Scarlett said that hearing about Jeff’s actions served as the wake-up call she needed, made her realize that how he had been treating her was wrong. The next morning, she was there holding my hand at the police station as my parents and I filled out a restraining order after all—against Jeff.
Last I heard, he’s in another anger management program. Dad wanted me to press charges against him, but I didn’t want to go through a messy trial, especially since it would’ve been a case of he-said, she-said. Because despite having caught her son red-handed, Mrs. Corsen suddenly “forgot” everything she’d seen that night. The rich protect their evil young, I guess. But the cops in Darling have their eyes on Jeff now, and, with a restraining order against him, I hope he learns to control his anger. I also hope I never, ever see his face again.
I’m happy to see my friends, though. Ever since Scar got rid of Jeff, she’s back to her old self, and she doesn’t let any guy boss her around anymore. She admitted that she let the fact that Jeff’s older and so “sophisticated”—her word, not mine—blind her to his many, many faults. It’s a mistake she’s vowed to never make again.
Macy is still her flaky self, unable to make a decision about which school to attend. Yvonne got into Harvard. She’s over the moon. We all brag about it, as if we collectively made it to the Ivy League school.
My friends don’t ask me about Chase, and I don’t tell them about him.
There’ve been days when I inwardly raged at him for not contacting me.
You coward. You love me and you ran away. I hate you.
But I don’t hate him. I love him, and I miss him, but we both made the decision to part ways. He needed to learn how to forgive himself, and I needed to prove to my parents that I’m not a selfish, reckless child who needs their protection. I wanted them to feel comfortable about letting me go off to college.
And now here I am, at Iowa State. I’ve got a car and a phone and what I assume will be a door to my dorm room. I’m one step closer to being a vet. A small step, but I focus on the small and manageable these days, not the big and out of reach, remember? I focus on what I can control, and what I have to live for.
Because there’s always something to live for. Something to be thankful for. Something to look forward to.
That’s the biggest lesson I learned from Chase.
I lift the hatch and reach inside the trunk for my first load.
“Need a hand?”
The smile that stretches across my face is almost too big to be contained. I haven’t heard his voice in months.
It’s the most beautiful sound in the world.
“You’re here,” I say with immense satisfaction. I never had any doubt that he would be here.
“Where else would I be?” Smiling back, Chase steps closer and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He’s not wearing all black, but faded blue jeans and a sky blue T-shirt a few shades lighter than his mesmerizing eyes.
My heart nearly explodes in my chest. And then, right on cue, the tears start to fall.
“Aw, please don’t cry,” he says roughly.
“I can’t help it,” I say between sniffles. “We’ve already discussed this—I’ve got a crying problem.”
He laughs, and I take it back—that’s the most beautiful sound in the world. Chase is laughing. Chase is here. He’s actually here.
I hated not seeing him. I hated not talking to him. I hated waiting so long for this moment, for the promise of “Iowa” to finally come true. But being an adult is painful, I’ve learned. I guess I just have to live with that.
I’m alive. Rachel isn’t. I have to keep going no matter what, because she never got the chance to do so. I have to live for her. I have to be grateful for what I have. One small thing every day, just like Chase taught me.
So yesterday, the small thing I clung to was the beautiful sunset that Scar and I watched while eating ice cream on the hood of her car. Our last hurrah before she comes to visit me next month.
The day before that, it was Mom taking down Rachel’s name above the chalkboard. The week before that, Dad hung Rachel’s swing back up.
And today?
It’s him.