The Year We Fell Down

  I closed the book, tossed it onto the coffee table and spun around to kiss him.

  “Oh, yes please,” he said against my lips. His hands fumbled for my shirt.

  “Sorry to give you the wrong idea,” I said, capturing his hands in mine. “But I have to leave. I have a haircut appointment. And you have errands, too.”

  He gave a little growl and pulled me closer. “I like your hair long.”

  “Hartley,” I laughed. “I need a trim. Badly. And so you need to wait a few hours, okay? After the Beaumont Ball, I’m all yours.”

  He flopped his head back against the sofa and sighed. “That sounds like a long few hours. Is this a ploy to skip the ball? Because it won’t work.”

  I reached up to brush my hand against his chin, enjoying the feel of his lazy Saturday whiskers under my fingers. “No way,” I promised. “I went to the trouble of shopping for a dress, which is my least favorite activity in the world. You can bet I’ll put it on.” Sliding off his lap, I retrieved my crutches from the floor and stood up.

  He rose to kiss me goodbye. “You are the perfect girl,” he said against my lips. “You’re hot, but you hate to shop. That dress is gonna look great. On my floor.” I laughed, and he smoothed my hair down over my shoulders. “I really do like it long. I wasn’t just saying that.”

  “Me too. But chlorine has burnt the ends, and I’m getting a trim. See you later?” I kissed him one more time.

  “Later…” he said, sitting back down on the couch, “is better than never.”

  “That’s the spirit.” I put my pocketbook straps over both shoulders, opened the door and crutched out into the hallway.

  After pulling the door shut behind me, I turned around. A man stood in front of Hartley’s door, as if he had just knocked, and was waiting for a response. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you looking for…?” He turned to face me, and I sucked in my breath.

  Because Hartley really did look a lot like his father.

  It took me a minute to speak. I was too busy taking in the height of him, and the brown, wavy hair. He had the same full mouth as his son, and the same well-proportioned nose. Only the eyes were truly different. This man’s were blue, and not nearly as warm as Hartley’s.

  “Do you know where he is?” the stranger asked, his voice quiet.

  I nodded, finding my voice again. “Just one second. Don’t go anywhere.”

  As I opened the door to my room again, crutching back inside, Hartley said, “Did you miss me already, beautiful?” Then he saw my face. “What’s the matter?”

  Closing the door behind me, I leaned over the couch, whispering. “Your father is standing in the hallway.”

  His eyes went wide with shock. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  Hartley jumped off the couch. “Shit. Right now?”

  “Did you get a response to your letter?”

  He shook his head.

  “Wow. So this is it?”

  He shrugged, his eyes still wide.

  “Maybe it’s easier this way, not having to think about it first.”

  He let out a gust of air. Then he looked down at himself, doing a quick inventory. He was wearing jeans and a Red Sox T-shirt, and bright orange sneakers.

  “You are great, Hartley,” I whispered. “And unless you tell me not to, I’m going to open this door now. You can talk to him in here, okay?”

  Hartley glanced around my room as if seeing it for the first time. Then he nodded again. I don’t know if he was doing the same math that I was — Hartley’s unmade bed would be a more awkward meeting place than my little common room. I watched him take a deep breath. I turned the knob, and Hartley swung it wide open for me. I whispered into his ear, “I love you so much.” I turned to walk out, but Hartley grabbed my hand. And even as his father turned to watch us, he pressed a kiss to my forehead before letting me go.

  I took one more look at the man who had come to see him. He was staring at Hartley, his face flushed, his body still. “Why don’t you come in,” I heard Hartley say before I pushed open the outer door and left McHerrin.

  — Hartley

  For a long minute, neither of us said anything. He sat down on Corey’s sofa, and I pulled Dana’s desk chair over to sit across from him. I’d seen pictures of him on the Internet many times before, but this was different. I never thought I’d breathe the same air as this man. And it was hard work getting past my shock.

  I think it was hard work for him, too.

