We had been out on the balcony longer than I realized. As we made our way back into the main room, Mandy ran up to us.
"The speech is about to start, and we saved you a seat at our table! Where were you?"
I opened my mouth to stutter a response, but Mandy had already rushed off, signaling for us to follow.
I had dropped Greyson's hand abruptly when Mandy approached us, and Greyson didn't seem fazed. But I slid my hand around his upper arm as we weaved between tables, muttering "Excuse me" as we slipped among the crowd.
Jim and Mandy were seated, as were the Jams and another elderly couple I vaguely recognized. It clicked that she was one of the nurses I saw when I would go back into the hospital for check-ups, or when I got piercing headaches that thankfully had stayed away this summer. She gave me a warm smile, which I returned.
Just as Greyson and I sat down, an older gentleman walked up the stage steps to the microphone, tapping it twice like everyone has to do before speaking into a mic, then said, "Ladies and gentleman, we're so glad you are here. Thank you for spending an evening with us and letting us share our thankfulness, and I want to personally—as director of the Hope Children's Hospital—express my gratitude. We are indebted to you, and your donations have changed many lives."
On and on the director went, saying how grateful he was and how much their donations were blessing so many children and how they couldn't be happier to be able to show the donors how grateful they were. It was a plea for more donations, I knew that—but at least this was a for a good cause.
After a while, he finally paused, taking a deep breath. "And now, one of our donors has agreed to speak about how HCH has impacted his family's life—most importantly, his daughter's. Please join me in welcoming Carl Lawson."
A round of applause rang about the room, and I craned my neck and saw movement from the corner table closest to the stage. I recognized my dad standing up, and approaching the steps. My mom was still seated, beaming at my dad as he took to the stage.
My dad shook the director's hand, then stepped in front of the microphone, letting the applause die down before saying, "Thank you—my wife and I are extremely grateful to be here, not only because we love supporting great causes, but because this specific one has made such a monumental impact on our own life."
He paused, taking a deep breath. "Almost seven years ago, our daughter was involved in an accident. It was horrific day, I remember it too well. It was a hard time for our family. We weren't sure if we would be able to see our daughter wake up, or be able to give her a hug, or watch her continue to grow, or send her off to college—or even see her smile again." He took another moment, and I bit my lip. I wasn't very emotional about it—but usually whenever I retold the story, it was a small thing, mentioned in passing, an accident I had been in. I didn't hear my parent's side of it often. "We spent agonizing hours and nights at HCH. During our time there, the staff and the doctors were incredibly understanding, empathetic, kind, and compassionate. They kept us calm, encouraged us, and ultimately—they were the reason we got to bring my daughter home, and the reason we get to be with her still today, and the reason we get to see her go off to college and pursue her dreams."
I felt tears form in my own eyes as my dad continued talking about what happened and the blessing the hospital has been to us. I smiled at my dad, glancing over to see my mom wiping her eyes with the napkin. This was the first time it really hit me that I was leaving for college—the first time I fully comprehended that I was moving out of the house, away from my parents. We weren't as close as some friends I knew that considered their parents their best friends, but I still loved them both. They always took care of me.
Clay had to come with me up north. I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't there.
My attention was brought back to present as I heard my name.
"My family owes so much to this organization and their staff, and my wife and my daughter, Coraline, thank you. Cory is actually here tonight, and it brings me immense joy to be able to stand here, see her in the crowd, and know that this is what we're investing in—my daughter, and so many others' children."
My dad had pointed in my direction, apparently having picked me out from the crowd. Heads turned and eyes followed, and at the end of his speech they were smiling at me and clapping, many wiping their eyes and some cheers going up.
I felt myself blush like a tomato under everyone's gaze, but I managed a weak smile and breathed a sigh of relief when the director took to the microphone and spoke again, drawing attention back to the stage.
I looked up to smile at my dad once more, but it faltered. He was looking at me, or at least in my direction. He was too far away to see what his eyes were pointed at specifically—it looked like me. But he was...frowning? Surprised? Confused?
I tested all of those emotions in my description of his face, his eyes widening slightly then narrowing, eyebrows furrowed. Every emotion seemed to fit, oddly enough.
Frowning back at him, I raised an eyebrow—but I knew he couldn't see me. I glanced around, but everyone was smiling, nothing seemed off.
I turned to ask Greyson if he knew what was going on, but I found him staring at the floor. His elbows were on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on his shoes.
"Greyson," I whispered, leaning over slightly. He made no reaction. "What's up?"
He glanced up at me, his green eyes full of a emotion, then looked away quickly before I could determine what it was. My frown deepened.
I heard the director thanking my dad and then telling us to eat—I looked back to see my dad exiting the stage. His eyes shot over to me once more, then he sat and leaned toward my mom, talking to her.
