Happenstance 1 by Jamie McGuire
He nodded. "This morning."
"What did they say about you staying home?"
He held open the door for me, and I walked through to the hallway. "It was a little weird. They were confused, and Mom's freaking out about Alder, but they also seemed relieved. I think they were letting me go because I'm eighteen, but they were going to be worried about me the whole time."
"Makes sense."
"They asked me if I wanted to go skiing, but it's their first adults-only vacation since they had me, so they were kind of glad I said no."
I chuckled. His life was so fascinating to me. The way he was so close with his parents, how they understood each other and cared for each other was foreign to me. But mostly I liked that they were sober and could solve their issues without yelling at him.
We went to the main stairs, and Weston flipped on the light. I followed him up the spiral, wooden staircase. There was a polished wooden banister with intricate iron instead of spindles. I loved his house. It was so clean, and decorated with such care that it could have been featured in a home design magazine. Hanging from the clay-colored wall were canvases of Weston and his older sister Whitney, posing together and individually, from grade school to senior year.
When we reached the top of the stairs, Weston walked down another hallway, and then opened the last door on the left, sweeping his arm across his body, signaling for me to come in. The room was still dark, but when I stepped inside, Weston flipped on the light, revealing his bed, a dresser, and a desk. Like the rest of the house, everything had its place. It was all dusted and smelled fresh. The midnight blue comforter was tucked under the pillows, and smoothed out just right. The desk was organized and dusted, and his brand new computer was off.
Above the desk was the charcoal he'd drawn of me. Its frame was black and looked like rope. It didn't really go with the brown-stained wooden frame of his bed, or anything else in his room.
"What do you think?"
I realized then that my mouth was open and I snapped it shut.
His eyebrows pulled together. "I went to Hobby Lobby in Ponca to get it framed. It wasn't the frame I wanted, but they would have had to order the other one, and I wanted to show it to you today. I couldn't wait."
"Are you really going to fail Art?"
He shrugged. "Who cares? What do you think?"
"The Art Institute of Dallas might take issue with you failing Art."
His shoulders fell. "I'm not going to Dallas, Erin."
"Why not?"
"I tried to tell my parents, but I can't look them in the eye and say it to them."
"Do you want to go?"
He held out his hands then let them fall back to his thighs with a slap. "Yeah."
"Then you're going. We're going to figure out a way to get you there, even if I have to hold your hand when you tell them. They love you, Weston, and above all, they want you to be happy, right?"
He nodded slowly. "But . . ."
"No buts. We're going to get you there."
He watched me for a moment. "Do you like the frame?"
"I love the frame. I love the picture. I still don't understand why you decided to make me your final project." My last words hung in the air. "Is that what I am? A project?"
He seemed disappointed by my question. "I didn't know what I was going to do. I just started drawing. After a week I realized that she," he said, pointing to the drawing, "was you. As I put more time into making her perfect, I understood why it happened." He took a few steps toward me, until he was so close I had to look up to see his eyes. "When you think about something enough, you start dreaming about it. And when you dream about something enough, you just have to hope that it becomes a reality." He sighed. "I think about you all the time, Erin. I've wanted to talk to you for years, but I was just so damn nervous. I didn't know what to say or how you'd react if I did. I was afraid you would think I was just trying to help Alder pick on you. I know that I have shitty timing, because we're both getting ready to move in different directions, but I've gotten really good at loving you from a distance."
I'd worked so hard not to let anyone see me cry that I felt a moment of panic when my eyes watered and the first tear fell. I quickly wiped it away.
Weston put his thumbs on each side of my face and leaned down, pausing just before he whispered, "Can I kiss you?"
I nodded slowly, feeling every nerve in my body perk up and wait to experience what was about to happen.
