All morning, I look for him in the halls. But it’s not until physics, when I sit down behind his empty desk, that I realize for sure he’s not here today. Again. This is the fourth time in the past couple of weeks he’s skipped school. Teddy’s never exactly gotten awards for perfect attendance, but still, it’s a bit odd, and I’m disappointed not to see him.
As I walk out of class, I scroll through the unanswered texts I’ve sent him over the past few days, realizing there are twelve in all, messages like Where are you? and Pick up your phone! and Are you okay? and Seriously, where the hell are you?
Now I type out a thirteenth: I miss you.
But I can’t bring myself to send it.
After school I’m eager to go home and see the puppy, but I’ve got a reading session with Caleb, so I head off to the library instead. Yesterday his foster mom emailed to tell me they’d finished Charlotte’s Web, which means it’s time to pick out a new book. This is always my favorite part: wandering the stacks, pulling out books by their spines, watching as Caleb examines the covers and weighs his options.
Today, he lingers on The BFG, which I already know will be a hit. As we walk back to our seats, he’s so busy flipping through the pages that I have to steer him through the shelves. When we turn the corner of the mystery section, I see that our usual table has been taken. And not just by anyone.
It’s been taken by Teddy.
Caleb continues to walk over, still lost in the illustrations, but I remain standing there, unable to do anything but stare. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Teddy in a library before—not even our school library—and it’s a strange and unexpected sight.
When he looks up, he seems less surprised to see me.
“Hi,” he says, leaning back in the too-small chair as we walk over. His backpack is propped beside his foot and it’s half-unzipped, revealing several books and binders. On the table there’s a notepad and a pencil, as if he’s just settled in to do some work.
“Um, hi,” I say, frowning at him.
Caleb slips into the other chair, setting his book on the table and gazing admiringly at the cartoon giant on the cover. Teddy leans forward to examine it.
“That’s a good one,” he says. “Who’s your favorite character?”
“Wilbur,” Caleb says automatically.
“Is that the giant?”
He looks at Teddy as if he might be slow. “No, he’s a pig.”
“The giant is a pig?”
“Wilbur is a pig.”
“Oh,” Teddy says with a knowing nod. “So the pig is a giant?”
Caleb giggles at this. “No, the pig is a pig and the giant is a giant.”
Teddy grins at him. “Then who’s Wilbur?”
Because this could easily go on forever, I clear my throat, and they both look up at me. “Can I borrow you for a minute?” I ask Teddy, who grabs his backpack, then holds out a fist for Caleb to tap his knuckles against.
“See you later, man.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Caleb as I half-drag Teddy out into the hallway, where he leans against a poster of Harriet the Spy, his hands in the pockets of his fleece vest. “What are you doing here?”
“Working,” he says with a shrug.
“In the children’s section?”
“I like the ambience.”
I frown at him. “I assume you’re not doing something for school.”
“That’s true.”
“So?”
“So…what?”
“Stop being such a weirdo,” I say, punching him in the chest. “You can’t fall off the face of the earth, then act like it’s nothing. What’s going on with you? Where have you been? And why are you hanging out at the library?”
Teddy rubs at the spot where I hit him, attempting a wounded look, but his eyes give him away: they’re sparkling with laughter.
“I told you,” he says. “I’ve been working.”
“On what?”
“Just some stuff,” he says, then does a quick sidestep before I can swipe at him again. “I can’t tell you yet, but soon, okay? I promise.”
I fold my arms. “Fine,” I say. “But…”
“Yeah?”
“Are we okay?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“I just mean…well, ever since we got back from the trip, you’ve sort of disappeared.”
“I know,” he says, and then does something he’s never done before. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, sending a shiver through me. “But we’re okay. I promise.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“A little bird told me you picked Northwestern,” he says with a smile. “That’s big news. I didn’t even know you were really considering it. Especially after our trip.”
“I know,” I say a little sheepishly. “It was kind of unexpected, but I ended up changing my mind.”
He nods with approval. “You’re allowed,” he says, then clears his throat. “As you know, I’m not much of a fan of college myself—”
“Which we’re not finished discussing.”
“—but I’m a very big fan of the location.” He looks like he’s about to say more, then stops himself. “So congrats.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I’m really happy about it.”
“Well, I’m happy you’re happy,” he says. “And guess what? My last offer in the building was just accepted. Which means I now own the whole thing.”
“Wow,” I say, widening my eyes. “Does your mom know yet?”
He shakes his head. “I just found out. I’m gonna tell her when I get home.”
“I still can’t believe you bought a whole building. I mean, I can…obviously. But a few months ago, this would’ve been…”
“Impossible,” he says with a smile.
“So when do you get to move in?”
“Next month. There’ll still be a bunch of construction going on, but the contractor promised at least one of the floors would be livable by then. I guess there’s not really a rush, but I’m just excited. It feels like it’s time for a fresh start.”
