INSIDE THE HOTEL BALLROOM, the ceiling looked midnight black, strings of tiny light bulbs twinkled like stars you could touch, if you stood on tiptoes. Landon dragged me to the very center of the dance floor and held me close, closer than before, so close, the skirt of my dress flowed around his legs, so close I felt his thigh against mine. His fingertips found the bare skin between the satin ribbons on my back.
At his touch, I lost all ability to think, to breathe. There was nothing but Landon, his fingers, and my skin. He kissed me then, kissed me until we barely swayed to the music, kissed me until the song faded, kissed me until someone nearby faked a cough.
That was Constance. At prom. I glanced at Landon, who looked like he had a dozen things to say, all designed to send her off the deep end.
“I’d hate to think the rest of us will have to watch this all night long,” she said. “Please tell me you got a room.”
“Constance,” Landon said. “My little prom princess. You’re looking … well, nothing like yourself.”
“Shove it up your ass.”
“You look great,” I said, stepping between them. Constance really did look fantastic. She wore a deep red dress overlaid with black lace, and the fabric hugged every curve. An encounter with hot rollers made her hair fall in gentle waves. True, her eyes were still rimmed with kohl, but apparently not even Constance Radley was immune to prom fever.
“So who’s the lucky guy?” Landon asked.
“I’m here with Sam Avery.”
Swim boy Sam? I couldn’t help it. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“What?” Landon looked puzzled. “Swim team, right? So, we’ve got birds of a feather, or maybe fish of a … fin?”
“Shut up,” Constance said, although this was directed at me.
“He’s also,” I said to Landon, “the president of FCA.”
“Of what?” Landon asked.
“Fellowship of Christian Athletes,” I elaborated, feeling smug.
Landon snorted, then outright laughed.
“Shut the hell up.” Constance grimaced, like she had a Landon-induced migraine.
“So, in other words,” Landon mused. “You’re in no danger of being felt up tonight.”
Constance heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately.”
“He’s very nice,” I said. Although, honestly, Constance Radley and Sam Avery had to be a match made somewhere other than heaven.
Constance rolled her eyes. “What about you? You sprung from prison?”
“For the night.” I shrugged and nodded toward Landon. “It was kind of like you said. He just showed up, and things got ...” I threw a glance toward Landon, who had drifted over to a group of the tech guys. “Weird.”
“Figures.” Constance shook out her hair. “You’ll excuse me? I need to go spike Sam’s Red Bull and introduce him to the sin of tongue kissing.”
Without Constance or Landon, I felt unbalanced. I scanned the crowd, Z-pattern style, looking for the one person I should probably avoid. I couldn’t help it. When I spotted her, the vice grip on my stomach eased, just slightly.
Prom had always meant so much to Nissa.
She sat with Tim McPherson, Lukas’s wingman, he of the pretend homemade beer. Actually, she sat on his lap, an arm draped over his shoulder, his hand protective on her waist. I guess he really had been a contender. Her face was bent toward his, her expression half hidden by his shoulder. It didn’t matter. I knew her well enough to know: she at least looked happy.
I really hoped she was.
I took another glance around. At the table where Nissa sat, all the other girls were seniors of the cheerleading captain-prom queen variety. I scrutinized the junior tables, but still couldn’t find the other two people I should probably avoid. But it didn’t look like I’d be running into Jodi or Sierra, at least not at prom.
When Nissa excused herself and headed for the restrooms, I followed.
We nearly collided outside the stalls. She wore a black, form-fitting dress, her hair shiny and smooth. We were opposites—Nissa dark and sleek, with me, light and poufy.
“You look great,” I said.
“You, too.”
And then nothing but emptiness between us, awkward and heavy. I adjusted my dress, the white high tops peeking out below the hem. Her gaze darted downward, and for one excruciating moment, I thought Nissa might smile.
“I have to get back to Tim,” she said.
I stood in the bathroom after she left. A group of girls streamed in, their chatter crashing against the walls. I pushed my way out, a sudden need for Landon stealing my breath. I hiked up my skirt and ran.
The ballroom was too dark; the starlight dazzled my eyes. I spun, frantic, until Landon’s arms caught my waist.
“Whoa.” He hauled me close, my back against his chest. “You okay?”
“Sort of.”
“I saw you both go in there.” He nodded toward the bathrooms. “I almost came in after you. Is everything—?”
I shook my head, cutting him off. “It was … nothing.” That was worse, somehow, than if Nissa had slapped me or thrown a cup of pink punch at my dress.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and gripped my arms tighter. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “Come on. Let’s dance.”