Weston leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to mine. They were so soft and warm. His lips parted, so I did the same. I'd seen kissing on television enough to know how this worked, so I just tried to keep my lips soft and moved with him. His tongue slipped into my mouth and danced with mine. He tasted like Cherry Dip Cone and toothpaste, which was oddly fantastic. His hands slid down from my jaw to my neck, and then to my shoulders. His fingers pressed into my skin as he pulled me gently closer.
Just when I thought I was going to pass out from holding my breath, I heard Weston breathe slightly through his nose, and I did the same. I was completely clueless, so I just kept taking cues from him.
He pulled away, and I nearly fell forward because I wasn't ready to stop yet.
"Whoa," he said, staring at me.
"What? Was it awful?"
He shook his head. "No. Not at all. But we'd better stop." He sat on the bed and took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his head. He stared at the floor. "Just . . . give me a minute."
I walked over to him and crashed against his chest. His back slammed against the bed, and I put my mouth on his. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to him, making a low humming noise as our tongues found their way to each other again. We grabbed at each other, barely coming up for air, and at one point or another over the next hour, we occupied every inch of his queen-sized bed.
Finally, Weston let his head fall back to his pillow, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around me. I was halfway on top of him, lying on my side, my leg draped over one of his. "I'm going to be hurting in the morning already. We have to stop."
"Why will you be hurting?"
He paused, clearly trying to search for gentle words to explain. "I feel like an ass explaining. It'll make it sound like I'm trying to guilt trip you into . . . you know. And it was never my intention for you to experience your first kiss and lose your virginity in the same night."
"Are we talking about blue balls?"
He choked then busted out into loud laughter. Once he caught his breath, he pulled my fingers up to his mouth and kissed them. "Yes."
"I'm not completely clueless. I am aware of most things, even if I haven't experienced them for myself."
"Something you might not be aware of is that I'm not cheating on Alder. I broke up with her today."
"I know."
He readjusted his head on the pillow to look straight at me. "How?"
"She came by the DQ today. She was pretty upset."
"Was she mean to you?" he said. His jaws worked under the skin as he waited for me to answer.
"She's always mean to me. But she said when she gets back that it's going to get significantly worse."
Weston looked away, and then back at me. "I won't let them hurt you anymore, Erin. Don't be afraid of them."
"I'm not."
He frowned. "It's just six weeks. We can get through it."
I kissed him, this time it was brief and sweet. Just a peck, then I nodded. "You're the one I'm worried about. You're not used to it."
"I'm happier than I've been in a long time. They might give us shit during school, but they can't touch what we've got."
I rested my head on his chest and listened to his heart beating. It slowed more with each passing minute, and then his breathing became deep and even. I glanced up, seeing that his eyes were closed. His hand was resting comfortably on my back. I laid my head back down, nestling against his side and snuggling into his neck. He pulled me closer to him, and that is when I fell asleep.
At first, the chirping didn't register, but when Weston tried to carefully maneuver out from under me, I woke up.
"Sorry," he whispered. "It's four in the morning. Go back to sleep."
"What's going on?" I asked, wiping my eyes.
"I don't know. Someone is blowing up my phone." Right when he reached for his cell and unplugged it from the charger, it rang. "Shit, it's my Mom. Hello?"
I could hear Veronica on the other end, her voice high-pitched and desperate.
"No. Calm down, Mom. No, I told you. I'm in Blackwell. I stayed here, remember? Mom. Stop crying. What's going on?"
The voice switched to a deep tone, and I could tell it was Peter, Weston's father. Weston wiped his face, his eyes were wide.
"Holy shit. Are you sure? Who told you?" He paused, listening to Peter. "Oh, man. Both of them? I don't . . . Jesus. No, don't come back. I'm fine. No, I'm sure. You guys try to have a good time. I'm at home, safe in my bed. Okay. Love you, too." He hung up the phone and looked down at me.
"What is it? Are they okay?"
"Yeah, they're fine. It's the Erins. They were on their way to South Padre, and Alder was driving. She fell asleep or something and crossed the median. They hit a semi head on. They're dead."
"They're . . . dead?" I said in disbelief.
