He gave a tiny smile. “Friends?” He propped himself on an elbow and held out his hand.
That’s when I knew. This was what Logan had wanted. For Tom and me to be friends. For us to forgive ourselves and let go of our guilt. Fernandez had been right about that too.
“Friends.” I took his hand and squeezed. It wasn’t the kind of healing I’d come here to offer, but forgiveness had to count for something. If nothing else, I felt lighter and happier than I had in almost a year.
Then, just as I was about to let go, a million pinpricks exploded inside my body. Suddenly I was alive in a way I’d never been alive before.
A part of me sat on the chair holding Tom’s hand, but the other me—the fuller, softer me—grew and stretched and rode the hum. And I wasn’t alone. The loving presence was with me.
Tom’s voice floated out like a distant wind. “What’s happening?” I felt him tug his hand away.
But I wouldn’t let it go. “It’s okay,” I said.
I knew it was. Even though I didn’t understand, I knew this was right and real and nothing to be scared of. The knowledge brought a powerful heat that rocked my body and shot out my hands.
“I feel weird,” he said.
Of course he felt weird. He was sick.
“All tingly,” he added. “Like there’s an electric charge running through me.”
He felt it, just like Lexi. But Tom wouldn’t keep quiet about it. He’d tell people. For sure.
The thought made me dizzy with fear. I might be able to laugh it off or put it down to him being sick, but somebody was bound to figure it out. Tom himself might connect the dots: Alan, Lexi, then him. Or Marie might spill. What if my friends figured out how different I really was?
Be strong, the voice said. Don’t be afraid.
I knew if my fear grew any bigger, the whoosh would snap me back to the smaller me. And it would all be over.
I could drop Tom’s hand and stop this now. Fly under the radar for the rest of my life. Work to make this healing thing go away. But Tom would lose his leg.
If I helped him, I risked standing out and being different. And who knew where that road would lead? Other people were bound to think like Marie. Other people were bound to think I was crazy. I’d hate that.
“Help him.”
It was Logan. He was here. I smelled him. Tears clogged the back of my throat as I stared wildly around the room. Where was he? I wanted to see him again. Just once more.
“What’s going on?” Tom asked as he balanced awkwardly on his elbow. His pale face reflected fear and confusion and guilt. His guilt was going to be with him a long time, I thought, staring into his feverish eyes. Losing his leg wouldn’t make it go away. And whether he lost his leg or kept it, I knew he’d remember the accident for the rest of his life.
That kind of hell seemed a lot worse than any kind of hell I might face. I couldn’t control what people thought of me. All I could control was me. And this.
I had to help Tom. I pushed my fear away. There was a tickle at the back of my neck, a soft puff of air by my ear.
“Thank you.”
And then Logan was gone. The presence, however, grew stronger.
I was vaguely aware of Tom lying back on the bed, of me scooting close so I could continue holding his hand. He complained some more about heat and tingling. I can’t remember what I said—I was mostly thinking about Logan—but I must have said something funny, because Tom laughed a little, called me Hannah Banana, and then he shut his eyes.
I don’t know how long we sat like that. Time didn’t make sense. I was getting okay with things not making sense.
Until his mom came back, and I left the room. That’s when the last thing happened. And that’s when I started to wonder if maybe I really was losing my mind.
Chapter Twelve
As I headed for the elevator, I felt like I could sleep for a thousand years. I was exhausted. Way more tired than I had been after Alan’s thumb. After touching Lexi’s nose. A nurse disappeared into a room up ahead. A pink-coated lab tech pushing a needle cart gave me a curious look as she walked by.
So what if I got stopped now, I thought. So what?
But when it happened, I was annoyed.
“Excuse me, miss?” I was four steps past the nurses’ station, in clear sight of the elevator. I needed sleep. I hardly had the energy to push the elevator button, never mind drive home. I’d have to put the air-conditioning on high and blast it in my face to stay awake.