My eyes narrowed, then I shook it off and watching instead as waiters brought plates of food out systematically to each table.
The food was delicious—as expected. I made small talk with the nurse, who I remembered her name was Charlotte, and her husband Simon. The Jams were talkative, and controlled most of the conversation. They'd ask questions, and then hardly wait to hear your response before jumping into their own opinion.
Mandy and I exchanged small smiles the next time this happened, and my eyes found Greyson beside me again. He was eating his food silently. Well, actually, more like pushing it around his plate silently.
As they continued to chat at our table, I leaned over, closing the space between us and saying lowly enough that only he could hear, "What's got your panties in a twist?"
He forced out a humorless chuckle. I frowned at him. He didn't respond, just filled his mouth some of the broccolini and pretended to be interested in what Jeanine Jam had to say about the hospital's renovation of their cafe that now included a soft-serve ice cream machine. Sighing, I turned back to my own plate, pushing it out of my mind.
This boy had so many mood swings, I shouldn't be surprised.
Soon plates were emptied, and chatter had grown as drinks had been accumulated. Mandy was more giggly than I'd ever seen her—apparently in the span of three Moscow mules, Mrs. Jam had become the funniest thing to her. Jim chuckled and looked around the table.
"I think it's time we start heading home," Jim said, excusing himself from the table. He helped Mandy to her feet, who leaned heavily on her husband as she waited for him to lead her out the door.
"Greyson, be careful driving—apparently some thunderstorms are supposed to hit this area later tonight so maybe it'd be good to head back soon," Jim advised his nephew.
I raised my eyebrows. Thunderstorms? In this drought? I guess I hadn't checked a weather forecast in a couple of months. There's been no need to, I always knew what the weather was—cloudless and a harsh sun with a UV index of about twenty.
We could use some thunderstorms. It might delay practices, but hopefully they'd stop before the third race this weekend.
Greyson dipped his head slightly, saying soft goodbyes to his aunt and uncle. Then he looked at me. "We should probably get going too."
"Okay, but let me go say hi to my parents real quick," I said. "You should come with. They know nothing about Clay's races and who he's friends or not friends with at the track, so it'll be fine."
"No, I don't think—" I cut off his quick response by grabbing his hand and pulling, weaving him through the crowd to the table by the stage.
"Mom, Dad," I said as we approached them. My dad stood and I gave him a quick hug. I stepped to the side, motioning to Greyson.
"Mom and Dad, this is—"
"Greyson," my dad finished. He was watching Greyson, his brown eyes narrowed. Greyson seemed to be avoiding his eyes. "Greyson—it's been a long time."
I watched in confusion as my dad held his hand out to Greyson, who eyed it for a moment then took it, shaking it solidly.
"Mr. Lawson," Greyson finally spoke, his voice soft. "Mrs. Lawson," he greeted my mom, who stood as well.
She gave him a small smile. "Greyson—it's good to see you."
He tried a smile back but it didn't quite make it. I frowned, looking between them both.
"Um—you know each other?" I asked. I should have known. If Greyson and Clay were as close of friends as the picture in the shop seemed to indicate, my parent's had to have known him.
I realized, for the first time, that I probably would have known him, if I hadn't had my accident.
"You're here for the competition at Raven Heights, I presume?" my dad asked. His voice wasn't harsh—but it was guarded.
"Yes, sir."
"And you're here at the gala because...?"
Greyson started, stumbling over his words slightly. "Oh, uh—my aunt and uncle. Uh, Jim and Mandy McAllister. My Uncle Jim is in the board."
My dad nodded slowly. "Well, we appreciate them. This hospital has done much for us."
My dad said the words weirdly, his hands motionless by the sides of his navy suit jacket. My mom pursed her lips, blond hair falling in front of her face as she also looked between them.
"And..." my dad began, then cleared his throat. "You're, uh, you're father. I trust he's doing well?"
Greyson's jaw visibly tensed. "Yes." The one word answer was cut even shorter by his clipped tone.
"Good," my dad responded, still watching Greyson. He glanced at me. "And you two met at the track this summer?"
Greyson was quick to respond there, nodding almost emphatically. "Yes."
"You didn't ride here together, did you?"
I didn't understand the harsh undertones to my dad's question. Greyson glanced at me, and I looked at him before responding to my dad.
"No, I took the car," I lied. I don't really know why I did. But for some reason, judging by the way my father asked, the atmosphere would get much tenser if I had told the truth.
My dad watched me for a second, then nodded.
"Well, you better start heading home, Cory," my dad said. "I heard some pretty nasty thunderstorms are supposed to roll through here, with heavy rain."
