by Lee Davidson
I cautiously step through the wall into the garage, and then into the kitchen. A woman, Tate’s mom I’d guess from the resemblance plus twenty years, is coming down the steps.
“She asked Fischer if he wanted to play a game,” the woman says to the man who must be Tate’s dad.
The man’s fingers pause on his laptop keyboard. “You’re kidding.”
When the woman smiles, I move up the steps in slow motion and stop at Tate’s door. Without breathing, I push my face through the white wood until I can see her room. Someone has thrown me a bone because Liam is still M.I.A. and Willow, sitting in the far corner of the room, is focused on Tate and Fischer, both of whom are laying on the floor with a stack of playing cards between them.
Willow seems relaxed for the first time in weeks.
I smile, despite the fact that my scars are on fire. The smell alters my mood and panicked adrenaline slides through my veins.
Put out your smoking clothes, you idiot!
I jump out of the house and sprint down the street. With no sign of Liam, flying is the fastest choice, and I beat my own record speed back to the lake.
Five seconds later, I’m diving down to the bottom of the lake where the coolest water should reside, though I can’t feel a change in temperature. My skin and hair remain dry, but the fire eases while I’m under. Not completely, but enough.
I could fly out of the lake, but I swim to the bank instead, wanting to feel more human and wishing I could feel the coolness of the water. Lifting my burned shirt, I check out the scar on my chest. Ash flakes to the ground and my finger disappears up to the first knuckle. My knee is the same.
I can’t go back to Tate, not yet anyway. Being close to her made the world feel strangely whole again, just like last time, but there’s a good possibility my scars are going to burn clear through me. The longer I can prevent that from happening, the better.
Ignoring the charred holes in my T-shirt and jeans, I spend the evening determining the right thing to do and wondering why this pull is so strong. Elliott’s stories made me see visions of her, but they haven’t made this girl any less of a stranger to me. Even so, there’s no denying I’m drawn to her. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here burning to death.
Sitting in the dark with my broken calimeter, a sigh escapes. I wish my watch were working. I wish I could go back to my regular life as a Satellite. I wish I were still watching over Meggie. I wish, I wish, I wish…
But do I really?
No. I don’t wish for any of those things. I wish I were with Tate right now. I’d spend the last minutes, hours—however long I had—clinging to her while my body incinerates to ash.
This seals my decision and a second later I’m soaring over the trees, the darkened golf course, the glowing houses and street lights.
Now or never, I decide when I drop to Tate’s street, hoping I’m fast enough to stay out of Willow’s grasp.
My stance is defensive when my feet hit Tate’s floor.
“See there, Liam, I told you the kid would come to us eventually.”
I ignore Willow to watch Tate for a second. She hovers over a game board with a blond-haired boy, setting rectangular pieces of red plastic on one of the squares. Her laughter eases my nerves, but the branding iron has already started to warm.
When Liam bounces up, I jump back against the wall, prepared to bolt if needed.
Willow’s voice is emotionless. “Chill, Liam. Let the kid talk.”
“I need to be with her,” I explain, surprising myself with my directness.
Liam falls on the bed and sighs. “Bloody hell! Not this again.”
“Not what again?” I ask.
Willow laughs. “I’m telling you, you’re nothing if not predictable.”
I believe I said the same about her not too long ago.
“Willow, let me spare you the rest. He can’t be without her, he’s not strong enough, et cetera, et cetera,” Liam mocks and shakes his head.
I open my mouth and then snap it closed because what I was going to say is pretty much along those same lines, although I wouldn’t have sounded like such a sissy saying them.
Tate’s laughter stops and she clears her throat. We all freeze, the blond boy included, and our attention transfers to Tate. She breathes deeply and then closes her eyes and smiles. After a long pause, she collects the dice and resumes her game.
“Oh good, Psychic Sylvia Brown knows you’re here,” Willow says.
“I can help her.”
