She could have not boxed all her stuff up and brought it here like Tess’s already gone.
“Well,” Mom says, looking at the boxes. “I guess we’d better take these in. I didn’t—there’s only four of them, Dave. She’s twenty and I—how can this be her whole life?”
“Katie,” Dad says, helplessness in his voice, and pulls her to him. “These are just things. Her life was so much more than this.”
Is. I wait for Mom to correct him.
But she doesn’t. She just stands there, leaning against him.
“Is,” I finally say, and watch Dad blink at me. “Her life is more than whatever is in these boxes.” And then I grab one and take it upstairs.
When I come back down, they haven’t picked up any of the others, but they are waiting for me.
“Abby, I don’t know if you’ve really thought about what we’ve told you about Tess,” Mom says. “There’s a chance she could come back, but it’s small, and her brain is—there’s been damage. If Tess does wake up, she won’t be the same.”
“She’ll still be Tess,” I say. “She’ll still be your daughter, won’t she?”
I grab another box and take it upstairs. Mom and Dad don’t follow and when I look out at them from the upstairs hallway window they are talking, Dad’s bright hair shining like Tess’s.
At least they’re talking again. They don’t look happy, though.
I wish Tess was here. She’d know how to get Mom and Dad inside. What to say to turn them toward her and away from those last boxes.
I can’t do it, though. I just watch them and wish I could make everything better. I thought I could but now—
Now I’m not so sure.
thirty-one
I actually go home after school the next day. After last night, with Beth and my parents’ reaction to her, and what they said to me, I’m not sure visiting Tess will do any good.
I don’t think I’m reaching her.
I’m not sure I ever did.
I’m also not sure I should see Eli anymore. I’m starting to get ideas—I’m starting to wish, to want—and I don’t need that.
I figure I’ll spend the afternoon watching television, but as I’m walking home, everyone I pass—the mailman shoving an envelope labeled DO NOT BEND into a mailbox, the woman who used to be the office manager at the plant before she retired and Mom got the job, and two no-longer-little kids Tess used to babysit—ask about her.
They all tell me they’re thinking about her. That they miss her. That nothing’s the same without her smiling face, or “sparkling” eyes, or that she made the best hot chocolate.
I go home, but only to grab money for the ferry. Tess is everywhere and always will be, so why fight it?
I get to the hospital later than usual, of course. I figure Eli will be gone, but instead he’s sitting by the bike rack, fingers twitching away on his crossed legs.
“Hey,” I say as I pull up to him. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was waiting inside but I—” He points at his hands. “Bad day, with the tapping and stuff, and there was a little kid waiting to see someone and he kept asking me what I was doing and then copying me and—anyway.”
He carefully stills his hands, awkwardly forcing them to lie flat. “I also thought—I thought maybe you might not want to see me after I … after I told you all that stuff,” he says.
“I thought about not coming,” I say, and he braces his hands on his knees so hard I can see the tension in them. “But not because of you. I … my parents said some stuff last night about Tess. About how—they say she’ll never be the same, that her brain is … she won’t ever be the same.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Are you—are you all right?” he says, and when he does, all the reminders I’ve chanted to myself, all the things I’ve sworn I won’t forget, they’re gone. Just like that. Just because of him.
“I’m okay,” I manage to say, and try not to watch him as he gets up.
I do, though, and I’m glad he has to walk a little behind me as we go inside the hospital. It gives me a chance to pull myself together. Or at least pretend I have, because then we get on the elevator and it’s crowded and he’s right next to me and he smells good, like sunshine and laundry detergent and something else, something that’s just him, and I know all about pheromones but never believed in them until now.
Clement gets on at the floor before Tess’s and says, “And how are you today?” to me.
“All right,” I say, and he glances at Eli. “So, am I allowed to say I’m your grandfather now?”
Eli blushes and folds his arms across his chest. “I never said—” He breaks off, his fingers starting to tap.
Clement looks stricken and then whispers to Eli. I try to pretend I can’t hear what they’re saying but the elevator is small and Clement isn’t exactly quiet.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he says. “I know you didn’t say I shouldn’t talk to your father, but I assumed it’s because of how your father talks about me and—”
“It’s fine,” Eli says. “I just—my parents always say I … I don’t want to embarrass you. Okay?”
“Not possible,” Clement says, and Eli mumbles something, then races off the elevator when it stops again, for once not waiting until I go first.
“Sorry,” he says when I catch up to him. “I—I’m still getting used to the fact that I have a grandfather. Not to mention that I’m living with him.”
“Is it bad?”
“That’s the thing,” Eli says. “He’s … he’s nicer to me than my parents have ever been, and I—I don’t know. It’s strange.”
“Complicated.”
“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at me.
I smile back—I can’t help myself—and start to put in the unit code.
“Hold on,” Eli says.
“What?”
“Look,” he says, pointing, and I do. I see Claire in Tess’s room, moving around, straightening things.
“Oh, it’s just Claire,” I say. “She works here.”
“No, not that. She visits your sister a lot, doesn’t she?”
“Right. Works here, remember?” I say, and punch in the code, pulling the doors open as it buzzes.
