Page 71 of Wild Child
Her eyes closed, her thick eyelashes a shadow against her porcelain skin. "I would have burned them, probably," she admitted softly.
The truth stung. I took a moment to process the intensity of her admission, and kept going with mine.
"When I did come home, you were gone. It sucked. Felt like you'd just abandoned everything we had experienced before for one single, fateful decision. I . . . I was scared by how intensely and how quickly you shut me out. How completely it happened. There was no forgiveness in your actions. None. For so long I felt like I would have never measured up to you anyway, so maybe that was the best path. Even now, I . . ."
Although I didn't want to admit it out loud, I couldn't help but say it. The words came out.
"Even now, I wonder if you'll ever fully let it go. And if I don't trust you, it's because, at any moment, you could decide to shut me out again. I won’t live those three years again, Ellie. And, to be honest, until you asked, I hadn't realized just how deep my fear of this happening again went. It's sort of new to me, too."
My own words cast a bleak pall on the night. Not for the first time, I wondered if therewasany hope for us. Yes, I could trust her as a friend. Someone to catch up with when I returned to town. Someone held at arms length and consulted for the big times in my life.
Could we go back to the Devin and Ellie that lived and thrived in the details?
We had been strong because of the depth of our affection and trust. Now it had been shattered—on both parts—and the pieces seemed overwhelmingly too small to gather back together.
Only when my thoughts slowed did I realize that she'd made no response and several minutes had passed. She stood a few steps away, eyes luminescent in the moonlight as she swallowed back something.
"I went to your dinner," she whispered.
"What?"
"I watched the entire farewell dinner from the trees outside your property."
My heart sank further into my stomach. Back on that terrible day when I had to smile, act grateful, and pretend I wasn't dying inside, I couldn't believe she didn't show up. Some pipe dream of her appearing in the backyard with a wary, but apologetic, smile had kept me going. The shattered feeling after she didn't show up felt like drowning.
"You were there?" I asked.
She nodded.
I'd even considered the possibility that she might watch from somewhere else. Where else would she go but wild places? I should have looked for her. Maybe I could have just shouted it to her then. Told her everything. Blurted it out quickly so that . . .
No. It wouldn't have mattered.
When had Ellie ever allowed herself to be pinned down?
"The whole dinner," she continued with a thick voice. "I couldn't take my eyes off of it. And I couldn't bring myself to walk into that barbeque and tell you to be safe, even though I wanted to. I've hated myself for it for the past three years."
"Why didn't you come?"
She hesitated, lips parted. "B-because," she stammered. "I . . . I thought that I . . . I had always . . . After prom, I felt . . ." Her nostrils flared and her gaze dropped. "I lost my courage."
The feeling that Ellie had something else to say rattled me, but I couldn't fathom what it would have been. And I wanted to understand, because it felt like the real answer lingered in her words.
Ellie never justlost her courage.
I mulled over what she said for several long moments. History would never be erased. Certainly not by hashing it out like this and torturing ourselves with what wecouldhave said or did. But there was some comfort in the truth. Regardless of what happened, she'd given me a chance to say my piece, and that meant a lot.
"Thank you," I said. "Thank you for letting me say it and for listening."
She frowned. "Why are you thanking me? I . . . I should have come. I mean, I get why you don't trust me. It's . . . it's fair."
"I wish you would have come. It does help to know that you did come, just not the way I wanted you to."
Ellie wrapped her arms around her middle with a frown. Both of us made concessions tonight after a long and grisly day. The time for emotions had passed. Pragmatism was ready for her spotlight.
"It's getting cold," I said. "We're sweaty and disgusting and probably smell like a bunch of nasty bears, but at least we're not alone, right?"
A hint of a smile played on her face. "You always smelled like this, Dev. I don't know what you're talking about."
