Things I Never Told You, page 29
“You’re twenty-six, Payton. You’ve helped me achieve my dream. It’s not too late for you to go for yours. And if it means leaving Festivities, I understand. I’ll miss you, but I understand.”
I know Kimberlee meant to encourage me with her words. To offer me freedom to choose a new path. A different future. But instead, it was as if she’d backed me into a corner with no way out.
“Are you firing me?”
“We’re partners. Partners don’t fire each other. We talk and figure out the future. Our future. The company’s future.”
“What about you, Kimberlee? I mean, personally?”
“Personally?” She tossed me a grin. “Who’s got time for a personal life when her dream is coming true?”
Could I abandon Kimberlee now? “What would you say if I wanted a couple of days to think about the future—whether I stay with Festivities or not?”
“I’d say fine. And what would you say if I started looking online at résumés? Because no matter what, we’re going to need extra help. Maybe see if Bianca is interested in moving up from being a receptionist, too?”
“I already know the answer to that question. Just don’t replace me right away.”
“Deal.” Kimberlee offered me her hand.
“I’ll let you know within a week what I’m going to do. Fair?”
“That’s fair.” We both shook hands in agreement and then Kimberlee backed away. “Good talk?”
“Yes. Good talk.”
It left my future undecided . . . but it was still a good talk.
32
MAYBE THIS WAS NOT the best time to be contemplating my future.
Not when Sydney hadn’t told me how mentally exhausting it would be to stand on the sidelines and help coach the sixteens team—all day long. And my voice? Almost nonexistent from cheering them on, my throat so raw it sounded as if I had a bad cold.
Granted, it was only seven o’clock at night. And I’d showered and changed into sweatpants and an old sweatshirt—certified comfy clothes. It was still early and I needed to do some research. Answer some questions.
But I’d also forgotten all the choices that came with going to college. I hadn’t even decided if I was really going back to school or not, and I was already overwhelmed with questions.
Full-time or part-time?
Online or classroom?
University or junior college?
My breakfast nook table was cluttered with my laptop, highlighters, and a legal pad scrawled with notes.
I grabbed my coffee mug, collapsing against the chair and taking a sip, choking on the cold liquid. While I sat there daydreaming—wondering if this crazy idea of going back to college could become a reality—my coffee had cooled.
Why was I allowing a ten-year-old list to spark long-forgotten ambitions? I should put it back in the lockbox with everything else and forget about it—not leave it tacked up on the bulletin board in my kitchen, next to my latest grocery list.
That’s just what I’d do.
A loud knock at my front door interrupted my decision.
What on earth?
Zach stood on my front porch holding two insulated cups of coffee. What was it with this guy showing up with coffee?
“I hope one of those is for me.”
“Um . . . hello to you, too.” Zach’s smile had become familiar. “Yes, one of these is yours. If you’d answered your phone, you would have known I was going to drop by.”
I motioned Zach inside. “You called me?”
“Yes. I don’t make it a habit to just show up on my friends’ doorsteps.” Zach handed me one of the cups. “I was in the area and I remembered you mentioning during one of our conversations that you lived around here . . . so I did a White Pages search, and here I am.”
Here he was. Bringing me coffee. Something a friend would do. I guess Zach and I were friends after all. Friends with the most unlikely of beginnings.
I had to admit I liked the idea of being his friend, but I didn’t have to say it out loud—or think too long about how appealing his smile was. He wasn’t as polished as Nash. Some women probably would think Nash was more handsome, but . . .
And that kind of thinking about Zach had to stop. Right now.
“You called? Because I didn’t hear my phone ring—” I set the coffee aside and scrabbled through the mess on the table in search of my phone. “Aha! And . . . two missed calls.”
“And a text or two, I think.” Zach’s smile widened into a grin as he settled in a chair across from me. “What is all this?”
“Would you believe I’m thinking about going back to college?”
“Tell me more.”
“Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”
“And I’m not laughing. That was a seriously interested question.”
I sipped my coffee, which was hot and sweet, just the way I liked it. “Thank you for this, by the way.”
“One thing I’ve learned about you, Payton, is you’re a woman who likes her coffee. Now, what’s this about college?”
“It’s the lockbox again and my list of goals and dreams. Oddly enough, being a party planner is nowhere on that list.”
“What is?”
“Volleyball. Lots of stuff having to do with volleyball. I used to think about being a coach. Or starting a club.” I ran my fingers through my hair, thankful I’d at least showered after I’d come home from the tournament. “But I gave that all up after Pepper died. I didn’t think I deserved to have my dreams.”
“And now you do?”
“I realize I did the best I could do back then. I made decisions that weren’t great, even if they were understandable. And I can make different ones today. But I keep thinking it’s too late for me to go back to college.”
“Remember who you’re talking to.”
“Right. A college kid.”
Zach laughed. “You’re twenty-six, Payton. Some people go back to college in their seventies.”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“What are you thinking of studying?” Zach leaned forward and moved some of the catalogs. “Wait. What’s this?”