Claire leaves as we’re almost at the room, waving at me and raising her eyebrows just enough that I know she’s thinking things about me and Eli. I shake my head at her, and she smiles.
Thankfully, Eli doesn’t seem to notice Claire’s look, and we settle into Tess’s room like we have every other time he’s been here.
“Hey,” I say to her as I sit down. “Me and Eli are here, and you should probably save him from having to answer whatever dumb questions I can think of.”
“Like what?” Eli says.
“Which is better, powder detergent or liquid?” I say, and then stage-whisper to Tess. “See? You’ve got to help me out here.”
“Liquid,” Eli says. “My turn. What’s better, cornflakes or oatmeal?”
“Ugh, neither. I like anything that goes in the toaster and has frosting on it, or better yet, comes with frosting packets.”
“Or waffles,” Eli says. “Clement makes only one thing, waffles. But he’s really good at it.”
I can just see Eli eating waffles now, all sleepy-eyed and dressed in—what would he wear to bed? Boxers?
I mentally shake myself. Tess. Think about Tess. “Tess likes waffles. She and Claire used to make the frozen ones and then put ice cream on them.” I pause, aware that I’ve just said a name I know Tess doesn’t want to hear.
“Sorry,” I whisper to her, and then say, “Eli, what’s your idea of a perfect first date?” Oh … I just. Great. I know my face must be bright red now because it feels like it’s on fire. Why did I ask that?
I know why.
“Not talking about school,” Eli says, smiling.
I look at him, hoping my face isn’t still bright red, and roll my eyes, then nod in Tess’s direction, glancing at her face.
“I
actually don’t know what my perfect first date is,” he says after a moment. “What about you?”
“I don’t know either. I’ve never been on a date. Tess used to talk about hers, though. Going out to dinner, going to the movies, stuff like that.” I squeeze Tess’s hand gently and tell her, “I know you miss all that.”
“Favorite food?” Eli asks, and Tess doesn’t move.
“She likes fish sticks,” I say, watching her face closely. Still nothing. “Just kidding. She likes spaghetti and meatballs. She has it every year on her birthday.”
“So you like fish sticks?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “The best is putting them on a roll with some cheese and mayo and a little lettuce.”
“Really? Fish stick sandwiches?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I say, and look at him again.
He’s watching me, smiling like he likes what he sees, and my whole body, from my head to my feet, feels alive in a way I thought I’d forgotten.
“Nothing,” he says. “I just never thought of eating fish sticks that way. You want to have lunch with me tomorrow?”
“What?” I drop Tess’s hand, I’m so startled, and it makes this soft, sickening sound when it hits the bed, like it’s a thing, like it’s not alive. Like it’s not her.
I look at her again then, wishing I was a better sister, a smarter person, wishing—as I’ve always wished—that I could be like Tess. That I could—and would—always know what to do.
“I said, do you want to have lunch with me tomorrow?” Eli says, his face red. “You can come meet me at school. We’re allowed to bring a guest if we have enough Saint points and—anyway. Do you want to come?”
“Saint points? For real?”
“Yeah. We get them for showing up on time and stuff.”
“Wait, you get points for just going to school?” Rich people really do have it all. I wish I got rewarded for going to school, although the idea of the reward being the chance to bring someone to the cafeteria for mystery meat and limp fries isn’t very appealing.
“Pretty much,” Eli says. “So … will you—do you—you want to come?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want me to come?”
“Because I … we were talking about food and I’ve got all these stupid Saint points and I figured—I don’t know,” he mutters. “I just thought you might like to come.”
Could he—could he really want me to come eat lunch with him? Like, as a thing? A sort of date-ish thing?
I look at him again and realize I’m crazy. He could have anyone, and he’s probably asking me to lunch because—
Because maybe he wants to.
Oh, I hate my brain, but it won’t let go of that thought. That hope.
I look at Tess. “Can you see me there?” I ask her. “I’d pull my bike into the parking lot and people would faint in horror.”
“Did Tess ever go?” Eli says.
“Sure,” I tell him, careful not to look at him, to keep watching Tess. “She dated this one guy for a couple of weeks and he took her to some dinner they have. Remember that, Tess? Mom painted your fingernails for you, and Dad took about a hundred pictures. I can’t even remember the guy’s name. What was it?”
Nothing, and as I watch her, the silence stretches out, becomes uncomfortable. I glance at Eli and see him looking at me again. This time he looks upset. Almost angry.
Good. I’ve finally done it. Made him angry, and I bet he’s going to leave. I try to ignore the way my insides feel all hollowed out at the thought of not seeing him again, or worse, seeing him here and having him not talk to me, or worse still, say hello and move on like I’m nothing to him.
“Eli, what’s wrong with you?” I force myself to say. I try to sound like I’m pissed off, try to say it with challenge in my voice, but it comes out quietly. Sadly.
“You’re as bad as everyone who lives in Milford,” he says, and it’s so not what I’m expecting him to say—it’s so not true—that I’m too startled to react at all.
