Amy Inspired - Bethany Pierce [87]
“Sometimes I run. I’ll admit that. But you should think twice before you point your finger, Amy. At least I’m living my life. You bury yourself in books and papers and hole yourself up where no one can mess up the safe little world you’ve made for yourself.”
“First Zoë and now you.” I glared at him. “I’m tired of being told what I should be and what I’m not.”
“Amy!” He grabbed my arm just as I turned away, grabbed me so hard it hurt. Before I knew what was happening I had slapped him across the face.
He dropped my arm, his hand flying to his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, shocked by what I’d done. “I don’t know what I was thinking—”
“You hit me,” he said in disbelief.
“I didn’t mean it, but you grabbed me. Eli, I’m sorry.” I ran my hand over his cheek. “Are you all right? Is it bad?”
This time when he grabbed my arms, just below the shoulders, I felt the restraint in his hands, how careful he was to hold me gently but hold me nonetheless. “Don’t presume, Amy Gallagher, that you know what I mean or what I need—or what I want.” He dropped his hands. “I wanted you.”
He turned his back to me.
“You can walk yourself home,” he muttered.
I would have called after him, but the shame of my own brokenness overwhelmed me, burning as hot as the imprint of his face, pulsing, on the palm of my hand.
18
I was checking out at the student commons food court when a man dressed in a styrofoam ice cream cone costume walked by, advertising the Alpha Delta Phi ice cream social fund-raiser being held on the lawn outside.
“Get the milk shake!” someone shouted. A dozen students appeared from nowhere to stampede the ice cream cone out the door and across the quad.
“Some kind of relay,” muttered the cafeteria lady. She shook her head and took my money. “Kids will be kids.”
She did not need to explain. The weather had finally taken a turn. The sunlight was like Ecstasy crop-dusted over Copenhagen. Runners and dog-walkers appeared at dawn and dusk. Fraternities threw lawn parties just for the excuse to get half naked and beer-buzzed in the middle of the afternoon. Downtown, parents set their children to run wild in the park fountain, and students wearing flip-flops on their already tanned toes sat outside The Brewery to indulge in books that had nothing whatsoever to do with school.
Mom came by to celebrate another successful Luna Landing in Columbus. We sat on the porch roof, watching the commotion. She’d been talking me deaf since she walked in the door. She was so relieved Eli was gone, she spoke of him all afternoon, saying what a nice man he was and how good it was that we’d had some help around the apartment while he was there. I smiled and said nothing. I hadn’t seen him since our fight and had no desire to see him ever.
“What’s all this racket?” she asked. “Is there some big event on campus?”
“Yes,” I said. “Spring.”
Zoë wrote saying she needed a few things and asking if I could ship them to her. There had been days when her mother could eat without pain or vomiting, and they were packing their bags in anticipation: the next good day, they would make a trip to the beach.
I drove to UPS for bubble wrapping. I packed Zoë’s sequined slippers, her second pair of running shoes, and her favorite red string bikini. I packed a dozen pieces of specifically requested jewelry. She also wanted beach reading, including her well-worn copies of Tess of the D’Urbervilles and The Handmaid’s Tale.
I made an exaggerated list of everything she wanted, checked each item off with bold red check marks, and put the checklist inside the box so she would find it first. I threw in a bag of Tootsie Pops for good measure.
You will all get through this, I wrote on the bottom of the checklist.
I knew better. Brian warned me that the doctors had probably helped Fay maintain some semblance of normal life as long as they could, but curing the disease had not