All Eyes on Us, page 16
“I just need a little time,” he says, pressing through my silence. “Leaving Amanda, it’s not something I can just do. Amanda, me, our families, we’re all tangled up in each other.”
“I never asked you to leave her,” I choke out.
“I know. I think that’s why I fell so hard for you.” The guilt-balloon bursts with a bang only I can hear.
I’m shoving open the car door and running around to unhook my bike from the back before I even have time to think. Something inside me is just done. I’m done lying to Carter about what we are, done hurting Amanda, done hurting Pau too. No matter what it means. Broken strands of my carefully woven web flutter around me, useless.
“What are you doing?”
Carter’s out of the car, but I’ve already got my bike. I need to get out of here, now.
“Going home.” I snap my helmet strap under my chin and secure my messenger bag across my shoulders.
“Wait. I don’t get what just happened.”
Of course you don’t. I push off and bike out of the lot, onto the road.
“Rosalie! Shit.”
The car door slams, and I pedal faster. The wind stings my face, and my eyes fill with tears. It’s just the wind, I tell myself. I’m not really crying. I’ll figure it out. I always do.
“Rosalie.” Suddenly, Carter’s next to me in the road, window down. He’s driving halfway into the wrong lane, but there’s no traffic. “Let’s talk about this, please.”
“Leave me alone!” I shout, mean on purpose. “You’re crowding me.”
He pulls all the way into the left lane, the wrong lane. “Please, babe, get back in the car.”
Babe. He’s never called me that before.
“I want us to be together,” he shouts. “You and me.”
“You belong with Amanda,” I shout back. I pedal faster.
“What? I can barely hear you. Please get back in the car.”
There’s a red car coming toward Carter, driving too fast. He needs to slow down, drop behind me, get into the right lane. But he’s not paying attention, eyes still fixed on me. Shit.
“Get over, Carter!” I shout.
The car starts honking. I pull to the side of the road, panting. Carter swerves into the right lane, then pulls up along the guardrail as the car passes in a red blare of honking and cursing.
He gets out and grabs my elbow. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You’re the one who almost got yourself killed.”
He grimaces but doesn’t argue.
“I don’t understand what’s happening, Rosalie. You have to talk to me.”
“We have to break up. Not a break, break up.”
“No. No way.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
Carter is quiet. A muscle twitches along his jaw, holding back tears. Then he leans forward and buries his face in my coat. I lift my arms and let them rest lightly around his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he says after I’ve been silent too long. “I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Please let me drive you home?”
I swing my leg off my bike. Wordlessly, we strap it to the trunk, then I climb back into the passenger’s seat. For once, he doesn’t turn on any music. We’re silent for the rest of the drive to my house. When Carter pulls into the driveway, I know it’s the last time I’ll hear the crunch of his tires against gravel.
I slip out of the car before he can kiss me, then unhook my bike and wheel it up to the driver’s side window. He doesn’t get out of the car.
“Take care, Carter.”
He doesn’t say anything. I pretend I don’t see tears spill down his cheeks. Then, I wheel my bike back around to the shed and listen to him drive away.
I make an excuse to Dad about the change of plans, some emergency at Shaw Realty. He seems to buy it. When I’m alone in my room, I take out my phone and open the conversation with Private.
I did it.
Send me the recording.
Not that. I broke up with Carter. So our business is done.
That is not what I asked you to do.
Who do you bitches think you are?
I suck in my breath. I’m seething. I know I made the right choice today, but at the same time, I just jeopardized everything. After all this, I can’t risk Private leaking the photos too.
I thought this would make you happy. Carter’s crushed.
You need to stop thinking so much.
I wait, but they don’t text again. I sink onto my bed and close my eyes. With Carter out of my life, Private better leave me the hell alone. It’s not a lot of comfort. Now that I’ve broken up with Carter, it might not matter.
After a few minutes, Lily knocks on my door. “Rosalie?”
“Not now, Lily.” My voice is a little too sharp. “I’m not feeling well.”
