The Edge of Anything

by Nora Shalaway Carpenter

  “What?” Sage asked. “I won’t tell, I swear,” she added when Len whimpered like a wounded dog. “It’s okay.”

  That made Len look at her, and Sage saw the instant her resolve gave way. Whatever she’d been fighting, it had won. Resignation cracked her face.

  “My sister, Fauna,” Len said. “Her baby. I think I killed her.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LEN

  SAGE’S HAND DROPPED OFF THE CHAIR. “WHAT DO YOU mean, you think you killed her?”

  Len couldn’t answer. She scanned Sage’s face for a hint of disgust or fear, but even now, after hearing the horrible truth, it was extraordinary how Sage kept her cool. What Len wouldn’t give for an ounce of that superpower.

  “It doesn’t seem like something you could be unsure about,” Sage added.

  “It was me,” Len said. “It had to be.”

  Sage dropped into the chair opposite Len. “Okay,” she said. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

  Len held on to the edge of the small table, trying to find the right words in her head. “My sister, Fauna, she and Diane, her wife, they live in Atlanta. And they tried to have a baby for a long time. Years.” She took a tight breath. “Fauna wanted to carry—she’s always dreamed about it, ever since she was little. But the regular fertility stuff, it wasn’t working, and the other treatment—some kind of shots and the way they have to remove your eggs—” She made a face. “It was expensive. Really expensive. They pooled all their savings, and it still wasn’t enough, so Mom and Dad helped, and my Nonni, she used a bunch of her savings, too, though we didn’t realize that’s where it was coming from or I don’t think Fauna would have taken it.”

  Len stopped, unsure how or if she could continue. Sage stayed still, only nodding to show she was listening. For some reason, that nod helped her keep going.

  “Anyway, they were going through all this stuff, and nothing was working, and Fauna had two miscarriages, which are apparently awful, and she was kind of a mess and they almost gave up, but then…” Her hand lifted. “It happened. One of the last zygotes took and Fauna had Nadia.” She wiped her nose. “Right before Christmas, last year. It was the best Christmas, Sage. Everyone was so happy. I can’t remember ever being happier in my life.” She covered her face. Sage’s hand landed softly on her arm, squeezing gently.

  “And they didn’t have any money for babysitters, and you know, having a newborn is exhausting. So for Fauna’s birthday my mom told her to come to Asheville so she and Diane could go out and have a nice evening. We’d watch the baby.” Len kept her gaze fixed on the table.

  “And they were so happy, and so grateful,” she went on. “We put the Pack ’n Play in my room because it’s farthest from the living room, the house noises, and Dad’s paint smells.”

  She couldn’t speak for a long while, just shook her head slowly in her hands.

  “What happened then?” Sage asked.

  Len lifted her face, finally. “My mom fed Nadia and put her down and we had a monitor, and she woke up right around nine. And I rubbed her back just like Fauna showed me, and I—” Her voice cracked. “I told her I loved her.” Tears dropped onto the table. “She was breathing.”

  Sage’s hand had gone still. Len closed her eyes, but she was shocked to find she wanted to keep talking. She looked at Sage. “Fauna texted me and I said everything was great and that Nadia was fine, so they decided to catch a late movie. Dad was painting, and Mom was here, too, and I checked on the baby a couple times, and she was breathing. Every time. I swear. We were watching TV, an old Simpsons episode. Dad called it distasteful, but we kept watching.” She sniffed. “Then I went to my room and… and…”

  She could have stopped. Sage didn’t prompt her again. But Len needed to finish. She needed to confess. “Something didn’t feel right that time, as soon as I walked in. There was a feeling in the air or something. So I turned on the light and… her face…” She swallowed. “I must have screamed. I don’t know. She was all blue. So blue.”

  Sage made a small choking sound, and her hand flew to her mouth.

  For the first time, the whole sentence bloomed in Len’s head. For the first time, she might be able to say it out loud. It seemed important, somehow, to speak it. “She was dead.”

  Her mind wound back, and she was there again, living it, the sirens and crying and blueness. And screaming. So much screaming.

