“Is it too late to transfer to a different class?”
“Um, why on earth would I do that? Jake is an amazing teacher. He’s so… so… passionate about the subject matter. I think I might actually enjoy this class.” Warmth flooded her cheeks at the thought of the unspoken reasons she would thoroughly enjoy every last second of history class. Her mother didn’t need to know how much she loved watching Jake pace the floor as he lectured. She didn’t need to know how the rich, husky timbre of his voice left Savannah spellbound. Irrelevant details, nothing more.
“Stay away from that boy, Savannah,” her mother snapped with more passion than Savannah had heard in over a decade.
“He’s hardly a boy, Mom,” Savannah protested, taken aback by the venom in her mother’s tone. “He’s a grown man with a PhD.”
“I don’t care if he’s the Dali Llama or the President of the United States. Jake Anderson is nothing but trouble.”
Grateful her mother couldn’t see her through the phone, Savannah gave that comment the great, big eye roll it deserved. Parents and their dramatics. “Geez, Mom. How much trouble do you really think a pre-med student on an academic scholarship can get into in history class? I have no intention of doing anything but studying and getting good grades.”
“Then I don’t see why you couldn’t do it here at home,” her mother argued for the millionth time.
Savannah sighed. ‘Because living with you and Preston was toxic and I couldn’t breathe’, didn’t seem like the smartest answer, so she stuck with the usual. “You know why, Mom. This school has the highest acceptance rate for my top medical school choices.”
“There are perfectly good schools here at home,” her mother bristled.
“I know, but I’m where I need to be,” Savannah assured her. She couldn’t bite back the retort on the tip of her tongue any longer, acerbically adding, “Come on, Mom. Be honest for a minute. You haven’t even noticed I’m gone.”
It was a low blow, for sure, but the truth of this statement twisted like a knife in Savannah’s chest. Ever since the accident, she’d been invisible in her own home. It was almost like she’d died when Preston’s truck hit that tree. But she hadn’t. She was very much alive and very much aware of her insignificance in a home that revolved around her brother’s twenty-four hour convalescent care.
“That’s not true,” her mother half-heartedly protested.
It wasn’t worth arguing, so Savannah remained silent.
“I miss you, baby,” her mother added absently.
“I miss you too, Mom,” Savannah sighed. And she did. She missed her mother with every inch of her heart. Just not the woman she’d left behind in Spring Valley. She missed the one she’d lost the night Preston lost control of his body from the neck down.
“I’ve got to go. Preston needs me.”
Savannah wanted to scream that she needed her too. But it wouldn’t do any good. And it wasn’t true, not anymore anyway. She didn’t. She may as well have been orphaned at eight years old, because she’d been on her own ever since. She’d learned to fend for herself. She didn’t need anyone or anything anymore. Savannah smiled sadly at her empty dorm room. “I’m sure he does. Tell him ‘hi’ for me. Bye, Mom.”
Click.
Savannah listened absently to the beep, beep, beep of the dial tone for several minutes before she remembered to click the end button on the phone. She stared blankly at the bare walls of her dorm. Nothing in the room. Nothing on the now silent phone line. Nothing in her life but text books and plans for the future. Emptiness all around her. Just like the emptiness inside her heart.
***
Tires squealing. Voices shouting. The moment of impact. Airbags exploding. Glass shattering and metal crumpling like paper as Preston’s prized truck wrapped itself around the tree like an aluminum can shot out of a canon. Then silence, nothing but the same innocuous song playing on the radio as it had before the crash.
Every inch of Jake hurt. But he was alive and he could feel the pain. His pulse thundering in his ears, he turned to glance across the cab at Preston. Pinned, beneath mangled metal, his best friend wasn’t moving. Slowly, Preston’s head rolled to the side to glare at him.
“You did this to me. This is all your fault,” his best friend accused, hate glowing in his dark eyes.
Jake shot upright in bed and swiped at the cold sweat of his brow. It was just another nightmare. After ten years, Preston still haunted him. True, the real Preston had never openly blamed him for the accident, but Jake carried the blame all the same. And dream-Preston would never let him forget. Not that Jake could forget that night if he tried. The painful memory was branded on his heart, a scar that would never fully heal…