I listen to her footsteps pad back to her room and hate myself just a little more. I should cherish every moment I have with my sister. I don’t know how many more we have left. In my head, I try to map out what comes next. I can buy myself a little time with my parents, maybe two weeks. Then it all goes dark.
19
AMANDA
MONDAY, JANUARY 15
We’re off school for Martin Luther King Jr. Day, which means a full day of preseason training camp for Carter and no French class for me. When my mother catches me moping, she puts me to work on the benefit. The board members are supercompetitive; it’s about the arts, but mostly it’s about Logansville prowess. Linda always comes out on top. Always.
And this afternoon, she is not happy. By the one-week mark pre-event, my mother should be fully in the black. The Logansville elite must be feeling stingy this year. She’s been camped out in Dad’s office since noon trying the big-ticket donors she hasn’t yet reached while I’m on my phone at the kitchen table working my way down the new member list, thoughts running wild between calls.
It’s been two days since someone locked me in at the track, and Private’s been totally silent. Alexander thinks I was at school getting a book and the locker room door latched behind me. The lie doesn’t even make sense, but fortunately he didn’t ask questions.
When I’m not thinking about Private, I’m thinking about Carter, replaying his promises at Verde about new beginnings and always and forever. But photos tell their own kind of truth. In that Rosalie picture, Carter looked happy in a way I haven’t seen in ages. That kind of happiness doesn’t just vanish in a snap. He barely seemed to notice me avoiding him at Bronson’s party. Then yesterday, he canceled our dinner plans, and his Mercedes was gone from the driveway by midafternoon. I’m not naive. I know he went back to Culver Ridge.
I pick at my nail polish and stare outside. The snow flurries that have been swirling all afternoon are starting to come down fat and thick. The absolute worst thing about Private—worse even than fake blood or headless teddy bears or horrible pictures or the stunt on the field—is that I think he or she might be right. I do deserve better than Carter Shaw.
The problem is, I don’t know who I am without him.
For years, he’s been my everything. Ever since we were kids, our parents and their friends loved to say how adorable we were together, how we were going to get married someday. When you hear it enough times, you start to believe it. I’ve known I’d be Mrs. Amanda Shaw for as long as I can remember. It’s who I am.
Tears prick my eyes, and I punch another number from the donor list into my phone and reach yet another answering machine. When my mother emerges from the office at a few minutes after six, she’s scowling.
“I can’t reach the Beaufords.”
“Maybe they’re out?” I suggest.
“They’re screening. Give me your phone.”
“What?” I grab for it protectively.
“I’m going to try them from your number, Amanda.”
There’s no use arguing. I hand it over. “Fine. I’m starving.”
My mother looks at the microwave clock as if she’s just realized we didn’t break for lunch, and it’s already been pitch dark for an hour.
“Put in an order at Taro, please, darling? The spa bento; I need something light. Your father will want those tempura rolls he gets.”
I don’t bother to point out that they’ll be cold and disgusting by the time he gets home. Instead, I say, “You have my phone.” For a moment, it looks like she’s going to give it back. She actually looks physically pained by the prospect of not outsmarting the Beaufords as soon as humanly possible. I sigh. “Never mind. I’ll use my computer.”
My mother smiles and disappears into the dining room to make her victory call.
Upstairs, I click through the menu options and punch in the numbers on the family Visa, which is now back in commission. My stomach is literally growling. Estimated delivery time forty to sixty minutes, with delays due to weather. I glance out my bedroom window into the swirl of white, then I wander back down into the kitchen to grab a fruit smoothie from the fridge. My blood sugar is crashing.
“Now, Jacques, that is not what I was expecting from you this year.” My mother’s voice carries from the dining room. She sounds determined in that dripping-with-honey way she has when she’s trying to angle more money out of donors. “Well, based on prior giving history, of course.” There’s a pause. “No, Winston has nothing to do with this. Jacques, you know the donor lists are confidential.”
