One Last Song Part 22

It felt delicious to me, this daydream. That my existence could be the cause of someone's happiness-was there anything more life affirming than that? I turned to Drew. Kissed him on the lips. Sat on his lap.

"I love you," I said.

He didn't say it back, just as he hadn't said it back the previous three times I'd said it. I'd noticed it, of course, but it hadn't seemed laden with meaning till now. Maybe Drew wasn't in love with me. Though the thought hurt like a splinter to my heart, I knew it was better this way.

Chapter Forty-Two.

We sat on the love seat, with the fire crackling, for hours. We didn't really talk, just sat and watched the frozen lake and the occasional winter bird that flew overhead, its bright purple or crimson feathers like ink drops splashed against the gray paper sky.

When the fire died out, I put more wood on, and relit it. Then I cracked open the picnic basket and brought out a plate of fruit and cheese and some sparkling grape juice.

As Drew bit into a slice of apple, he said, "I know what you meant, before. When you said I'd see for myself what there was to do up here." He shook his head slightly, gazing at the panorama of the frozen lake, the odd scraggly tree, its branches snow-heavy and dripping with icicles, its frigid fruit. "You could stay here forever and just do nothing."

I kept quiet, letting the fire make all the noise we needed. In that moment, everything was perfect, just as I'd wanted it to be.

In four days I'd tell Drew the truth. He'd see me stripped down, bare to the bones. I'd cut away the veneer of normalcy and he'd see the infection and disease clinging to my chest, like an ugly baby afraid to leave its mother's breast. He'd see me for what I really was. All of this-all of what we had, would be gone. I knew that. I had to accept it. I hoped, with time, I would. And I hoped that Drew would go on without another thought for me, the thoughtless girl who fell in love with him.

He cupped his fingers under my chin, raised my face to his. "You okay?"

I nodded as the world s.h.i.+mmered through my tears. "Play me a song?"

He looked at me another long second, but then nodded and reached to the floor to grab his guitar case. He fumbled with the buckles, his fingers not quite grasping them the right way.

I held my breath, hoping that he'd get it on the next try. It seemed so very important to me in that moment that he open that guitar case. I didn't know why, but I thought if he wasn't able to, if he asked for help, I might just break down and sob right there on that porch, on our dusty love seat. But he did get it, and the guitar was out and in his hands a heartbeat later.

"What should I play?" he asked.

"Anything," I said.

So he strummed to me, his fingers slipping and falling sometimes, as if they didn't have the strength to pluck that delicate line of steel, to inspire it with enough energy to make the music that sang to my soul.

I pretended not to notice as I stared straight ahead at the frozen lake and thought about what would happen if, tomorrow, I threw a great boulder out onto it, right dead in the center. Would the boulder just crash right through to the deep, cold water underneath, never to surface? Maybe it'd create a spiderweb of cracks, starting from the center and shooting outward, until every last part of the pristine surface was cracked and mottled, never to be the same again.

I put my head on Drew's shoulder and listened.

We went indoors to eat dinner when the light faded. I set the small kitchen table with the chicken salad I'd bought the night before, and lit the small tapered candlestick in the middle. Drew sat down, smiling, his face glowing in the candlelight. "Fancy."

"I wanted it to be special," I said, my cheeks growing hot. "It's sort of stupid, I know."

"Hey, Grayson." Drew put his hand on mine and waited till I met his eye. "It's not stupid at all. No one's ever done anything like this for me before. Thank you."

I could tell he meant it, so I smiled. "You're welcome."

As the light faded outside, the sky changing from a bruised purple to velvet black, I felt anxiety beating its wings somewhere inside my chest. It was too soon. I had to come clean too soon. Maybe I should wait till he'd got his chair. At least I could help him get through that. How could I just lea- "Is this about the thing you have to tell me?"

I looked up from my plate to see Drew watching me, his fork poised in the air.

"What?" I took a drink of the grape juice. It was sickly sweet, like they'd added in three times as much sugar as they should've.

He waited silently for me to answer.

I set my gla.s.s down and met his eye. "Yeah. I wanted this to be something you could remember, even after I tell you."

My throat began to ache, the way it did when I watched a touching movie or read something especially poignant in a book. The way it had when I once saw a dead baby bird in our yard. Not knowing what else to do, I'd looked away and pretended it didn't hurt.

He leaned forward, his elbows on my grandmother's linen tablecloth. "I told you. There's nothing you can tell me that's going to change my mind about you."

I smiled and shook my head, thinking how easy it was to say that, to make great declarations when you didn't know the person before you was a complete and total liar. That the very visage you saw was made of smoke and flashy lights, designed to make you believe you were seeing something other, something different, something better. How easy a fool the heart was, and how quickly the mind followed.