  So we stared at each other for a couple of minutes. “Adam,” he said eventually. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I know my apology comes ridiculously late. And I don’t really expect you to understand. But I came here to say it anyway.”

  All I could do at that point was nod. Now that he was here, sitting in front of me, angry questions filled my head. How could you? Do you know how hard my mother works? Do you know how many kids taunted me? We protected you, and I don’t even know why.

  If I opened my mouth, the dam would break. So I sat there, silently, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat. Even so — and I’m ashamed to admit it — a part of me still wanted him to like me. Wasn’t that pathetic? After all this time, I was still hoping to make a good impression.

  He tapped nervous fingers on the leg of his jeans. They were a dark, expensive color, the sort of thing Stacia would pick out. He had on sleek black shoes, and a jacket which probably cost as much as my mother’s car.

  “So, I’m getting a divorce,” he said suddenly.

  “I saw those headlines,” I admitted. It’s not like I wanted him to know I’d been cyber-stalking him over the years. But his divorce had hit the news right after I’d sent my letter. Anyone could have seen it.

  “Well, I didn’t lay hands on your letter for a few weeks. You sent it to Connecticut, and I’ve been staying in the city.”

  I nodded again, trying to focus on what he was saying. But, seriously, sitting there was like having some kind of out-of-body experience. I couldn’t stop staring at him, noticing all the little ways we looked alike. His eyebrows were unruly like mine.

  “My wife — my ex-wife — she described the envelope to me, told me who it was from. And that’s when I told her about you.”

  “Told her?” The words came out of my mouth as a squeak.

  He nodded. “She never knew about you. I made a lot of mistakes, Adam. But last month I told her anyway, even though she’d already left me. Keeping secrets was never the right strategy. It only took me twenty years to figure that out.”

  For some reason, that struck me as funny, and I cracked a smile.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just…I thought I was slow.”

  At that, my father smiled too. But his was sad. “Anyway, I waited another month to see you. Because I didn’t want your name to end up in the articles about my divorce. I didn’t want some reporter deciding that one thing had to do with the other. You don’t need that kind of bullshit attention.” He leaned back on Corey’s couch, crossing one foot over his knee. “And I haven’t told my kids about you yet, Adam. Because I’ve pasted them with so much of my other shit lately.”

  And that’s when I snapped a little bit. It was probably the casual way he’d said my kids. The angry response just leaped out of my mouth. “Since I’m already used to being pasted with your shit, what’s the rush, right?”

  First, my father looked startled. Then his sad grin came back. “That’s fair.”

  But I shook my head. “No, it’s just…” I took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t ask you to meet me so that I could yell at you.” But even as I said it, I realized I didn’t have any idea what I expected. I’d always wanted a normal father, but when you’re twenty-one, maybe the expiration date for having one was long passed.

  “Adam, it would be weird if you weren’t angry at me. I knew that when I drove up here.”

  “You took me by surprise.”

  “I know it. But some thi
ngs just can’t be done on the phone.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I have three younger children. The boys — Ryan and Daniel — are eleven and nine, and my daughter Elsa is seven.”

  Ryan. Daniel. Elsa. “That was the hardest part,” I blurted out.

  “What was?”

  “Having brothers who didn’t know I exist.” I’d seen them that time in Stacia’s neighborhood. I’d told Corey that I didn’t get a good look at them, and that was true. But it was burned into my brain, anyway. I could see one brother’s arm cocked over his head, and the other running across that perfect lawn to receive the pass. I’d never felt more like an outsider than I did right then.

  “All right. I’ll tell them when I see them next weekend.”

  I shook my head, because it occurred to me that I was being selfish. “You know, none of this is their fault. So don’t worry about it.”

  My father leaned forward. “No, you were right the first time. Keeping secrets hasn’t worked out for me. I’ll tell them, and they’ll be surprised for about ten minutes. And after that, you’ll be like a rock star.” He smiled again, and it was one hundred percent genuine. I could see that just thinking about his kids lit him up. “Seriously. An older brother who plays hockey? You’ll have a rabid fan club. Be careful what you wish for.”