Weston wiped his face again and held his hand over his mouth. "They're dead. Sonny and Alder are dead." His eyes were wide, and my mouth hung open. We sat in silence for the longest time.
Weston grabbed his phone and checked his messages. He sighed and shook his head. "The rumors are already starting." He put down the phone. "Should I take you home?"
"Whatever you want to do. If you want to be alone, I can walk home. If you don't, I'll stay here."
He pulled me against him and leaned back against the pillows, but we didn't sleep.
Chapter Nine
The funerals were held together the following Saturday. I didn't go, because it didn't feel right, but Weston stopped by the Dairy Queen afterward to fill me in. He told me Sonny's parents and Sam and Julianne seemed to be holding up well and leaned on each other for support. He talked about what the funeral looked like, who ran the service, what songs they played and who was there. But he seemed lost.
"Why don't you go?" Frankie said. "He needs you today."
"I . . ." I looked to Weston. "Do you want me to take off?"
He looked pitiful. "Please?"
I pulled off my apron and tossed it on the counter. "Thanks, Frankie."
She winked at me, but her expression was sad.
I pushed through the back door, and went immediately into Weston's arms. He held me tight, burying his head in my neck. I held him for a long time, but when I pulled away, he hung on, so I kept my arms around him, squeezing tighter.
Once his arms relaxed, he handed me his keys. "Would you drive?"
I froze. "I've only driven the Driver's Ed car, and that was over two years ago."
"You can do it," he said. He opened the door and helped me into the driver's seat; then he jogged around and climbed in next to me.
I nervously turned the key in the ignition, adjusted the seat and mirrors, all while trying to recall everything I learned about driving. I pressed on the brake and then pulled the gear into drive, pulling forward. I paused at Main Street before driving out of the parking lot. "Where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere. Just drive." He reached over and took my hand into his. As I turned right and headed out of town, Weston rested his head against the seat. "Everyone was apologizing to me today. It felt so weird, because I don't feel like I lost anything. I should feel different. Is it weird that I don't?"
"I don't know how to feel either. I try not to think about it."
"Maybe it's not acceptable, or maybe others wouldn't understand." He turned to look at me. "But we get it. We can talk about it to each other."
I waited for him to expand on that thought. The Erins couldn't make good on Alder's promise to make me miserable, now, and that was a good thing. But I didn't want to be the first one to say something so appalling out loud.
He looked up. "I'm sorry they were hurt. I'm sorry they lost their lives, but I feel sort of . . . relieved. It feels like such an asshole thing to say, but it's the truth. Don't you feel the same?"
"I'm not glad they're dead." I took a deep breath. "But it's a relief to know they can't torture me anymore."
Weston squeezed my hand, and after that. We didn't talk much. I drove until the gas light lit up on the dash. By then we were an hour south, in Stillwater. Weston directed me to the nearest gas station and showed me how to pump the gas.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"A little."
"Okay, I'll grab some chips and a pizza pocket or something. Mountain Dew?"
I nodded. "Thank you."
He hung the nozzle on the pump, and then ran into the station. I stood there, not sure which door to get in. When Weston returned, he watched me, puzzled.
"What are you doing, babe?"
My purpose, where I was, and even my own name were lost on me, because of what had just come out of his mouth. I'd heard other couples call each other sweet terms of endearment, and I heard mothers say such things to their children, but no one had called me anything but my name, and a few colorful slurs. I'd always imagined what it would feel like, to hear someone who loved me call me something simple and sweet, and it just came out of Weston Gates's mouth.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
"Do you want me to drive?" he asked. When I didn't respond, he took another step toward me. "Are you okay?"
I took a few quick strides and jumped on him, wrapping my legs around his middle and my arms around his neck, kissing him hard.
He kissed me back. The sacks he was holding crackled as he hurried to wrap his arms around me.
When I pulled away, he smiled. "What was that for?"
"I don't know. I just needed to."
