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But I want to be.
She slid to the floor, the words reverberating in her head like a never-ending echo. I want to be. I want to be. Tears dripped onto the page, raising lumps in the paper, making the blue ink smudge.
I’ve contacted Dr. Suri and rescinded my resignation, but I’ve asked for a summer sabbatical instead and told her to take me out of the running for the promotion. There are things I need to do. Things that are long overdue. I don’t expect you to wait for me. I expect you to kick ass on the X-wing and make friends and find your place at The Grove.
But I’ll wait for you. Because I can’t not. You’ve gotten to me, Rush. You’re in here with me, maybe have been since that very first night in Harker Hall, and I don’t want to shake it anymore. So if you ever want to call, talk, share completely inappropriate fantasies, I will always take your call.
Always.
D
Marin didn’t know how long she sat on the floor in her foyer. Or how many times she read the letter. But she made it to her appointments. And she made it to catfish and beer.
And when she went to bed that night, she made her first call.
34
Six weeks later
Donovan rolled down the windows, letting the summer breeze smack him in the face. He’d forgotten how beautiful this place was. Or maybe he’d never really seen how beautiful it was. Last time he’d been here, he’d only focused on the fog, the gray skies. But today, the sun sparkled over the bay and the russet-colored bridge stood out proud against the hills behind it. He could see why the Golden Gate was such a popular place to die. If you wanted your last memory to be of something majestic, this was it.
But he had a different view that kept drawing him. Taped to the dashboard of his rental car was a photo he’d received a few days ago. As soon as it’d popped up on his phone, he’d stopped at a copy shop to get a color print of it. Marin was at a table in the po-boy shop with a group of co-workers around her. Everyone was smiling, probably a few beers into the night, and Lane had his arm draped over the back of her chair, giving Marin bunny ears.
They all looked happy.
She looked happy. Without him.
Something tight clenched in Donovan’s chest.
He parked the car, lucky to snag a spot in the small lot, and climbed out. He could remember doing this the last time, going through the same motions. Taking deep breaths, feeling the wind whipping off the water, seeing the tourists strolling over to walk the bridge. Having one purpose in mind.
This is where he needed to be. He’d been a lot of places these past few weeks, but it all came back to this. He grabbed the picture of Marin, put it in his pocket and then walked toward the bridge. He could smell the sea air mixing with the fumes of the cars whizzing by, hear the roar of waves crashing against rocks in the distance. Everything was so much the same from last time.
Comforting and terrifying all at once.
He stepped onto the walkway and grabbed the railing, feeling disoriented for a second. Heights had never been his favorite thing. But when he got his bearings, he made his way to the center of the bridge to find the spot he’d taken the photo from. To find the spot where he’d almost climbed over the railing. Crisis-counseling signs were posted on the bridge. There is hope. Make the call. He hadn’t seen those the last time. He’d seen nothing but churning water.
A few people glanced his way as they moved past him, just another guy blending in with the tourists. But he wasn’t here to be a tourist. Like last time, he was here for one reason.
He neared the center of the bridge. The water looked calm and deadly as it stretched out beneath him. The city of San Francisco hummed along across the bay. Alcatraz stood watch in between. The world went on, indifferent as always.
It didn’t take him long to pinpoint the spot he wanted, knowing the details of the view by heart. He blinked in the bright sunlight as his steps slowed. The photo on his wall was in full color now, stretching along his right as far as he could see. A stunning postcard. A painful memory.
Then, he did the thing he’d promised himself he’d never do again. A thing he’d gotten good at over the last few weeks. He turned toward the view and stopped moving. He stopped moving and looked down at the water and didn’t try to block anything out.
The same questions he’d posed to himself all those years ago drifted into his head now.
If I jumped, would someone care?
If I jumped, would I care?
Donovan gripped the rail and closed his eyes, breathing in the air, feeling the precariousness of his position above the water. Then he smiled—big and broad and full. He opened his eyes, peered over his shoulder, and stopped a young couple who was strolling by. He held up his phone. “Would you mind? I suck at the selfie thing.”
The girl smiled and adjusted the camera she had hanging around her neck, her ponytail swinging. “Sure. Would you mind getting one of us after? We’re on our honeymoon and have managed to get, like, no pictures of us together.”
“Of course.”
She took Donovan’s phone and snapped a picture of him. Then they switched places. Seeing the smiling couple through the camera lens, giddily cuddled against each other in front of the view that Donovan had looked at on his wall every day with dread, jarred him for a second. So much happiness. Hope. This view would have a new memory now.