Last year, Linda did a lot of her fund-raising across the street when our downstairs bathroom was being redone. She claimed it was too loud in our house to concentrate. Knowing my mother, she tried to reach Jacques Beauford from the Shaws’ phone during last year’s fund-raising blitz. By next year, they’re going to be on to her little telephone game.
I drain my smoothie in a few large gulps and rinse out the bottle in the sink. There’s another pause from the dining room. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but—hold on . . . No, there’s a beep. No, it’s Amanda’s phone, I’m not sure . . . Jacques, I’m going to have to call you back.”
I toss the bottle in the recycling and head toward the dining room. Whoever’s calling, they’re calling me. But when I get to the doorway, my mother’s already picked up.
“No, this is Linda. I was— What? Winston, slow down.”
I walk over and extend my hand for my phone, but she jerks her head away.
“The benefit has been tying up the landline . . . Yes, I’m glad you had Amanda’s number too. Now, where are you?”
I drop my hand, but don’t walk away. Linda’s silky fund-raising voice has been replaced with parent voice. Something is wrong. Something with Carter. I can feel the smoothie I just inhaled sloshing around in my stomach.
“I’ll go across the street. I’m sure Krystal just has her ringer off. . . . Winston, I’m happy to do it.” Pause. “Yes, we’ll be there shortly.”
My mother places my phone down on the dining room table.
“What happened? Where’s Carter?” I grasp for the chain around my throat, and my fingers find the little onyx heart.
My mother reaches for my other hand, but I yank it away. I don’t want to be comforted right now. I want to know what the hell is going on.
“Just tell me.”
“Sweetie, there’s been an accident. The roads are very icy in the storm. Carter’s in the hospital, but he’s going to be fine.”
Oh my god, oh my god. All my doubts, all my pent-up bad feelings about Carter . . . It’s like I somehow willed this to happen. I spin around toward the kitchen. I need my bag, my car keys, I need to go.
“Sweetie, wait! He’s going into surgery. You won’t be able to see him yet.”
“I don’t care.” I grab my coat from the closet and shove my arms into the sleeves. “Mercy or Presbyterian?”
“Mercy. Winston can’t reach Krystal, but he thinks she’s home. I’m going to call your father, and then I’m going across the street.”
“Fine.”
“If you wait, we can all go—”
“I’ll see you there.” I’m already halfway down the basement stairs. Going across the street to find Krystal sounds like a one-woman mission. I have to get in my car. I have to get to the hospital.
“Amanda, drive slow. It’s very slick,” my mother calls after me.
I wave at her from the bottom of the stairs, okay okay. Then, I slip into the garage.
• • •
The drive to Mercy takes forever. My mother is right, the roads are slick, and snow smacks the windshield in fat globs. Even at full speed, the wipers barely help. I switch on my brights, illuminating a blinding tapestry of white, then switch them back off. When I finally pull into the ER parking lot at a quarter to seven, I’m shaking.
“I’m looking for Carter Shaw,” I tell the woman at the desk inside. “He was admitted here tonight.”
She types, stares at her screen, then squints up at me.
“You family?”
“I’m his fiancée,” I lie. I shove my hands into my coat pockets in case she thinks to check for a ring.
Her lips twist to the side. “He won’t have a room until after surgery,” she says after a minute. “He’s in the OR.” She glances across the room. “Your . . . father-in-law is here, if you want to wait with him.”
I follow the woman’s eyes to Winston, who’s standing before the large bank of windows facing the parking lot, staring out into the storm. A minute later, I’m standing next to him.
“Winston.” I place my hand gently on his elbow.
He turns to me, and for a second, it’s like he doesn’t remember where he is or who I am. His eyes are blank, wet discs. Then, he folds me into a tight hug. “Amanda. Thank god you’re here.” I feel stifled against the crush of his jacket, but I let myself be held. With Carter in surgery and Krystal not here yet, I’m the closest thing to family Winston has. I shove my complicated jumble of feelings toward Carter down deep and resolve to be strong. His family needs me.