We danced, the only conversation the play of Landon’s fingers along my back. For two songs that was enough. Still, a nagging thought wouldn’t let me enjoy prom completely.
“What did you say to my dad?” I asked. “I mean,” I added when Landon didn’t speak. “To convince him to let me go.”
He sighed. “You don’t want to know.”
Well, now I really, really did. In fact, I needed to know. “Tell me.”
“It’s incredibly sexist and chauvinistic.”
“And yet it worked on my dad,” I said. “Go figure. Come on. Tell me.”
Landon swallowed back a second sigh. “I hinted that if you had something—or someone—in Black Earth.” Here he gave me a significant look. “You might not join the Army.”
“Are you talking about—” I couldn’t wrap my brain, never mind my mouth, around what he was saying. “So, you what? Convinced him I’d give it all up to be Mrs. Scott Industries.” Oh, come on. Dad was way smarter than that.
“Pretty much.” Landon snorted. “Look, he heard what he wanted to hear. I know he’s being a colossal asshole, but he does love you. I’ve figured that much out.” He pulled me close, his arms locked around my waist. “I would never do that to you, never make you give up your dreams.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your dreams … you know, after high school.”
“After high school.” Landon shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Come on,” I said, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Alive.”
He gathered me closer still, so again my dress flared around his legs and our thighs met. I wrapped my arms around his neck, but I knew, I could’ve flung them out, leaned back, and he’d still hold onto me. And even though I didn’t, part of me felt like I was—free falling with Landon there to catch me.
“I love you,” he said.
With those words, I continued to fall. It was like all the air had been knocked from me. I never had the chance to land, to catch my breath, never had the chance to respond. Landon kissed me so ardently, so insistently, I wondered if he was scared of what I might—or might not—say. Without thought, without voice, I kissed him back and hoped he’d taste the words I couldn’t speak.
I love you too.
We stayed until the very last moment, stayed until the lights went up and the fluorescent glare erased the dreamy starlight. Chaperones herded couples toward the doors, then looked the other way when a significant number headed for hotel rooms rather than the parking lot.
Landon tucked me into the passenger seat of the Corvette, which considering the dress, wasn’t exactly easy. He stood at the driver’s side, one arm resting on the open door, the other on the Corvette’s roof. I leaned across the gearshift and peered up.
“Landon? You okay?”
“I’ve got to get you home.” He slipped into the car seat. “But really, I wish we had a hotel room.”
Heat burst into my cheeks. They burned so hot, I wondered how combustible silk taffeta was.
“I could sleep for days,” he added.
Oh. Sure. Because that was what everyone else was doing. He leaned over and met me with a kiss. “Of course, you might be able to persuade me to do a few other things as well.”
“A rousing game of Scrabble?” I suggested, my lips a breath away from his.
“Strip Scrabble.”
“No fair,” I said. “You’re wearing more clothes than I am.”
“Sounds completely fair to me.”
I giggled, but it was only halfhearted. In the yellow lamplight, Landon did look tired, not at all like himself, his skin pale and waxy, a tightness around his eyes.
“I’ve been stressing you out,” I said.
“Your dad? Maybe.” He kissed my nose. “You? Never.” Landon put the Corvette in gear, pulled from the lot, and drove me home.
“Landon?”
I told myself I had the courage for this. I needed to talk to him before we reached my house. If not now, when? Tonight felt like a fairy tale. On Monday, I’d go back to my dreary existence. I’d be MacKenna Meyers, a little odd, a little on the outside, and a whole lot grounded.
“Landon?” I tried again. He’d been distracted during the drive, probably gearing up to face Dad. He took the turn for my driveway and the Corvette skittered.
He was a better driver than that; the Corvette handled better than that. Landon slumped forward against the wheel as if he’d fainted. The car veered toward the cement porch. A scream filled the space. My throat ached with it, but I swore the sound came from somewhere outside me.
I pushed my hands beneath Landon, grasped the steering wheel. His chest was heavy against my arms and I could barely turn the wheel. Finally, I yanked. The Corvette bounced over some brick edging and plowed straight into the closed garage door. The impact threw me against the seatbelt, then whipped me back. I braced my hands on the dashboard, caught my breath. When I glanced at Landon, a twinge ran through my neck. I ignored it.
“Landon?”
Nothing. The crash had thrown him back. His head lolled, horribly. Everything about him looked wrong. My hand crept over his chest, popped the tuxedo shirt studs, until I felt the soft cotton of his undershirt. Was he breathing? As my hand traveled upward, toward his scar, it hit me.
The pacemaker. His heart. I groped his neck, tried to find a pulse, and couldn’t.
