I propped myself up on my elbows, worried now. “I don’t hate you. What happened?”
He couldn’t look at me. He stared hard at the ceiling like it wasn’t just an empty white expanse. Like it might actually be telling him something. Judging him. Finally, he spit out, “I was the one who broke your guitar. I’m sorry.”
I sighed and let myself fall back again.
“You hate me now.”
“No, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I’m tired. I’ve just had a long day.”
“You’re not mad?”
I was mad and sad and frustrated and feeling very guilty for having blamed Jonah all this time for something he hadn’t done.
“We need to apologize to Jonah, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“Together?” I held up my hand and Wyatt put his against it. His fingers were nearly as long as mine. When had that happened? “How did you break it, anyway?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. The story might only ignite the anger that I didn’t have the energy for right now.
“I fell on it.”
“What? Why was it out of the case?”
Wyatt looked embarrassed. “I wanted to learn how to play … like you.”
I smiled and tousled his hair. “Who taught you the flattery rule?”
“Dad.”
I grabbed him by the arm and helped him off my bed. “Come on. Before you learn how to play, you need to listen to all the music in the world.”
“All of it? That’s a lot.”
“Well, you need to figure out what you like best. First, let’s go talk to Jonah and then I’ll give you a few tracks to start with.”
Wyatt’s foot connected with the keys on the carpet and they flew into the wall with a clunk. He picked them up and held them out for me. “Why do you have Isabel’s car?”
“I had to do something important.”
“Oh. Do you need to go do it?”
I pocketed the keys. “Later. This is important, too.”
I was in the car again. Wyatt and I had apologized to Jonah. I’d found a few perfect songs for Wyatt. And I’d written Cade a letter. It was all I could think of to do. Now I was going to drop the letter off at his house.
It was a letter that talked about how sorry I was and how all these years I’d misjudged him. How I understood why he’d acted like he had at his birthday party—he’d been waiting for his dad to call and was hurt when he hadn’t. I understood why he tried to help other people when he thought they were hurting by diverting attention, by making people laugh, because that’s how he dealt with his problems. I ended the letter by telling him that I wasn’t going to walk away from him. He couldn’t get rid of me this easily.
I gripped the steering wheel, the letter sitting on the passenger seat, waiting to be read. I wished Cade were sitting in the passenger seat instead.
I was halfway to his house when I realized there was one place I hadn’t looked. The one and only place he had ever taken me—the hotel with the golf course.
I crossed three lanes of traffic to make a U-turn, eliciting a long honk from a black Suburban. I waved but didn’t make eye contact.
Cade was going to be there. He had to be.
I got to the hotel, parked, and followed the path he had led me on that night. I got turned around a few times, but eventually I found the gate. The one he had climbed. It was locked, like it had been that night. The moon was bright tonight and lit the path beyond the gate better than it had when we had been here.
I leaned against the gate and pulled out my phone again.
Are you at the hotel? I texted. If you are, I’m here and in 5 minutes I’m going to climb this gate even though I’ll totally get caught … and I’m not sure I can actually climb a gate. And I’m wearing a skirt. Please don’t make me climb this gate.
I stood on my tiptoes and tried to see even a glimpse of the patio where we had sat. I could only see some colorful tips of a potted plant. I tugged on the bars. The gate wasn’t going to open. The top was flat, without pointy spikes like I’d seen on many gates. The kind of points that could impale a person. This was a good thing. But the bars that led up to the top had no horizontal connections. How had Cade climbed it that night?
“I can do this,” I muttered. “After all, I’m the world’s greatest runner now; this should be easy.” I shoved my foot in between a couple of bars to give me my first boost up.
“Are you talking to yourself?”
Relief poured through me as I heard his voice on the other side of the fence. I not so gracefully unwedged my foot from the bars and peered through them at his familiar face. I wanted to throw my arms around him but the fence separated us.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” he asked, his normal Cade smile bright on his face. “I talk to myself frequently.”
“No. You know why.” I wrapped both hands around the bars, using them for support.
He shook his head. “Don’t be. It was Sasha.” He didn’t sound angry but he also hadn’t moved to let me in.