Fifteen minutes later, my mother arrives with Krystal, looking frazzled. Carter’s mom makes a beeline for the restroom, and my mother and Winston lock eyes. I dig in my bag and realize I must have left my phone on the dining room table. Adele’s is the only number I know by heart, so I borrow my mother’s phone and ask Adele to text everyone else.
By seven thirty, Krystal is settled at Winston’s side and Adele, Graham, Bronson, and Alexander are clustered with us on the waiting room’s dirty beige chairs. I burrow into my coat, even though it’s hot in here. I feel better with it wrapped around me tight.
Graham says that Coach ended practice when the storm really kicked up around five. “Carter needed deodorant or something. He was walking down to CVS. Said he’d meet up with us at the diner.” There’s a CVS two blocks down on Foster. The parking lot is tiny and always full, so people usually walk from school.
Winston nods. “They told us Carter was walking back when a car drove up onto the sidewalk. It was dark . . . the storm . . . They think the driver lost control. But that fucker drove off, didn’t even wait to see if our son was alive or dead.” He slams the palm of his hand against the chair’s metal arm. It makes a dull thwack.
“Winston,” Krystal admonishes, grabbing his hand. Then, she bursts into tears, and my mother searches her purse for tissues.
Tiny, cold pricks rise along the back of my neck. “Did anyone see the car?” Something about this doesn’t feel right. My hand moves to my throat. Sure, the driving conditions are terrible, but the stretch of road between Logansville South and CVS is all school zone. Twenty-five mph, streetlamps, wide sidewalks. You’d have to be driving like an asshole to lose control and swerve onto the sidewalk there.
“Not that we know of,” Winston says. “A woman who lives across the street heard the crash and came outside. She found Carter and called 911, but the car was already gone. The police are reviewing footage, but the traffic camera outside the school faces up the hill, and if the driver’s from around here, it’s likely he turned around, went back the other way. It isn’t promising.”
“You didn’t see anything?” I ask the guys.
“Graham and I left for the diner straight from practice,” Bronson says. “Ben was running some errand for his dad, but he met up with us at like five thirty or maybe a little later. So yeah, we were all gone by then.”
I glance over at Alexander.
“I was home, helping with dinner. Bronson picked me up when we got Adele’s text.”
“Where is Ben?” I ask. “And Trina?”
“Dunno about Trina. Ben left the diner before we did. He had to get home.” Bronson turns to Adele. “You text them?”
“Yeah,” Adele says. “Trina’s skiing with her parents, remember? They were supposed to come back tonight, but they’re taking an extra day because of the weather. She sends her love, or like, three heart emojis and that smiley face with a bandage.” She pulls out her phone. “Still haven’t heard back from Ben.”
I press my lips between my teeth. I’m still pissed at Trina for being so careless with those photos, and while I’ve made a serious effort to be nicer to Ben since my lightbulb moment at Verde, it’s for the best he’s not here. I’d rather not have my resolve tested.
Finally, someone comes to tell us that Carter is out of surgery. He has three cracked ribs, a broken arm, and a concussion, but he’s awake. He’s going to be okay. She tells everyone except for immediate family to come back in the morning. I glance over at Winston and Krystal, and they nod. I go with them.
• • •
Carter attempts a watery grin when we walk in. His hair is a wispy, blond mess; one side of his face is bandaged; and he’s clearly woozy from the anesthesia. I think I’m going to burst into tears, but then nothing comes.
The nurse tells us not to touch him, but Krystal ignores her and clasps his uninjured hand in hers.
“My baby.”
“Hey, Mom.”
Soon, a doctor stops by to update us on the surgery’s success. Carter sustained a dislocated fracture to his left radius, which had to be operated on so the bone would heal correctly. He tells us that Carter will need rest and PT once his cast is off, but that he should be able to be released in a few days. The injuries, fortunately, are not severe.
