Chapter Thirty-One

Walker

The envelope is thick. Thick is good, right? I turn it over in my hands and try to determine its weight. It’s heavier than a single sheet of paper—heavier than a rejection letter. Unless, of course, it’s a really long hell-no-we-don’t-want-you-Walker-O’Halloran-and-here-are-the-reasons-why rejection letter. Yeah, that would suck.

“Siri, call Mason,” I command my phone. A few moments later it goes right to voice mail.

“Hi, you’ve reached Mason… I’m out busting rocks so just leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

“You’ve really got to change that greeting,” I say. “Anyway, I got your message about running up to Duluth. I thought you might be back by now and I just wanted to tell you about something. So, call me when you get this…”

I can’t sit here on the couch all day waiting for him to charge his stupid phone, so I decide to go downstairs to the pub. And good thing, too, because they seem to be slammed with an early lunch crowd.

“What’s going on?” I ask Jameson as she rushes past me toward the kitchen.

“There’s a rumor going around that Taylor Swift’s cats are going to make a surprise appearance at the Knitty Kitty and we’ve been overrun with Swifties ever since.”

“Olivia Benson and Meredith Grey? Where’d they hear that?”

“Twitter. Apparently, Taylor said something about wanting to go check out the Knitty Kitty’s new spring line.”

I roll my eyes. I love Julie Freddino, but her business causes more drama than one of Lydia Larkin’s movies.

“What can I do to help?”

“Oh, Walker! Thank God!” Henny says, her wild, dirty-blond hair barely contained by one of the scrunchie things. Her cheeks are rosy from rushing around.

“Would you please take over for me at the bar? Then I can jump onto the floor and start running food.”

“Yeah, sure,” I agree, throwing on an apron and tossing my unopened future onto the back counter.

It’s a solid two hours before we’ve cleared the pub, and only then because there was a Taylor Swift sighting down the street at the custard shop.

“Holy cow!” James exclaims as she drops into a chair. “That was something else! I wish Taylor would give us a little warning next time. Walker, I can’t thank you enough for stepping in.”

“Happy to,” I say.

Both of my sisters look at me, then at each other.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Henny starts. “Nothing really. It’s just… It’s really nice to see you in such a good place. I think Mason has done wonders for your disposition.”

I want to snarl at her, but she’s right. There’s no denying that I’ve been more patient, more understanding and, generally, in a much better mood over the last few months. Being around Mason has made me happy. Very happy.

“Hey, what’s this?” Jameson asks, grabbing the manila envelope from the counter and waving it around. “Admissions office? Is this… Do you think this is your response?”

“I do,” I tell her. “I was going to wait to open it with Mason but I have a feeling his stupid phone is dead. Again.”

“Oh, come on, open it now,” she pleads. “I really want to see what he sent! And I know you do, too.”

“I don’t know—”

“Mason won’t mind, Walker,” Henny jumps in. “Please? We’ve been so excited for you…”

I hold up my hands in a double “halt” gesture.

“All right! All right already! I’ll open it if you two will just shut up! Jeez! Could you be bigger pains in the butt?”

“Well, yeah, actually—” James starts to say.

“Sorry, sorry! My bad. Rhetorical question. Here let me see that thing.”

She passes the envelope my way.

“It’s not thin,” Henny observes.

“I know, right?” I agree. “But it’s not fat either…”

“It’s probably an acceptance letter,” Jameson tells us confidently.

“Unless it’s not,” Henny throws in.

“Oh! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Will you two just stop already?” I plead, unable to keep up a stern tone because I’m chuckling at the same time.

I slip my index finger under the flap and draw it across the sealed envelope. Then I reach inside and pull out the few pages that are stapled together there. My eyes go right to the top of the first page, and then I feel the long, slow expulsion of my breath. There it is in black and white.

“What?” Henny whines. “What does it say already, Walker?”

I clear my suddenly tight throat and realize that I’m on the verge of tears. Seriously? I am so not a crier but ever since I’ve been with Mason, it seems like almost anything sets me off.

“Oh! Oh, Walker, honey, don’t cry!” Jameson says, rushing to me and flinging her arms around my shoulders. “You’ll get in next time. Or, you know what? Forget about the U. I’ll bet you’d do just as well at St. John’s. They’ve got that campus—”

“I got in.”

The three words come out as a whisper. My sister pushes back, her hands on my shoulders so she can get a good look at my now-damp face.