Caught.
“It’s just a book that I’m skimming.”
“You’re skimming C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity?”
“Ye-es. Don’t make a big deal about it, Zach. I was curious, I guess.”
“Hmmm.” Zach flipped through the first few pages.
“I googled ‘books about Christianity’ and the image for this book was second.”
“Okay—what was number one?”
“Something to do with apologetics.”
“Hmmmm.”
“Again with the ‘hmmmm.’ I’m just curious about why Pepper believed in all of this.”
“College. Books about God . . .”
“A book. One.” Even as I corrected him, I laughed.
“Fine. Just be careful.”
“What?”
“You might end up wearing that necklace Pepper bought you.”
“Zachary Gaines! I can’t believe you’d joke about something like that.”
“I never joke about things I’m praying for, Payton.”
And just like that, he turned the conversation serious. His voice dropped low, almost a whisper.
Zach was praying for me?
Weeks ago, I would have shoved him away. I had shoved him away. But he’d never stopped pursuing me, no matter how badly I behaved toward him. No matter what I said. He brought me coffee. Held me when I cried over my sister’s death. Crafted a work of art in her memory.
And he prayed for me.
Had anyone ever prayed for me?
Pepper had . . .
“Payton? Did I lose you?”
Zach’s voice had me blinking tears from my eyes. “Yes . . . sorry. Just for a moment there I thought about Pepper . . .”
“I’m sorry—”
“No. You made me realize Pepper probably prayed for me, too.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“I wish I could go back and change things . . .”
“She’d want you to focus on the changes you can make today, don’t you think?”
“You’re right.”
“Which reminds me why I’m here.” Even as he sat back, hooking his arm over the back of the chair, Zach sounded nervous.
“Oh, really?”
“I, uh, wanted to invite you to go on a hike with Laz and me on Saturday. It looks like the weather is going to be gorgeous.”
“A hike?”
“Yep. We can enjoy the outdoors, talk about books . . .”
“Books, huh?”
“I’m reading a great military thriller right now.”
I rolled my eyes and Zach’s laugh rang out, seeming to draw me—or my heart—a bit closer. This was where I usually backed away. Put up virtual Do Not Cross This Line tape. But Zach wasn’t pushing me. I could say yes or no, decide if I wanted to go.
“It sounds like fun, but I haven’t been hiking in a while—”
“It’s not speed-hiking, Payton. It’s about enjoying the scenery and each other’s company.”
“I guess I could do that.” I couldn’t resist teasing him. “You’re talking about Laz, right?”
“Ouch. I deserved that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“We won’t go any faster than you want, okay?”
“Promise?”
“I promise. You can trust me, Payton.”
“I do.”
Were we even talking about hiking on Saturday anymore? There seemed to be a weight behind our words that went beyond Zach’s initial invitation. But I refused to analyze every little thing the man said to me. And I wasn’t going to ask about Kelsey, either. He’d said she was a friend and left it at that. Fine. We weren’t even close to a “define the relationship” conversation. He’d said the hike was about enjoying the scenery and each other’s company—so be it.
As friends. Going slow. Most definitely going slow.
33
THERE ARE CERTAIN THINGS you need to do yourself. Yes, this was my parents’ house. And yes, our relationship had improved in recent months. But I was dealing with my childhood bedroom closet. Alone.
“Are you sure I can’t help you, Payton?”
Mom’s question stopped me halfway up the stairs—almost to the room Pepper and I had shared for so many years. As I half turned to face her, I gripped the wooden rail, bracing myself against the eager tone in Mom’s voice. “I’m good. Honestly, I’d rather do this by myself.”
“Do you need any boxes? Markers?”
“No. I brought some clear plastic containers.” I motioned toward the hallway, where they waited outside the room, my letter jacket resting in the crook of my other arm.
“Fine. Decide what you want to keep and then Dad and I’ll deal with whatever’s left.”
“Okay.” As I continued toward the room, Mom’s voice stopped me again. “Want me to bring you some coffee?”
“No, thanks. I don’t think it will take that long.”
And she didn’t need to know I’d already consumed three cups before I got here.
“Let me know if you need anything—”
“I will.”
But once I started, I wasn’t leaving until I was finished.
I paused outside the door, one hand resting on the brass knob. I flashed back to the night of Jillian’s engagement party, when I’d passed by this room, unable to enter. And then, months later, I’d discovered my letter jacket. The key to the time capsule . . . and so much else.
It was time to deal with whatever my parents had left in the closet. I rested my forehead against the door, inhaling and holding my breath for one . . . two . . . three heartbeats.
I could do this. I wanted to do this. There was nothing to be afraid of. I was looking through stuff. Boxing it up. Maybe taking a few things to my house.
Maybe.
Opening the door, I switched on the light, tossing my letter jacket onto the bed. Picked up the stack of containers and carried them into the room, lining them up against the far wall below the window before removing the lids and setting them on top of the queen bed.
The assortment of photos above the desk snagged my attention again. Our lives captured in freeze-frame moments.