I get the uneasy feeling he’s talking about more than just the apartment. I think about his recent distance, wondering what it means and whether he’s finally drifting away from me. The thought makes me want to grab his hand and refuse to let go.
He rocks back on his heels. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. But congrats again on Northwestern.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Congrats on the new place.”
He gives me a wave, but as he starts to walk away something occurs to me. “Hey, Teddy?” I call out, and he spins around again. “This might sound weird, but…did you send Leo a puppy?”
His face splits into one of his trademark grins. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says, as if the answer should be obvious, “it’s what he said he wanted.”
“Yeah, when he was twelve.”
Teddy’s smile widens. “Exactly.”
I shake my head, amused.
“See you later, Al E. Gator,” he says, waving over his shoulder.
It’s been years, but even so, my response comes automatically: “I’ll be there, Ted E. Bear.”
When he’s gone I head back in to Caleb, who is huddled over the book, his finger moving haltingly across the page. “Good so far?” I ask, and he points to the word dormitory. I say it out loud for him, but he still looks confused.
“What’s a dorm-i-tory?” he asks, testing the sound of it.
“Well, it’s a place where a lot of people sleep.”
“But why does Sophie have to sleep there?” he asks, his eyes still on the page. “Where are her parents?”
“I think,” I say cautiously, “that this dormitory is an orphanage.”
“For orphans?” he asks in a small voice.
I nod.
“Like me.”
“And me,” I say. Caleb looks over sharply, his face screwed up like he isn’t sure whether to be
lieve me, like he’s trying to figure out whether I belong in the category of adults who pander to him or the category who tell the truth.
“You?” he asks, and I nod again.
“Yes.”
“You’re an orphan?”
The word still has a sting to it, even after all this time. But I try not to let it show, because Caleb doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to see that it still takes so much work to seem like a normal person, to maintain a hard enough shell around all that’s gone soft inside you.
“Yes,” I say, looking him square in the eye. “I am.”
“Your mom died?”
I nod.
“And your dad?”
I nod again, and he considers me a moment.
“Mine too,” he says, suddenly matter-of-fact. “It sucks.”
I can’t help laughing. “I totally agree.”
For a few seconds we just look at each other. Then he turns back to the book, moving his finger to the next word on the page, then the one after that, murmuring them aloud in his slow and deliberate way. But I can’t seem to focus on the story. I glance over at the far wall, where rows of posters hang above a low bookshelf. Some of them are just puppies and kittens sitting beside stacks of books, but others are more motivational. They’re mostly clichés: FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS! and DON’T BE AFRAID TO COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES! and YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE IN YOURSELF TO SUCCEED!
One of them has a black background, and each word is written across it in various bright colors. It says: IT’S OKAY NOT TO KNOW. IT’S NOT OKAY NOT TO CARE.
I stare at that one for a long time.
“Have you ever read Harry Potter?” I ask Caleb, interrupting him as he stumbles through a line about the witching hour. He glances up at me, confused.
“No, but I’ve seen some of the movies.”
“So you know that Harry’s an orphan too,” I say, and he nods warily. “But when you think of him, what’s the first word that comes to mind?”
“Wizard?” he asks, sounding just like Leo once did.
“Right. What else?”
“Quidditch player?” He pauses for a second to think. “Gryffindor?”
“Exactly. Harry was an orphan, but he was those other things too. Just like you’re a lot of other things.”
Caleb doesn’t seem quite convinced. “Like what?”
“Well,” I say, tapping my fingers against the cover of the book, “you’re a reader.” Then I point at his blue T-shirt. “And a Cubs fan.”
He gives me a shy smile. “Yeah.”
“What else do you want be?”
“A fireman,” he says without hesitating. “Or a pig owner.”
I laugh. “Both very good things.”
“What about you?”
“Well, I’m a niece,” I tell him. “And a cousin. And a best friend.”
And a daughter, I think, and for once the word doesn’t make me wonder whether that’s actually true, whether you can still be a daughter without having parents. Instead it makes me think about what Aunt Sofia said that morning at Northwestern.
Instead it makes my heart feel very full.
“A tutor,” I add with a smile, cuffing Caleb lightly on the arm; then I point to the open book. “And a reader.”
He nods. “What else?”
I hesitate, because I’m already out of words and the list seems alarmingly short. I realize I don’t know the answer to this question any better now than I did when I was nine, and there’s something a little disappointing about that.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I’m still working on it.”
As we walk out of the library an hour later, Miriam, the librarian at the front desk, waves us over. She pulls a plain white box with a blue bow from behind the counter and peers down at Caleb. “This is for you.”
He tips his head back, his eyes huge. “Me?”
“Who’s it—” I start to ask, but Miriam just winks at me as Caleb tears the top off and lets out a shout. Inside there’s a bundle of pink fur: a stuffed pig.
He hugs it fiercely to his chest. “Just like Wilbur.”
“Just like Wilbur,” I repeat as I scan the lobby. “Who dropped it off?”
