My Butterfly

around to the side of the bar and threw my back up against its wood paneling. I felt weak, as if I might pass out. Then, without a second thought, I felt my body slide down the wood until all my weight was on the back of my heels. I tried to think of something—just to make sure I was still conscious. The first thought that came to me was of Julia marrying that guy, and it sent my heart into another race.
    I covered my face in my hands and took a deep breath. Then, eventually, I let both hands slide down past my eyes and my nose until just my fingertips were pressed up against my lips. And I just sat there and thought about her, about us, about an ending I wasn’t ready for yet.
    Then, after a minute, I finally felt okay to stand again. I forced myself to my feet and then sauntered over to Lou. I pulled open the door and slid behind the wheel. Then, for several moments again, I stared into the darkness on the other side of my windshield, until eventually, I closed the door and searched in my jeans pocket for my keys. I recovered them seconds later, then shoved one into the ignition and purred the engine to a start. Then, I forced my fingers tightly around the steering wheel as I peered into my rearview mirror and then froze.
    There was a ball staring back at me. I thought for a moment, then spun around and scooped it up and started searching in the glove box for something to write with.
    Before I knew it, I was hovering over Rachel’s car and allowing the moments to pass by as I stared at Jules’s name and her old volleyball number with the help of the porch light from the bar. And suddenly, we were sixteen and sitting around a bonfire, and her soft words were touching my ears for the first time: You get the ball down for me someday, and we’ll call it even.
    I smiled, then took the black, permanent marker that I had found in the glove box and wrote an inscription on the volleyball. Then, I balanced the ball on the hood of the car, against the windshield, and stepped back. Now, on the volleyball was her name, her number and the words: Now we’re even .
    I tried to smile again, knowing she’d remember and that it might make her smile too, but my lips refused. This wasn’t the way I thought I would feel when I finally returned her ball. Instead of a new beginning, it felt more like letting go. There were so many years wound up in that ball—so many I love yous and smiles and laughter and tears and goodbyes . And there was so much I never said.
    I sucked in a deep breath of cool air and then slowly let it pass over my lips.
    “So much I never said,” I whispered to myself before I turned and made my way back to Lou.

Chapter Thirty-Six
    Ticket
     
     
    I t was five o’clock in the morning. I was staring into a laptop’s screen; my hand was on the touchpad; my finger was hovering over its little, right button; and an arrow on the screen pointed to a box that read: confirm . I had been in the same position for forty-five minutes straight.
    I sucked in a deep breath and then forced it out. I didn’t know if it were my watch’s incessant ticking that was driving me mad or the fact that I hadn’t pushed the button yet.
    I knew I couldn’t let her marry him. Maybe she loved him. The thought made me swallow hard. But what if there were still a part of her that loved me too? I couldn’t rely on my plan now. I would never be able to live with myself if it didn’t work out and she married him without me taking the chance that I might very well lose her twice. I needed to talk to her. I needed to tell her everything I never told her in all the years that we had been apart.
    I quickly pushed another breath of air past my lips, and without a second thought, I forced my finger down. And suddenly, the word confirm lit up on the screen.
    The flight was in a week and a half. I glanced at my watch. It was five after five. I looked toward the back of the bus. Daniel was sprawled out. His legs were stretched the length of a seat, and he was knocked out with his mouth open. I was surprised he wasn’t drooling yet.
    I closed down the computer and set it onto the floor underneath me. Then, I readjusted my pillow, shifting it so that it rested up against the side of the bus. We were opening for Ren Lake in Memphis the next day and driving through the night to get there.
    I lay on my back and stretched out my legs. The seat wasn’t long enough, and part of my legs and my feet hung off, but it worked. The little bed