Don’t panic. Think, MacKenna, think.
I flung open the car door and nearly fell to the ground. I grabbed fistfuls of dress and hurried around to the driver’s side. Even with the door wide open and seatbelt off, Landon was too heavy to move and I was wasting too many seconds.
I knew from the first aid class I’d taken with Dad, and reading about Landon’s pacemaker, he needed the EMTs and the drugs and defibrillator they’d have in the ambulance. I tripped up the porch steps, pushed open the front door, and screamed.
“Dad!”
I screamed again and laid my palm against the doorbell, unrelenting, until inside, the chime rang like church bells. Still no Dad.
Screw it. I couldn’t wait. CPR. I’d start CPR. I dashed down the steps, my Chuck Taylors catching the hem of the dress. Back at the car, I tugged at Landon’s inert form, inching him from the driver’s seat.
Too slow. I was too damn slow.
“What the fuck?”
I jerked, my head smashing against the car roof. I peered through the pain and saw Dad in his usual pose, arms crossed, scowl on.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Alcohol.”
I shook my head and sudden spikes shot through it. I winced. How to explain? Then it came to me. “He’s my friend with the pacemaker.”
Dad’s expression shifted. He was fierce, in control, combat mode. “Go call 911,” he said.
I stayed on the phone long enough to know for certain the ambulance was on its way, long enough to explain about Landon’s pacemaker. Then I tore back outside. Landon was spread-eagle on the asphalt driveway. Dad sliced through the T-shirt with a pocket knife he kept in the Blazer. In the dim light from the porch lamp, the scar above Landon’s heart looked pale.
“Remember your CPR?” Dad asked.
I nodded and knelt by Landon’s head.
“His airway’s clear. I’ll do the chest compressions,” Dad ordered, “you breathe for him.”
With the first chest compression, a crackling reached me, like eggshells being crushed. Cartilage, I reminded myself, just cartilage. I counted the compressions, not that I needed to. On thirty, Dad paused and nodded at me. I brought my mouth to Landon’s, watched his chest rise and fall. Counting gave me something to focus on until, in the distance, came the wail of a siren. The sound grew louder, drowned out the thoughts in my head, until all I heard was the siren, and all I felt was the jerk of Landon’s body after each chest compression.
The ambulance skidded to a stop in front of the driveway. The EMTs were out, equipment grabbed, and then, one of them tugged me away from Landon and slipped into my spot.
“He has a pacemaker!” I called out.
The woman nodded and she and her partner went to work. I stepped one way, then the other, my view blocked. I trembled until something soft and warm covered my shoulders. Dad tightened the afghan around me, then wrapped his arms around mine.
“You can go inside,” he said. “I’ll stay. You don’t have to watch.”
I shook my head. Dad squeezed my arms in response.
A police car bumped to a halt, half on the sidewalk, half on Dad’s lawn. He let go, gave my arm one more quick squeeze, and went to talk with the officers. A few moments later, one of them returned with Dad.
For questioning. Drugs. Alcohol. I gave my head a violent shake, so hard, I regretted it a second later. My neck crackled. Pain throbbed behind my eyes. I cringed, probably looked guilty, because the officer wouldn’t stop.
“You sure?” the officer asked. “Maybe when you went to the bathroom, he had a drink.”
“Maybe you’d like to give her a breathalyzer,” Dad said in his Army command voice. Then he stared at where the EMTs were still working on Landon. “Or him. My daughter doesn’t lie.” To Dad’s credit, he managed that sentence without a single twitch.
After that, the story came out in small pieces, with small words. By the time I was done, the officer’s skeptical expression had vanished.
“Smart girl,” he said. “You may have saved your friend’s life.”
May have wasn’t good enough. The EMTs readied a stretcher. Dad held me, fierce again.
“He’s stabilized,” the female technician said. “Let’s get him out of here.”
They loaded Landon onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. The police sedan pulled around front, lights flashing, siren blaring. I clutched the afghan and waited for the noise and lights to fade.
In the quiet, the Corvette still idled. Dad walked over to the car, reached in, and killed the engine.
At St. Joseph’s Hospital, Dad found someone to show us to a waiting area. He found a drink machine and bought a hot chocolate. He sat me in one of those impossibly narrow chairs and my dress poufed over the sides.
Dad wrapped my fingers around the cup, the hot paper sides heating my icy hands. I shook, all over, and sent ripples across the chocolate’s surface. I tried to drink, even brought the cup to my lips, but couldn’t swallow.