"I don't want to talk about that right now. Please."

"Okay," Drew said. Then, looking straight in my eyes: "I love you, Grayson."

There it was. I held my breath as I wondered what to say, how to respond, whether to acknowledge that it was the first time he'd told me that. But then I tossed my frantic thoughts aside.

I just set my fork down, stood, and held my hand out to him. He took it and, with his other, grabbed the cane that was resting against his chair. Slowly, we made our way down the dark hallway to the master bedroom that was once my grandparents', and then my parents'. It stood empty now, the big four-poster bed with its floral quilt waiting patiently like a small s.h.i.+p.

I lay down and held my arms out to Drew. He set his cane down, took his shoes off, and lay on top of me, holding the brunt of his weight on his elbows as we kissed. After a minute, he pulled away. In the darkness, I couldn't see his expression, but I felt the soft sigh of air as he said, "Wait."

He sat up, and I followed, reaching out to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. He put his hand on mine, stopping me, so we remained in the near-dark. "What's wrong?"

He bit his bottom lip, as if he was trying to hold in the words he didn't want to say. "I... I don't know if I can hold myself up if I'm on top." He looked down at a large red rose on the quilt as he spoke. "My legs aren't really feeling up to much."

"That's okay." I reached out, touched a lock of his hair gently. "I love you, Andrew Dean."

I climbed into his lap and kissed him until we both were able to forget what he'd said.

Having s.e.x with Drew before had always been tentative, a slow burn. He'd caress me here, I'd touch him there, until the need was intolerable. But this time, with me on top, I couldn't help feeling like something had changed. He'd told me he loved me; I'd told him there was a part of me I'd been keeping hidden. My need was ferocious, immediate, because in my heart, I knew we didn't have much longer. He loved me now, but he wouldn't anymore come Tuesday. Everything I wanted was here, in the fleeting now. There was no time to waste.

I dipped my mouth to his neck and kissed a trail down to his shoulder, his harsh breathing spurring me on. I felt his arousal against me and knew he wanted this as badly as I did. He tangled one fist in my hair and pulled me gently back up to kiss me. His tongue was eager, probing, his lips moving frantically against mine. His big hands were everywhere, searing my back with heat, curving with my waist, gripping my a.s.s. And then he pulled my sweater off, ripping a seam in the process.

"Sorry," he breathed, but I put my mouth on his again to silence him.

I unbuckled his pants, setting his erection free. We stared into each other's eyes as I sank onto him, my panties pushed aside in haste. Our bodies moved in quick rhythm, our breathing the song, our heartbeats the lyrics. We climaxed together, hands gripped tight, each shouting out the other's name until our voices mingled in the now-silent air as one.

Saylor. Drew. Inseparable. Always.

I wanted to believe that, so badly. I wanted this moment to be our forever truth.

Chapter Forty-Three.

Monday night, our last night at the cabin, I lay with my head on his chest, listening to the deep, steady thudding of his heart. I'd read that a lot of people with FA had heart problems, but Drew's felt solid, as if it were a rock rather than muscle, pounding out the seconds of his life. I liked to think of him that way; as virtually indestructible, a force to be reckoned with.

"Are you asleep?" he asked, his voice rumbling through his bones and into my ear, sounding like an approaching train on steel tracks before you can actually see it.

I sat up. "Nope. And I want to play Boggle."

He c.o.c.ked his head. "You want to play Boggle."

"Mm hmm." I hopped off the bed and rummaged in my overnight bag, pulling out the orange box of the most fun three-minute game ever.

Drew rolled on his side and feigned a look of worry. "That awkward moment when the girl of your dreams says she wants to play Boggle after the best s.e.x you've-and hopefully, she's-ever had."

My insides thrilled at hearing the words "girl of your dreams" and "best s.e.x," but I kept my face impa.s.sive. "It's only awkward if you lose. Here's a pointer: When you lose, make sure you lose gracefully." I shook the box, and the cubes inside rattled. "I'm something of a Boggle champion." When I was a young kid and made myself sick, it was the only game I could play by myself for hours without getting bored.

"Oh, really?" Drew struggled to sit up, and then pulled himself to the edge of the bed. "This I have to see." He grabbed his cane and we made our way back to the living room, both of us in our underwear.

I started up the gas fireplace in the living room as we positioned ourselves in the chairs right in front of it. The heating must not have been working efficiently; the living room was freezing cold. I wrapped myself in a blanket, but Drew declined. As I watched his pale, chiseled body lit up by the orange flames, I thought he was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"Okay," Drew said, trying to read the instructions in the firelight. "How exactly do you play? I only have a vague idea."

