by Stacey Kade
“It’s not Leah,” she said. “You should go.” Her tone seemed strained, and yet she was encouraging me to go to the door.
“Okay,” I said slowly, turning away from the drawer. Her weirdness was kind of freaking me out.
But when I got to the hallway and the partially open front door, I saw the reason for it.
Thera was on my front porch. She was rocking back and forth, as if on starter blocks for a race and waiting for the gun. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and the hood on her sweatshirt beneath her battered leather coat was halfway up, as if she’d been reluctant to pull it down to begin with. She was beautiful, as always, and if the color in her cheeks was any indication, she was either really cold or really angry. Possibly both.
“Hey,” I said, stunned. I pulled the door open the rest of the way, but reflexively looked over my shoulder for one or more of my parents, who under normal circumstances—maybe in a life that was no longer mine—would be hovering barely out of sight. “What are you doing—”
“Your mom asked if I wanted to come in. I said no,” Thera said, lifting her chin. “I just have two things to say to you.”
I edged out, shivering in the cold—shorts and a T-shirt were no match for March—and pulled the door mostly shut behind me for privacy. “Thera—”
“First. You left this in my car.” She handed over my backpack, loaded down with all Mrs. Rafferty’s yearbook examples.
I took it, the weight of it pulling me forward. “Thanks,” I said. I’d forgotten all about it until now.
“Eli deserves a memorial page, and you don’t have the right to screw that up because you want to avoid me,” she said.
I flinched. “I wasn’t going to—”
“Second. You don’t have to believe me about Eli.” She let out a soft breath that wreathed her face in white. “I honestly think he would have changed his mind and come through for us in the end.”
No, he wouldn’t have. My guilt and confusion over what I’d found roared back at full force.
“But that doesn’t matter now. What does is what you said to me.” She swiped at her watering eyes angrily with a shaking hand. “I didn’t kiss you or let you touch me to convince you of something. If you really believe I did, then you’re not who I thought you were. You’re no better than Doug and Aaron and those other baseball assholes who think it’s my fault what happened last year.”
Tears left bright shiny tracks on her red cheeks, despite her efforts to wipe them away, and the sight of them tore at me.
“Thera.” I reached out for her. “I am so sorry.”
But she spun away from me. “I’m done now,” she said over her shoulder as she pulled her hood up.
Thera strode down the two brick steps to our sidewalk, heading for her battered car parked in the street. The one and only person who’d made my life better, who’d been willing to accept me for who I was now, damaged, broken and lost, was walking away, for good. She was innocent in all of this mess, too, the one who’d be hurt the most by other people making decisions she couldn’t control.
Was I really going to let her go because I was confused, because not everything was exactly like I thought it was or should be? That seemed wrong. Like the action of a person I didn’t want to be. Or didn’t want to be anymore.
Do something. The urgency in me built to a breaking point.
“You were right,” I called after her, the words slightly too loud in my desire to make sure she heard me. They seemed to echo off the frozen landscape, hard and harsh; but like a breath of that cold bracing air, saying the words aloud brought along a sweeping sensation of being cleansed.
Thera slowed, then stopped, turning to face me. “What?”
“I know you were telling the truth. About everything,” I admitted, the confession coming easier now that I’d started.
She eyed me with suspicion, as if expecting a sudden reversal or a trick.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, pleading. “I was so caught up in trying to figure out what I believed, I lost track of who to believe.”
She shook her head, but she didn’t walk away. Which was more than I deserved.
Please let this be the right thing to do. I offered up the silent prayer to God, my brother, anyone who might be listening; then I moved back, making room in the doorway.
“You should come in,” I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
* * *
THERA STEPPED INTO OUR house with the wariness of someone expecting an attack from all sides.
“Come on.” I shut the door and waved her forward, leading the way to the kitchen.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked.
“It’ll be fine,” I said, though I wasn’t absolutely sure about that. But we definitely had better odds with only my mom and Sarah home.
My mom, having returned to her position behind the island, went still when she saw Thera behind me.
“Mom, this is Thera Catoulus. She’s been helping me with . . . stuff. She brought my backpack back to me. I forgot it after my fall yesterday.”
Mom nodded uncertainly, the spatula in her hands, like she was holding the situation at bay with the flat plastic end as a shield.
“Thera, this is my mom, Carrie Palmer.”
Thera rallied faster, pausing only slightly before stepping forward and offering her hand to my mom over the expanse of the island counter. “Nice to meet you,” she said.
My mom transferred her spatula to one hand and shook Thera’s with the other. “You too,” she said.
“And this is my sister, Sarah,” I said.
Sarah, who’d been staring at Thera this whole time, cocked her bed-tangled head to one side. “Do you like the boys better at St. Luke’s? Jace’s old girlfriend does.”
“Sarah!” my mom scolded.
I groaned.
“Uh, actually, I don’t know any. I don’t think,” Thera said, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets.
Sarah nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Okay.”
