I turn away from it all and keep walking. Faster. I’m like one of those crazy speed walkers, only I’m not swinging my arms back and forth. Cars whiz by me. I smell their exhaust and the hot tar from the road. I walk all the way back to town again.
My feet are sweaty and slippery inside my sneakers. My shirt is wet against my back. My face prickles with sweat.
I keep my pace, though. All the way to the nursing home. I only slow down when I get to the entrance. I haven’t been here since my mom first got the job and dragged me over for a tour and to meet all her nosy co-workers, who, of course, asked why she hadn’t brought Hal along, even though I’m sure they knew the answer, those bastards.
I push the handicapped button and the door swings open. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so pissed off. But I walk straight up to the reception desk and — and stall. What the hell am I doing here?
“Can I help you?” A youngish-looking guy behind the desk looks at me curiously. I’m sure I look like a raging psycho by now and, to be honest, I feel like one.
“I need to see my mother,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows. “Her name?”
“Uh, Jennifer. Jennifer Sawyer.”
“One minute.” He picks up the phone and turns away from me. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand.
“She’ll be right down.”
A few minutes later, the elevator on the far wall dings and the door opens. My mom rushes out. My eyes start to well up as soon as I see her.
“Josh?” She rushes toward me. “Are you OK?”
All the breath comes out of me. I start to sag. She takes hold of my arm.
“Honey?”
“I need to talk to you.”
She leads me outside to an empty group of picnic tables and sits me down. She sits across from me but right away reaches over for my hands and looks at me with worried eyes.
“What is it, honey? Tell me what’s the matter.”
“It’s over,” I say, squeezing her hands harder, even though mine are sweaty and gross.
“Oh, Josh,” she says.
“I — I went to try to see him,” I say. “I think I saw my baby, and —” But I can’t say anything else because I’m sobbing big, heaving sobs. I can’t tell her that I think I might go crazy not knowing if that baby behind the glass was mine. My mom lets go of my hands and comes around to my side of the table and holds me. She hugs me tight while I cry it all out of me. Until I’m empty.
When I can speak, I tell her about the night I talked with my dad. How I know I was a mistake. I tell her I don’t understand why she can’t be near us anymore. How sometimes I wish I could disappear, or that I’d never been born. I tell her how Ellie and I were only together once and that I tried to do everything right but I did everything wrong. That I didn’t mean to hurt her. But I’d ruined her life. And I wasn’t sure I could live knowing that.
And all the time I tell her these things, she just listens and holds me like she did when I was little. She looks off at the trees on the other side of the table and runs her fingers over the top of my head in this soothing way she used to do when I was a kid and had a fever and couldn’t sleep.
“I’m here now,” she tells me in a quiet voice. “I’m here. I’m going to help you get through this, Joshy. I promise.”
I let her hold me. I squeeze my eyes shut and let her hang on as long as she can. But as hard as I want to believe her, I don’t think she can really help me. No more than I can help her.
WHEN MY MOM CAME to tell us it was over and that Ellie was OK, I just stood there. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t feel relieved. I just felt sad.
Corinne wobbled a little next to me as my mom gave us the details. Ellie was fine. The procedure went well. The baby was a healthy boy. As I stood next to Corinne, I could feel her unravel. I reached for her small hand. She pressed her thin arm against mine, and I held her up. After my mom left to go back and check on Ellie, we walked outside into the bright sun and found a bench to sit on. Corinne started crying. I wrapped my arms around her and let her cry into my chest while she told me what an awful friend she thought she’d been. I tried to tell her she was wrong, but she just shook her head. The whole time, I kept thinking about Josh and how I felt like I’d let him down, too. How I hadn’t done enough to see things from his point of view. I should have talked to him more and told him I understood. I should have driven him to the hospital or asked Ellie if he could see the baby since I know Josh would never ask himself. I should have helped him find out what his rights were, so he could see the baby, maybe even hold him if he wanted to. But I didn’t. And he cared too much about not hurting Ellie any more than he already had, to ask.
Now Corinne and I are waiting at the hospital again. Just like yesterday and the day before. Waiting for the doctors to let Ellie go home. For everything to be final.
Each day Corinne and I sit here, holding hands but not looking at each other. I wait while Corinne goes to see Ellie. Each time she comes back, she looks the same. Sad and empty. Worried. She leans her head on my shoulder and stares at our hands. I can’t be sure, but I think, on top of everything else, Corinne is wondering the same thing I am. What will happen to us?
Now I squeeze her hand without thinking and she rubs her thumb along mine. She’s watching a little girl sitting on the rug. I wonder if she even realizes she’s responding to me.
I lean my head back against the couch just as my mom walks into the room, wringing her hands.
“Ellie’s parents are taking her home in a few hours,” she says. “Everything’s been — finalized.” She seems to choke on the word. “I’ll see you back at the house later and we’ll talk.” She hurries off and leaves us standing there, Corinne’s warm hand in mine, both of us unsure of what to do next.
Neither of us moves.
Finally, Corinne gently pulls me up off the couch and out of the room. I let her lead me outside to her car.