Dad took the cup, set it on a side table, and pulled me into a hug. “Jesus, princess. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”
Princess. It wasn’t that it came too little too late, but that now my nickname sounded unbearably sad. The tremor that had started in my hands flowed through my entire body. The harder I tried to control it, the worse the shaking got. My chest ached, like my heart had broken wide open. First one tear, then another, rolled down my cheeks.
Then I couldn’t stop crying. Dad held me tight as if he knew I was trying to banish the images. In the driveway, I’d felt my connection to Landon slip away. Like with my mom, his memory confined to a keepsake box, a collection of things that, when you added them together, never amounted to the entire person. Nothing I could do would bring either one of them back.
Dad pulled a chair from one of the neatly formed rows and sat so our knees touched. He anchored Grandma Adele’s afghan tighter around my shoulders. From time to time, he smoothed my hair and whispered, “I know. I know.”
The awful thing about it was, he did know. And I wondered how he could stand it.
It was two in the morning when Mrs. Scott found us. She burst into the waiting area and Dad stood. She launched herself at us. Dad looked startled, but he held her hand gingerly, like she was a small child. She bent down and captured me in an embrace then pulled me into a hug, one so ferocious it rivaled the best of Dad’s.
“They told me what happened. They told me what the two of you did.” She loosened her grip enough to touch my cheek. “This isn’t—” Her voice hitched and she glanced at Dad. “This isn’t the ideal way to get reacquainted, is it?” She turned back to me. “Oh, honey, you must have been so scared.”
Yes. And no. Now I was terrified, of the unknown, of what was happening to Landon while I stood here in a beige and blue waiting area, where everything matched and yet nothing was real.
“I’m kind of scared now,” I admitted.
“D-don’t worry,” Mrs. Scott said, but the fresh crop of tears made me do just that. “He’s in intensive care as a precaution,” she added. “I know it’s late, but would you like to see him?”
I glanced at Dad, who nodded, imperceptibly. “Can I?” I asked.
“It’s not routine, family only,” Mrs. Scott said. “Plus he’s sedated. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“Then he’s—”
“Going to be okay.” Here, Mrs. Scott did break down, leaning heavily against Dad. “I’m not sure what would’ve happened without either of you.”
“Yes.” The strange voice made all of us jump. At the waiting room entrance, Mr. Scott stood, bleary eyed and looking like he’d just arrived.
Landon’s mom didn’t run to him, didn’t collapse into him. Instead, she stood straighter, more composed.
“It seems,” Mr. Scott said, “I owe you both a measure of gratitude.”
“It was MacKenna.” Dad put an arm around my shoulder and I was thankful for the support. “She didn’t panic.”
Didn’t I? Already, the events were fading. I remember flinging open the front door so hard, it smashed against the wall, leaning on the doorbell, fumbling with Landon’s seatbelt, all of it laced with panic thick enough to choke on.
“He’s going to be fine,” Mrs. Scott said, more formally now. “He’s scheduled for a new pacemaker tomorrow. He doesn’t need new leads, so he’ll spend a few days in the hospital, with perhaps a checkup at Mayo, and then—”
“And then,” Mr. Scott finished, a strange finality to his words. He led Mrs. Scott from the waiting area, but she tugged against his arm, slowing him down. “I’ll let you know,” she said to me.
Dad walked to the waiting room entrance and stared down the hall after them. When the bell for the elevator dinged, he turned toward me.
“Well, you know what, princess? It could always be worse.”
I choked out something that sounded like a laugh.
Dad glanced around the waiting area, his gaze lighting on me, then the side table, and back to me. “Hot chocolate get cold?”
I touched a finger to the cup. The paper felt clammy. “I think so.”
“Want another? They have vanilla lattes, too.”
“Hot chocolate’s fine.”
This time, I drank, gulping the chocolate before it was cool enough, the heat scalding my throat. Dad sat in that chair he’d pulled up to mine.
“You were so beautiful tonight.” He pushed a few strands of hair from my cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t take any pictures.”
I shook my head as if that would clear prom, pictures, and all the silliness from my mind. “I don’t want to remember tonight.”
“You never know.” Dad stared at something so intently, I almost turned to see what it was. But I knew whatever he saw, it wasn’t in this hospital. “You never know.”
I took his word for it.
“I’ve spent the last few days thinking.” He turned his own cup in his hands, chemical coffee with extra fake cream. “Adele said some things the other week, things I should’ve put together before now.”
I took another scalding sip and waited.
“Seriously, your old man can be pretty dense.” He tapped his head. “I never put it together before now. Camping, swimming, all the things your mom did. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me happy. And I know it made Adele happy. You know she lost Frank before she came to stay with us.”