“Yeah,” he says when I don’t say anything. “You are. You—look, I don’t like Milford either, but you act like anyone who lives here is … I don’t know. Evil or something. Like the fact that I go to Saint Andrew’s means you can’t ever possibly …”
He clears his throat. “Just because I—I can’t help that my parents have money, or that Clement does, any more than you can help that Tess is here.”
“You can’t compare those things! You—you’ve never had anything bad happen to you or—” I break off as I realize what I’ve said. How wrong I am.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m not a snob. Not like you think. I just … I don’t belong at Saint Andrew’s.”
“Why? It’s just a place, like here or—”
“Like here?”
“Okay,” he says, and gives me such a shy, tentative grin that my heart gives a sharp, painfully joyous kick-thump in my chest. “Not exactly like here. Here the gift shop doesn’t charge fifty bucks for a coffee mug with a motto on it.”
“I bet gum is cheaper, though.”
“Not when I was working,” he says, and now I smile at him. I can’t help it. He’s so … he should be illegal.
He really should be. He’s got me thinking things and wanting things, and looking at him looking at me like he’s happy to be doing so, I can’t help myself.
I say, “All right, if I do meet you for lunch tomorrow, what time should I meet you? And where?”
And I’m happy. That’s the worst part. I’m joyously, stupidly, overwhelmingly happy. I’m not thinking about Tess. I’m not thinking about what I learned when I fell for Jack.
I’m not thinking at all. I’m happy, and I don’t care.
thirty-two
Of course, the one time I plan to leave school early to, well, to do something other than visit Tess, I get caught. Or at least my guidance counselor, with his shiny, worn pants and constant cup of coffee in hand, sees me leaving and says, “Abby, do you have permission to leave early?”
“Of course,” I say, because even if I wasn’t planning on leaving, I would now because I don’t want to hear about how I can come see him if I want to “talk,” or worse, hear how Tess is “missed.” As if I don’t know that already.
As if I could ever forget.
“How’s Tess?” he calls out as I’m getting on my bike. “Everyone misses her, you know.”
See?
“I know,” I say, and head to the ferry.
I don’t get nervous—okay, I don’t get really nervous—until I’m off the ferry and in Milford and have biked by the hospital. Saint Andrew’s is close by, just a few orderly, overly manicured streets away, but I haven’t been anywhere in Milford in ages. Not since—well, not since I came over here to visit Tess back when she was working at Organic Gourmet.
Back when I wanted—hoped—to see Jack. Even if he was watching Tess.
I turn onto the road that leads to Saint Andrew’s. It isn’t a long one, as the school starts almost right away, its old and clearly expensively kept brick buildings dotted all over the impossibly green lawn. I turn onto a narrow road, following a neatly lettered sign that says PARKING.
There’s a bike rack at the far end of the parking lot, forlorn and rusty, and I leave my bike there, wondering if it’s stupid to lock it up. I mean, in Ferrisville, or maybe even at the hospital, someone might want to take it, but here? Here my bike looks even worse than the bike rack.
“Hey,” I hear, and look over, see Eli.
“Hey,” I say. He’d told me he’d meet me in the parking lot yesterday, but my heart’s kick-thudding inside my chest anyway, like I’m surprised.
Or happy.
“I wasn’t sure—I thought maybe you wouldn’t come,” he says, and how can someone who looks like him sound unsure? How?
“I’m here,” I say, trying—and failing—not to stare.
I can’t help it, tho
ugh. Eli looks like an idealized private-school guy, like a model dressed up in clothes for a brochure, a vision of what guys are supposed to look like but never do.
Standing there looking at him, the sunlight shining onto him and highlighting his hair, his eyes, his face, all of him—I have no idea why he wants me here. I know what the sunlight shows as it shines on me. I am too short, I am scrawny, I am as far from perfect as you can get.
“You ready to go?” he says, and I notice his hands are clenching and unclenching by his sides, fingers flexing like butterfly wings.
He isn’t perfect either, and I understand that. I know how it feels.
I put one hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
It’s the first time I’ve asked anyone other than Tess or my parents or Claire if they’re okay in forever, and it staggers me.
But I have to ask. I want to make sure Eli is okay. I … I care about him.
“Just the usual,” he says. “I’m glad—I’m really glad you came.”
My heart kick-thuds in my chest again and I know all the feelings I had on the way here weren’t nerves. It was never nerves. It was excitement. Hope.
It’s him.
I let my hand linger on his arm, feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, and say, “Me too.”
We walk toward what he tells me is the cafeteria. It looks just like all the other fancy, old brick buildings, except there are slightly more windows, as well as tables and chairs outside, and as we head in, I glance at him.
Now that I’ve gone and done it—touched him (even if it was only on his sleeve) and admitted to myself that I’m glad to be here, that I want to be here—I can admit something else too.
The “deal” I struck with him, the one that was about Tess—it hasn’t been about her for a while. I still want her to wake up, but I don’t want her to fall for him. I don’t want him to fall for her.
I want him to fall for me.
It’s weird, but after being so careful for so long, after forcing myself to remember the pain of finally seeing that Jack didn’t love me and wasn’t ever going to, I’m not scared of how I feel.