The Girl Who Fell(57)

I pace my side of the island, trapped. I smell the fresh earth in the room with us, freshly potted rosemary, too happy.

“I guess it was too much to expect a congratulations, maybe even a hug. Or, I don’t know, let’s just think wild for a minute and maybe, just maybe, you could choke out an ‘I’m happy for you, Gregg.’ ”

“I am.” I am. But Gregg here now, Gregg in Boston next year. It’s all just bad timing. “I’m so ridiculously happy for you and I want to celebrate with you, but it can’t be today.”

“Why not?”

“I just . . .” God, I don’t even know. “I just need a little space right now.”

He plants his thumb at his chest. “You need space from me?”

“I know it doesn’t make any sense and I promise I’ll work it all out and everything will be fine, but for now . . . do this for me. Please.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s just the way it is. For now,” I add quickly.

Gregg neatly tucks the chair under the lip of the island before walking to the door. “I’d try to duck out with dignity but I think we both know that’s not going to happen.” He reaches for the doorknob.

“Gregg . . .”

“Bye, Zephyr.” He disappears outside before I can take another breath. Finn whimpers at the closed door, Gregg on the wrong side.

I slide my back down the length of the wall and Finn comforts me as my bottom finds the floor. I’m grateful dogs never know when we don’t deserve their affection.

When the sound of Gregg’s truck disappears, I run down our road. I reach the mailbox and the weight of this moment siphons oxygen from the atmosphere. I flick my fingers over the door and open it quickly as if the metal is hot.

I remove the contents. Two items.

A cable bill.

And a letter for me.

But not the one I’ve hoped for. This square envelope is thick with weight. There is no return address so I know the sender instantly. I rip at the flap, tear the card free as the envelope falls to the ground, a scattered leaf among pine needles.

I gobble up Alec’s words. In his handwriting. All for me.

There is never enough time with you, Zephyr Doyle.

Love, A.

I scramble for the envelope, inspect the postmark date. Three days ago.

Before I disappointed him.

I bolt into the house, find my phone. I pace my room as Alec’s voicemail picks up. Just hearing his outgoing message is enough to shatter me.

Then, the beep.

“Alec, it’s Zephyr. Your card came today and it’s perfect. You are perfect. I don’t want to leave this on a voice mail, but needed to tell you that Gregg stopped by this morning and I told him we couldn’t hang out. That was it. I wanted you to know it happened, even though nothing really happened because I don’t want to keep anything from you ever ag—” A heartless beep severs my call and I am not entirely sure if the message was sent and cut off or if rambling-long messages don’t get sent at all.

I am too full of cowardice to redial.

But in this moment I know why Mom let Dad back into her life. I would do anything to have Alec back.





Chapter 19


Lizzie calls me early Monday morning, before I’m even dressed for school. “I have news. Meet me before homeroom.”

“I’m not going to school.” It’s a lie. Sort of.

“Why? Avoiding your coach?”

Shit. I forgot about Coach. She’ll want to ream me for missing the trophy presentation and I can’t take someone else hating on me right now. “Not feeling great.”

“Okay, if I can’t tell you in person, the news must slip over the wire: I got the internship.” She waits a half beat before adding, “At the New York freaking Times!”

There is a skip somewhere deep in my chest. Like this accomplishment of Lizzie’s has happened for me too. “Lizzie, this is huge!”

“My dad’s the one who got it for me. I asked for a favor from one of the guys he worked with . . . over there.” Lizzie’s father was an embedded reporter in Afghanistan. Lots of guys from the platoon he was assigned to still keep in touch with Lizzie and her mom. “It’s not like I earned it.”

“Of course you did! Anyone can do a favor, Lizzie, but you’re worth doing a favor for. Don’t believe for a second you didn’t earn this.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” I swallow hard because Lizzie is leaving me. And because I have no idea where I’ll be next year. That’s when it hits me that her accomplishment isn’t mine at all. “You better not turn into a Yankees fan or anything.”

She laughs and it sounds different, like parts of her are already gone.