The One That I Want Read Online Free Page A

below me.
    “You will,” she says. “You will get it, I’m sure.” Then she moves to disappear behind her curtain without so much as a formal good-bye. “You’ll understand soon enough, and then the next time you see me, you’ll thank me for being so generous.”
    I start to reply, but she is gone. So I fling aside the fabric opening to the tent, squint my eyes to adjust to the sunlight, and head off in search of Tyler, already intent on shaking off Ashley Simmons, her ominous prophecies, the idea that she could somehow intuit the future, my future.
    As if!
I snort to myself.
Give me a break!
I think as I meander by the carousel, ignoring my shaking fingers, my anxiety flaring like a rocket grenade.
    I scavenge around the grounds, putting it behind me.
    Never once does it occur to me that Ashley Simmons might be on to something, might be the very thing that will unhinge me from the present and send me down a slippery slope of time.

two
    T wo hours later, just before the sun finally begins to tuck itself behind the horizon and grant us a small reprieve from the suffocation of steamy air, Ty and I have reunited near the Skee-Ball machines, and having gorged ourselves on turkey drumsticks and popcorn, we make our way back home.
    As Ty drives, we wind our way through the town whose back roads, faded awnings, and seasonal crosswind scents are as familiar to me as a second skin. Past the elementary school where Susie and I spawned our sisterhood, past the Chevrolet dealership where my father bought me my first car, past the Italian restaurant that CJ’s father has run since she was a baby, past the electronics store that my dad opened before I was born and nearly lost when he drank too much to know the difference between a washer and a dryer. Ty and I fall into a comfortable silence, the silence that is born from knowing each other for two decades, and I calculate how quickly we’ll be home so I can check to see if the pad in my underwear is still spotless.
    I know that I shouldn’t be so obsessed. Ty tries to reassure me every time I really come undone over it, over another month of failed opportunity. He’ll say,
“Everything happens for a reason
,
babe,”
which I know he means to be endearing, but it sort of irritates me all the same.
As if everything in my life has happened for a reason!
What an idiotic notion. As if I wouldn’t rewind so much of it if I could. But I can’t, and I know this, and I have lived my life knowing this, so whenever he espouses such things, I wrap my palm around the curve of his cheek and thank him. Because at the root of it, he’s only doing his best.
    Ty turns down our cul-de-sac, its elm trees bursting with flourishing leaves, sporadic wildflowers at their trunks, occasional tangled rosebushes nestled beside them, and as we coast into the driveway, I spot my youngest sister parked on our front steps, a bouquet of irises in her hand.
    “Oh, damn it,” I say, unsnapping my seat belt and opening the door in one fluid motion, the crest of air-conditioned comfort sucked dry immediately.
    “What’s she doing here?” Ty kills the engine.
    “We forgot.” I turn to look at him, but I can tell he has no recollection. “My mom’s birthday. We totally forgot.”
    “Oh, shit,” he says, though it’s more of a sigh than an actual lament, and he readjusts his baseball hat, a microscopic delaying technique before we face the enemy. We both disembark from the giant steps of our Ford Explorer, bought used and at a discount, and drop onto the graveled ground.
    “I’ve been waiting here for two goddamned hours,” Darcy snaps as a greeting. “Do you know how long two goddamned hours can be when you’re sitting by yourself with nothing to do?”
    “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.
    “Phone’s dead.” She shrugs.
Of course it is
, I think. Darcy never goes anywhere adequately prepared or equipped for the circumstances. “Besides,” she continues, “I can’t believe you