"Repent, therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out, that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord." – Acts 3:19-20
It seemed fitting that the rain continued to pour down all night and into the following morning. When Cole shut the door of his Volkswagen, straightened up, and turned in the direction of the church, he looked skyward and saw the gloomy clouds overhead as a reflection of his spirits. Blaine and Mr. Anderson, meanwhile, were hurrying under the shelter of a large umbrella, but Cole remained with his head tilted upwards, hands shoved in his pockets, letting the rain patter around him.
Was it strange, Cole asked himself, that he didn't feel any different than last night? Or yesterday? Or last week? He thought going to Taylor's funeral would stir up all sorts of emotions within him, but apparently the opposite had occurred: Cole felt as if his emotions were being sucked dry.
He gave one more languid look at the sky before shuffling after his father and Blaine. When they entered the yawning archway of the old church, a cool blast of air swept Cole's curls to one side of his face, and he involuntarily shivered. Who turned on A/C when it was raining outside, anyways?
Once his eyes were adjusted to the gloomy darkness, Cole saw that nearly every seat in the small interior of the church was filled. He recognized quite a few classmates from school, though some of Taylor's closest friends—and Cole's old acquaintances—were missing.
The few windows positioned near the top of the church were stained glass, and therefore did not let in much light. The flickering bulbs that illuminated the rest of the room were faint, resembling small candles. All in all, Cole thought dryly, it was the perfect atmosphere for a funeral.
He took a seat next to his father, a little annoyed that Mr. Anderson had sat down the far end of the very first pew. Weren't the first few rows reserved for immediate family?
He turned around slightly to survey the crowd. No; the gang was sitting right behind him, and their classmates were just a few rows beyond. Apparently any immediate family that had come was scarce or scattered throughout the room.
Cole felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Jake, and he murmured something that sounded like a mixture between a hello and an apology. But the arrival of the pastor in front of the pulpit cut his words short. Cole was glad; he wasn't really in the talking mood. Plus, he could almost feel the stares from Alana, Maya, and Koa boring into the back of his neck from where they were sitting behind him.
The first drop of emotion flooded his senses. What am I even doing here? he thought. He suddenly wished he could get away. The events of the past few weeks trickled towards the forefront of his mind, reminding him of his colossal failure, mocking him for his cowardliness. He swallowed. Now was not the time to get emotional. He was here because he felt obligated, not because he felt any special ties to Taylor.
But as the pastor began speaking, causing the minutes to slowly tick by, Cole felt his walls coming down one by one. He tried desperately to tune out the brief and unemotional story of Taylor's life—how "treasured" she was by her parents, how "adored" she was by her schoolmates, how "talented" she was in anything she set her mind to. It sickened him. By the stifled yawns and restless shifting from the seats around him, he figured the rest of the audience was weary of the monotonous monologue too.
As usual, the pastor concluded with a touching image of the mercy of God and the hope of eternal life in an attempt to breathe fresh life into the congregation. "Brothers," he said in his deep, commanding tone, "we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope."
Cole glanced over at the opposite end of the pew and saw Mr. and Mrs. Rosalind struggling to hold back tears. Mrs. Rosalind shuddered, sobbed, and pressed a wet handkerchief to her nose.
"We believe that Jesus died and rose again," the pastor continued, "and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus who have fallen asleep in him. As Jesus said, 'I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?'"
Mrs. Rosalind let out a rather unattractive combination of a snort and a sob, drawing many heads to stare at her. Cole, however, felt only mounting wretchedness. He wished the pastor would stop talking instead of crushing his emotions with every single word.
"As we look back on the life of Taylor Rosalind, a life that was tragically cut short," the pastor concluded, "let us remember that this light and momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen, but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."
There was a pregnant silence after he left the podium. To Cole's ears, it seemed as if the last triumphant chords of his words still reverberated throughout the sanctuary. A few moments later, when Mr. Rosalind reluctantly made his way to the stage to say a few words, Cole inadvertently tuned him out completely. His thoughts were still focused on those glorious words: "This light and momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory!"