“You can’t save the world, kid.”
“I just want to save her,” I whisper.
“Yeah, well, to do that will destroy you. And once you’re destroyed, she’s going to have to deal with your loss all over again. So it’s up to you really. It all comes down to if you want to get out alive or not.”
“I’m helping her. And I’m not alive, anyway.”
“You’re going to have to leave her eventually,” Willow says.
“I won’t. I won’t ever leave her.” Seeing her here, so close, the pull is stronger than I’ve ever felt.
“How are your scars?” Willow asks sourly.
She’s figured it all out. Willow knows everything that I’ve already put together. What’s so hard to swallow is the fact that she’s right. Willow…right. As usual. The truth makes my blood boil.
“They’ll destroy you. Do you know that?”
I swallow.
“Not like death, kid. They will literally turn you to dust. Forever. You willing to give up eternity for her?”
I swallow again. How can I be willing to give up my existence for her, for someone I don’t even know? Still, I nod, because somehow I’ve never been more sure about anything.
Willow stands and paces the room. “Don’t you get it? Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter. Once you’re gone, she’ll still have to face your loss. You gain NOTHING!”
It doesn’t matter. Knowing I tried is everything, all I need, all I’ll ever need to be truly fulfilled in my life, in my existence.
Willow continues pacing and biting into her thumb. “I was going to give you the choice. I thought that would be easier; that you would accept this truth and let her be. But you,” now she’s pointing her finger into my chest. “Dammit Grant, you’re choosing wrong!”
She wraps her hands around my neck to choke me and, instinctively, my hands grip around her wrists to stop her.
“Displace,” she says too fast and we’re rocketing into the sky.
“No!” I roar into my empty room and kick the horrid sofa over. “No!”
I pace the living room, wishing I knew where Willow has displaced. There’s nothing I can do now to get back to Tate.
I don’t even know this girl, this stranger, but deep inside a mocking voice is screaming at me, resonating from the place where my heart once was, the place that is now nothing but a black hole. “Tate was mine!” the voice says. My life, my reason for existence, is alive on Earth and I can’t be with her. Doing so will destroy me.
I jog down the hall and sit on the mat in the coding room to welcome the burn. I hope that the fire is enough to destroy me.
17. That boy is gonna be the death of me
Willow
“That boy is gonna be the death of me,” I scoff when I land back in Tate’s room.
“Says the girl of bad puns.”
“Liam, he’s impossible!”
“You’re preaching to the choir, sister.”
“How is she?”
Liam nods toward the game in progress.
I put the necklace back in my pocket before dropping my bag and parking in my usual spot in the corner. I pull my dreadlocks into a ponytail and rest my head against the wall.
“She’s laughing again, Willow. That’s big.”
I don’t answer, but I know he’s right.
“He can help her, you know?”
I sigh. “I don’t understand how she’s getting through
to him. I was on board with Elliott when he was trying to bring back the kid’s memories, but I should have never brought him here. It was a mistake. A selfish mistake.”
“It wasn’t selfish,” Liam says naively.
Of course it was selfish. Tate and Grant were more intertwined than any couple I’ve ever witnessed. When he lost that connection, I was the one who couldn’t accept it.
“His presence changed her.”
“His presence about destroyed him!”
Liam’s shoulders fall. “I know. If we could just find a way for him to be here with her.”
“Jonathan was right. It is necessary and safest for Grant to forget.” I pick at the remaining orange nail polish on my index finger. “Wait a minute. You were the one that wanted him gone last time and now you’re his biggest cheerleader? What gives?”
“She’s different this time.” Liam’s attention turns to Tate and Fischer. “She’s happy. Maybe she was grieving too much before. Maybe she thought pushing him away would help her. Who knows? But we have proof now that she can sense Grant’s presence and I think she’s reconnecting to him somehow.” Liam pauses while I continue mutilating my nail polish. “I know that sounds absurd, but there’s no other explanation.”
