really want Lizzie, in particular, to get it because otherwise sheâs going to ride me mercilessly. âThereâs more to it than that. I mean, you can figure out the best flight plans for airplanes or study the chances of hurricanes. There are a lot of options.â
âYou can plan ahead, you mean?â Spencer manages to sum up my entire psyche in under a minute. âYeah, makes sense.â
Before they can analyze me any further, I pass the question along. âWe all know where Yeats is going, so youâre up, Lizzie.â
Sheâs quiet for a minute. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her lean forward and grip onto Spencerâs headrest.
âWell, in five years ⦠â she begins. I twist my head as much as I can and still watch the road. Iâm eager to know where she wants to go from here. Lizzie rarely talks about the future.
âI want to be someplace other than this shithole. I want to be able to paint full time. Iâm not really sure how to make that happen.â
âAnd what about in twenty?â I ask.
This time thereâs no pause. She stares right into my eyes in the mirror, deadly serious. âCome on, Cal, do you really think Iâll still be alive in twenty years?â
I have to stop myself from jamming on the breaks in the middle of the freeway.
âLiz,â Spencer says, before I can get a word out. âReally?â
âYeah, really. I mean, what? You see me settling down and having kids and a normal life? I donât even know what a normal life is like.â She doesnât say any of this like sheâs upset. Just resigned. It must be hell to go through every day thinking that life is never going to get any better. It makes me think of Alice, the âghostâ from The Cave.
I glance over at Spencer, who looks like all the air has been forced out of his lungs.
âLiz. Do you really think that weâd let anything bad happen to you?â
When he says it I feel a crawling up my back that makes me shiver. Thatâs the kind of tempting-fate comment that made my grandmother knock on wood and spit on the ground.
âSeriously, Lizzie,â I say, âyouâre going to be a beautiful, artsy, bitchy old lady with equally beautiful, misbehaved kids who are afraid of nothing.â
That at least brings a smile to her face.
âYouâre up, Yeats,â I say, but we all know his plan. His life stretches ahead of him like the freaking yellow brick road complete with lion and wizard.
Lizzie jumps in before he gets a chance to answer. âIn five years, Spence will be accepting his second Tony award for best male lead on Broadway. In twenty, heâll be living in California with one of the top movie studio executives and a slew of servants in their gated estate. Theyâll throw parties where champagne runs out of the faucets and everyone is beautiful, and creative, and insane. But in a good way.â
Spencer laughs, but really, she probably isnât that far off from the truth.
I blink and then swerve a little. The conversation woke me up, but Lizzieâs bleakness about her future has worn me out.
âAre you sure youâre okay to drive?â Spencer asks.
âIâm fine, Yeats. And itâs still better than letting one of you drive.â Spencer drives like my grandmother and Lizzie drives like a demon from hell is chasing her.
Spencer and Lizzie start their usual tug of war over the radio again and I smile at how comforting and familiar it is. I try to look over at Spencer, but Lizzie is leaning between us and I catch a whiff of patchouli before I glance up and see 3,507 pounds of gray steel flying towards us over the median.
Despite what Iâve read, my life doesnât flash before my eyes.
Time doesnât slow down.
Iâm not able to process why an SUV is blocking out the clouds.
I donât have time to utter a sound before everything goes