“Some guy,” Miriam says, still smiling at Caleb. “Isn’t there a card?”
I check the box again, then shake my head. “No card.”
“How odd,” she says.
But as I lead a giddy Caleb and his new plush pig out to where his foster mom is waiting in the car, I’m actually thinking that maybe it’s not so odd after all.
When I get home there’s a similar white box on the front porch of the brownstone, and I’m not the least bit surprised at this either. I stand on the steps and peek inside to find a purple Northwestern hoodie. That’s it. No note. No signature. No label.
There’s nobody in the kitchen, which isn’t unexpected, since it’s still too early for my aunt and uncle to be home from work. But I was assuming the puppy would come hurling itself at me. As I make my way from room to room, calling out for Leo, waiting to hear the scrape of paws on the hardwood floors, I start to worry.
But then I hear the faint sound of barking from outside. Through the glass doors that lead to the deck, I see Leo with the puppy. And someone else too.
When I get closer I realize it’s Max.
He’s seated at the table with a can of soda, laughing as he tracks the dog—who is in hot pursuit of something, nose to the ground—and my spirits lift at the sight of him sitting there like he isn’t supposed to be in Michigan right at this very moment, like he and Leo didn’t just break up a few weeks ago, like nothing has changed at all.
“Max,” I say as I slide open the door, and he swings his head in my direction, grinning, then hops up and pulls me into a hug.
“Alice,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Man, have I missed you.”
From over Max’s shoulder, I can see Leo watching us with an uncertain smile. I step back and put a hand on each of Max’s shoulders, studying him. He looks a little bit taller than I remember, a little bit scruffier, but he has the same unruly brown hair and uneven dimples, and he’s wearing the same canvas jacket he’s had since his sophomore year.
“You look the same,” I say approvingly, once I’ve had a chance to look him over. “Except for the stubble.”
He laughs and rubs at his jaw. “That’s just laziness.”
“Well, it suits you,” I say with a grin. “What are you doing here?”
“Leo needed some reinforcements to help with this guy,” Max says, bending down to scoop the puppy into his arms.
“Seriously?” I ask, glancing over at Leo, who gives a sheepish shrug.
“I know he looks innocent,” Leo says. “But trust me, he’s all teeth.”
“I grew up with dogs,” Max says, shifting the puppy in his arms, “and I was looking for an excuse to avoid studying for finals, so I figured I might as well come see the little dude myself.”
They’re both looking at each other now, neither quite smiling, but also neither quite able to break away until the puppy cranes his neck up and bites at Max’s ear.
“Ouch,” he says, laughing. “He’s like a piranha.”
“Maybe that’s what we should call him,” I say, but Leo shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “I’m still working on that.”
“Well, I think I figured out where he came from,” I say, ready to tell them about the library this afternoon, about seeing Teddy and the box with the stuffed pig and the sweatshirt from Northwestern. But then Leo nods.
“Me too,” he says with a look of amusement. “Teddy, right?”
“Right,” I say, surprised that he figured it out too.
“It’s what I said I’d want if I ever won the lottery,” he says, answering my unasked question. “But that was a million years ago. I can’t believe he remembered.”
“Me neither,” I say, though that’s not exactly true. In fact I’m starting to think we might have
underestimated Teddy a bit.
Max sets the puppy back on the deck, and we all watch as he balances on the top step, trying to work up the nerve to hop down. “You definitely need a name that captures that adventurer’s spirit,” Max says, and I laugh at this. But when I look over at Leo, his face has gone slack.
“Be right back,” he mumbles, heading for the door.
“I’m just gonna…,” I say, and Max nods distractedly as he crosses the deck to grab the puppy again.
In the kitchen Leo is standing at the sink, his arms braced on either side as he stares out the window that faces the backyard.
I stop in the doorway. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he says without turning. “I just…I can’t believe he’s here.”
“Like…in a good way?” I ask hopefully, because I love Max, and, more important, I know Leo loves Max, and even though he was the one to end it, it’s obvious how much he misses him.
“I don’t know yet,” he says. “I have no clue what this means, and I’m scared to ask. The puppy was chewing everything, and I kept wishing I could call him, so I just sort of…did.”
“Have you guys talked about anything else?”
“No,” Leo says, shaking his head. “That’s the crazy part. He borrowed a car and drove all the way down here. Five hours! But then all we’ve been doing is playing with the dog. And not talking. At least not about anything real.”
I nod. “But he’s here.”
“He’s here,” Leo agrees, watching Max half-drag the puppy—who is clamped to the cuff of his jeans—around the yard. “I wish I knew what it meant.”
“Well, it might help to start by talking to him instead of me.”
He nods. “Yeah, but I’m just afraid if we start talking, we’ll…”
“Jinx it?” I ask, and he gives me a sheepish smile.
“I know you think I’m nuts.”
“I think,” I say, watching him closely, “that the only reason you broke up with him was so that he wouldn’t break up with you first.”
Windfall Page 24
