I’m so tired of this. I rubbed my forehead with my free hand. Tired of being careful, tired of not being able to say what really needed to be said.
“You want me to try to talk to her?” I asked, not sure what else to say.
My mom didn’t answer me, but I heard her talking to Sarah. “Honey, Jace is on the phone. I told you we’d find him. He wants to talk to you.”
“Sares, it’s me,” I said, raising my voice a little. “What’s wrong?”
No response but more wailing.
I grimaced. I wasn’t sure she could hear me over the noise she was making.
“Sarah,” I shouted into the phone, like I was bellowing at her for messing with the TV settings. She liked to turn people green and red with the tint/brightness controls on the remote.
The sobbing on the other end of the line paused for a moment, followed by a hiccup.
“Jace?” a small, wobbly voice asked.
I exhaled. “Yeah, it’s me. What’s wrong?”
“You’re not dead. Where are you?” she asked, sounding pitiful.
“No, I’m not dead. I’m at the church, like Mom said. Are you okay?”
“With Dad?” she persisted.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes, Sarah, I’m sure,” I said, trying not to let my frustration leak through. I wasn’t mad at her; it was the entire situation that was so messed up. “I’m standing right here in the office next to Delores and Carol.” Who had both returned to their work, pretending not to hear every word of the conversation. “Do you need me to come home?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m okay. Don’t come home.”
“Sarah—”
But a loud clunk came through the receiver, and then more rustling noises.
“Sarah,” my mom said, her voice muffled. “You talked to Jace. Don’t you want to come out now?”
My mom sighed, a long sad sound, and then spoke to me, her words clearer and more distinct. “She’s stopped crying now, at least. But she’s refusing to come out from under the bed.”
A fresh wave of guilt pummeled me.
“Do you want me to come home?” I asked.
“I can’t leave her here to—”
“I can find a ride.”
In the silence, I could sense my mom weighing the pros and cons. Carol and Delores would never say anything about this, but my dad would be upset that our personal life had once again spilled all over church grounds. If I left without finishing the work I’d been assigned, that would only make it worse.
“No,” my mom said finally. “Stay there, finish working. She’s calmer now.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, sounding more certain. “Dad will bring you home when he comes back for dinner before his meetings tonight. It’s only a couple more hours. She’ll be fine for that long. I’ll have to eat those gummy bears I found all by myself.” That last was pitched away from me and toward Sarah.
“Thanks, honey,” she said to me, distracted. “We’ll see you when you get home.” The phone clicked in my ear.
My shoulders sagged, aching with the release of tension I hadn’t felt until that second.
I handed the phone to Delores, and she busied herself with untangling the cord.
I clenched my fists against the rage and despair pushing up from my stomach, as if they were something I could actually fight. Why did we always have to pretend everything was okay? Why couldn’t we just admit that we were falling apart? If we couldn’t do that, I wasn’t sure how we were going to get better.
“Jace?” Delores asked from behind me, her voice full of worry.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said grimly. What else was there to say?
CHAPTER TEN
* * *
“HEY!”
A french fry bounced off my cheek and landed in the congealing grease on my pizza slice.
I looked up from my tray, startled.
“What’s up, bro?” Zach asked, as he wiped his hands on a napkin. “I called your name, like, three times.”
“Just tired,” I said. “Long day.”
A burst of laughter came from the other end of our cafeteria table, where Caleb, Derek, Scott, and Matt were all talking about something that seemed to involve fireworks and a poorly placed sofa cushion.
“There’s tired, and then there’s the walking dead,” Zach said around a mouthful of burger. “You are the latter today, my friend. What’s up?”
Audrey gave a nervous bark of laughter, pushing her hair back from her face. “Zach.”
I shook my head, negating her concern over Zach’s choice of words.
My anger from yesterday afternoon had faded, leaving a heavy gray haze over everything. My dad had driven me home in a mutual tense silence. Then the three of us had taken turns trying to talk Sarah into coming out from under the bed. I’d listened to my parents alternate threats with cajoling, getting nowhere.
When it was my turn, I sat next to the bed so she knew I was there. I had no idea what was going on in her little head. I could hear the sound of her crayons scribbling across paper, though. Maybe she, like me, couldn’t talk about it yet. Or ever.
But no matter what, sometimes it was nice to know that another person was nearby. That you weren’t alone.
I stayed until my leg began to ache from sitting in one position, and then when I started to get up, Sarah’s hand appeared from under the bed ruffle, patted the back of my hand twice—as if she were the one comforting me—and then vanished again.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Then, this morning, she’d been back to her ghost routine, drifting through the house in her pajamas, with Patsie and blanket in hand. But neither of my parents had complained, because she’d crawled out from under the bed, eaten a bowl of cereal, and gotten dressed for school, all without argument and while still avoiding me. Sarah needed help. But I couldn’t get my mom and dad to see it.
