That none of us will.
Beside me, Jeremy takes a sharp breath. “Thank you, Charlie.” His voice breaks as he takes my brother’s hand and steps into the light.
Ian moves to stand beside us. He’s still holding my mother in his arms. “I’ll carry her through,” he says.
I nod. “We’ll meet you on the other side.”
Ian’s gaze drifts between me and Charlie. A sorrow I’m not ready to face is written in the lines around his eyes.
“You were right. About everything,” Ian tells Charlie.
He reaches for Charlie’s hand but pulls back at the last minute. Ian lays my mother down on the beach and kneels in the sand in front of Charlie. He pulls off Will’s hat and pushes it down over Charlie’s head, adjusting the sides so they tuck behind his ears. Ian studies him for a moment before he smiles. “Goodbye, Charlie.” Tears shine in his eyes as he lifts my mom and takes my brother’s hand.
And then it’s just me and Charlie alone on this beach in a small bubble of space that is rapidly disappearing.
Charlie tips his face to mine. “It’s time to go now, Rosie.”
“Take my hand. We’ll do it together.” The way we always have and always will.
Me and Charlie against the world.
“No.”
It’s just a word. One small word.
“You have to walk through the door, Rosie, and I have to hold it open.”
“Why?” The pressure in my chest makes it impossible to breathe.
“Because I’m the only one who can.”
My hands tremble as they grip Charlie’s arms. “I won’t go.” I squeeze him, hard. “Not without you.”
“Everything has a proper place, Rosie.”
“Your place is with me.” My voice breaks. “You are my place, Charlie.”
A single tear streaks down his cheek. His forehead rests against mine, featherlight. “The dark pulse is searching for a way out. I can’t let it escape. I have to close the door from the inside. Do you understand?”
I do. We can’t let the dark pulse through. We have to contain it in the Fold. No matter what it takes. Something shatters inside of me.
I force a smile for Charlie’s sake. “It’s all right,” I lie. “I’ll close it. Just show me what to do.”
“You can’t.”
The answer guts me, even though I was expecting it. “Then I’m staying here with you.”
“No. I don’t need you, Rosie. Not anymore. But they do.” Charlie nods in the direction of the door. The one only he can see, and for one second, I am back in the Black Nothing, looking at the world through his eyes. For one moment, I can see them. Shining threads in every color, tying me to Mom and Ian. To Blaine and Becca and Jeremy and hundreds of other people I haven’t even met yet.
People who are waiting for me.
Charlie shows me their faces. And then he shows me a beautiful house on the ridge. A house like the one Dad designed. With a porch swing for Mom and a shed for all my tools. The smell of sunshine and the sound of laughter as two little girls with starburst eyes chase each other through the yard. Charlie shows me all of this before he lets me go.
My eyes burn as they focus in on his face. Over his shoulder, the wormhole hits the beach.
He wipes the tears from my eyes with the back of his hand. The same way I used to do when he was little and hungry, and I had nothing else to give him. “You can’t fix this, Rosie, but I can. You have to let me fix it. Please.”
Ten years of memories dance like leaves in the air between us. Charlie’s skin burning like a candle. Mom’s singing. Big hands dusted with calluses. They built us a swing and then pushed us so high, the ends of our hair touched the sun.
A small house near a cornfield. A missing step and a broken door. A truck packed with things that smelled of wet earth and goodbye. Our mother, her face turned toward the baby in her lap. Perfect triangle. Perfect moment. Perfect hands. I remember them wrapped around my mother’s waist. Her laugh like bells only he could ring.
Charlie reaching for me through the bars of his cradle. Dogs with silly straw hats and sand dollars on the beach. Songs and stories. The two of us lying side by side on the pullout couch, not talking but saying everything. Spinning circles across the hot pavement until the night sky danced above our heads.
Kneeling over a broken nest. His hand in mine and the eggs held between us.
“I don’t want you to be alone,” I tell him through a rain of tears that may never stop.
“We are never alone.” Charlie smiles his smile—the one that makes the world a wonderful place—and the light inside of him becomes almost too bright to look at. It transforms his whole face, until I see him. Not as the squirming bundle in my mother’s arms fresh from the hospital. Not as the little boy with holes in his jeans, and cuts on his knees from being pushed down again and again. Not as someone who needs me to fight his battles for him.
For the first time in my life, I see Charlie for who he really is.
A boy who saved an entire town, two thousand two hundred eighteen people simply because he could.
The wormhole closes to within a foot as I wrap my arms around my little brother one last time. I press my lips to his ear, and I say all the words I should have said but never could. And it doesn’t matter. None of it matters because Charlie already knows.
He has always known.
I take a step back, and I tell myself that this is just one more road. One more door Charlie has to walk through, and I have to let him.
I just wish it wasn’t so hard.
Charlie places his hand over his heart, and I do the same, my fingers kneading over the spot where the golden thread runs between us.
I stand back, and I breathe through the pain, and when Charlie reaches for me, I take his hand. Because the best thing about my father is that I still remember him. Because when things disappear, that doesn’t mean they are gone forever. Just misplaced for a time. Because there is beauty even in the deepest pain. You just have to know where to look.
I am looking at it now.
A light goes on somewhere deep in my head, and there it is. A door at the end of a hallway I couldn’t see until Charlie showed me. A tunnel of Light, Color, and Sound leading out of the Fold to a place just beyond. Charlie grips my hand and walks me toward it. Like I used to walk him to the bus on the first day of school.