"Yeah, we heard," I muttered, frustrated at what was going on. I wanted to know. Apparently whatever happened between my brother and Greyson was big enough to affect my parents.
If I had my memory from before twelve, maybe I'd remember? Maybe that's why they were ignoring me, because I couldn't remember it?
I knew better than to rack my brain and try to recall even a glimpse of what may have happened between my brother and Clay. I could already feel a migraine threatening.
"I'll see you both at home." I gave my mom a small hug, and my dad a tight and forced smile. Then I turned, walking to the exit of the room. Greyson was trailing me as we sidled between people. We made it to the doorway, and I looked briefly over my shoulder to see my parents still watching me. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the exit with Greyson close behind into the cool summer night.
Greyson and I walked side by side toward his truck. He was still silent and avoiding my eyes. When we reached his car, he pulled open my door without a word.
Silence suffocated the entire vehicle until we reached the highway.
"What happened between you and Clay?" My question was more of a demand, and it abruptly cut through the quiet. "I know you used to be friends. I saw a picture in the Shop. What happened?"
The quiet continued.
I was looking over at Greyson, watching as his jaw clenched. But he said nothing. I scoffed, looking forward.
"Why do you do this, Greyson?" I asked, anger overtaking me. "You are rude and say gross things at the track, you do anything to get me or Clay mad. Then we're alone, at tutoring or—or here at the gala, and you're fun and I actually enjoy talking to you and I could maybe see us—maybe see us, I don't know, becoming—" I stopped, exhaling harshly as I felt my cheeks heat. Went too far there. I rushed on. "And then you just switch. Like you did after you took me out on your land after tutoring last week. Like just now, you seemed actually nice and caring this evening and then all of a sudden you shut off. You're, like, trying to draw me in, and then you just shut off and ignore me and treat me as if—I'm not there."
I grit my teeth, shaking my head.
"And you're probably doing this on purpose. Just messing with my head to try to get at Clay. Is it that? Is it just some sick game to you?" I spat out the words and scoffed.
"Cory," Greyson's one word response was quiet and soft, but pleading. And I knew when he said it he wasn't going to answer any of my questions. Instead, he said, "I shouldn't have taken you tonight."
"What?" I asked, glancing over at him. "Are you kidding me? Just because my parent's seemed upset?"
An approaching car's headlights lit up his face, flashing in his green eyes that were taut with tension for a second before he was wrapped in darkness again.
But he didn't respond.
I shook my head. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe it wasn't a good idea."
It probably wasn't. This evening had messed with me too much—had thrown too many emotions into a boiling pot and I was rushing to calm them down. I should have just said no when he showed up at my front door, and driven myself.
I needed to retreat. Go back to knowing nothing other than forcing myself to hate Greyson. This was ridiculous. I couldn't be pulled back and forth like this. It was infuriating.
The rest of the ride home was riddled with frustrated sighing from me, and absolute silence from Greyson.
We finally pulled into my family's driveway. My emotions had been simmering the entire hour long car ride. As we drove up the lane, I cast a quick glance toward the house. I didn't see my parent's car—made sense, as they left after us. I did see Clay's truck though. Looking around the house, I saw the only light that was on was the kitchen. As Greyson slowed to a stop by the porch, I said a quick prayer that Clay was asleep and wouldn't see me climbing out of Greyson's car—no idea how I would explain that one.
Greyson didn't get out. He kept his hands on the wheel, looking forward but his eyes distant.
"So," I stated with an exhale. "Something's going on and no one cares to tell me. And now you're back to—to being Greyson Ryvers, my brother's enemy, again." He made no reaction to my words. I pursed my lips, shaking my head again. Then I pushed open the door of the car harshly, and stepped out.
"Thanks for the ride," I muttered, then slammed his car door shut and walked up to my front door. The car behind me sat idle until I reached the door and stepped inside. When I closed it, Greyson finally drove off. I watched as he left.
Confusion, frustration, anger—a messy ball of emotions inside of me. I felt embarrassed at how... close we had gotten tonight. If you could even call it that. Even more so now that I realized he was back to pretending I was just another object for him to chase.
The way he just shut off—he'd done that before. But this time seemed more abrupt, and he just totally shut down. Something about seeing my parents. Also when they asked about his dad. My dad asking if I drove by myself—were they really that cautious about me spending time with Greyson Ryvers? Did something happen with his dad and my parents? Or his dad and Clay?
A sharp pang hit my forehead, and I grimaced, pressing a hand to my temple.
I felt like I was trying to put a puzzle together but all the pieces were upside down, and I only had a quarter of the pieces.
Another pang. I listened to my head and sighed, trying to let the emotions drain out of me as I turned, heading toward the stairs and willing myself to leave this night behind me.