Page 13

Past: One Year Before the Accident—Nineteen Years Old

The rain crashes onto the hummingbird window in an apocalyptic deluge.

Hurricane Ana, one of the biggest storms in the last ten years, graces us with her presence.

The vintage lamps in Ravenswood flicker as the roar of thunder shakes the windows.

Hurried footsteps and sounds of bags zipping shut echo around me.

The patrons on the rare books floor rush to pack up and head out before the worst of the storm locks down the city.

I swallow the ball in my throat and look at our texts from three days ago again.

Delaney

Saturday, four p.m. Ravenswood.

Alex

???

Delaney

You’re looking at the newest finance manager of a Fortune 500 company.

Alex

OMG, really?

It’s only been ten months!

That’s got to be a record.

Delaney

My boss got promoted and his position opened up.

He put me up for it.

Of course it doesn’t hurt I’m doing well.

Delaney

Does this mean you’ll follow through?

Meet me in person?

I remember staring at the message for ten minutes before I replied.

Alex

A deal’s a deal.

Yes. I’ll be there.

Delaney

No more secrets.

No more fake names. I want to tell you everything.

The last three days, I’ve been buried by coursework at UNYC.

The finance courses are kicking my ass, but I’m loving my marketing classes.

Things click when I read about the 4Ps—products, price, place, and promotion.

Unlike ballet—where the gap between my performance and goals keeps widening—I’m acing my marketing courses.

My professors have even pulled me aside to ask if I see a future in the field.

For the first time in my life, I see a clear direction of where I’m going.

I was right.

Being in college has given me perspective and the confidence to know I’ll be fine after graduating.

And it’s time to meet Delaney, the keeper of my dreams, in person.

I’m breathless with excitement.

Our texts and journal entries have grown more intimate.

Love poems from him—a card tucked in between the journal pages inscribed with “How Do I Love Thee” by Elizabeth Barret Browning, or “Bright Star” by John Keats, or ones he penned himself .

We write about the future—tackling our bucket list together—because he wants to be there for every milestone.

He even has a few things of his own to add to our list.

I send him pressed flowers I’ve plucked from campus—vibrant pansies, the deep purple, the color of the fading sunset, or fiery mums a shade darker than my hair.

Our first texts in the morning and the last texts before we go to bed will be to each other.

We’ve decided not to video chat or call, wanting to leave the big reveal for when we meet in person.

As I used to say, anticipation is part of the pleasure.

But nonetheless, we’re in a relationship, there’s no doubt about it.

Maybe it’s not official, but it’s more intimate than anything I’ve ever had.

My phone buzzes.

Taylor

I really think you’re hiding something.

It has to be a man, right?

Taylor

But whoever he is, I’m glad he’s putting a smile on your face.

I grin. My pseudo little sister has grown up—a ball of sweet and snarky energy—and becoming a close friend.

Sadly, Summer and I have grown apart.

Our calls and texts are becoming fewer and far between.

I guess that’s what happens when friends move out of state and begin lives of their own.

Out of sight, out of mind.

I blow out a heavy breath, a weight settling on my chest.

But Keeper has never even seen you, and he hasn’t forgotten about you.

Butterflies swarm inside my gut, and I get up and walk to the hummingbird window.

Peering outside, I see vague shapes of trees whipping against the wind.

The rain fogs up the glass and I can barely make out the courtyard far below.

It’s a shit show out there .

Will he come? Is he on his way?

Or will he decide it’s too much effort for a stranger?

Deep down, the little girl who once stood alone at her ballet showcase, used to being forgotten, whispers, I hope he won’t be disappointed when he meets me.

Silly. You’re unforgettable, Lexy.

Squaring my shoulders, I stroll to the back bookshelves where the poetry section is.

Lightning splinters through the windows, blinding the room in a flash of violence, the bellow of thunder soon to follow.

Then it’s silent. So quiet, I can hear a pin drop.

Goosebumps pebble my skin as I look at the aged leather tomes.

Dickenson. Keats. Shakespeare.

Love letters and stories from centuries past all shelved in orderly rows.

I know why Delaney asked me to meet him here for the first time.

This is where our story began.

Suddenly, a loud crack rattles the space, and the room plunges into darkness.

I gasp and a few shrieks echo far away.

We’ve lost power. Dammit.

Pulling out my phone, I get ready to text him to reschedule because this storm looks like it’s about to take a turn for the worse, when I notice no bars on the screen.

Double crap. Cell phone towers must’ve been impacted too.

Disappointment cresting inside me, I lean against the nearest bookshelf and close my eyes.

There’s no sense in keeping them open, since I can barely see anything in the darkness.

I believe in fate. Serendipity.

If we were meant to meet, then we will.

With everything raging on outside, I can’t help but think…

maybe this is a sign.

But a few minutes later, there’s a shift in the air.

A presence I can sense without opening my eyes.

I feel someone’s gaze burning into my skin. Him.