Page 51 of Every Heartbeat After

The air-conditioning fills the car with a dull roar that takes my ears a few seconds to adjust to. By the time it fades, I catch the tail end of Tess’s words. “…was sweet.”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks. I don’t have to hear her entire sentence to guess the sentiment. I shift the car into reverse and clear my throat.

“You’re lucky to have them,” she says pointedly, gaze aimed straight ahead.

I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, stars burst across the image of my parents waving to us from the porch. Why is leaving just as hard as arriving? “I know I am.”

She picks absent-mindedly at a loose thread hanging from her shirt hem. All the while, her attention never drifts from Mom and Dad. “You should make an effort to visit them more often, Kit. You can’t take for granted that they’ll always be here.”

I know she’s only speaking from a place of experience, from firsthand knowledge of just how shitty the alternative is, but it adds salt to the wound that makes the pain of driving away especially unbearable. She’s right, of course. I have two wonderful parents and she has none. It feels completely unjust, and yet it doesn’t ease the ache in my chest any more than rubbing my sternum with a balled fist does.

“I’ll do better,” I manage to force out. “I’m trying to do better.”

She nods, a tiny jut of her chin. The only way I know to get out of my own mind is to focus on someone else, and so I zero in on her. The fragile tilt to her neck. The warble of her bottom lip. An inhale that rattles and shakes.

I reach for her hand, stilling it on her shirt hem. “Areyouokay?”

Her thin throat works over a hard swallow. I half expect her to be vulnerable with me, considering everything she’s seen over the past twenty-four hours, but after one brief glance in the mirror to check my blind spot, all traces of sadness have been wiped from her expression.

I tighten my grip on the scalding leather surface of the steering wheel. If we’re going to be no-holds-barred honest with each other, then it has to go both ways. “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

Her gaze cuts to me, eyes green as the trees that pass outside her window, and as innocent as sin. “What?”

I should let it go, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because seeing her bridle that hurt is a bit too much like staring down a mirror. Or perhaps it’s because this is the same woman who let me splinter into a million pieces in front of her and still wanted to be seen with me afterward. Either way, I bite down on the inside of my cheek, realizing it’s too late to backtrack. On any of it.

“You bury your feelings so deep,” I say, then draw a breath in, stretching my aching lungs to max capacity. “Everything negative, you push it away like you’ve somehow convinced yourself you’re not allowed to feel anything but happy. What are you afraid’s going to happen if you let the world see who you really are? If you letmesee it?”

Save for the low hum of the engine and the cry of the overworked air vents, silence settles between us. She doesn’t answer, and I’m done pushing. She gave me space when she called me out last night. I can do the same for her now.

I turn up the radio. Something somber, with a plucked-guitar melody and a singer whose voice has been raked over the coals. Tess stares straight ahead, still as stone, as we drive away from my hometown.

* * *

It’s not long before, in true Southern summer fashion, the sky splits in half. In seconds, the blue expanse gives way to black, and then the black gives way to a deluge. Rain pummels the windshield. It falls in thick sheets, blurring the road ahead. I slow to a crawl, and with a quick sidelong glance, I note Tess white-knuckling the armrest on her door.

“Joys of southern living, am I right?” I shout over the cacophony.

Her chin jerks in what I assume is a nod. “I never go out at three p.m. for this exact reason.”

“What?” I say, cupping my right ear.

“I said—” she starts but cuts herself off. Her waving hand slices my periphery. “Never mind. Just focus on the road!”

I lean forward and squint into the wall of water. “What road!”

That gets her to laugh, and despite the tension of navigating the storm, it eases something in my chest. Neither of us is any good at staying serious for long. The pressure of it would crumble everything we’ve built up as a testament to the fact that we’re doing fine, thank you for asking. Just fine.

I continue my slow crawl forward, watching for taillights in the rain. The interstate has been largely empty since we got on a few miles back, but tourists who aren’t used to the weather like to flip on their hazards and stop in the middle of the road when faced with a storm like this. I learned that the hard way as a teen, when I nearly rear ended a couple from Minnesota.

The great thing about these storms is that they pass just as quickly as they come on. After a few harrowing minutes, the drumming softens to a dull roar and the charcoal sky takes on a lighter hue, promising the end is near. I relax back into my seat just as Tess’s hand flies across my chest. “Stop!”

I slam down on the brakes. Up ahead, flashing hazard lights blink against the downpour. They sit at an odd angle, a few feet into the margin. I click my tongue. “Looks like an accident.”

Slowly I lift my foot off the brake. With every yard we creep closer, the damage becomes more apparent. They didn’t simply lose control and hydroplane off the asphalt. The back quarter panel on the driver’s side has caved in, drawing the midsize SUV’s hood unnaturally close to its trunk. I turn on my hazards and pull a safe distance off the road, then reach for my buckle.

Tess’s hand meets mine there, and when I glance up, panic flares in her gaze. Her skin has lost all its color, looking far too ashen for my sunshine girl. “You can’t go out there. It’s too dangerous.”

“I have to.” I press my lips together, drawing in deep breaths through my nose to calm my racing heartbeat. Without realizing it, the pounding of the driving rain has been replaced by my pulse in my ears. I shake my head, and it eases ever so slightly. “Someone could be hurt. I need to check on them.”

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