Page 72
Story: All Your Fault
The knot in my chest loosening slightly. “Of course,” I said,
I wished he was closer. I wished he was right here, just around the corner. Safe.
But this was the next best thing.
We agreed he’d call me back once he got himself sorted with his snow chains and earpiece. The minutes stretched out like an eternity. I distracted myself by making some hot chocolate and doing the math on how long it would take him to make the drive. It was two hours from the train station to Millerville. For me, it was another fifteen minutes to get down to Amethyst lake. For Will, it would be an additional fifteen on top of that to Barkley Falls, longer in this weather.
And in the dark.
Just as worry started to creep again, my phone buzzed.
“Took you long enough,” I said.
“I had to scrape the snow off. Two days’ worth.” He sounded contained now, and I could hear the faint sound of some kind of jazz on his car radio.
“Where were you?” I asked.
While Will told me about dropping Remy off in the city and seeing his oldest daughter again, I heard the rumble of his SUV. I pictured him there, the expert push of his hand on the gearshift; the calm, open-handed turn of the steering wheel. The quiet competence that was Will Archer.
For the next while, we talked. He asked me about the past week, and I told him about how I’d put up a post about Christmas cookies and described how adorable it had been. How the cookies had been cute, and how the only personal things I included were Emma and Macy existing in a couple of the photos. It had tanked. Hardly anyone commented on the recipe. No one said they couldn’t wait to try. And not only that, more than one person had asked what I was doing over the holidays and was I spending it with anyone special.
“Well, that’s going to change now, right?” Will asked.
A warmth spread through me. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s see what they say to us kissing under the mistletoe. Metaphorically,” I said hastily. “I meant.”
Will was quiet.
Quickly I switched gears to talk about how my parents were supposed to be driving down for the holidays tomorrow. He talked about how Remy and Hannah were with their mom, so he’d be having Christmas dinner with Hank and Casey. And it went like that for two hours, until he announced he was approaching Millerville.
I let out a sigh of relief.
“It’s pretty hairy out here, Michelle. And most of the town is dark.”
My stomach clenched. “You need to stay there,” I said.
He hesitated. “Are you worried about me?”
I didn’t. “Yes.”
“I’m okay, Michelle. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
My throat thickened, my stomach dropped. “You don’t know that,” I whispered.
I saw flames. Fire licking under a door. Joe screaming.
“Even when we knew he wasn’t going to live anyway,” I whispered, “I lived in fear, all the time, that I’d get a call telling me he didn’t make it. Then one day, I did.”
He knew I was talking about Joe.
“I’m sorry,” Will said. “With all my heart, I’m so sorry, Michelle.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“I’m not going to die,” he said.
I swallowed. He didn’t know that. But I couldn’t control him, I couldn’t control when people lived or died. I couldn’t control that, but I could control how I felt. What I did.
“Tell me about the movie,” he said. “You said you were watching It’s A Wonderful Life.”
I wished he was closer. I wished he was right here, just around the corner. Safe.
But this was the next best thing.
We agreed he’d call me back once he got himself sorted with his snow chains and earpiece. The minutes stretched out like an eternity. I distracted myself by making some hot chocolate and doing the math on how long it would take him to make the drive. It was two hours from the train station to Millerville. For me, it was another fifteen minutes to get down to Amethyst lake. For Will, it would be an additional fifteen on top of that to Barkley Falls, longer in this weather.
And in the dark.
Just as worry started to creep again, my phone buzzed.
“Took you long enough,” I said.
“I had to scrape the snow off. Two days’ worth.” He sounded contained now, and I could hear the faint sound of some kind of jazz on his car radio.
“Where were you?” I asked.
While Will told me about dropping Remy off in the city and seeing his oldest daughter again, I heard the rumble of his SUV. I pictured him there, the expert push of his hand on the gearshift; the calm, open-handed turn of the steering wheel. The quiet competence that was Will Archer.
For the next while, we talked. He asked me about the past week, and I told him about how I’d put up a post about Christmas cookies and described how adorable it had been. How the cookies had been cute, and how the only personal things I included were Emma and Macy existing in a couple of the photos. It had tanked. Hardly anyone commented on the recipe. No one said they couldn’t wait to try. And not only that, more than one person had asked what I was doing over the holidays and was I spending it with anyone special.
“Well, that’s going to change now, right?” Will asked.
A warmth spread through me. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s see what they say to us kissing under the mistletoe. Metaphorically,” I said hastily. “I meant.”
Will was quiet.
Quickly I switched gears to talk about how my parents were supposed to be driving down for the holidays tomorrow. He talked about how Remy and Hannah were with their mom, so he’d be having Christmas dinner with Hank and Casey. And it went like that for two hours, until he announced he was approaching Millerville.
I let out a sigh of relief.
“It’s pretty hairy out here, Michelle. And most of the town is dark.”
My stomach clenched. “You need to stay there,” I said.
He hesitated. “Are you worried about me?”
I didn’t. “Yes.”
“I’m okay, Michelle. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
My throat thickened, my stomach dropped. “You don’t know that,” I whispered.
I saw flames. Fire licking under a door. Joe screaming.
“Even when we knew he wasn’t going to live anyway,” I whispered, “I lived in fear, all the time, that I’d get a call telling me he didn’t make it. Then one day, I did.”
He knew I was talking about Joe.
“I’m sorry,” Will said. “With all my heart, I’m so sorry, Michelle.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“I’m not going to die,” he said.
I swallowed. He didn’t know that. But I couldn’t control him, I couldn’t control when people lived or died. I couldn’t control that, but I could control how I felt. What I did.
“Tell me about the movie,” he said. “You said you were watching It’s A Wonderful Life.”
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