We looked happy.
We had been happy.
I didn’t have any photos of Pepper in my house. Should I disturb the montage and take one or two?
No. Maybe I’d look through family photos some other day. And maybe in doing so, I’d recapture more of the closeness I’d shared with Pepper.
Today was only about clearing out the closet.
It was easy to remove Pepper’s letter jacket from its hanger. To hold it close for a few seconds before folding it and placing it in a container and then placing my matching crimson-and-white letter jacket on top of it.
Why was I keeping them? People didn’t wear their letter jackets after they graduated from high school—or did they? Maybe some people dug them out of storage for class reunions. But I didn’t know if I’d be attending any of those. Maybe one day, if I got married and had children, they’d find these . . . and I could tell them stories about playing volleyball with their aunt Pepper.
I traced the outline of the white cloth letter stitched to the front of Pepper’s jacket. For the first time, I was thinking about my future, even if my thoughts were still tagged with maybe. And for the first time, my sister was a part of my future.
Did I ache when I thought about what might or might not happen years from now? Yes. But Pepper had been such an important part of my yesterdays. I wanted her to be a part of my tomorrows, too.
Six years of club ball—twenty-four jerseys between the two of us—remained in the closet. We’d claimed the numbers 11 and 13 early on and managed to keep them through every season. I gathered an armful of jerseys, each with the name of our club—Endurance—written across the back, and transported them to the bed, repeating the process until a messy pile of blue and white covered it.
With the closet cleared, I noticed a black CD player that had been pushed to the back. What was that doing in here?
Picking it up, I shoved aside the jerseys, the plastic hangers rattling, and sat on the bed, clicking the CD player open. Sure enough, inside was a CD labeled Practice Playlist.
Setting the player on top of the desk, I knelt and searched for an outlet. Would this even work? My fingers trembled as I pushed the Play button and sat on the edge of the bed again.
Within seconds the first song filled the room.
“These are great songs, Pay!” Pepper lay across her bed, her eyes closed, a smile stretching across her face.
“Why wouldn’t they be? Everybody on the team picked two. All I did was put the CD together.”
“But the order of the songs makes a big difference. I can’t wait to play this over the school’s speakers in the gym!”
We’d listened to these songs over and over during our varsity season junior year. I knew every word to every single song on this CD. Sometimes we’d danced on the court with our teammates. Sometimes we’d have a quick sing-off with the girl on the opposite side of the net while we waited for a teammate to serve the ball. Oh, how Pepper loved to crank the music up loud if we were having an off night. . . .
Oh, how my sister loved volleyball.
How I loved her.
“I miss you, Pepper. . . .”
My whispered admission cracked something open inside me. It was as if I’d tried to defend against a giant outside hitter, but instead, the volleyball slammed into my chest and knocked the air out of my lungs. I slipped from the bed to my knees, jerseys falling around me, rubbing my fist against my sternum as my entire body shook with a decade of repressed emotion. Tears streamed down my face, each one a testament to my loss. I bent over, my face to the floor, hoping the carpet would muffle my sobs.
Surely the weight of all this would suffocate me. . . .
And yet, somehow, I wasn’t alone. Pepper seemed to sit beside me. Mourning with me.
We’d lost each other too soon . . . lost the chance to grow and change together . . . to understand one another . . . to accept one another.
When we were sixteen, I’d expressed confusion and hurt as anger. But I never stopped loving Pepper. And she never stopped loving me. We just hadn’t been able to talk it all out together.
But I could say the truth out loud now. And doing so could change things. It could change me.
34
THE AROMA OF MOM’S BEEF STEW lingered in the kitchen. She probably had just enough left over for my father and her to have it for dinner again tomorrow night, what with all of us having seconds—and Geoff having thirds.
Johanna, Jillian, and I had made quick work of cleanup after dinner, and we’d all agreed to a game of Scotland Yard.
If anyone glanced in the bay window that bordered the breakfast nook, they’d probably see nothing more than a trio of sisters sitting at the table, talking on a mid-February evening—never imagining what a monumental event this was.
Johanna. Jillian. Me. All sitting together. Talking. For more than five minutes. And so far, no arguing.
I was certain Geoff and my parents were waiting for the three of us to join them in the family room, but they would have to continue to wait. We were in no rush to exchange our conversation for a board game.
“Anybody want more coffee?” I stood at the island, prepping the coffeemaker.
“Sounds good.” Johanna nodded. “Just black.”
“None for me, thanks.” Jillian tugged her purple sweater closer around her body.
“Johanna, how’s work going?” I could only hope I didn’t sound like a desperate TV interviewer, trying to avoid the dreaded dead air in front of thousands of viewers.
Me, trying to engage my oldest sister in a conversation. How different from a few months ago, when all I wanted her to do was leave me alone so I could set desserts out for Jillian’s engagement party.
None of us imagined how life-changing that night would be.
“Pretty well. We’re training a new pharmacy technician—and you know what that’s like.”