“Thera, can I make you something to eat? We were just sitting down to breakfast,” my mom said hesitantly.
“No, I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Palmer,” Thera said, shooting me a look that said “get to it.”
“Actually, I have something I wanted to show Thera upstairs real quick.” I headed that way, nudging Thera as I passed so she’d come along.
“But your eggs will be cold,” my mom said with a warning frown. Visitors aren’t allowed upstairs.
“It won’t take long. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I wasn’t asking for permission.
I started up the stairs, with Thera a step behind me.
“Keep your door open, Jacob,” my mom called when we were about halfway up.
My face went hot, and Thera inhaled sharply.
“She didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just the rules,” I murmured to her.
“Whatever.”
At the top of the staircase, I turned and opened the door to Eli’s room. Then I moved back to allow Thera in and closed the door after her.
Thera raised her eyebrows.
“My door is open,” I pointed out. “And I really do have something to show you.”
“Eli’s room?” she asked quietly, hovering near the entrance.
“Yeah.”
She surveyed the room, taking it all in. Her breath caught when she noticed the sweatshirt in the plastic bag on the bed.
“I was wearing it the night of the accident, borrowed it from him when Kylie spilled beer on me,” I said. “I think my mom brought it back for him.”
Thera bit her lip.
She stepped in deeper to look at his bookcase, and I moved to the nightstand. We wouldn’t have a whole lot of time up here before my mom came to check on us, I was sure.
“I knew he was a fantasy geek,” she said with fondness, running fingers lightly along the spines of his books. “We used to argue about that. Science fiction versus
fantasy.”
“There’s a difference?” I asked, tugging the drawer out with a grunt of effort.
She didn’t answer. “What are you doing?” she asked, moving to my side as I set the drawer on the bed.
I tipped the drawer over, revealing the folder taped to the bottom of it.
She gasped. “You found it.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But I’m not sure it’s . . .” I paused. “I just thought you should see it.” Though I wasn’t exactly sure how she’d react. She might be angry, and she deserved to be.
After pulling the folder free, I handed it to her.
She hesitated for a second, then took it and flipped it open carefully.
I stepped back, keeping an ear out for the sound of my mom coming up the stairs. We’d have to have a hell of an excuse if she caught us in here. I strained to hear anything from the kitchen below, but my mom and my sister were being too quiet.
I watched Thera’s expression as she moved through the pages, her forehead wrinkling with concentration or confusion or both.
And when she reached the last page, Eli’s handwritten notes, I held my breath.
Thera would be well within her rights to start yelling. At me, at Eli, at everyone involved.
Thera’s shoulders tensed, and I braced myself, as she turned the page over.
A few minutes later, she sagged into herself. “He should have told me,” she said.
I was trying to understand that too. Thinking like Eli would have, I could only come up with one answer. “I think he might have been embarrassed. People always see us . . . saw us . . . as in relation to the other. If I was the bad one, then he had to be the good one. But I think this was maybe making him question . . . everything.” Actually, there was no maybe about it. He’d said as much in the car to me that night; I just hadn’t known what he was talking about.
She closed the folder and smoothed the front, like a gesture of good-bye, and then held it out to me. Her eyes were damp with tears.
“You’re not angry?” I asked in disbelief, taking the folder.
“Angry that someone threatened him? Yes. That he was scared and backed off? No.”
“Why not?”
“He was my friend. He was trying to help me, which is more than anyone else did,” she said. “I appreciate that, more than he’ll ever know. But it was self-preservation. I get that, probably better than anyone. Expecting someone to do the right thing at a cost to themselves . . .” She shook her head.
But they should. They were supposed to, weren’t they? Wasn’t that exactly what Eli had been struggling with?
“Plus, I’m not sure it would have worked even if he had gone through it,” Thera said. “It would have been his word against theirs.”
And Eli, no matter how smart and serious he was, would have been seen as just a kid, not worth taking seriously. And that was only if anyone bothered to look into the situation. So it would have been exactly as he’d feared—giving up everything and changing nothing.
“But thank you for showing me.” She smiled, wiping under her eyes. “It’s nice to know I was right about him. That he really was trying.”
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “It’s not right,” I said. “They shouldn’t be able to do this.” The contents of the folder had shifted, and the Riverwoods letterhead logo, the Dove of Peace, now poked out at the top, like a taunt. It killed me how closely my family was involved in this mess.
“It’ll be okay,” Thera said, sounding tired. “I’ll probably get to finish the year here. Then I’ll have to figure it out. I can maybe find us an apartment somewhere nearby, and Mom does have some phone and web clients, so the business won’t close completely. I’ll have to see what I can do to make some extra money.”
She was going to end up quitting school; I could see it coming right at her, the choice between building a future and maintaining her present. She’d choose the present for her mother. She would have to. And that was just wrong.
