Paper Hearts
Page 19
But it makes her happy. And life is too short to be unhappy.
“That’s a thought,” she says, rubbing her stomach.
“So you going to? Stay, I mean.”
“Do you want me to?”
“What does my opinion matter?”
She sits up straighter and flattens her perfect hair. “Because it’s my job to care about what you think. And if you need me here, I’ll stay, at least until graduation.”
I can’t believe she’s asking this of me, of all people. Surely I can’t matter so much.
“You heard about the trial.”
Of course she has.
“I did.”
She looks so naked without her clipboard and clicky pen, so I go to her desk and pick them up.
“Here.”
She stares.
I motion, looking indifferent. “You have to write it down, right?”
She can’t turn the gears in her head quick enough. Luckily I’ve gotten pretty patient these past few months.
“Of course. My mistake.” She clicks her pen. “So tell me about this trial.”
“So glad you asked.”
Epilogue
There’s not always a silver lining behind every cloud. Most of the time, there aren’t any clouds at all, just an abyss of gray or blue, an expanse without promise.
Life is too complex to be explained in one metaphor. If I could try, it would be this: life is a lemon tree of misery always in bloom, so make with the lemonade because things won’t improve much.
After Nathaniel went to jail, I had to make a decision. Sit on my hands and get whomped by falling citrus or put my big-girl pants on and start acting like an adult.
I got a full-time cashier job at H-E-B as soon as I turned eighteen and a couple part-time babysitting and dog-walking jobs before that.
Mom let me move back in. I had no choice. I couldn’t sign the lease on the apartment, so I asked Mrs. Greer, the landlady, if she would hold it for a few weeks, just until my birthday. Thankfully, she did.
I pressed charges against Peter, who, after waking from his coma, fell into a legal dispute and hit the bottom of the nearest state prison four and a half months later.
Graduation night, when the flowers and pictures and speeches were over, I went home and wrote another letter to Nathaniel.
I had lots of help from the other side. That’s how I’d like to think of it. Because after avoiding and procrastinating, I finally turned to the last note cards in the back of the book. They were stapled together, and inside was a letter. I’m holding it now, the folds worn and flaying like new cotton.
Michelle,
I pray this letter finds you in good health. I, of course, won’t be as lucky, but since health is irrelevant to the dead, I guess I can say I’m feeling most apathetic about the deal in general.
I wanted to leave this book trail for many reasons. I wanted you to have something special. A distraction for when times are hard, something to inspire you, and maybe one of those long convoluted lessons that old people love to give. Take from each book what you will. But for the purposes of the hunt and for your flimsy patience, I’m here to tell you what time wouldn’t allow.
The first book was just for fun, something wonderful that I enjoy. Sometimes you have to have a little downtime, some joy and relaxation. I chose it because it made me happy. I want you to be happy always. You deserve to be.
The second, the one in which you only read chapter six, was meant to show you that life is confusing. It’s inconsistent, nonsensical at times, and as whimsical as the old woman who started all this. Making sense of this place is a fruitless task. Enjoy the ride no matter how crazy it may get, and learn to deal with the dips and curves that happen along the way.
The third and fourth novels. Not my favorites, but they serve to prove a point. There are many types of people, not all good. There are days when you feel like hating all of humanity. Don’t. Because there are people worth your time and love, people who aren’t evil and self-indulgent. Humanity is not a lost cause. Never forget that.
The fifth book was more of a “not to do” list about love. Love can be magic; love can be a curse. Love cannot be fickle or infelicitous or presumptuous. It isn’t cheap and filthy or something money can solicit. This story was everything love is not and can never be. Period.
Ah, the last choice, full of drama and slander and inner turmoil. It’s really quite good. Anyway. My point is, as long as people breathe, they’ll spend half their breath running their mouths and the other half denying it. Let them talk. You can’t stop it, so why worry about it?
Ta-da!
That was nothing short of anticlimactic, but I had good intentions, at least. Maybe senility has reached me after all. Damn.
With all my love,
Elena Stotes
My face hits the seat, and the paper crackles. Deena’s not even driving this time, and I walk out thinking it must just be a bus driver thing.
At 6:02, I hit the bathroom and do a thorough scrub down before feeding Wolfie and putting a meat loaf in the oven. At 6:16, I’m outside on the steps, heart clawing out of my chest. The humidity pastes my shirt to my back. The clouds are heavy slung, the sweet smell of approaching rain filtering through the grime.
