But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything to me, doesn’t smile at me, doesn’t so much as glance my way. Instead, she looks straight ahead as her mother tells her that a Dr. Gardner is already at the hospital waiting for her.
That doesn’t sound good—that a doctor is concerned enough to be waiting on her—and my stomach tightens painfully. I want to ask what that means, want to demand to know what this doctor is going to do to Tansy.
But that’s not my right, either. Not with the way I left her room this morning. Not with the ugly words hanging between us. And definitely not with the thoughts I was having on the plane, about not being able to do this with her. About not being able to handle this catastrophe on top of all the others I’ve already been through.
And yet, it doesn’t seem right. Still I expect it to end differently than it does. Because once he thanks us, Tansy’s dad gets into the driver’s side of the SUV and then they’re gone, pulling away from the limo and driving across the tarmac to the airport exit, just like that.
It seems anticlimactic and yet awful, all at the same time. I don’t know what to say, what to think, how to feel, as I watch her speed away. There’s a part of me that thinks this is the worst mistake I’ve ever made … and another part that is whispering, Thank God.
Thank God, I found out before I fell for her any harder.
Thank God, we got her home where she can get help.
Thank God, I don’t have to watch her die.
My hands are shaking, badly, so I shove them into my pockets to keep anyone else from noticing. I don’t think it works, at least not judging from the look of disapproval on Z’s face as he stands next to me, watching Tansy drive straight out of my life.
“Why didn’t you go with her?” he demands.
“What would be the point? She has her parents.”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “You’re not her parents, man. She’ll want you there because you’re her—”
“But I’m not. This thing between us, it was never meant to be serious. It was just supposed to be fun.”
Z snorts. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. We talked about it when we first slept together and we decided—”
“That you were an idiot,” he tells me. “That’s what you decided.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
“Oh yeah, that’s my problem. I’m the one standing here who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He nods in the direction the SUV just turned. “You’re so serious about that girl that it’s practically leaking o
ut of your ears. We can all see it—”
“All?” I squawk, suddenly alarmed at the idea that I’m wearing my already broken heart on my sleeve for the whole fucking world to see.
“Not all,” he soothes. “But me and Luc and Cam. And probably Logan, too. It’s not like you’re exactly difficult to read.”
I think he’s going to say more, but before he can, Timmy’s mom and dad come up to thank us.
We accept their thanks as graciously as we can, but the fact of the matter is, we didn’t do anything. Not in the grand scheme of things. The kid is great, funny and sweet and adorable and I like him a lot. I liked spending time with him these last few days. Liked getting to know him. But the truth is, he’s dying and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. Nothing anyone can do about it. A few days boarding in the Andes isn’t going to change any of that.
It’s not something I like to think about, but it’s the truth all the same.
The sooner I accept that, the better off I’ll be.
There’s a part of me that knows this is about more than Timmy. That it’s about Logan and Tansy and my parents, too, but I’m not going there. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Then it’s time to say good-bye to Timmy and I tell myself it’s no big deal. That I’m okay with it—and with the knowledge that I’ll never see this kid again. That the next time I hear his name it will be somebody telling me that he’s dead.
Except I’m not okay with it. Not okay at all. The knowledge crashes through me as he flings his arms around my waist and hugs me tight.
“Thanks, Ash! Thanks so much! I’ll never forget this week, ever.”
Fuck. His words are arrows that tear straight through me and for a second I’m tempted to lift a hand to the ache in my chest, to hold it there to staunch the blood I know must be flowing. But there are no arrows and there is no blood. There’s just this feeling inside me. This desperate, empty, aching feeling that has as much to do with Tansy speeding off to the hospital in that red SUV as it does this kid who’s clinging to me for dear life. This kid I’m clinging to just as tightly.