We drive past the park. Past our merry-go-round. And the seesaw. And the swings. Past the road to Ellie’s house. Past Josh’s.
When we get to my house, Corinne leads me upstairs. Somehow she knows where my bedroom is, even though she’s never been here. She pulls back my comforter and guides me onto the bed and lies down next to me. I stretch out my arm and she rolls closer to me so the side of her face rests on my chest. I can feel my heart beat against her cheek.
When we wake up, the house is quiet.
Corinne sits up. “We fell asleep,” she says.
“What time is it?”
She reaches for my alarm clock. “After five.” She falls back into the pillow and pushes in closer to me and I get my arms around her. Her tiny body feels so good and safe. I want to stay like this forever.
“Are you OK?” she asks. She lifts her face to mine, and I kiss her forehead.
“Yeah. Are you?”
She nods and kisses my chin.
And then we kiss on the lips. Softly at first, then deeply. I can barely breathe.
Corinne reaches her hand under my shirt. It sends prickles of heat through my body. I get hard against her leg and immediately feel like an asshole because I didn’t mean for this to happen. But she feels so good and I’ve been dying for this moment for weeks. Only it doesn’t feel right. Not now.
She pulls back. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean for us to —”
“Me either.” I roll away a little.
“I mean I want to — just — not right now.”
“Me, too,” I say.
We lie next to each other, both staring at the ceiling. The heat slowly drains out of me.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say.
She doesn’t answer. The floor creaks downstairs. I wonder if my mom’s home, and if she knows we’re up here, in my bed. At the same time, I realize I don’t really care.
“Corinne?” I turn to face her profile and see a tear slowly make its way across her temple and onto my pillow.
I t
race the trail and wipe it clear with my thumb.
She turns to face me and smiles as another tear follows the same path.
“I love you,” I say.
She moves closer to me, turning her head again so her head tucks into my neck and we feel like a finished puzzle.
“I love you, too,” she whispers.
MY FAVORITE PART OF THE LAST WEEK of school used to be cleaning out my locker and leaving it empty behind me. Shutting the door for the last time, hard, and hearing that echo inside.
But today I feel empty. Even before I close my locker door.
I got here early on purpose, before anyone else is around and the halls become a sea of balled-up paper and used spiral notebooks and people pushing and shoving to get out.
I quickly make my way down the quiet hallway to Ellie’s locker. I told her I’d get her stuff for her and return her books. Before I open the door, I look at the word there. Scratched and mean. I never understood exactly why Ellie didn’t cover it up, but I think maybe she felt like she deserved it.
It must have been horrible to walk to her locker every day, seeing that word and feeling it was true. I know it’s only a word. Sticks and stones and all that crap. Right. Whoever made up that stupid saying was totally high.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper with Ellie’s locker combination on it. I turn the dial until the lock clicks open.
There isn’t much inside, just a few notebooks and some decorations. There’s the heart magnet I gave her in the seventh grade holding up her schedule, and a worn-looking plaid shirt hanging on the coat hook. It’s the one we got at the Salvation Army. I pull it out and touch the soft fabric. It smells like Ellie. I know she probably won’t want it back, but I tie it around my waist anyway. Then I put the rest of her stuff in my backpack and close the door.
The word glares at me.
I know what I have to do. I’ve been planning this ever since Caleb and I were in the waiting room at the hospital.
There was a little girl in the room with us, sitting on the floor. She and her father were waiting for her baby brother or sister to be born. She had a notebook she was writing in, and I managed to get a quick peek. She’d written the word MOTHER down the margin and then started writing words that began with each letter. But they weren’t nice words, like “marvelous” or “terrific.” Instead she’d written, Mean for M, Ogre for O, Terrible for T. That was as far as she’d gotten. I did the same thing with Ava when I was little. We’d pick a dirty word and think of more dirty words that began with each letter. My sister had a great vocabulary even then.
I search through my bag and find the red metallic marker I bought at the craft store. When I take off the cap, the smell reminds me of nail polish and Saturday mornings when Ellie still spent the night at my house. We’d get up late and paint our toenails while we watched cartoons. We never do that anymore.
I look around to make sure the hallway is still empty before I start to write. The letters are thick and red and bright. I blow on them until the shiny ink dries, then step back.
She is my best friend
Listen
U didn’t know her
Too bad
The words look kind of odd, going up instead of across, but I think Ellie would like it. I think she would laugh, watching people try to read my words, their heads tilted to one side. She’ll probably never see them, though. Over the summer they’ll give the lockers and walls a new coat of paint so we can all start fresh in the fall. But there’s still today. And Ellie wasn’t here to tell me not to.
I swing my backpack over my shoulder and walk down the hall without looking back. I leave those words behind me, red and almost happy-seeming, and I laugh just a little. For Ellie.
CORINNE, MY MOM, AND ELLIE are sitting in the old Adirondack chairs on the back lawn. I watch them from my bedroom window. They sit in the shade, their shoes kicked off, legs crossed, bare feet swinging in the air. They’re drinking lemonade in clear glasses. Once in a while they laugh about something. The sound makes it seem like things really are going to be OK.