“Miss!” The voice rang out again. I stopped, reluctantly. “Visiting hours don’t start until noon.”
“I didn’t know,” I fibbed as I turned around. “But I’m leaving now.”
“Oh. It’s you.” It was the same freckle-faced nurse who had looked after me the night of the bee sting. She smiled. “I can’t believe it. Your timing is perfect.”
I guess that depended on your point of view.
“I meant to call last week, but I got busy and then I was off five days. Hold on a minute,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched her go into a small glassed-in office behind the station. She bent over a desk, rooted through a drawer. Hurry up, I thought, yawning.
Seconds later, she was back. “Someone left this for you.” She held out her palm.
I couldn’t believe it. It was Logan’s medallion. For sure it was his. Right down to the tiny chip on the upper left corner.
“I’m sorry it took so long, but like I said, I was off for a week. Calling you was on my ‘to do’ list for today.” She laughed. “And here you are.” She dropped the medallion into my outstretched hand.
My fingers folded around it. I’d get the clasp checked, I thought, clutching it to my chest. Replaced even. Relief made me giddy, light-headed. “Was it the ambulance guy?” They’d probably found it on the ground when they’d moved me to the stretcher. Maybe it slipped off when I fainted. “Did he turn it in?”
“No.” The nurse shook her head. “A young man dropped it off. About your age. He had black, black hair.”
It couldn’t be. I started to tremble.
“Are you sure it wasn’t the ambulance guy?” My voice came out in a squeak.
“Oh, I’m sure.” She chuckled. “None of our attendants have dimples like that.”
Logan. I turned to instant Jell-O. My knees were shaking so much I could hardly stand up. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible. I was insane to even think it.
But Logan’s St. Christopher medallion pressed into my palm.
There are a million things we don’t understand, M.C. had said. But it doesn’t make them any less real.
“I asked if he wanted to leave a message,” the nurse added, “but he said no. He seemed to be in a hurry.”
In a hurry. A half-laugh, half-cry bubbled up my throat. “Yeah.” I reached up to put the medallion on. There was nothing wrong with the clasp. I knew that for sure.
“Let me help,” the nurse said, coming out from behind the desk. I felt her cool fingers against the nape of my neck. Had Logan touched her, I wondered. Had he really been here? Did it even matter? “There.”
The medallion settled on my skin like a soft kiss. “Thanks.” I fought back tears and rubbed the small silver disk between my fingers. Everybody said I had to let Logan go, even M.C. Learn to accept and learn to let go, she’d said. But this...I brought the medallion to my lips. Maybe one day I’d be ready to let it go. To take it off and drop it into a jewelry box, but not now. Not yet. Letting go of my grief was enough of a job.
The nurse studied me with the practiced eye of a health-care professional. “You’re awfully pale,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
More than fine, I thought as I walked to the elevator. While I waited for it to come, I gazed at the bulletin board.
There was a notice for yoga classes Thursday at noon. A picture of a white cat with the words free kittens written beside a phone number. And there was a car poster.
It was a red car, some fancy thing Logan would have recognized. Above it, in bold black letters, were three words: Live life large.
There was a soft ping and the swish of doors as the elevator opened. I walked inside and pushed M for main.
Live large. I thought of what had happened in that room with Tom and how he’d be okay now. That was large. I thought about how large I felt when I touched someone who was hurting. I thought about the hum, the presence, that feeling of love.
Life was large, I thought as the elevator bumped to a stop. Only most of us lived it small. Most of us couldn’t see the truth, even when it burned the palms of our hands.
The doors slid open. Not anymore, I thought as I reached up and touched Logan’s St. Christopher. Not anymore.
Laura Langston is the author of Exit Point in the Orca Soundings series, along with teen novels and picturebooks. Laura lives in Victoria, British Columbia.
Also by Laura Langston:
CCBC Starred Our Choice
PSLA Top Forty
Exit Point
978-1-55143-505-3 PB
RL 2.8
Hannah's Touch Page 6