This was something I did know, although Grandma Adele didn’t talk much about Grandpa Frank either. He died a year before I was born. She moved to Germany, where Dad and my mom were stationed at the time, to take care of me when my mom went back to work.
“The guys in the unit used to give me shit, you know, mother-in-law living with us and all.” Dad shook his head and I saw the start of a smile—a sad one, but still a smile. “But it was great,” he said. “We never worried with Adele around. I think you saved her, once then, and again, when your mom died. I know you saved me.”
I didn’t think my heart could ache any more than it already did. I didn’t think I could stand any more than what I already had tonight. Dad kept talking; I kept listening. Deep down I found the strength because, at last, he was telling me what I’d always wanted to hear.
“So, all those things. It made me happy,” Dad continued. “Your grandmother, too. But I have to ask, princess, did it make you happy?”
That question didn’t have an answer. It wasn’t about being happy.
“I guess it makes sense that you might want to take things a step further.” Here, Dad smoothed a strand of my wayward chignon. “Do you want to be like your mom?”
“I want you to—”
“Oh, princess,” he said, cutting me off. “If you think you have to do this so I’ll love you or respect you—”
I shook my head, unable to explain. Maybe because it was something I’d never explained to myself. This feeling, the idea. It was something that up to now, I’d only touched the edges of.
“I want to be like you.” The moment I spoke the words, I felt the truth in them. “I want to be like you,” I said again, slowly, because Dad looked like he hadn’t understood or even heard me.
“Princess, you don’t want to be like me.”
But I did. I wanted to be just like Dad, Not shot at, or wounded, or—I stole a look at him—haunted. But I wanted his focus, his strength. “I do.”
“No, no, you don’t.” He leaned forward, arms on his thighs, gaze on the patterned carpet. “You really don’t.”
How did I explain, when the idea, or at least the words behind it, was so new. “My mom has a Purple Heart,” I said, feeling out each word carefully. “And you do.”
“Jesus Christ, you don’t want a Purple Heart, trust me on that.”
“I don’t want this gap between us.”
Dad looked at me then, his eyes wide, honestly surprised. “There’s no gap.”
“Really? Between civilian and soldier?” I felt the truth of that, too. It was all there, in my mom’s journal. You made the cut—or you didn’t. You went into Iraq—or you didn’t. And it mattered. It was a one-way road. Dad couldn’t travel back, so that left it up to me to travel forward.
“You’re my daughter. There’s no gap there. You understand me, all of it, better than anyone I know”
“But I’m still a civilian.”
Dad let his head rest in his hands. For a long time, he didn’t say anything and I thought the gap would remain. But at last, he lifted his head.
“Let’s suppose there is one,” he said. “This gap you’re talking about.”
“Okay, I’m supposing.”
“There’s a term about going to war, about battle. I think it originated around the time of the Civil War. It’s called seeing the elephant, because either you have, or you haven’t.”
“Oh,” I said, in a near whisper. “So there really is a gap.”
At that, Dad actually chuckled. “Smart ass.” He rubbed his temples, ran a hand through his hair. Under the fluorescent lights, he looked older, the lines around his eyes deeper, carved, permanent. He stared at me straight on, making absolutely sure I wouldn’t miss a word.
“Tonight,” he began, “with Landon. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve seen the elephant. You’ve seen it and come out on the other side. Maybe you don’t look at it that way, but I do. You saved a life, and that’s a hell of a lot better than taking one.”
I couldn’t answer him. I wanted to. But my eyes were so dry they hurt, and my throat felt clogged—with tears I couldn’t spill and words I couldn’t say.
He slipped the empty cup from my hands. “More chocolate?”
I nodded, not sure I wanted another drink, except they were hot and that took the edge off the void inside me. Except it gave him an excuse to leave for a few minutes. I needed the time alone, to close my eyes, to find my breath. The tears gathering in my throat now threatened to spill out. I needed a few minutes alone, to cry one more time. Something told me Dad did, too.
Before he cleared the door, I found my voice. “You saved a life.”
For the barest second, he hesitated. And I knew: he had heard me.
At four in the morning, Mrs. Scott returned.
Dad stayed close while we walked down the hall and rode the elevator to intensive care. My heart pounded furiously, like I’d been swimming hard. I had that breathless feeling that comes from underwater laps. Inside the intensive care unit, everything was hushed and sorrowful.
The nurse on duty let me peek through the observation window at Landon. He looked vulnerable and pale, and so much younger, more like the boy I remembered. But his hands were strong, unchanged, and I remembered how his fingers had felt laced with mine. And I told myself he was going to be okay.