Everything, Everything Part 25

"I've asked Carla to come back," she says one night after dinner.

"I thought you didn't trust her anymore."

"But I trust you. You learned your lesson the hard way. Some things you just have to experience for yourself."

Reunion

The next day, Carla bustles in. Her bustle is even bustlier than normal, and she pretends no time has pa.s.sed at all.

She gathers me up immediately. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's all my fault."

I hold myself stiff against her, not wanting to dissolve. If I cry, everything will be real. I really will have to live this life. I really will never see Olly again.

I try to hold out but I can't. She's the soft pillow you're supposed to cry into. Once I start, I don't stop for an hour. She's soaked and I don't have any tears left. Can you reach the end of tears? I wonder.

I answer my own question by crying some more.

"How's your mama?" she asks when I finally stop.

"She doesn't hate me."

"Mamas don't know how to hate their babies. They love them too much."

"But she should. I'm a terrible daughter. I did a terrible thing."

More tears leak out, but Carla wipes them away with the side of her hand.

"And your Olly?"

I shake my head at her. I would tell Carla anything, but not this. My heart is too bruised and I want to keep the pain as a reminder. I don't want sunlight on it. I don't want it to heal. Because if it does, I might be tempted to use it again.

We settle back into our normal routine. Each day is like the one before and not much different from the next. Madam, I'm Adam. I'm working on a model of a library with an Escher-like interior of staircases that end midstep and go nowhere. From Outside, I hear a rumble and then a beeping. This time I immediately know what it is.

At first I don't go to the window. But Carla does and narrates what she sees. It's a moving van-Two Brothers Moving. The brothers get out of the van and unload dollies and empty boxes and packing tape. They talk to Olly's mom. Kara and Olly are there. There's no dad in sight, she says.

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I'm at the window peering out the other side of the curtain. Carla's right. Olly's dad is nowhere to be found. Olly and Kara and his mom seem frantic. They rush in and out of the house, leaving packed boxes or bulging plastic garbage bags on the porch for the movers to load onto the truck. No one's talking. I can tell his mom is nervous even from here. Every few minutes Olly stops and pulls her into a hug. She clings to him and he pats her back. Kara doesn't join them. She smokes openly now, as.h.i.+ng her cigarette directly onto the porch.

I'm trying not to focus on Olly, but it's impossible. My heart doesn't care at all what my brain thinks. I see the exact moment that he feels my eyes on him. He stops what he's doing and turns. Our eyes meet. It's different than that first time. The first time was all about possibility. Even then, some part of me knew that I would love him.

This time is about certainty. I already know that I love him, and I know now that I won't stop.

He raises his hand to wave. I let go of the curtain, turn away, and press my back against the wall, breathing hard.

I wish I could undo the last few months of knowing him. I would stay in my room. I would hear the truck beeping next door and I would remain my on my white couch in my white room reading my brand-new books. I would remember my past and then I would remember not to repeat it.

Neighborhood Watch #3

HIS Dad's schedule

9:00 AM - Leaves for work 8:30 PM - Sways unsteadily up the porch and into the house. Already drunk?

9:00 PM - Arrives back on porch, drink in hand.

10:15 PM - Pa.s.ses out in blue chair.

Sometime later: Stumbles into house.

HIS Mom's schedule

Unknown

Kara's schedule

Unknown

Olly's schedule

Unknown

Five Syllables

A month later, just after Christmas, his dad moves away, too. Through my window I watch him carry just a few boxes to a U-Haul truck. I hope against hope that he's not going to wherever Olly and Kara and their mom are.

For days after I stare at the house, wondering how it can still manage to look the same, to seem so solid and house-like when there's no one around to make it a home.

I wait another couple of days before finally reading the e-mails that Olly has sent. They're still in the trash folder, as I knew they would be.

From: genericuser033 To: Madeline F. Whittier Subject: limerick #1 Sent: October 16, 8:07 PM once was a girl named madeline speared my heart through with a javelin said i as i died (just as an aside) are there more words that rhyme with madeline?

From: genericuser033 To: Madeline F. Whittier Subject: limerick #2 Sent: October 17, 8:03 PM once lived a girl in a bubble who i suspected was nothing but trouble still i gave her my heart but she blew it apart and left me with nothing but rubble I laugh until I cry. He must've been really upset with me to send me limericks instead of haiku.

His other e-mails are less poetic. He tells me about trying to convince his mom to get some help and about trying to save Kara from herself. He's not sure which conversation with his mom finally convinced her. It could've been because he told her he couldn't be part of the family anymore if she stayed. Sometimes you have to leave the people who love you the most, he said. Or, he says, it could've been when he finally told her about me and about how sick I am and how I was willing to do anything just to live. He says that she thinks I'm brave.

His last letter is haiku

From: genericuser033 To: Madeline F. Whittier Subject: haiku #1 Sent: October 31, 9:07 PM five syllables here and now here are seven more i love you maddy

Here and Now

Olly's math says you can't predict the future. It turns out that you can't predict the past either. Time moves in both directions-forward and backward-and what happens here and now changes them both.

For My Eyes Only

From: Dr. Melissa Francis To: Subject: Test Results - FOR YOUR EYES ONLY Sent: December 29, 8:03 AM Ms Whittier, You probably don't remember me. My name is Dr. Melissa Francis. You were under my care at Maui Memorial in Hawaii for a few hours two months ago.

I felt it was important to contact you directly. You need to know that I've studied your case very closely. I don't believe you have, or have ever had, SCID.

I know this must be a shock. I've attached quite a few test results here and I recommend that you get a second (and a third) opinion.

I believe that you should get another physician besides your mother to verify my findings. Physicians should never practice on their families.

It is my medical opinion that in Hawaii last month you had an episode of myocarditis triggered by a viral infection. I believe that your immune system is especially fragile given what I could surmise about the nature of your upbringing.

Please feel free to contact me with any questions you may have. Good luck.

Best regards, Dr. Melissa Francis

Protection

I read the e-mail six times before the letters form words and the words form sentences that I can understand, but, even then, the meaning of all the words taken together eludes me. I move on to the attachment showing lab test results. All my numbers are adamantly average-not too high, not too low.

Of course there's some mistake. Of course this is not right. Dr. Francis has confused my chart with someone else's. There's another Madeline Whittier. She's an inexperienced doctor. The world is casually cruel.

I believe all these things to be true, but still. I print the e-mail, lab test results and all. I'm not moving in slow motion. Time does not speed up or slow down.