“That doesn’t sound absurd. I believe she’s reaching him, too. I don’t know how it’s working, but Grant’s experiences with coding proves it. I think every time Tate puts something back together from their past, she connects with him.” My voice lowers. “Maybe we should stop her from putting their memories back together.”
“No!”
Liam’s dramatic response makes me jump.
“That’s not fair, and you bloody know it!”
I use a calm voice, hoping my demeanor will transfer to Liam. “It’s hurting him, Liam.”
Liam throws off his ball cap and scrapes his fingers through his hair. “It’s helping her, though.”
Liam sits on a pile of black clothes and talks into his knees. “Their connection is making her better.”
“And the stronger it gets, the more it’s destroying Grant.”
We both stay quiet for a long time.
“So, who do we sacrifice?” I ask more to the air around me than to Liam.
Liam remains silent.
† † †
Tate gets more rest than she’s had in a long time. The only time I can recall her sleeping more soundly was when she was aided by sleeping pills. Her mom and dad stop in her room separately before they leave for work. Neither stays more than a minute, but both seem relieved to see her sleeping so peacefully.
When Tate finally wakes, well after ten, she’s not only lacking her usual scowl, but she begins gathering her clothes from the floor.
“Wow,” Liam says in a tone that sounds as surprised as I feel.
Liam shoves his red bouncy ball into his front backpack pocket and we both stand up quickly to follow Tate out of her room. When she dumps the armful of clothes in the hall closet laundry basket, Liam and I nod to each other in approval.
Tate makes a stop in the bathroom to brush her teeth. She pulls her hair into a ponytail and even takes time to pull a few curls out behind her ears. She still uses way too much black make-up for her beautiful face, but at least she’s made a few steps in the right direction.
Downstairs, Tate stops at the kitchen table and tells Cutest-Kid-Ever that maybe they can play another game later. This worries me because if she goes back on her word, Fischer will be crushed. His current exuberant expression says so.
Tate leans down and kisses Cutest-Kid-Ever on the cheek and tells him she’ll be back later.
“Field trip,” I announce with enthusiasm.
Liam rolls his eyes, but half-laughs.
Liam and I follow behind Tate’s car because we both enjoy the freedom of flying on sunny days. Tate pulls into the familiar single car driveway, knocks on the front door twice to announce her arrival, and then lets herself in with her key.
“Hey hun. How are you doing today?” Mrs. Bradley asks from the kitchen.
Tate shrugs and settles into one of the swivel chairs at the bar-like counter. “How are you?”
Mrs. Bradley smiles. It’s the smile she uses a lot, the one that takes a whole bunch of effort. “I’m doing good today.” Her eyes always sell her out. God love her for trying to stay positive. “Honey, how many times do I have to tell you? Black is not your color.”
“I think that’s like the five hundredth. How many times do I have to tell you I dress like I feel inside?”
“I think that’s like the five hundredth,” Mrs. Bradley jokes.
“It’s your lucky day,” I yell to Liam who’s already parked himself in the small living while the theme song of his favorite game show sings from the T.V.
He shushes me.
Tate never needs to be blocked when she’s here at the Bradley house. It’s a good break for everyone involved.
I bounce down the single step off the kitchen and plop onto the sofa next to Liam. I’m not a fan of the game show, but love driving Liam crazy by belting out wrong answers to all the questions.
In the kitchen, Tate and Mrs. Bradley talk about an upcoming job Mr. Bradley’s company just received and the pending bids that have gone out to other companies. When Mrs. Bradley asks about Cutest-Kid-Ever, my mind leaves the game show and focuses on the conversation about the kid I love so darn much.
“He’s OK,” Tate answers. “We played poker yesterday.”
After a pause, Mrs. Bradley’s voice says, “Oh, Tate, that news makes my day.”
I get up quickly to peek around the living room wall. I smile when I see Mrs. Bradley because her happy expression reaches all the way to her eyes.