  There was a hand on her back, a voice.

  Len’s eyes refocused. Sage was bent in front of her, talking. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Len blinked at her. Was she stupid? Hadn’t she been listening? “My niece was dying in my bedroom while I was watching cartoons. If I’d just gone back there sooner…” Her voice disintegrated, because it was too painful. Imagining what might have been.

  “You did everything you were supposed to do.” Sage said. “Sometimes stuff—terrible stuff—like that… it just happens.”

  Len took the paper towel Sage offered. “They called it sudden infant death syndrome.”

  Sage nodded. “I’ve heard of it,” she said. “SIDS.”

  “They say that when they don’t know the cause,” Len said. “Healthy babies don’t just die for no reason.”

  “It still wasn’t your fault.”

  “You don’t get it,” Len snapped. “I made it happen. I manifested it.”

  “Manifested?” Sage frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Len struggled for the right words, because she knew how it would sound. But she also knew it was true. “Manifest, you know? Make things happen with energy? There’s no way it was a coincidence.”

  “Slow down,” Sage said. “I need more information.”

  Len pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fauna and Diane,” she said, “they looked so terrible that day, like they hadn’t slept since Nadia was born. And they were kind of fighting, and I don’t know, I had this thought—this really powerful thought—about how maybe the baby wasn’t a good thing. Maybe it would mess up their lives, their relationship.” She covered her mouth. “Two hours later, Nadia was dead.”

  Sage went very still. When she finally spoke, her words were slow and even. “So you think that because you had a thought, you somehow killed Nadia?” She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

  Tears leaked down Len’s face. She didn’t even try to stop them. “How can you say that? You’re an athlete. You know how important thoughts are!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you visualize making plays?” Len said. “Don’t you imagine your success in your mind so you can will it into being? There’s science that shows how doing those things helps performance. And I’ve seen you play. You always spin the ball and let it bounce one time before you serve. Because you believe that matters, don’t you? You believe you’ll only serve well if you do that.”

  Sage didn’t answer, and Len could tell she was getting through to her, at least a little.

  “And what about people whose positive thinking helps them get better?” Len persisted. “My dad just told me about someone with cancer—terminal cancer!—who only had a couple weeks to live and then started this whole meditation thing and is healed. Positive thinking can heal people! Why wouldn’t the reverse be true?”

  “But that’s…” Sage was clearly struggling for a response. “That’s not the same thing. Come on, Len. You really think you have the power to kill people with your mind?”

  “I wasn’t careful enough,” Len said. “Nadia was so young. So tiny and fragile. I must have messed up the Life Force, the qi or plain old Force or whatever you want to call it. I put negative energy into the air. I created an imbalance. It’s the only explanation!”

  Sage stood and walked to the counter. She ripped off more paper towels. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” she said, bringing them to Len. “What you’re talking about, it doesn’t work like that.”

  Len took a towel, crumpled it. Had she really expected Sage to believe he
r? Yes, she thought bitterly.

  “I’m gonna lie down,” Len said.

  Sage followed her to the sofa. “Are your parents coming home soon?” she asked. “Do you know?”

  Len curled into a tight ball. “Mom’s visiting Nonni, and Dad must be painting. They’ll be home by seven, though.” She buried her face in her hands. “Fauna calls at seven.”

  Sage glanced at her phone. That was still forty minutes away. “Okay,” she said. “I saw some tea on the counter.” She bit her lip. “Should I make some?”

  “Whatever,” Len mumbled. Why didn’t her brain come with an off button? She imagined pushing it, jabbing it, until her thoughts evaporated and gave her peace.

  Soft sounds came from the kitchen—cabinets opening. Mugs set on the counter. Why was Sage still here? She rolled over, facing the back of the sofa, and imagined pressing the button, over and over, until finally, mercifully, it worked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SAGE

  SAGE HELD A CRACKED MUG OF TEA AS SHE STOOD OVER Len, wondering what to do. Sage had been in the kitchen less than three minutes, but Len was definitely asleep. She’d never have her mouth open like that if she was faking.