The gloominess of the weather, the despondent atmosphere of the room, and the sniffles and sobs of fellow friends and classmates all around him should have been enough to sink Cole's spirits. But he had already descended that valley: he had entered with aloofness and emerged with sorrow. Now, though he still felt the bitter sing of shame and the crushing weight of his mistakes, they appeared overwhelmingly overshadowed by the hope of glory soon to come.
He lifted his head, overcome with a strange mixture of grief and hopeful expectation, and parted his lips to whisper the first prayer he had uttered in weeks: "Thank you, Lord."
This was followed by a fragmented, sloppy, but sincerely genuine apology that poured straight from Cole's heart. To Blaine, Mr. Anderson, and the others seated around him, it appeared as if the mood of the funeral had finally caught up to Cole. But Cole's tears were not a direct product of Taylor's death—they were a sign of the overflowing relief and repentance bubbling within him. By the time the service was over, Cole's cheeks were still stained with tears, but now illuminated by a shaky smile. The last prayer he murmured before rising from his seat was, "Lord, if Taylor ever thought about you the night she died, I pray that they were thoughts of repentance."
With the depressing part of the funeral over, everyone now stood up and began trickling into the center aisle to make their way to the foyer. A few refreshments were going to be served courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Rosalind. But the grieving couple did not join their friends and relatives right away. Instead, Cole found himself pulled to the side by a large, meaty hand clamped on his shoulder.
He turned to look up into the beady eyes of Mr. Rosalind.
"Um...sir?" he asked uneasily.
"Cole Anderson," he replied stiffly, as if testing out the name on his tongue.
With a slight nod of his head, Cole acknowledged his name.
Mr. Rosalind removed his hand and motioned for Cole to follow him. While the rest of the crowd filed out, glad to find an escape from the dismal interior of the church, Cole found himself stuck between Taylor's middle-aged parents, his heart rate increasing with every second.
So they know, he thought anxiously. They know it was me. They know I was the one who got their daughter pregnant.
The realization nearly brought tears to his eyes. The Rosalinds were only now starting to get over the death of their only child, yet here Cole was, a fresh reminder of the dirty secret kept between himself and Taylor.
He wondered how they had found out. Had Taylor told them? Had they listened in on her phone calls? Had they suspected something—discovered her pregnancy test? Cole's mind whirled through all the different scenarios, none of which were comforting in the least.
Mrs. Rosalind's voice broke through his rampant thoughts. Unlike her balding, pot-bellied husband, Theresa Rosalind was tall, thin, and angular, with a severely pointed nose, sharp cheekbones, and not a strand of hair out of place. The first word that came to Cole's mind was skeletal. Not frighteningly thin, but abnormally thin. In a way, Mrs. Rosalind was a larger version of her daughter, minus the dyed hair and fake tan.
"You're that boy she always talked about," she said vaguely. Her voice carried an icy tone to it, but due to the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks and the sad slump of her shoulders, it contained far less chill than it would have if she were not grieving for the loss of her daughter.
Then the weight of her words hit Cole. "She talks—talked—about me?" he asked, incredulous.
"Not favorably," Mr. Rosalind said, rather apologetically, "but she did mention your name quite often."
"Oh," was all Cole could say.
"Anyway," Mrs. Rosalind added after an awkward silence, "we wanted to give you this."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. Cole carefully lifted it from her palm, being careful not to touch any of her icy fingers, and unfolded it. His hands were clumsy as he attempted not to rip the paper. Once it was opened to its full length, he glanced up into the searching eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Rosalind.
To his surprise, Mrs. Rosalind had covered her mouth with one of her manicured hands, trying in vain to suppress her tears. Her husband, however, gave Cole a watery smile and urged him to read what was written on the paper.
It only took a few seconds, but the words that were penned by Taylor's very own hand gave a thrill of hope that ran up Cole's spine. He looked up from the paper and found that the Rosalinds had moved closer together. Mr. Rosalind had his arm around his wife's shoulders, hugging her against his side. It looked like an awkward position, as if they were unused to such close contact, but Cole was glad that Taylor's death had brought some good out of her parents' situation. From snatches of conversation with Taylor and other gossip from school, he knew the Rosalinds had never been a close-knit, intimate family. Maybe their grief would change things.