“There has to be something else.” I wished, suddenly, violently, for the days when I went to my parents with all of my problems—a skinned knee, the monster in the back of the closet, the need for a drink of water in the middle of the night—and every problem seemed easily solvable as soon as they were involved. But in this case, I couldn’t be sure that my dad wasn’t part of the problem. Eli had clearly thought that was a possibility, which was why he hadn’t gone to my dad with any of it. At least, that’s what I assumed. Or maybe the embarrassment that kept him from telling Thera also kept him from sharing what was going on with my dad. Either way, I doubted my dad would be the most receptive audience now. I didn’t want him to be the bad guy, but the truth was, he had too much at stake with Mr. Hauer and the expansion.
Thera lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “The lawyer we talked to said that the hearing might work in our favor. We can’t afford to fight this in court. But he has some media contacts, and if we hire him, he’ll use them to try to draw enough public attention to shame the city into a higher offer, something closer to what Riverwoods offered originally.” She rolled her eyes. “But that might be his hope for a bigger piece of the settlement talking. I’ve been doing some research online, trying to figure out the numbers. By the time we’re done with taxes and fees, I’m not sure what’ll be left.” She sounded a decade older than she should have, a full-on adult.
Public attention. Shame. Riverwoods. The words were hot pokers, jabbing individually into my brain. I could practically feel the sear of the metal. And they were followed by the phrase that had hung over my head every time we left the house for as long as I could remember: Someone is always watching and we have an obligation to be good examples.
Bullshit. It was all bullshit. And someone needed to do something about it. Or at least try.
A brief scene from my dream last night resurfaced—Eli pointing at me, mouthing the word “you.”
The image raised goose bumps on my arms, and the first vague outlines of an idea began to form in my head. It scared the hell out of me, but at the same time, it felt right, the first thing to feel that way in a long time.
“Jacob?” My mom called from downstairs, her voice muffled and faint.
I crept to Eli’s door and cracked it open. “Be right there,” I shouted.
“Are you all right?” Thera asked with a frown. “You had this really weird look on your face.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m fine.” I took a deep breath. “I need to get dressed, but can you give me a ride somewhere?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
* * *
WHEN I WALKED IN, the new building was quiet but for the distant hum of the furnace, and most of the lights were off. Delores and Carol weren’t here yet, and I didn’t hear any typing noises from the office.
The main entrance had been unlocked, though, and my dad’s Escalade was in its space, so he was here somewhere.
My gaze drifted from the hallway that led to my dad’s office to the shiny wooden double doors of the auditorium in front of me. They were closed. He was probably in there, rehearsing already. He liked to run through his sermon a few times with no one around.
I hadn’t been in the auditorium since before the accident. It was where they’d held Eli’s funeral service.
I could easily imagine it, the room packed to the gills with people and that lonely casket on the center stage. My family—minus me—clustered around it.
The rush of emptiness, of missing Eli, swelled again, and for one quick second, I thought about turning around and walking back out to the lot, where Thera was waiting for me.
Back at my house, I’d told my mom we needed to work on Eli’s page for the yearbook at school. She didn’t believe me, but with Sarah and Thera there to overhear, she was forced to keep her protests limited and vague. And I’d promised to be back in an hour.
Then once Thera and I were in the car, I told her where I really wanted to go.
“You don’
t have to do this,” she said.
“Yeah, I do,” I said with a certainty that was rare these days.
“Do you think it’s going to change anything?” she said. “It’s too late for that.”
“I don’t know. It might not. But I feel like I have to try,” I said, uncomfortable with that reality.
My whole life, I’d kind of coasted along and never paid much attention to anyone or anything else. I’d avoided situations as soon as they got complicated. It felt easier. And as long as Eli was around to be the kind and conscientious one, I could get away with it. I was just playing my role, being his other half. But now, with him gone, I was seeing things differently. Eli wasn’t always the one who got it right. I wasn’t always the screwup.
This situation with Thera and her mother and Riverwoods was wrong. There was no way around that, even for someone as unstudied and uncertain in their beliefs as me. Eli had tried to fix it, but he’d had too much to lose.
I didn’t, not anymore. And I was awake now—that was what it felt like. I couldn’t go back to sleep.
Plus, my dad should know exactly what Mr. Hauer had done and said to Eli. No one was allowed to mess with Eli like that. He might be dead—maybe gone forever—but he was still my brother. My twin.
I’d done my best to explain all of that to Thera. She’d watched me for a second, as if evaluating my sincerity, my motives, or both, and then started the car.
When I pulled at the handle, the auditorium door opened smoothly and silently—no squeaking hinges to shame the latecomers at Riverwoods. The room itself was hushed and dark, the only light coming from the spotlight focused on the lectern at center stage and the metal dove sculpture hanging on the wall behind it.
My dad, his hair rumpled and far from TV ready, stood at the lectern, his glasses balanced on the end of his nose and pages in his hand.
“In this passage from John, the Pharisees are questioning Jesus about his miracle, healing this man on the Sabbath. They question Jesus in every way possible, including whether the man was actually blind to begin with.” He spoke fervently to an invisible crowd of congregants.