  Sage placed the mug on the end table, moving a small notepad to one side. It was like Len had literally shut down—like her system had short-circuited.

  She sat on the cushion beside Len’s feet, trying to process everything she’d heard. No wonder Len was a mess. Having a baby die in her bedroom and thinking it was her fault.

  She glanced sideways at the small ball that was Len. She couldn’t really believe she’d killed her niece just by her thoughts, could she? And none of what she’d said, awful as it was, explained why she hated dirt to the point of a mental breakdown, or why she covered herself head to foot so as not to let her bare skin touch anything dirty.

  A tiny clock on the wall tick-ticked into Sage’s thoughts. She had to leave soon to make the team meeting, and she couldn’t miss the very first thing Flick asked of her. Not after what Flick had said yesterday. But she needed to talk to Len’s parents. Len had said she was getting worse, and maybe, if Len had been hiding it from them, they didn’t realize how badly she needed help.

  Len shivered. Sage found a throw blanket tucked into a basket beside a plaid arm chair and draped it over the sleeping girl. She waited seven more minutes, hoping one of Len’s parents would come home. When they didn’t, she grabbed the notepad next to Len’s tea and scribbled a message with a pen she found in the kitchen. She debated detailing Len’s breakdown at the tree bridge, but she wasn’t sure how to describe it.

  She decided to keep it simple.

  Dear Len’s mom and dad_

  I’m worried about Len. She told me about her niece. (I’m so sorry.) I think Len is still having a really hard time.

  _Sage (Len’s friend)

  It was bare-bones, but if Sage’s mom got a note like that, it would be enough to make her check in with Sage—to help her.

  She wedged the note between the kitchen landline’s base and the wall so that Len’s parents wouldn’t miss it when Fauna called, if they didn’t notice it before. There was a chance Len would wake and find it first, but Sage doubted it. She seemed completely wiped.

  Sage checked on Len one more time, texted Mom that she was working at the library for a while, and then slipped out the door.

  * * *

  “Team meeting” actually meant team run. Sage pulled into the Patton Park parking lot just as the others were about to take off.

  “You made it,” Flick said as she joined the group.

  “I told you,” Sage said. “I won’t let you down.”

  Flick nodded, and Sage recognized that look—it was one she’d received so many times from Coach. Approval. Acceptance. Trust.

  Dr. Friedman’s warnings crept over her, but she pushed them down. She was in excellent shape. If her heart rate got too fast, she would stop. She knew her boundaries.

  “We’ll be back in a few,” Flick said to a green Ford Focus, and only then did Sage notice there was a man behind the open window in the driver’s seat. “That’s Jon,” Flick said to Sage, sensing her confusion. “The teammate you replaced.” Jon gave her a small wave and went back to reading his phone. “The usual,” Flick said to the rest of them, starting the jog.

  “It’s only about a mile,” Ketia told Sage as they fell into step. “Just to keep us in shape.”

  Sage looked over her shoulder, back to the Focus. “Jon still comes to the team meetings?” she asked. “That’s dedication.” She almost added “for a rec league,” but then remembered what Flick had told her that first day. This isn’t just some silly rec league.

  “Yeah,” said Ketia. She grinned. “He also happens to be Flick’s husband, so there’s that.”

  It only took a couple hundred yards for Flick, Lucy, and Derek to pull ahead. Sage resisted her urge to keep pace with them; she was used to being in the lead. Instead, she took slow, steady breaths and checked the heart rate function on her Fitbit.

  “Not gonna lie,” Mountain said, his large sneakers slapping the cement with a gate that betrayed he was not a runner. “You surprised us, Tiny.”

  “Yeah?” Sage said. “Why’s that?”

  “We had three people try out over the weekend,” Ketia said. “All of them were personally invited by one of us.” She pursed her lips. “None of them was good enough for Flick.”

  Pride surged inside Sage, which she hid by glancing at the Fitbit again. They’d already gone a quarter of a mile. This was fine. Mountain was so slow they were barely running.

  “You okay?” Ketia asked.