“That’s really great. Really, really great.”
“Momma B, it was just a card game,” Tate counters in a teasing voice.
Mrs. Bradley rubs Tate’s arm. “You know I worry about you and Fischer; the two of you used to be so close. He misses you so much.”
“How could he miss me? My room’s next door to his.”
Mrs. Bradley turns serious. “Physically being there doesn’t matter much if you’re emotionally and mentally absent.”
“I’m scared,” Tate finally says in a broken voice. “I’m so scared of losing him, too,” she whispers.
All the air seeps out of my chest. When I refill my lungs, a tear rolls down my cheek as Tate silently cries into Mrs. Bradley’s sweatshirt.
“You have to let him in,” Mrs. Bradley is saying. “It’s been long enough. You have to live again, Honey.”
After a few minutes, Tate pulls her head back from Mrs. Bradley shoulder. “Do you think he’s with us?”
Mrs. Bradley pulls Tate close again. “I want to believe he is. I get out of bed everyday because I know that’s what Grant would want.” She pauses. “He’d want you to be happy. If there’s anything I’m certain of, it’s that.”
“I can feel him sometimes.”
Mrs. Bradley loosens her hug. “Don’t ever let that go. Hold on to that feeling, and he can always be with you.”
I wish that were true.
An hour passes quickly and soon we’re flying behind Tate’s car again.
She makes the expected detour to the cemetery and my muscles recoil.
“I’ll go,” Liam says.
“You’re a dream. I owe you,” I reply with sincere gratitude.
“Yeah you do. I’m keeping score.” Dread erases his smile when he walks around the car to follow Tate.
They close the distance to Grant’s and Elliott’s tombstones, fittingly side-by-side.
I sigh and lean against the car, wondering how Tate and Grant will ever live without each other.
† † †
When the day’s assignment ends, I swallow down a quick cup of green tea in my room while I tick through my to-do list: coding, checking on Grant, and seeing Troy. Troy tops my list because he’s, by far, the sexi
est choice of the three. Plus, he always knows the right words to say to mellow me out.
“Don’t you boys ever hang with your families?” I say when I step out of my door.
My Legacy buddies, Jordan and Shane, are hidden behind goggles in the common area, ignoring me because they’re entranced by a video game.
“Watcha playin’?” I ask.
“Elite Force,” Jordan says from behind his goggles.
“Who’s winning?”
“I am,” Shane replies without breaking his movements.
“Shut up,” Jordan sneers.
I grin. “You picked Reed again, didn’t you, Jord?”
“I don’t need your two cents.”
“No wonder you always lose. For the love of all that is holy, if you want any kind of fighting chance, choose Jackson next time.”
“Negative, Hippy.”
Jordan’s response makes me smile wider. I reposition my bag and maze through the hallways to the back part of the building where my hall awaits.
“Good day, friends,” I say like I always do to the photographic collage of all my Tragedies printed on the wall. When I exit through my private door, I stop and let the sun warm my skin. As much as I love being a Satellite, I equally love escaping for a while. Going back to my human senses, especially on warm days like this, reminds me that when my assignments end, spending an eternity with Troy isn’t going to be so bad.
I wrestle my sweatshirt off and tie it around my waist. It’s a tank-top kind of day, which always adds a higher bounce to my step. I follow the granite path to my own slice of heaven. Troy has added another window planter, complete with purple wildflowers, to our comfy stone cottage. The other three windows are complete, leaving just one planter left in his so-called summer project.
Inside, I unsling my bag from my shoulder. “Hey Babe, I’m home!”
Troy’s arm appears around my stomach and he spins me around. My trusted corduroy satchel drops to the floor and I shriek happily. Yes, he is exactly what I needed.
I twist under his arms and plant a huge kiss on his cheek. “How ya doing, baby?” I ask when I’m done showing him how much I missed him by giving him a kiss with more bang.
