I can’t think straight. I want to scream. I want to bury my face in my pillow and cry. The thoughts rise up and choke me so hard that I can’t swallow. It’s been months since I felt this crazy.

  I shove the key into my door and kick it open. The door slams open wide. When I glance up, I see Amber’s brain-dead boyfriend—the exhibitionist—carving a turkey on my make-up counter. Turkey juices puddle around my blushes and drip onto the floor. He smiles broadly.

  “Put some pants on!” I yell at him as I run into the room.

  I left the door to the hallway open. The naked jackass waves to people as they pass by. Amber isn’t even here and this idiot is eating turkey on my make-up counter. I can’t deal with it. I feel my heart dying inside of me. I grab a pair of sweats and change in the bathroom.

  When I emerge, naked guy mutters something about joining him, but I flip him off and run out the door.

  I need to get out of here. As I run down the hall, Mel sticks her head out the door. “Hey bitch! Where you running off to? I thought you were…” When I don’t stop, Mel steps out into the hallway. “Avery!” She calls after me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

  It takes a minute to start my car and I’m off. I don’t plan to go there. I just go wherever this crushing feeling in my chest leads me. Staring through the grime on the windshield, I drive further east. A few turns and I pull up at the black iron gates that surround the cemetery. I managed to get here without stalling. It’s still early. No one is here. I drive past the rows of tombstones towards the newer plots in the back. There’s an open grave, the mound of dirt is covered with green plastic grass. I drive past it and turn off the main road in the cemetery and drive to the end. I pull over. The car shudders and lurches before it stalls.

  My hair hangs limp around my face. I shove open the door and walk swiftly toward them. There’s a knot in my throat that I can’t swallow no matter how hard I try. Tears prick my eyes, but they won’t fall. My parent’s plot is behind a massive oak tree. Its ancient base hides me from onlookers. I fall to my knees at the foot of my parent’s grave and double over to stop the pain. My forehead rests against the cold hard ground. My teeth catch my lips and I bite and hold them between my teeth. Sucking in a rush of cold air, I sit up suddenly. My hair flies back, tossing some twigs with it. My heart hammers inside of me. It’s the only thing that tells me that this hell is real. Everything else seems too wrong. I stare straight ahead, seeing their names chiseled in stone, but seeing nothing at all.

  The wind lifts the ends of my hair off my shoulders. I have no idea how long I kneel here, but my legs have pins and needles. I shift my weight and sit on the ground and pull my knees into my chest. I breathe, because that’s all I can do. My anger has faded over the months. I no longer come here to yell at them for abandoning me. This time I don’t know why I’m here. I got in my car and this is where I ended up.

  I reach for something I stashed in my pocket before running out of my dorm room. The metal feels cold against my skin. It’s a little silver cross. My mother gave it to me when I turned sixteen. She said it was to remind me of what’s important when things get rough. Things are worse than rough. I clutch the cross so tightly that the ends bite into my palm. Still, it doesn’t stop me. Pain is something I understand. The rest of this, the senselessness of it all, eludes me.

  I speak into the air. Somehow it feels normal. “What do I do, now? I didn’t think my heart could break any more than it already has. The pieces still inside of me feel like broken glass. Every time I take a breath, they stab into me. It never ends. . . ” I press my lips together and breathe.

  I look down at the cross in my hand. That cross meant something to her. I wish it meant something to me, but it doesn’t. All I see is a necklace. I have no faith. It died along with my parents. I string the cross around my neck and fasten the clasp. It lies against my heart. This is the closest thing I’ll ever have to the comfort of hearing my Mom’s voice and feeling her arms around me again. My fingers press the cross closer. I sit there, looking at nothing, barely thinking, and slowly rock myself.

  Time passes. I have no idea how much, but my body has become still and cold. When a sharp breeze cuts past my cheek, I lift my face. The vacant gaze that I’ve had since I passed the iron gates comes into focus as I see a man in
a long black coat. He stands with his shoulders hunched, looking at the roses in his hand. He stands there frozen for a long time. When he moves, he bends over and places the flowers on the ground on the grave in front of him. When he stands, he throws his head back and looks up at the sky.

  I see his face. It’s Sean. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I want from him. I just see his pain and react. Weaving my way around countless graves, I come up behind him. My fingers clutch the cross around my neck like it can save me. My entire body has gone numb from the cold. I have no jacket. I want to feel the sting of the wind. I desperately need something to make sense.

  Sean must feel my eyes on his back. He turns slowly. At first I think he’s going to be mad, but his gaze sinks to the ground and he turns back to the tombstone at his feet. I walk up next to him and he asks, “What are you doing here?”

  My voice comes out gravely when I speak, “Same reason as you, I suppose. ”

  “Your parents?” he asks. His voice sounds deep and strained.

  I nod, but Sean doesn’t see me. I’m not sure if he sees anything. He stares straight ahead at the grave with such intensity that I can’t look. “Yeah, I needed to talk to them. I have no idea if they can hear me, but I just needed to be here. I can’t explain it. ” I’m quiet for a second and then add, “But talking to the dead seems to be a one-sided conversation. I ask them for help, but they can’t help me anymore. I’m on my own. ”

  Sean turns his grief-stricken face toward me. Our eyes lock and I see my own pain mirrored in his eyes, but there’s something else there too—something more. The wind rustles his dark hair. Sean looks so lost, so vulnerable. After a moment, my eyes fall on the tombstone. I see the name. I stare at it like I don’t understand. I expected this to be his parents, but it’s not.

  The name carved into the headstone is Amanda Ferro.

  Sean turns back to the grave. I stare at the roses he’s placed on the ground. “Amanda was my wife,” he says. His voice sticks to the back of his throat, barely audible. Sean doesn’t say anything else.