I explained the rules to him, and we began the first game. When we finally stopped, we'd played sixteen rounds. I'd won all of them but the last, when Drew beat me with the word "caesura."

I raised an eyebrow. "Caesura? That's not a word."

"Is too," Drew said calmly, a small smile on his face.

"We'll see about that." I grabbed my cell phone and opened the dictionary app I'd installed on it. I typed quickly and while I was waiting for the results to load, glanced at Drew. "You sure you want to go through with this? A wrong word means you forfeit all your points to me." That wasn't really a rule, but I wanted to threaten him so he'd feel the possible consequences of his decision.

But he was unflappable, still smiling in that inscrutable way. "I'm sure," he said.

The app beeped at me, letting me know it had found a match. Groaning, I read the definition out loud: " 'In musical performances, a caesura is a complete break in sound during which time is not counted. Time resumes again only when the conductor states that it has.' "

I looked at Drew. "Wow. I can't believe you actually beat me."

"Only because I'm a music geek." He grabbed the phone from me and held it up.

"Hey." I pulled the blanket up to my chin. "What are you doing?"

He answered me by taking a picture, the flash blinding in the dim room. "Immortalizing this moment," he answered, staring down at the screen, at the me he'd captured in there.

We had to leave Icarus Lake early on Tuesday. Drew had a doctor's appointment and then he had to practice for his performance at Pierce's party.

The idea of a "celebration of life" party felt weird to me, but Drew said he'd gone to a couple of those in the past, especially for young people with cancer or AIDS-the biggies, as he called them. I knew he meant that those diseases claimed the largest numbers of young people, but personally, I thought they were all "biggies." If it was something that came in the night, wrapped its arms around you, and stole the breath from your lips, it was big.

I watched the cabin receding in my rearview mirror as the car made its way through snow and ice. The farther behind we left it, the sicker to my stomach I got. It was like we were leaving behind so much more than just the lake. Tonight we had Pierce's party. And after that... after that Drew would know who I really was. They all would.

I'd left a message to reschedule my appointment with Dr. Stone that day, the second one I'd missed. I hadn't gone because it didn't matter anymore. I'd see him again once the truth was out. I'd come clean.

When we were an hour away from Ridgeland, I seriously considered pulling over to the side of the road and throwing up. But I kept my head on for Drew. I didn't want to taint any part of his memory of this trip. I wanted this to be something he could always keep with him, close to his heart. The calm before the truth erupted like a volcano.

I'd seen a doc.u.mentary once, about a volcano in Pompeii. The six layers of ash settled on the town so quickly and so thoroughly, it had been perfectly preserved, down to the fresh fruit and wine. There were s.p.a.ces where people had decomposed while sitting at their dinner tables, their food still on their plates.

I wondered if it might be like that with Drew and Zee. When I told them, would they stop moving forward, frozen in their disbelief of the truth? Would they sit there, staring at me, their illnesses on hold, their health not mended, but never progressing either? At least that would be something good that would come out of me having entered their lives. At least that would be something.

Chapter Forty-Four.

I walked in my house and headed straight for the stairs. After a quick shower, I had to go over to Zee's house. She was making a gift for Pierce, and I'd promised to help.

I was in two minds about spending time with her the day I would confess everything to Drew: On the one hand, staying away seemed like a better idea because it wouldn't seem so two-faced of me, laughing and talking with her while I knew it was only a matter of time before the veil of lies slipped off.

But on the other hand, the more selfish part of me wanted to spend time with her while I could, while she still thought I deserved her love and friends.h.i.+p. If things were different and I was normal, or maybe if I'd had a real disease like cancer or FA, Zee'd be exactly the kind of person I wanted to hang out with.

I was on the third step when my cell phone chimed once, twice, three times. Text messages. Sliding the handle of my overnight bag up to my wrist, I slipped it out of the pocket of my jeans to check who was texting me so desperately.

It was Drew.

I.

Love You. :) I smiled, sudden tears clouding my vision, and texted him back. I love you too. So much.

"Saylor."

The voice startled me so much, I almost dropped my phone. I turned, my hand flying to the stair railing so I wouldn't lose my balance. "Dad."

"May I have a word?" He looked like a thundercloud in a video game I'd played as a kid-eyebrows drawn down, mouth in the typical frowning position, like an inverted U.

I stepped down and he turned and went into the den. I followed.

Taking a seat on the couch, he gestured to the chair on his left. "Sit. Please."