He leans closer, his pleading eyes locking with mine. “I know. And I’m sorry, Ruby. I swear. I didn’t want you being angry with me to get in the way of something you needed. The past few months, seeing you healthy and strong, but still with no light in your eyes, no sign that you were ever going to be the person you were before . . .” He scrubs a hand restlessly over his jaw, over and over. “It became pretty clear that Claire was right. You needed that list. And my gut said you wouldn’t be brave enough to do it without me.”
Teeth digging into my bottom lip, I rise and cross to the balcony railing. Below our suite, kids chase fireflies in the grass as their parents spread out picnic blankets on the lawn in front of a huge screen set up on the far side of the hotel grounds.
A movie
night. It’s charming.
Claire would have insisted we go down and join in. She’d have filled her water bottle with Chardonnay from the mini fridge. I’d have grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, and we’d have snuggled up on the grass under the stars and whispered and giggled our way through the entire movie.
That’s who Claire was.
She was the leader.
I was the follower. A happy follower, but a follower, nonetheless. If I’d been here alone for some reason, I would have stayed in my room.
I would have been worried about being the only solo adult. Been more concerned about curious glances or pitying looks than enjoying myself.
Than doing what I wanted to do.
Or at least, I would have before the list.
Things are different now. I’m different.
I’d smuggle Chardonnay and watch a flick under the stars.
I’d do it alone.
I’d do it because of the list.
Because it did everything it was supposed to do—it brought me back, better than I was before.
The list made me possible.
The me I didn’t know I wanted to be. But the me I . . .
The me I love.
I turn back to Jesse, still hunched in his chair. “You’re probably right,” I say softly. “But that wasn’t your call to make, Jesse. None of it was. It was Claire’s call. And mine.”
He stands but doesn’t move any closer. The sorrow in his eyes, the resignation in the set of his jaw—they say he’s not going to argue on this count. “You’re right. I was just trying to do what was best for you.”
I huff. “But that’s not your job. I’m not a child. I don’t need or want other people making decisions for me.”
Jesse’s brows pinch together. “But isn’t that what the list is, in a way? Claire telling you what to do? What you need to be happy?”
I shake my head. The list has given me whiplash at times, but in a surprisingly good way. “No. She presented me with an opportunity. What I did with that opportunity was up to me. Or it should have been.” I take a beat, letting my thoughts take shape fully. “I understand that you were trying to be protective and kind, but . . .” I swallow. “Do you know how often I’ve wondered what was going through her head after the crash? Wondered what she was thinking when I was lying there unconscious and she was awake and not sure if I was going to make it?” My voice falters, tripping over itself.
“I told you, she couldn’t stop talking about you,” he says, just as wobbly. “She—”
“It’s not the same,” I cut in. “It’s just . . . not. You’re right—I probably wouldn’t have felt up to tackling that list, not for a long time, but having it with me . . . being able to put it up on my fridge and look at it every day when I went to get cream for my coffee . . . when I went to physical therapy . . . when I was still struggling to get around Brooklyn in a wheelchair. It might have made a difference then. Back when I was empty and lost.” Tears slip down my face.
“I’m so sorry, Ruby.” He starts toward me, but I hold up a hand and he stops mid-step.
“I know you are, and . . . I’m not mad, not really.” I pull in a deeper breath, swiping the tears away, and I square my shoulders. “I’m just sad. And disappointed. And . . .”
And what?
24