When she arrived at Peter’s doorstep, uncertainty kept her on the lawn. She was conveniently forgetting all the hurt she caused him, she knew that.
But it didn’t have to be hurt. Anyone who had been in their shoes would know how certain she was that she loved him, and that he loved her.
She knocked.
Cathy answered, dressed in an oversized Kansas Jayhawks T-shirt and Garfield pajama pants. At first, she didn’t register Kelsey’s face, in all her dance makeup and her Lycra outfit. Then her blue eyes narrowed.
Peter must have told her everything.
“You,” she said, in disbelief that Kelsey was right there, in front of her. “What are you doing here?”
Kelsey kept her chin up. She would not be ashamed. She would not be afraid anymore. “I came to say sorry, and to explain.”
“Apology not accepted,” Cathy said. “Get out of here!”
“Please let me in. I need to talk to Peter.”
“You are the last person he wants to talk to.”
That hit hard. She had fallen so far. Kelsey said nothing, but she didn’t move.
“Listen, I’m telling it to you like it is. He never wants to see you again. Get the picture?”
Kelsey tried to glance beyond Cathy’s arm, hoping for any trace of Peter. But she only saw a dark house.
“Please,” Kelsey said, her voice smaller now. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand. I love him.”
Cathy said nothing. She only made an exaggerated pointing motion, whirling her finger, as if she were telling a dog, Go.
Her skin glowing with shame and anger, Kelsey walked off the stoop.
“Just stay away from my son,” Cathy said to her back. “That’s easy enough.”
Kelsey whipped back around to say something, she didn’t know what, but the door had closed.
She got into the Subaru and started the ignition, staring at her steering wheel.
Suddenly, there was a tap on the window. Her heart jumped.
Meg stood outside the car, with her same high ponytail, this time wearing a T-shirt that said WILDCATS DANCE TEAM.
Kelsey rolled down the driver’s-side window.
“Hey,” Meg said.
“Hey.”
“How ya doin’?” Meg said, and Kelsey could tell she had silently cursed herself for asking a pretty obvious question.
“Can I ask you something?”
Meg nodded.
“Is he in there?” Kelsey pointed to the house.
Meg looked back, and nodded again. He must have seen her, or at least heard her. The house wasn’t that big. Maybe his mother was right: He must really, truly hate her.
Kelsey looked at Meg. She was surprised she’d even talk to her. “What do you think of all this?”
Meg frowned, thinking. “Well,” she said, hesitant. “I’ve known for a while, actually.”
“How?”
In answer, Meg held up an envelope. Kelsey’s video.
“It got redirected here when they switched bases,” Meg explained. “I opened it because… Well, I don’t know why I opened it. I was curious about you, I guess. And then I met you, and I liked you, and then I met you again, and I liked you again. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t want to mess with what you had, you know, going on. You and my brother, you’re good together.”
Kelsey felt her mouth twisting, her teeth clenched. They may have been good together, but it was too late now. He hated her. As he should.
Meg continued, “So, I think… you should have it. Right?” She dropped the envelope in Kelsey’s lap through the open window.
Kelsey picked it up, and tossed it right back out. “Burn it,” she told Meg.
She didn’t want another reminder of her stupid mistake. She would cut herself off from this family, from these memories, from this house. She revved her engine.
Meg picked the envelope off the ground and hit herself on the head with the palm of her hand. “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”
“Nope,” Kelsey said with a sarcastic smile. “I ruined everything.” Then she noticed Meg’s shirt. “Congratulations on making the team, by the way,” she said, and rolled up her window before she drove away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Packing for Paris was much more pleasant this time around. More peaceful, at least. Kelsey folded—well, more like stuffed; she wasn’t a big fan of wasting time for the sake of creases—pair of skinny jeans after pair of skinny jeans, cardigans on top of cardigans, never having to worry about anyone’s taste in clothing but her own. She left room for all her dance stuff, which was still in the wash. She wasn’t sure what kind of apparel she’d need for an intensive modern dance program, but assumed she’d have most of the basics already. If not, she’d wing it. There were worse problems in life.
A week ago, after she had returned from El Dorado, Kelsey had walked with her graduation cash to the bank downtown, created herself an account, and found she had enough money for airfare to pretty much anywhere.
She had considered South America, but her Spanish was as rudimentary as her French, and she was never one to romanticize grand chains of mountains or the rain forest. The prairie did her fine, as far as nature went. She was a Kansas girl.
Paris, however, still called to her as it had the first time she saw it, and after all, she hadn’t even gotten to see half the places she had seen on the subway posters.
Her parents had agreed to use her first semester’s tuition at KU to fund a month-long dance program in Paris over the summer. Kelsey had deferred her acceptance to college. She would get there eventually.
But first: This evening she’d be gone. She’d have two months to herself in the city until the dance program started, and though it sounded lonely, it was probably just what she needed: time to gather a semblance of Kelsey as she was now, no Michelle, no Peter, no Davis, no University of Kansas dance team.
Her father called up to her from downstairs, “You ready, sweetie?”
“Coming!” she called.
Before she left, the Maxfields had one more thing to do.
As they exited the front door, her mother picked up the simple silver urn they had finally taken from the funeral home. It wouldn’t stay in their house. They had agreed there were already enough memories of Michelle there.
With it, they walked down the street, along the jagged brick sidewalks, under the canopy of thick oaks and cottonwoods, all the way to the old railroad tracks.
The three of them passed over the tracks and down the path to the dam, where they found a makeshift trail of rocks through the low water. They climbed the limestone ramp to the top of the dam, where they stood in its center, watching the Kansas River wind all the way west, through the landscape.
Kelsey took the silver urn out of its bag, and handed it to her mother.
Her mother held it to her lips briefly, whispering something Kelsey could not hear. She handed it to her husband.
“Good-bye, my sweet baby,” her father said, cradling the urn in his arms for a moment.
Then he handed it to Kelsey, a small smile on his face. It was heavy and warm from the sun.
Kelsey knew she didn’t have to say anything out loud. She and Michelle would always be speaking back and forth, whether she wanted to or not. That was the way they worked, and would always work; tied, taking from, pushing, completing the other.
Have fun, she said silently to Michelle, and lifted the lid.
The unknowable ache inside her dimmed, and the ashes fell into the breeze, flowered into the water, and traveled on their way.