I'll Be Here

laughing so hard that tears are steaming down my face.  Laney smiles but she doesn’t join me—she patiently waits for me to pull it together.
    “Sorry,” I say wiping the tears from my face.  They taste like salt. 
     “Don’t be.”  She reaches into her bag and pulls out a compact.  I must look confused because she gestures to her face and says, “For under your eyes.”
    Oh God, I look like a raccoon.  Luckily I’ve got a napkin from my lunch to get rid of the mascara trails. 
    “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Laney starts, and I remember that this is something she says often.  It’s a Laney Putnam signature saying.  A Laney-ism.  Here’s what I’m thinking. 
    “My friend Kara is singing at a club Friday night and she’s pretty amazing.  Sort of a Lily Allen meets Billie Holliday.”  She stops to pick up a piece of paper that’s slipped onto the floor.  “So… what do you think?  Do you want to hang out or not?”
    Since when do Laney Putnam and Willow James hang out again?
    I look away, down to the mascara-smudged napkin in my hands.  It looks a little like one of those ink blots that psychiatrists have you interpret to figure out what your mental state is.  I think my mascara blot looks like a cat yawning so what does that say about me?
    “Sure.”  My voice is slow, deliberate.  “That would be good.  I—I love Lily Allen.”  And now I look her straight in the eye.  “Thank you.”
    Laney shrugs like it’s no big deal.  “No problem.  It will be fun.  I’ll be at your house to pick you up Friday night around eight.”    
    She considers me for a bit longer and then she makes a move to stand but the legs of her chair catch the carpet and she has to lift the chair up to get out of it.  Before she goes, she picks up my pen and writes her number on the inside cover of my spiral Spanish notebook.  “My number’s changed.  Call me if you need me—you know?”
    Yes, I know what she means.
    The bell is less than two minutes away and most of the students who have hidden out in the library during lunch are packing up their things.  I watch Laney pause to check a text on her phone.  A feeling inside of me rises up and finds a voice. 
    “Laney, I’m sorry that I was such a bad friend.”  I blurt it out so fast that when she turns around I have to repeat myself.
She blinks solemnly and releases a breath.  “Nah, Willow, it’s all right.”
    “No.”  I don’t know why I am forcing the issue.  Shouldn’t I just nod my head and be grateful that someone at this school isn’t treating me like a leper? 
    “It’s not all right .  I was a bad friend and I know it.”
    She grimaces.  “Yeah, maybe you were a bad friend but I’m a good friend so I understand and I’ll take you back.  Let’s just begin again.”
    I don’t know what to say to this.  It feels like my heart has exploded in my chest and the blast has turned my insides to mush. 
    Laney doesn’t wait for me to say anything.  She’s back in motion—putting her cell phone in the zipper of her bag and walking to the library exit like nothing has changed even though I’m pretty sure it has. 
    “Have lunch with me tomorrow?”  She asks over her shoulder.
    “Sure.”  My voice wobbles but I smile and it’s a smile that feels real and true on my face. 

 
     
     
    If I could do just one near perfect thing I’d be happy. They’d write it on my grave or when they scattered my ashes. On second thoughts, I’d rather hang around and be there with my best friend if she wants me.
    ~Belle and Sebastian
    “If She Wants Me”

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Things happen for a reason.
    That’s something that my Uncle Danny likes to say.  He claims to have loads of proof on the topic in the form of anecdotes about how his life was transformed by fate.  One of his favorites is about the time when he was flying from Birmingham to Seattle and his plane was rerouted to Topeka, Kansas due to mechanical troubles. 
    Uncle Danny was supposedly really irritated about this because he was on his way to be best man in his college roommate’s wedding and the detour meant that he was going to miss the bachelor party.  When you’re twenty-three years old and the best man in a wedding, a bachelor party is a can’t-miss event. 
    Anyway, he was huffing and puffing and stuck in Topeka for the night and starving to top it off.  The story goes that he ended up at a rinky-dink diner a few miles from