Mr. Rosalind suddenly cleared his throat. "The police found that in her car," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "They found it the night of the accident."
"We thought it was better for you to have it," Mrs. Rosalind added.
Cole couldn't find the words to express what he was feeling. Instead, he nodded, clutching the paper to his chest. "Thank you," he finally managed to say. "Thank you so much."
When the couple turned away to have a moment in peace, Cole also turned in the opposite direction to face the foyer. He saw dozens of people milling about, talking and eating, and suddenly felt like joining them.
He strode down the aisle and pushed his way through the intermingling crowd. When his eyes alighted on Blaine and his father, he headed in their direction, a confident gleam in his eye and renewed vigor in his step.
Blaine, noticing the abrupt change in his brother's attitude, raised his eyebrows questioningly. But Cole did not humor his twin's curiosity. Instead, he made a beeline for the gang, who were standing near the main entrance to the church.
"They've been waiting for you," Blaine said.
Cole saw Koa look down at his wristwatch. The others, too, looked restless and bored.
"Why are they waiting for me?" Cole asked. "They can just leave. There's no reason to stay."
Blaine gave him a slight push forward. "They just want to help, man. They want to encourage you." He smiled curiously. "But for some reason it doesn't look like you need the encouragement."
Cole grinned. He smoothed out his shirt, folded up the paper the Rosalinds had given him, and shoved it in his pocket. He was about to head towards the gang when his fingers suddenly brushed against another slip of paper in his pocket. He frowned and pulled out the second slip. When his eyes alighted on the first words of the page, realization dawned on him. It was the paper Taylor had thrown at him during one of their arguments at school.
An idea came to him. With renewed hope pulsing in his veins, he took a deep breath and made a beeline straight for Alana.
Upon hearing his footsteps, she turned around, her mouth falling open in a slight O when she saw beams of confidence almost radiating from his skin. "Cole?" she asked. "What—"
"I have to show you something," he blurted out, shoving the paper into her hand. "Read this."
She gave him a questioning look, but unfolded the paper and read it nonetheless. Cole stared down at the words and reread them himself. They brought back memories of a whirlwind party, a rollercoaster ride of emotions, and one colossal mistake. It was none other than the same note Cole had left for Taylor the day after the fateful party—the party where he had slipped in after driving two hours from San Clemente, the party where he felt crushed and broken after thinking he'd seen Alana and Koa kiss—the party where Taylor had used him and seduced him for the final time.
The note ran thus:
Taylor,
You were right. When you said all this was because of Alana, you were totally right. I know you thought we had a chance after all we've been through, but you blew that chance to bits when you started following me down the coast. I told you to go back, but you never did. Now look where we are. We're more distant than we've ever been before. And I don't think anything will change that. I'm a new person now, Taylor, and I'm not falling for your charm anymore. I'm no longer in control of myself—God is.
Just stay away from me, okay? Unless you want to apologize, I don't want to see you again. I would say this wasn't personal, but then I would be lying.
I'm sorry things couldn't work out between us. I guess we have different interests now, yeah? At least you can date whomever you want now. I'm not interested in being a part of your life anymore, especially not after you got me drunk at your stupid party.
Bye Taylor.
C
When Alana finished reading, she looked up and met Cole's gaze. "When was this?" she asked in a tone that implied she was still quite confused about the whole situation.
"It was the night of Taylor's end-of-summer bash," he explained. "The night I ran away from you all and left you at Trestles. I wrote this note the following morning."
Realization dawned on everyone's faces. The note, however, remained clutched in Alana's hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, Cole, I know this note shows your desire to change your life around, but it also proves that you were at Taylor's house during her party. Is that the night when—you know?"
Cole fought a blush that threatened to blossom across his cheeks. "I thought it was," he said calmly, "but then Taylor's parents showed me this."
He withdrew the second note from his pocket. This one he held up for all the gang to see, making sure to spread out the creases so that every word of Taylor's writing could be intelligible.
"They found this paper in Taylor's car the night of her accident," he explained quietly. "I don't know when she wrote it, but she had it with her when she died."