  I rubbed my knee, thinking about how long it had been since I was on skates.

  “You didn’t get to play this year?”

  “Nope. I broke my leg in two places.”

  “That must have sucked.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, it did. But I’m okay now. And I met a great girl.” It wasn’t lost on me that Corey and I might never have crossed paths if it weren’t for the injury. I might still be in the middle of the world’s most pathological relationship with Stacia.

  My shit would not have been shoveled.

  “We could go to a Rangers game, all of us,” my father said.

  I quirked an eyebrow at him. “The Rangers, huh?”

  He surprised me by chuckling. “Who’s your team?”

  “The Bruins, of course. The Rangers are sissy men.”

  “Good to know,” he said, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “Good to know.”

  — Corey

  Needless to say, my two hours at the salon and running errands were excruciating.

  I spent the whole time trying to imagine how their very first conversation would sound. And I couldn’t decide if I was irritated with Hartley’s father for just dropping in like that. Was it better to show up unannounced, or never to show up at all?

  The day was warm for April, and I worked up a sweat on the way home. I’d had my new braces for a month already, and I was getting around on them pretty well. Grudgingly, I had to admit that the new technology was pretty amazing. I still had to use forearm crutches, but I was truly walking on my legs now, not just swinging them like stilts. Stairs were so much easier, and I rarely used my wheelchair anymore, except at home in our suite.

  When I finally got back to my room, I found a note on our couch.

  Callahan— I have so much to tell you. But I’ve borrowed Stacia’s car to drive home to talk to my mom. It had to be done. I will absolutely be back by 8 p.m. — so put on that dress.

  Love you, H.

  The suspense was killing me, of course. But I would have to be patient. I texted him: Drive safe, DON’T SPEED. Love you. C.

  I went to dinner in the dining hall with Dana and Daniel, who were pumped up to go to the Beaumont Ball together. It had taken Daniel two months to get up the courage to ask Dana out. Now that they’d been dating a couple of weeks, and I hoped to see Daniel do the walk of shame from our suite tomorrow morning. I’d been stockpiling taunts for tomorrow’s brunch, just in case.

  But tonight I was so distracted I could barely follow their conversation.

  “Is everything okay, Corey?” Dana asked me after the third time I failed to answer a simple question.

  “Hmm? Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Where’s Hartley?” she asked. “You two aren’t fighting, are you?”

  I shook my head. “He went to see his mom for a couple of hours. His…there’s a family thing he’s dealing with today. He said he’d be back in time for the ball.”

  Dana looked at her watch. “Let’s go get ready. I can make your nails match your dress.”

  I made a face. “Sounds fussy.”

  “Tonight you’re not a jock, Corey,” she said. “Tonight you’re a party girl.”

  “If you say so,” I sighed. Honestly, I didn’t care one way or another, as long as my jock made it back to me in one piece.

  “You’re not going to tell me what’s wrong with Hartley, are you?” Dana pried. I couldn’t see her, because my eyes were closed. But I could feel her breath on my face as she stroked shadow onto my eyelids.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not my story to tell. But nobody is sick or dying, I swear. It’s just family drama.”

  “Well that’s good,” Dana said, and I wasn’t sure if she meant Hartley or her makeup job. “Open your eyes and take a look.”

  I did. And when she moved out of my view in the mirror, it was almost as if another girl looked back at me. I’d never been a fan of makeup, and after my accident I’d fallen out of the habit of wearing any. The girl — no, the woman in the mirror was a more glamorous, stylish one than I usually saw there. Dana had promised not to overdo it, and she’d kept her word. But her artistry seemed to bring my face into sharper focus. The gold-brown color of the eye shadow complimented my hair, which was still sleek and curled under at the ends from my salon visit.