My mom’s big, floppy hat bops around while she rants about something. Corinne shoves her shoulder gently, and they all crack up again.
I take the stairs two at a time and stroll outside, trying not to look too eager to join them.
“Here’s our boy!” my mom calls. “Come sit with us!”
Corinne turns and waves me forward. As I walk across the warm grass, I see her coy grin under her hat. It’s one of my mom’s straw ones and looks ridiculous in a cute way. I want to grab her hand and race up to my room with her. I can tell by the way she looks at me that she’d like that, too.
Lately being alone together is what we live for. We sit around waiting for my mom to go shopping or to her art class. As soon as her car turns out of the driveway we race up the stairs. Corinne says we have to make up for all those months we stayed away from each other. I think it’s more about all those months we were so worried and scared of what was going to happen with Ellie and Josh. And now that it’s over, it’s about us. Together. Being happy without feeling guilty.
Corinne gives me a sly look. She winks at me before she leans back in her chair and closes her eyes to let the sun warm her face.
I sit on the grass near their feet. Even though this setup is familiar — me sitting below them like this — I don’t feel like an outsider anymore. I don’t feel guilty for being a guy.
I reach for my mom’s glass and take a sip.
“Ew, boy germs,” Corinne says. “You’re going to let him share your glass?” She winks at me.
I take a long swig. It’s sweet and sour and ice cold.
My mom leans forward and squeezes my shoulders.
Ellie smiles at me and then looks off toward the quiet road. Her right hand rests on her stomach. I can’t imagine the emptiness she must feel. I wish there was something we could do for her, but my mom says just hanging out with her like this will help. Just trying to be normal, whatever that means.
I stay for a while, letting my mom and Corinne tease me while I finish off my mom’s drink. Then I stand up and take their empty glasses as an excuse to go back inside and leave them alone. I put the glasses in the sink and look out the window at them.
There are so many things I want to know. Like if Ellie knows where the baby is or who the new parents are. But I’ll never ask. I’ll just have to wonder, and hope he has a good life.
Josh doesn’t talk to me about the baby. He says he can’t yet. But he knows he can come to me when he needs to, and I think that helps a little. He wrote a letter to Ellie, apologizing for what happened. He made me read it first to make sure it was OK. It was perfect.
I walk into the living room and stand in front of my dad’s portrait. My mom calls it her masterpiece. I study my father’s distant expression. I used to hate him for abandoning me. For not caring. But I realize now I don’t need him. I never needed him. I have my mom, and Corinne. I even have Josh. And that’s enough. It’s plenty.
THE HOUSE IS QUIET AND DARK. Rosie is doing her nightly guard duty, sleeping in the hall between the door to my room and the one to my parents’. She lifts her head when I step into the hallway. I reach down and give her a pat. She thumps her tail and lets me go.
Outside, it’s just the right amount of darkness, when the sun is completely gone and won’t be back for a few hours at least. I move silently down the driveway like a cat.
The first time I did this I stumbled all over the place. The streetlights don’t really do much, so it’s hard to find your way. But I’ve been doing this every night for three weeks, and I could probably walk with my eyes closed. I’ve been biding my time till I move in with my uncle and start senior year at a new school where no one knows me. Someplace Ellie won’t have to see me every day. And I guess so I won’t have to see her.
Caleb and Dave were pretty upset when I told them, but they’ll get over it. They understand. My parents say a fresh start is probably a
good idea, but they both look sad when they say it. I wish it meant a fresh start for them, too. But who am I kidding? Is there really such a thing? Whatever. One more month and I’ll be out of here.
The crickets and frogs sing away as I walk through the warm, dark air, all the way to the chain-link fence. I run my hands along it until I come to the gate. Then I stop. I put my fingers through the metal wires and push. The gate whines as I move it forward.
I walk across the dew-covered grass, cut smooth by the same ancient guy who’s been cutting it every summer since I was a kid. Dave, Caleb, and I used to beg him to give us a ride on his mower. He never did. He always said he would if he could, but it might get him fired. Or that if he gave us a ride, then he’d have to give all the other kids one. But he knew we were the only ones around. We were the only ones that came every day, by ourselves. We were the only ones who really needed a ride on that stupid mower with him.
When I get to the swings, hanging still in the darkness, I’m almost afraid to touch them. Just like always.
I know her hands touched these chains. She sat on this seat, with the baby inside her. Swinging inside her. And so this is all I have left.
The last day of school I went to her locker to fix the word, but someone already had. Probably Corinne. I couldn’t even do that for Ellie.
I screwed up even that.
I turn around and reach for the chains, back up with my legs, and let go.
I start pumping.
The warm air blows against my face.
I close my eyes.
I fly forward, then fall back.
I pump harder, rising higher with each swing.
But it’s always the same.
No matter how far I go forward, I swing back just as hard and fast.
I keep trying anyway.
I keep thinking, maybe this will be the night.
Maybe I don’t have to wait another month.