None of it makes any sense.
I sit on the end of the bed, letting my purse drop on the floor next to me, and I run my fingers over the contours of whatever is inside the envelope. But I’ve done that a few times in the past week, too, and I’m still coming to the same conclusions: it’s paper, sort of thick, folded two or three times. There’s nothing bumpy or uneven or textured inside. It’s just paper.
I sigh and start to set it down, but I just hold it. I don’t know why I don’t just open the damn thing. It’s driven me sort of crazy for a week and here I am, finally able to put the secret to rest once and for all by opening it, but I’m too afraid.
I set the envelope down on the bed and I get up, crossing my arms and watching it from the corner of my eye as I start to pace the room. I’m wary of it, like it’s going to jump out at me and claw me in leg as I walk by. Like that bitch of a cat my aunt Brenda has. I even start to dig in my purse for my cell phone to call Andrew and have him just tell me what this is all about, until I realize how stupid that would be.
Finally, I pick up the envelope, and after a long pause, feeling the light weight of it in my hand, I slide the tip of my finger underneath the sealed flap to loosen it. After breaking the seal and failing to open it carefully, I say screw it and I rip the hell out of it the rest of the way. I toss the tattered envelope on the bed and unfold the Hallmark-looking stationery to see that most of it is blank. It had been used merely to conceal the picture inside. With the back of the picture facing me, at first I refuse to turn it over to see what’s on the other side. Instead, I read Natalie’s handwriting in the center of the last piece of stationery:
This is the best one I found.
I hope it helps with whatever it is you’re trying to do.
Sincerely,
Natalie
I turn the picture over and my heart sinks like a stone when I see Ian’s smiling, vibrant face looking back at me. My cheek is pressed against his as we stare into the camera. The colored lights from the rides at the North Carolina State Fair illuminating the night in the background behind us. As if I’ve fallen into a freezing cold lake, the sight of his face shocks the breath out of my lungs. Tears instantly spring up from my eyes, and I let the picture fall from my fingers and onto the bed. Both hands come up to my face where my fingers cover my quivering lips.
How could I let myself cry over him?! Why is this happening?!
I got rid of all of Ian’s photos for a reason. Everything. I deleted every single file with digital photos of us, removed his name from my cell phone. I even threw out my nightstand that I’d had since I was a little girl because Ian had etched IAN LOVES CAMRYN into the wood on the underside of it. I removed all reminders of him from my life the best I could because it hurt too much to know that all I had left of him were material things. I couldn’t do much about the memories, but I did my best to forget about those, too.
Why would Andrew do this to me? Bring all of that pain back into my life not just so soon after losing Lily, but at all?
A part of me wants to scream at Andrew, to march through that door and across the hall to his room and tell him how much this hurts. But my reason catches up to me too fast. I know why he did it. I know why he put me in this room alone with this photograph. Because he loves me so much that he’s willing to give me back to Ian for just one night so that I can maybe come to terms with losing him in the first place.
But I can’t look at that damn picture! I just can’t do it!
With tears streaming down my face, I grab my thick sweater from my bag and slam my arms into the sleeves roughly. And then I storm out of the room and head for the elevator.
Seconds later, I’m sitting in the cold sand on the beach looking out at the endless ocean.
Andrew
18
I wonder if she’ll open it. Shit, I wonder if she’ll hate me for doing this to her, but if it’ll help her I’ll take the trade.
I press the power button on the remote control and an old Seinfeld rerun fills the quiet in my room. I kick off my shoes and hit the shower, letting the hot water beat down on me until it begins to run lukewarm. All I can think about is what Camryn is doing alone in her room, if she’s staring at that photo of her dead ex-boyfriend, and if she’s handling it. I want to go over there and be there for her, but I know this is something she needs to do on her own. Something she should’ve done a long time ago, long before we met.
After drying off I wrap the towel around my waist and rummage through my bag on the bed for a pair of boxers. I sit down, stare at the TV, then the wall, and then back at the TV again until I realize I’m just looking to do anything to take my mind off of Camryn.
I let my MP3 player run about five random songs through my ears before I decide that I at least need to check on her. I try her cell first but she doesn’t answer. Then I pick up the hotel phone and try her room. Still no answer. Maybe she’s just taking a shower. I try to force myself to believe that until my instincts get the best of me. I slip on my jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and head across the hall to her room. I put my ear to the door to see if I can hear the shower running. Nothing. So I slip the extra card key into the door to unlock it.
She’s not here. My heart picks up as I walk farther into the room. The first thing I notice is the photograph, which I haven’t actually seen myself until right now, lying on the bed. I pick it up and study it for a second. Camryn looks so happy. That’s the Camryn I used to know, the one with a beautiful, energetic smile. I remember that smile. I saw it dozens of times when we were on the road together.