If Eli had been here, I would have been able to tell him and he would have figured out how to bring it up, what to say to get them to understand. But then again, if Eli had been here, none of this would have been an issue.
“What do you think happens after you die?” I asked Audrey and Zach.
Their shocked silence was louder, for a moment, than all the noise of the cafeteria around us.
“Sarah freaked out yesterday,” I continued. “About Eli, I think. I’m trying to figure out what to tell her, how to help her. But everyone keeps talking about heaven or being in a ‘better place.’ And I just . . . I’m not sure.”
Zach and Audrey exchanged uncertain glances; then Zach forced an uncomfortable laugh. “Isn’t this kind of your dad’s territory?”
I shrugged.
Audrey set her fork down on her tray and reached out to pat my shoulder hesitantly. “I’m sure Eli is okay, wherever he is, Jace. And Sarah will understand that eventually.”
“Yeah.” Zach nodded vigorously, his hair flopping in his eyes.
“The most important thing is that you remember him and keep him a part of your life that way,” Audrey added. “That’s how you help Sarah.”
It sounded so familiar, the same thing everyone said at every funeral ever. To the point of being meaningless.
“You can’t let yourself get caught up in this stuff. You gotta focus on being here, being alive,” Zach said. “That’s what Eli would want you to do.”
Was it? My brother was dead, and it was possible he wasn’t in a better place, that he was just gone. No one seemed willing to discuss that possibility.
Except, maybe, Thera Catoulus.
I’d missed her presence in Pussy PE—in Exempt today.
I kept looking to her seat, registering her absence, in the same way you poke your tongue at the soft, sore spot left behind when a tooth falls out.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted from her, or why I felt a pull toward her. What was it about he
r?
It was clear she despised me and what I’d done to Eli. I should be staying as far from her as possible. What kind of idiot would seek that hatred out?
“Maybe you’re right,” I said finally. But it didn’t feel right. That’s what was tripping me up. Though these days, very little felt right.
After another awkward gap in conversation, Audrey sat up straighter in her chair, as if she were taking charge of a poorly run meeting.
“So. We should talk about Spring Formal,” she announced.
Zach groaned, which earned him a shoulder smack.
“It’s only seven weeks away,” she said. “We need to start making plans.”
Just like that, the conversation about Eli was over. I couldn’t blame Audrey and Zach; before the accident, I wouldn’t have wanted to talk about this either. Actually, I would have actively avoided it.
“You’re the one who needs to make plans. Dress shopping, hair appointments . . .” Zach waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve got the rest of it figured out.”
“Really?” Audrey asked suspiciously.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “I’ll borrow the family roadster—more space for everyone—and then we’ll hit up that crappy drive-in place Jace loves.”
I listened to them, feeling oddly removed from the moment, like I was watching it on a movie screen.
Audrey narrowed her eyes at Zach. “You’d better be kidding.”
Zach held his hands up in defense. “Yes, I’m kidding,” he said with some exasperation. “But you know Coach is going to have us in practice until the last second, right?” He looked to me for support before realizing his mistake.
He and Audrey froze, looking stricken. “Sorry, bro,” Zach managed after a moment.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I wasn’t much for dancing before anyway. Now I might actually hurt someone else or myself.” I clunked my cast against the floor carefully for emphasis.
They laughed, as I’d intended them to, and the tension disappeared. But instead of sharing in their relief, I felt more alone. The gap between us was only growing wider. It was a truth I’d been trying to ignore for the last couple of days, digging in like a splinter: I didn’t belong here anymore.
The person I’d been before the accident was gone, and there was no getting him back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
WEDNESDAY EVENING LENTEN SERVICES weren’t well attended, which was why we were at the original church building rather than the auditorium. The organ played intro music, the sound muted so as not to drown out the various preservice conversations. My mom, Sarah, and I were earlier than we’d been on Sunday; the narthex was filled with people chatting with one another before they took a seat.
So far, I wasn’t feeling the rush of sickening panic—like I was falling face-first into a gaping chasm and couldn’t catch myself—that I’d felt on Sunday. That was something, at least.
I watched the smiling faces around me, some of them more lined with worry or stress than others, as we moved closer to the sanctuary.
They belonged here. They felt safe and comforted. Crap might be raining down on other aspects of their lives, but being here made them feel better and offered reassurance.
My eyes burning, I turned away from the sanctuary, focusing my attention on something—anything—else.
The architectural drawings that I’d seen in the church office yesterday were now propped on discreetly placed easels. I pretended to study the drawings on the easel near the outside doors, though from where I stood I could make out little more than big squares that obviously indicated new buildings, and a couple of words here and there. “Community Center.” “Bookstore.” “Parking Structure.” “Coffeehouse.”
“Hey.” A hand touched mine.
I turned to find Leah at my side. She was dressed in a black cardigan and skirt, similar to what my mom was wearing. I wondered if that was intentional.
She was also standing too close to me.
