He almost died.
It was my fault.
He almost died.
It was my fault.
He almost died.
It was my fault.
I can't stop repeating those words over and over in my head, sometimes even saying them out loud to my empty living room. Thank God Ralph isn't here. I wonder how he'd react to his mother having a complete emotional breakdown over something that didn't even happen.
But it could have.
I'm trying to distract myself from that chanting in my head, and also the smell of smoke that somehow still lingers after numerous showers.
My eyes land on a picture frame sitting on the coffee table, and despite how I'm feeling, I smile at the photograph. Megan and Walter's eyes stare up at me, along with my own, and I instantly recall what Megan had said to me that day and how I would never, ever forget it.
~
Walter had left to go get tacos from the taco truck, leaving his sister and me on our beach towels. Megan had stared out at the ocean, which was turning golden as the sun set, smiling to herself.
"What?" I had asked.
"Oh, nothing," she had replied, her grin not faltering. "I was just thinking about how special this place is to Walter and me. And he brought you."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"
"No, Paige," Megan had interrupted, laughing a little. "Don't you see? This spot is special to him. He hasn't brought anyone else here. But he brought you."
I didn't answer.
"You're special to him, Paige. You've got him wrapped around your little finger. If I were you," she turned to face me, "I'd be telling him how you feel."
I opened my mouth to protest, but she shushed me, staring at me so intently I shivered.
"Love, true love, strikes once and one time only. I'd like to see you both together before I die."
~
But she hadn't gotten to, and just the thought of that made me so sad and depressed and guilty all at the same time.
"I'm so sorry, Megan," I whispered to her smiling face as a tear slid down my cheek. "I failed."
I can't believe that a Molotov cocktail through a storefront window is the thing that's reminding me of how much I love Walter O'Brien and how I can't lose him, not ever. I have awful timing.
And then my phone beeps, and of course, it's a text from Walter.
Are you okay?
I'm so not okay. Beyond the concept of "not okay". So I call him, despite the fact that it's late and I'm teetering on the edge of hysteria.
"Paige?"
The sound of his voice on the other end of the line breaks me. I can't utter a word, but thankfully, I don't have to.
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Walter says.
Fifteen minutes to the second later, which I know because I'm watching the clock, Walter unlocks my door with his spare key, finds me curled into a ball of abject misery on my couch, and rushes over. He sits down beside me without breaking eye contact.
"What's wrong?" he asks gently.
I whimper, trying to think through the fog of exhaustion and smoke inhalation.
"I-"
I can't get another word out before I launch myself into his arms, sobs ransacking my body. Squeezing him tight, I bury my face in his chest, reassuring myself he's here.