It comes skidding down the street, overshoots the curb, and hits reverse.
From the yellow cab, two feet emerge, a hulking man moving from his seat.
He stands there, black duffel bag hanging limp, smile almost as weak. I’m not feeling much stronger than he looks. After all this time to prepare, I still don’t know what to say or do. “Hey, you.”
“Hi,” he murmurs, bumping his duffel against his thigh.
I hug him around the waist.
He drops his bag, holding me tight. His hand brushes over my hair. He pulls back a fraction, but when I shake my head, he hugs me tighter still.
We walk the whole way without words. We’re at the door, me feeling around for the key in my jeans. A shivering hand grabs my wrist. He keeps it there, and when I reach out for the doorknob, his hand slips over mine.
Together, we turn the key in the lock, hear the tumblers turn, and push the door ajar.
Acknowledgments
In order of direct involvement in the creation of the novel, first and foremost I want to thank my best friend, Shay Harvey, for years of friendship, unfailing optimism, and hours spent discussing new ideas and fine-tuning old ones. I’d be nowhere without you, bro, and I thank you for all you do. Next I have to thank my mentor, Gena Probst. If not for her guidance, I would not have found the courage to write for others’ eyes, nor would I have had any insight into the world of publishing.
A special thanks to everyone at Medallion Press. To Emily Steele, my editor, who patiently dealt with a thousand and one questions about anything and everything: thank you for making this entire process a lot less befuddling. Big thanks to Brigitte Shepard, my marketing manager, for being my go-to person. And to the cover art designer, James Tampa, for his beautiful creation. To those at Medallion whom I’ll never meet: thank you for the time, energy, and effort put into making this all possible. You’re all angels without wings.
The acknowledgments have been particularly hard to write. There are so many to whom I owe much gratitude and not enough space to honor them all. To those who have been a constant source of strength and inspiration, I have never met a group of more wonderful people. This is for them, my ever-supportive family, friends, and mentors. Without you all, I am nothing, and I love you more than can be expressed.
I also wish to acknowledge the following for permission to quote:
“Cuz You’re Gone”
Words and Music by John Rzeznik
© 1993 EMI VIRGIN SONGS, INC. and SCRAP METAL MUSIC
All Rights Controlled and Administered by EMI VIRGIN SONGS, INC.
All Rights Reserved International Copyright Secured Used by Permission
Reprinted with Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
“Notbroken”
Words and Music by John Rzeznik
© 2010 EMI VIRGIN SONGS, INC. and CORNER OF CLARK AND KENT MUSIC All Rights Controlled and Administered by EMI VIRGIN SONGS, INC.
All Rights Reserved International Copyright Secured Used by Permission
Reprinted with Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
“Truth Is A Whisper”
Words and Music by John Rzeznik
© 2002 EMI VIRGIN MUSIC, INC. and CORNER OF CLARK AND KENT MUSIC
All Rights Controlled and Administered by EMI VIRGIN MUSIC, INC.
All Rights Reserved International Copyright Secured Used by Permission
Reprinted with Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
“Listen”
Words and Music by John Rzeznik and Robbie Takac
© 2006 EMI VIRGIN SONGS, INC., CORNER OF CLARK AND KENT MUSIC and SIX ASPIRIN AM MUSIC
All Rights Controlled and Administered by EMI VIRGIN SONGS, INC.
All Rights Reserved International Copyright Secured Used by Permission
Reprinted with Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
Resources for Victims of Sexual Abuse
RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network)
www.rainn.org
Hotline: 1.800.656.HOPE(4673)
Online hotline: www.ohl.rainn.org/online/tour.cfm
National Organization for Victim Assistance
www.trynova.org
Hotline: 1-800-TRY-NOVA (879-6682)
NOPRA (National Organization for the Prevention of Rape and Assault, Inc.)
www.nopra.org
Pandora’s Project
www.pandys.org
The National Center for Victims of Crime
www.ncvc.org
Biography
S. R. Savell is a writer in pursuit of her MFA. She loves used books, lucid dreams, and the occasional romp in the dirt. She wrote Paper Hearts when she was eighteen years old. She lives in Hempstead, Texas, with her family.