I wait until the last second, and then I do the one thing I never thought I could.
I let him go.
The world shifts sideways as I fall. Into a forest filled with as many people as there are trees. Helicopters scream through the sky above us, their bright lights cutting through the forest canopy draped with night.
Arms close around me. Mom’s. Ian stands behind her, a load-bearing wall in the life I suddenly see, stretching far into the future.
A life Charlie gave me.
So I reach down to my mother, and I tell her one more time that things are going to be okay even though I don’t know how. Because there are things in this life you don’t have to understand to believe, and these are the things that matter.
My brother taught me that. And he taught me that we are never alone. Never. Even in the darkest places, there is light. Always. Everywhere. We just have to look for it.
* * *
Once.
Once upon a time.
Once upon a time you read the words and the words were magic. They belonged to you and you belonged to me.
Our words.
Our story.
Forever.
And ever.
Not the end.
The beginning.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of science fiction. Particle accelerators, like the LHC in Switzerland, are amazing feats of human ingenuity that are not to be feared. The brilliant people who design, build, and work with them are revealing the mysteries of this beautiful universe. Their work is an inspiration.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
T
his book has been on a long journey, guided by many wonderful people along the way.
Heartfelt thanks to my agent, Caryn Wiseman, of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency. You believed in my words and helped find them the perfect home. I wouldn’t be here without you.
My deepest gratitude to Kat Brzozowski, my brilliant editor. Your vision and passion for this book helped me take it to places I never imagined. Thank you for your insight and your unfailing kindness. Working with you has been a dream come true in every way.
Thank you to all the wonderful people at Feiwel and Friends/MacKids: Melinda Ackell, my production editor; Kim Waymer, my production manager; Shivani Annirood, my publicist; designer Katie Klimowicz and illustrator David Curtis, for creating my gorgeous cover; and Jean Feiwel. Also, thanks to Brenna Franzitta for copyediting.
I am lucky to belong to several amazing communities of writers. Special thanks to the Bookpod for being a source of positivity and knowledge. I am also deeply thankful to my fellow Novel19s for their kindness, generosity, and the gift of their beautiful stories.
Thank you to all the people who have read this book and provided feedback: the groups at Big Sur Writing Workshop; Karen Chaplin, Kristin Ostby, Sara Sargent, and Eric J. Adams for their comments on my earliest chapters; thanks to Courtney Koschel for attending conferences with me; also, Lindsay Garlow, A.E. Marling, Elena Patel, Polly Miller, and Julie Cremin for reading this book during various stages of construction. Your notes and feedback helped make this story what it is. Also, thank you to Cheryl Barclay, marvelous CP and conference roommate; Prashant Patel for talking physics with me and checking my math; and my husband, Josh, and my brother David for their assistance with the climbing scenes. Any mistakes, of course, are my own.
Thanks to Carolyn Lee Adams, amazing writer and human.Also, thanks to the late Margaret Wise Brown for the treasure that is Mister Dog: The Dog Who Belonged to Himself—the book Rose reads to Charlie and one that is beloved by so many, including me. Your friendship is a blessing, and your notes on the first half of this book were instrumental. Because the difference is we “can.”
Lisa Maxwell, you talked me back from the brink a million times, championed my work, and encouraged me at every turn. Not to mention your insightful comments helped me fix my ending. You inspire me with your words and bless me with your friendship. Also, thanks to Sara Raasch for reading and blurbing and reading and being generally amazing.
Olivia Hinebaugh, my dear friend, CP, and fellow Novel19, your belief in this story sustained me when my well ran dry. Thank you for every email, comment, phone call, and playlist, but most of all, for your friendship. I am so proud to share this debut year with you and your incredible book.
Thank you to Ashlee Cowles, my bosom friend and the other half of my brain. You read this story at its rawest and you helped me find its shine. You never once doubted what I could barely bring myself to dream. You are a brilliant writer and even more brilliant friend.
I couldn’t have done this without my family: my parents and first readers, Mark and Loretta Cremin; my brothers, Kevin, David, and Thomas; and my sister-in-law, Krista Cremin; Frank and Brenda Stinson for their love and unwavering faith; also, John and Polly Miller for being part of my village. To all Cremins, Stinsons, Langtons, Kevanes, Bennets, D’Amores, O’Days, and Rizzos—you have shown me what it is to be part of a network of threads that can never be broken.
All my love and gratitude to Josh. You made my dreams yours and then you helped me reach them. Thank you for being at my side through this and every adventure.
Last but not least, thank you to my beautiful boys, Uriah, Isaac, Daniel, and Caleb. You are my reason and my meaning. The shining lights at the end of my golden thread. My love for you will outlive the stars.
Thank you for reading this Feiwel & Friends book.
The friends who made BEFORE I DISAPPEAR possible are:
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Danielle Stinson grew up in a military family, which meant frequent moves across the United States and abroad. She spent many summers in her room surrounded by unpacked boxes and stacks of library books. Danielle claims Boston as her hometown, though she currently lives with her husband and four young boys in Virginia. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Danielle Stinson
A Feiwel and Friends Book
An imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
fiercereads.com
All rights reserved.
Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018955251
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by email at [email protected].
First hardcover edition 2019
eBook edition July 2019
eISBN 9781250303202
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Before I Disappear Page 30