  But the dress was my favorite part of the whole ensemble. Dana had picked it out, of course, and she’d outdone herself. It was red, and long. (Dana had called it a maxi dress, whatever that meant.) The design was incredibly simple — it widened gently from a tank-style top to a swirl of silk near my feet. The uninterrupted sweep of fabric hid my braces, giving me back a sleek shape that I hadn’t seen in a mirror in over a year.

  “Wow,” Dana said. “Hartley is going to faint. If he ever turns up.”

  I couldn’t stop looking. When was the last time I’d looked in a mirror without critical thoughts? A long time. An eternity. And I knew in my heart that the dress and the makeup didn’t really change me. But it did give me a reason to pause and study myself, to celebrate all the visible parts of me that were whole and well — the flush of my healthy skin, my grown-out hair. The mirror was really very friendly to me, yet I’d been holding it in such contempt.

  “Do you like it?” Dana whispered.

  I knew she was referring to her makeup job, but she might as well have been asking about my whole life. “I do,” I told her. “I really do.”

  Just after eight, my phone chirped with a text from Hartley. On my way. So sorry.

  I replied, Don’t text and drive! Take all the time U need. I’m heading over there with D&D.

  During the two hours since we’d left it, the Beaumont dining hall had been transformed. The largest tables had been removed, making space for a five-piece band and a dance floor. Candlelight flickered on the remaining tables. Couples danced in the center of the room, or stood talking in clusters around the edges.

  I couldn’t help but watch the door, so I didn’t see Bridger sneak up on me. Before I could protest, he grabbed me around the waist and whirled me around in a circle before setting me down again. “Who are you, and what have you done with Callahan?” he asked, handing back my crutches which had slid to the floor.

  “Um, thanks?” I’d gotten versions of that compliment about a dozen times in half an hour. It was all very flattering, but I was starting to wonder if it didn’t mean that I should make a little more effort on a regular basis.

  “Seriously, you look amazing,” he said. “Where the hell is Hartley? If he stood you up, I’ll break his balls.”

  “No need,” I said. “He’s on his way. He’ll be here any minute.” Bridger frowned, but I didn’t offer any more details. “Aren?
??t you going to introduce me to your date?” An unfamiliar buxom blond hovered behind him. I’d never seen Bridger with any girl more than one night in a row. He seemed to go through them like tissues.

  “Of course! This is…” he cleared his throat.

  “Tina,” she said.

  “Hi Tina!” I offered my hand quickly, trying to cover Bridger’s gaffe. “Nice to meet you.”

  “A pleasure,” she said stiffly.

  “Don’t let me keep you two from dancing,” I said.

  Tina tugged on Bridger’s hand, and he raised his eyebrows to me. I think he felt rude walking off to dance when I couldn’t really follow them. “Go on,” I whispered.

  Bridger kissed me on the cheek before leading his date onto the dance floor. I watched them for a few minutes. Bridger was a good dancer, and it made me guess that Hartley probably was too. Neither one of them had many inhibitions, that was for sure.

  I smiled to myself when Hartley finally skated through the door, his head swiveling left and right, looking for me. I could see that he’d run home to change, but hadn’t spent much time there. He’d donned khakis and a button-down shirt, but both could have used either an iron or at least a little of the old hang-in-the-steamy-bathroom-while-you-shower treatment. And his tie had been hastily tied.

  No lie, he was still the most handsome guy in the room. By a long mile.

  My smile grew as I watched him. Standing up a little straighter, I waited for him to find me in the crowded room. Unfortunately, Stacia found him first. I saw her sashay over to him. From his pocket he withdrew something that must have been her car keys. I watched him thank her, and then kiss her on the cheek quickly.

  The whole time, his eyes never stopped sweeping the room. Looking for me.

  Over here, I mentally coached him. Then his eyes flicked towards me, drifting past. Then he did a small double-take before his gaze landed on me. Even as his face lit with the most beautiful smile, he was weaving past bodies and chairs, rushing in my direction.

  I expected him to sweep me into his arms, but instead he pulled up short. “Damn, Callahan,” he said, staring. “I mean…wow.” He took a step closer. “I’m so sorry to be late, I…”