Chapter 5
“Holy crap,” I say as we arrive at our next stop.
“The High Line is what it’s called,” Jay says, hands on his hips as he takes it all in. “A friend of mine told me about it.”
We walked five blocks from Rockefeller Center, grabbing something to eat from a street vendor along the way, which was much needed, as my stomach was actually growling.
“It’s amazing,” I say, turning around in my spot for a three sixty view.
We’re standing in a park built on an old freight rail line, and we’re above—above—the busy streets of Manhattan. I focus on the beauty around us and try not to think about the fact that if there were an earthquake, we would be first to go down.
I hate my brain.
We’re at the beginning of a walkway that I can’t even see the end of, with tall, wild grass and various flower beds dotting the sides. Views of the Hudson River to our right and artwork of all kinds popping up here and there. It’s seriously amazing. I mean, who thinks to build a park on an old rail line? New Yorkers, that’s who.
“Come on,” Jay says, as he sees a series of steps where you can sit and look through a window onto the busy street below. “Let’s sit.”
I don’t know if Jay’s therapy—or whatever it is he’s doing—is working, but the height right now isn’t bothering me so much. Well, except for my initial worry that we might collapse in an earthquake, which I don’t know has ever even happened in the history of this city. Also, we really aren’t that high up, so maybe that’s helping as well.
Jay doesn’t sit as close to me this time, almost as if on purpose. Like we crossed a line on the rooftop and he doesn’t want to go there again. Of course, I’m a dumb girl, and I read into everything. I internally roll my eyes at myself for even going there and also for being a dumb girl.
“Tell me something no one knows about you,” Jay says after we’ve sat in silence for a bit, looking at the cars and taxis driving on the road beneath us.
“Something no one knows?” I take my eyes off the street and move them to him, repeating his question because it catches me so off guard.
“Yeah. What secrets does Eliza Parker have?” he asks, turning his head toward me, a smile on his face.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I told you something you don’t know? I mean, there’s quite a bit to tell since we just met this morning,” I say.
“Yeah, but I want to know something no one else knows.”
“Why?” I ask.
“So I can put it away and save it as a reminder of this day. When I remember my day here, I can think of this girl I met and the secret she told me that no one else is privy to.”
“Okay,” I say, more in the form of a question, and full of skepticism.
“Come on,” he says. “What’ve you got?”
“I don’t know,” I say, racking my brain for something no one knows, something I’ve never told anyone. I don’t have to go far, though. There’s something I’ve never told anyone, but I’m not sure I want to go there right now.
He scoots to cover the inches that were separating us and nudges me with his shoulder.
I take a deep breath and will my hormones to simmer down at his proximity.
“Okay,” I say, angling my body toward him just slightly. “My sister, Elena—”
“Yeah,” he says, interjecting.
“She, um ... she died a year ago.”
“Oh,” he says, his head pulling back quickly, shock on his face.
I look away from him because I hate seeing sadness in people’s eyes, and I know it’s coming because that seems to be the only emotion humans can muster when they find out about Elena. Of course, I’m not sure what else they could feel. But I wish it wasn’t sadness. I don’t want people to feel sad for me.
I chew on the insides of my cheeks. “Elena was born with a heart defect, and she lived a lot longer than she was supposed to, but”—I lick my lips—“it wasn’t a great life. Lots of hospital stays and doctors’ visits. We couldn’t travel or do normal family things because there was always worry about Elena and her heart.”
Jay reaches over and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. The comforting gesture makes my eyes well up, and I so do not want to cry right now. I don’t like to cry. I don’t like to be serious. Just telling him this is making me feel loads of uncomfortable, and I find myself wanting to make a quip or a joke to change the feeling in the air.
