Page 43 of Paging Dr. Hart
Ethan moves into the newly vacated middle seat. In a softer voice, he says, “I’m sorry. I should have called sooner. Sometimes I overthink things. Make it more complicated than it needs to be. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The plane picks up speed, its nose rising in the air as we lift off. The forcepresses Ethan and me into the cushions. Ethan’s apologetic, open-palmed hand moves slowly toward me. I watch his advancing hand suspiciously, like it’s a venomous snake, ready to strike and bite. He settles on top of my clenched fist. His fingers intertwine themselves into mine, pushing my fingers apart one by one until my hand relaxes.
It’s like a miracle, his hand holding mine.
“You know why I asked to come to the conference?” Ethan’s staring at me intently, his gaze searching my face.
I think I know the answer, but I’m too scared to say it.
What if I’m wrong?
“Why?” I ask instead.
“You. I’m here foryou. I followedyou.” His fingers tighten around mine. More softly, he says, “I can’t keep my eyes offyou. That’s why I’m here. I want a chance, Tiffy. Give it to me.” Staring at me with those light liquid eyes, he pleads, he demands.
Unblinking, I stare back because, if I’m really being honest with myself, I can’t take my eyes off him either.
We stay like that, our gaze and hands locked together for a long minute, until he says, “Let’s call a truce. I don’t want to fight.”
A heavy band releases its grip from my chest. A long breath escapes me and, with it, the anger I’ve been holding onto this past week. “Okay.” I’m distracted by Ethan’s warm, rough palm lying nestled against mine.
The lopsided grin is back. An old friend I haven’t seen since we left Cleveland.
Still calming myself, I deliberately slow my pulse and focus on him. He’s making an effort. I recognize that now, and he deserves the chance he’s asking for. “This is your first time at Disney World too?” I ask.
His face is so close I can see how his scar is puckered from where he had stitches. “Yeah. You know what I’m most excited about?”
“What?”
“Seeing it with you.” He rubs his thumb lightly over the back of my hand, stirring butterflies in my stomach that flutter their wings and rise into my chest. “Will you go with me? To the parks?”
I hesitate. I’m not angry at him anymore, but I have a lot of unansweredquestions. It’s like we’re circling around something big, something unnamed. I’m not blind to my growing attraction to Ethan. I’m swimming deeper into the ocean of my feelings and can no longer touch the sandy floor beneath my feet.
I pause, thinking. “Okay. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“We trade seats. I want the window.”
The corners of his mouth rise higher into a sunny crooked smile. “Done.”
It’s true that I want the window seat, but the real reason I agree to go to Disney World with Ethan is simple. He’s holding my hand, and it feels like a promise of something more. I want to find out what that something is.
I’m not running anymore.
37
Past, Las Vegas, Nevada, Age 17
Afew days later, I tell Mr. Chen I’m going to the library and ask him to keep an eye on my mom, who’s asleep upstairs. But I don’t go to the library. Instead, I walk to the parking lot, where Shelly is waiting in a beat-up sports car. I hop in, and we speed off.
Pulling my costume out of a plastic grocery bag, I shake it out, letting the glitter sparkle. Shelly and I went to a thrift store yesterday. With her help, I picked out a plain white bikini and knee-high white boots. Our next stop had been a craft store where we bought the fake diamond sequins, glitter glue, and large feathers that now adorn our outfits.
It had been fun. Shopping together. It’d been so long since I felt young, like a normal teenager. Being with Shelly, as we tried on every crazy outfit we saw, had made me giggle. It had been a tiny burst of freedom, away from the hospital and sickness. It reminded me that there was an entire world out there. One that didn’t run on alarms set to give the next dose of medicine. A world where a girl can be carefree, for just a moment, and go shopping with her best friend.
I change as we zoom down the road, heading for the Strip. Shelly is already dressed, her feathered headband brushing against the roof of the car. Her outfit is all red. Red bikini top and bottom. Knee-high red boots so shiny they reflect the passing streetlights.
We’re dressed like show girls. The kind that you see in those cheesy Las Vegas shows. With tall headbands and skimpy clothing.