"You should follow your gut more often," he said, kissing me again.
He asked me to drive, and five hours after I left work, I pulled into Gina's driveway. There were two police cars and another car, dark blue with the Oklahoma Department of Human Services logo on the driver and passenger doors.
"Oh my God," I said. I turned to Weston. "I don't know what this is about, but you have to go."
He shook his head. "No way. We're getting through everything together now, remember?"
Hot tears burned my eyes. "I appreciate that. I really do, but this is humiliating. I don't want you to hear whatever they have to say."
"What are they going to say?"
"I don't know, but I don't want you to hear it."
Weston hesitated, and then grabbed my hand gently. "Does she hit you?" I shook my head, and Weston sighed with relief. "When are you going to learn that I don't judge you, Erin? I love everything about you. I always have." When I didn't respond, he squeezed my hand. "Let me come with you. Please?"
I nodded and turned off the engine. We both walked to my house, hand in hand. When we walked in, Gina was sitting on the couch, her expression blank. Two police officers were standing to the side, and a woman from DHS was sitting next to her. She smiled at me.
"Hi, Erin. My name is Kay Rains. I'm from the Department of Human Services. We've come because of certain circumstances regarding the death of Erin Alderman."
"Okay . . ." I said, completely confused. Did they think her death had something to do with me?
She smiled, noticing my nervousness. "It's okay, Erin. You're not in any trouble."
"What's with the cops, then?" Weston asked. His hand was still firmly holding mine.
Kay nodded. "We didn't mean to frighten you. It's just procedure. We need you to come to the hospital with us. There is some confusion."
I frowned. "With the Erins? What does that have to do with me?"
Kay stood. "An autopsy was requested for Erin Alderman. The results were returned last night, and the parents have
"A blood sample? You still haven't said what this has to do with Erin," Weston said.
Kay sighed. "The results have shown that Erin Alderman is not the biological child of Sam and Julianne Alderman. Erin Masterson's results are normal. You're the only female baby that was born at Blackwell Hospital on September fourth. In fact, you're the only baby that was born, besides the girls that passed away, within three days of your birthdays."
"Are you saying that you think Erin Alderman is Gina Easter's daughter, and Erin is . . . Sam and Julianne's?" Weston said. We both gasped when he finished his last word.
Kay touched Gina's knee, even though she wasn't visibly upset. "Unfortunately, that is what we suspect."
Weston and I looked at each other, both of our mouths hanging open.
"I'll . . . uh . . . I'll drive you."
I nodded.
"We'll return her shortly, Ms. Easter."
Gina nodded, and we all left her alone in the living room.
My shoes crunched against the gravel as we walked to Weston's truck. He opened the door and picked me up, sitting me in the passenger seat without effort. He looked straight into my eyes.
"Is this for real?" he asked.
I shook my head, unable to speak.
Weston got behind the wheel, and followed the DHS car and the two police cruisers to the hospital. We were escorted to the lab, and then sat in the waiting room. Weston held my hand. I stared at the white tile floor, unable to speak, or even think. My brain felt stuck, as if it wouldn't allow me to even explore the possibility of what all this meant.
"Erin Easter," the tech said. I stood up, and Weston stood up with me.
"Just her, please," Kay said.
I nodded to Weston and he sat.
The tech led me through the door into a small room with cabinets and a counter top. He gathered a long rubber strap and clear tubes on a silver tray next to me. I looked away, letting him stab me with the needle, feeling him move just slightly as he switched out the tubes. He extracted the needle, placed a cotton swab on the puncture site, and taped it down with a hot pink, sticky material that looked like a piece of ace bandage.
I stepped out to find Weston standing in the waiting room, between Kay and the police officers. "What now?" I asked.
Kay offered a sweet, reassuring grin and handed me her card. "And now we wait. If you need anything at all, call my cell phone. It's listed on the card. I'll come by with the results the moment we have them. We put a rush on the order, but they're sending them off, so it will likely be Wednesday."