The gang immediately drew close to read Taylor's note. It said:
Cole,
I've never been one for apologies. But here it is: I'm sorry. I lied to you. I said you were the one who got me pregnant, but in reality, you weren't. We never went that far. You were drunk the night you came to my party, but nothing else happened. I just got this sick, twisted feeling of pleasure when I came up with the idea to frame you. I guess I let my jealousy get the best of me. I still hate you, Cole Anderson—but then again, I've always been drawn to you at the same time.
Anyways—whether I ever get the guts to show you this note (or apologize face-to-face, which will probably never happen), just know that I'm sorry. If I could go back in time, I would do everything all over again. I would
The last words trailed off in an unintelligible scrawl. At the bottom of the page, however, was written one solitary word: Taylor. Like the rest of the text, it was formed in large, loopy handwriting.
Cole felt another wave of emotion surging within him. He was still frustrated—angry, really—over the fact that Taylor had framed him out of spite. But she had mentioned jealousy—jealousy over Alana, most likely. Cole realized Taylor had always loved him. She had always cared for him in her strange, twisted way. Maybe, he thought woefully, she loved me and just didn't know how to show it.
He shifted his stance. His friends' eyes were still roving back and forth, drinking in the words scrawled across the page. He took a deep breath and wondered what would have happened if Taylor had never written the note. Her secret would have died with her, and Cole's name would never have been cleared. Though he wouldn't have to wonder what to do with their child—a thought that made him shudder—he would still have to live with the stain of his shame. Now, though, everyone knew the truth. Cole was immensely relieved, as if the weight of the world had been taken right off his shoulders.
He continued to watch his friends' expressions as they scanned Taylor's words. Confusion, then surprise, then astonished realization dawned on their faces one by one. Once they were finished reading, Cole turned his attention to Alana, hoping that there was a still chance of reconciliation between them.
Her jaw was hanging open. "Oh, Cole," she said, her eyes glistening with tears. She suddenly stumbled forward and wrapped her arms around Cole's waist. He took a step backwards, caught off guard, and involuntarily cringed at the contact. He gently removed her hands from around his waist and pulled her away.
She looked up at him, confused. "Cole," she said, her eyes shining with tears, "this proves that you're innocent. Why—"
But Cole knew why. Though every part of his body yearned to touch her and pull her close, he felt like even the slightest contact would defile her. "No," he said hoarsely. "Alana, we can't—"
"You're innocent," she repeated. "Whatever happened between you and Taylor is done. Erased. You're forgiven, Cole. You're forgiven by God and everyone else standing here right now."
Cole swept his gaze over his friends. They were all waiting expectantly for him to say something. He detected no trace of anger, bitterness, or scorn on their faces. Even Blaine, who had just walked over in time to scan the rest of the note, was nodding and smiling, urging him to go on.
Cole turned back to Alana. "You forgive me?" he echoed.
"Only if you'll forgive me." She laughed quietly. "I'm so, so sorry for overreacting about Taylor. I pushed you away and—well—I basically treated you like dirt."
"Alana—"
"No," she said firmly. "Cole, I should have been a better friend. Instead, I let my anger get the best of me, and I deserted you."
Cole shook his head. "Alana, I'm the one to blame. I didn't doubt Taylor's words for a second when I should have checked the facts and stood by my convictions."
"Oh my gosh," Blaine interrupted, rolling his eyes in a very un-Blaine-like manner. "Just get back together already!"
This broke the ice. Everyone burst into laughter, causing the corners of Cole's lips to slowly twitch up into a smile. He chuckled and shoved Taylor's note into the deepest corner of his pocket. Then, reaching forward, he embraced Alana.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled. Cole closed his eyes and planted a quick kiss on the top of her head. He had missed this—he had craved this for so long. Now, with Alana finally back in his arms and his name finally cleared, he could at last breathe freely.
"Man," he said, laughing quietly. "It's been too long."
"Way too long," Maya piped up.
When Alana and Cole pulled apart, they looked up to see their friends wearing identical grins.
"Hey Cole," Koa said, lifting his chin in a friendly nod. "Welcome back to the gang."