“You…you got in?”

I nod. And smile. And cry.

Jameson looks over her shoulder at Henny. “She got in!”

The next thing I know, the three of us are holding onto one another and jumping up and down, as if we’re at one of those trampoline parks that Jackson likes so much.

“You got in!” Henny crows.

“She got in!” James echoes.

“I got in!” I say over and over and over again, half expecting to wake up in my basement bedroom, covered in sweat and heart racing. But this is no dream. At least, it’s not a nightmare.

“Wait till Mason hears,” Jameson says once we’ve managed to affix our feet to the ground once more.

“Yeah, well, he may never hear if he doesn’t get his stupid phone up and running,” I grumble.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake—just go!” Henny says.

“What? Go where?”

She rolls her eyes as if I’m the dimmest person on the planet.

“Go. Tell. Him,” she clarifies, biting off each word in case I miss one.

“Oh, I don’t want to bug him. He’s prepping for his big exam. We agreed not to talk until tomorrow…”

It’s Jameson who puts a hand on my forearm.

“You want to be with him. So go be with him,” she tells me. “There’s nothing stopping you.”

She’s right. Nothing. Including myself.

With a nod, I grab my keys and my purse, stuffing the letter inside, and head out to the Jeep.

…

Mason lives in a hip little neighborhood not far from the University of Minnesota Iron Range campus. Its price tag and lake views make it more of a spot for tenured profs than poor, starving undergrads. It’s actually a house—a big, sprawling Victorian that’s been split into two flats. He lives on the second floor and his parents rent out the first floor.

It’s past dinnertime and already getting dark when I park the Jeep in the driveway next to his Lexus. I’m halfway up the path to the front door when I hear something. No, someone. Someone’s giggling. My first thought is that it must be the renters, but then I recall that the lower apartment is empty at the moment.

I alter my trajectory and take the side path around the house to the backyard. More laughter and some conversation that I can’t quite make out. Is that his mother? Couldn’t be. Her voice is a good bit lower. Besides, I think she’s off shooting a film somewhere. South Africa, maybe? Bali? It’s hard to keep track of that woman’s comings and goings.

As I round the side of the house, I realize that the sound is coming from the back balcony. It runs the length of the house and is divided so that a portion of it is accessed from the master bedroom and the rest is off the living room. Mason likes to serve me breakfast out here, sometimes a glass of wine on the nights that I stay over.

I stop and look up, moving back a few feet so I can get a better look. Someone is walking in and out of the doorway. The one connected to Mason’s bedroom. And, even though this person is wearing one of Mason’s favorite T-shirts—and nothing else—this is definitely not Mason.

“Oh, come on! Why can’t we sit outside and have one drink? Just one little drink?” she pleads, flipping the hem of the shirt up and down just enough to see the thong she has on underneath.

“Cassandra, I’m not kidding around. Get back inside before someone sees you!” Mason hisses from inside. “God only knows who’s lurking out there, waiting to get a glimpse of us together! Trust me, you do not want them to get any pictures…”

“Oh, come on, Maaaaacy,” the leggy blond woman drawls, not unlike the way my niece Maggie does when she wants something. “What do you care who sees us?”

“Now, Cassandra!” he says more sternly, stepping out onto the deck, putting both of his hands on her arms and steering her back inside.

“My, my! Someone’s impatient,” she coos. “I guess you really have missed me, you naughty boy!”

I don’t wait for his reply because I’ve heard enough. No, I’ve heard too much, actually. But I don’t say a word. I just slip back around to the front of the house, get in the Jeep, and get the hell out of there as quickly as I can.

My vision is blurred with tears as I drive, cursing myself and my stupidity. How could I have let things go so far? Why had I trusted him when I know better? Because I wanted to believe, that’s why. I wanted to pretend, even if for just a little while, that I could have that kind of a life, too. That kind of a love. But I can’t. And this little stunt has served no other purpose than to prove that I’m a fool. And that Mason’s mother was right. I’m not cut out for this kind of life.

But Cassandra is.

I turn up the radio, in hopes that screeching guitars will drown out the voices in my head. It helps, but not enough. The windows go down next, filling the Jeep with a vortex that whips around my head, pushing my hair in every direction and picking up any little paper debris that’s been abandoned to the back seat and hatch.

Yes, the cold air. The loud noise. I breathe in. I breathe out. And I drive.