  “Yeah.” Sage forced herself to stop checking her heart rate. “I was just checking my markers for the week.”

  “Oh,” Mountain said. “Anybody talk to you about a uniform yet?”

  Sage shook her head.

  “Lucy has the extras,” Ketia said. “They might be a little big, though. You could tie it.”

  “I don’t mind,” Sage said. “The teal color’s nice. Usually rec team shirts are hideous.”

  “You need some lucky socks, too,” Mountain said. “We got any extra, Ketia? We’ve never lost since we got those rainbow socks.”

  Ketia nodded. “Lucy and I both have extra. I’ll bring mine tomorrow.”

  She was starting to sweat, but Sage got a sudden chill. “You really think that matters?” she asked. “Everyone wearing the same socks?”

  Mountain shrugged. “Can’t hurt, can it?”

  Sage couldn’t help remembering Len’s comment about her serve. How she linked the ritual to mind control, to having the ability to kill a baby. Nausea roiled her stomach. “I don’t know.”

  They rounded a curve, and the parking lot came back into view.

  “What do you mean?” Ketia asked.

  Sage hesitated. She’d only just met these people, but she felt a strong need to tell someone what Len had said, to see if anyone else could make sense of it.

  “My friend,” Sage began, “she said something today about this stuff, and I don’t know.”

  “What did she say?” asked Mountain.

  “I didn’t really understand it all. But basically she’s worried she can hurt people by, um, having bad thoughts.”

  Ketia went bug-eyed. Mountain frowned.

  “And not just that,” said Sage. “There’s other things. She wears gloves every day and she freaks out about dirt.”

  “I’m no doctor,” Mountain said, his breath coming heavier. “But it sounds like this thing my cousin has—OCD.”

  “Obsessive compulsive disorder?” said Ketia.

  “Yeah, that’s it. My cousin’s had it since he was a teenager, but I never knew till last year. He hid it pretty good.”

  “OCD,” Sage said. “That’s, like, when you’re a super neat freak and stuff?”

  Mountain shook his head. “I don’t know much about it, to be honest. But the way my cousin explained it, it can be really different pers
on to person.” He took a couple ragged breaths.

  “He never cared too much about dirt, but he had this weird thing with numbers.” His face scrunched, thinking. “It had a name, something about magic.”

  “Magic?” Ketia said, her voice pitching higher. “Are you for real right now?”

  “Yeah, for real.” Mountain snapped his fingers. “Magical thinking! That’s what it’s called. But my cousin also said it was OCD, so I don’t know.”

  “What’s magical thinking?” said Sage.

  “Look, you’re asking the wrong person,” Mountain said. “I just try to be there for him. We were tight growing up.” He frowned. “He always had a few weird habits, but I just thought that was him. I feel bad not knowing how much he was struggling.”

  Sage ran over the odd things she’d seen Len doing and made a mental note to Google magical thinking. Her heart twinged, and she stopped instinctively. Ketia and Mountain both paused, jogging in place.

  “You okay?” Ketia asked.

  “Cramp,” Sage improvised, flexing her leg. “I’m fine.”

  “Damn heat,” said Mountain. “Think you’re dehydrated?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  All three of them turned at Flick’s voice. She and the others waited in the parking lot, where Lucy and Derek stood stretching. Jon was out of the car now, leaning against it, and Sage noticed a brace around his knee. Ketia took off at a sprint, but Mountain bellowed, “Running sucks!” and thankfully resumed the same pace. Sage fast-walked the rest of the way.

  Flick met them with small sheets of paper, which she passed out to the three of them while Lucy rummaged through the back of her car. When she returned, holding a teal shirt, Flick said, “I made some more game notes last night, and Jon had an idea for tweaking the Cardinal play.”

  “We were just talking about shirts,” Ketia said as Lucy tossed Sage the jersey. “I’ll bring you the socks tomorrow.”

  “No one’s going to know Sage,” Flick continued, “which is a huge advantage for us, provided she pulls her weight.” Her gaze lingered on Sage. “Our game plan is going to be basically the same—”