“Leah. Hey.” I took an awkward step back to put space between us, my cast catching on a grout line in the tile and causing me to stumble even farther from her.
She frowned. “Are you—”
“Yes, fine,” I said, more sharply than I should have.
Her gaze skated over my face, searching for truth and not finding it.
“How are you?” I asked, redirecting the conversation before she could push. And knowing Leah, whether the old one or the new one who was trying to be my friend, she would push.
Her eyes watered, and I regretted the question. “I’m all right. Some moments are better than others.” She smiled bravely. “I mean, you know.”
I did, but it wasn’t something I wanted to discuss with her. She wouldn’t understand my doubts and fears. When Leah had come over the other day and asked me to talk about Eli sometimes, I’d thought she meant things like his annoying tendency to eat food “in order”—chips from the most seasoning to the least, Skittles by color, and in clockwise sequence on his plate—or how he analyzed movies to death in search of a theme.
But Leah had obviously interpreted our conversation differently.
“I wondered if it would be okay if I sat with you guys tonight?” she asked, biting her lip.
Automatically, I looked over my shoulder at my mom. She and Sarah were about to go into the sanctuary.
My mom turned then, looking back for me to join them. But when she noticed Leah next to me, she caught my eye and nodded, unspoken permission to continue my conversation. She bent down and whispered something to Sarah, and the two of them crossed into the sanctuary.
“Uh, sure,” I said to Leah. Under my shirt, my back grew sticky with sweat. At this point, I was still trying to convince myself that I could walk in and take a seat. With Leah there, sad-faced and wanting to share, I wasn’t sure I could be in the building.
“I know, it’s not the same.” Leah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But I feel so close to him here. I know he’s watching over us.” She looked up at the ceiling with a smile. “Don’t you feel him here?”
It was hard to feel anything at the moment except the constriction in my chest.
“Uh-huh,” I managed.
“I think he’ll like seeing us all together,” Leah continued. “Knowing that we have each other to get us through.”
I looked away from Leah, staring blindly at the building drawings again.
This time, through the sidelight window behind the easel, I caught the faintest hint of a blue glow. The blue neon palm had not been lit when we’d come in from the parking lot, but, with Psychic Mary’s usual timing, it was now.
Thera.
The thought of her, angry and snarling at me at first, and then saying all the things that no one else would, made the tightness in my lungs ease slightly.
I moved away from Leah and toward the exit before I had time to think about it.
“Jace?” she asked with a confused frown.
“Yeah, just . . . I need some air. Go ahead. I’ll meet you in there.” I fumbled for a smile, trying to make it believable.
“All right,” she said uncertainly.
I took the opportunity and the seminatural break in the excruciating conversation to make a stilted run for the doors.
I didn’t care if it was rude. I needed out.
Pushing the door open, I stepped outside. It was sleeting now, and the little bits of ice bounced off my face and down the collar of my shirt, melting instantly.
With a solid thunk, the church door closed behind me.
I inhaled deeply. The air was so sharp with cold that it hurt, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the tension thrumming through me.
I took one step down, and then another, half expecting to hear the doors open behind me, someone calling my name. The equivalent of a lightning bolt or a sign from above to stop me. But the only sound was the clinking hiss of the sleet hitting the ground, and my shoe and casted foot crunching in it, moving faster than they had in wee
ks.
The road was dark and empty, traffic a distant hum at the intersection down the block, so it only took me a few seconds to cross the street and climb the sagging porch stairs.
My hand shaking, I pressed the doorbell. But there was no sound inside, no echo of the bell.
I knocked on the splintery wooden door, white paint flecks raining down on the worn welcome mat below.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered.
The curtain on the window next to the door fluttered, revealing a flash of dark hair and pale skin.
But the door didn’t open.
I knocked again, a little harder this time, and the sound of a dead bolt retracting finally greeted me.
I lowered my hand, and the hinges squealed in protest as Thera pulled the door back. “I tried the doorbell,” I said.
“It doesn’t work,” Thera said. “What are you doing here?” She shivered and folded her arms across her chest. She wasn’t dressed for outside, wearing only a tank top and boxer shorts, and I could see the goose bumps rising on her skin. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked, tipping her head toward the church behind me. Even out here I could hear the organ music. The opening hymn, most likely.
An excellent question. What exactly had I come for? Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure anymore. “No, I wanted to . . .” I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my khakis. “I guess I wanted to talk.”
“About what?” she asked, taking a step back, as if preparing to shut the door on me. “If this is about Eli again, I don’t have—”
“I died,” I said, the words startling me in their starkness. I’d never said them out loud, not to anyone.
Her mouth opened in surprise, and she went still.
“That night in the car. It wasn’t just Eli. I died too. For a few minutes. They brought me back,” I said, my voice catching.
The wind, sweeping under the porch roof, blasted pellets of sleet at us. Thera wrapped her arms tighter around herself but didn’t retreat.