by Deb Caletti
She doesn’t know what The Taker’s story is. And she realizes that she really doesn’t know him. The deep-down-inside him. The pieces that make him who he is. The pieces she sees—they are like foreign objects. His intensity and loneliness are, and so are the gun magazines that she sometimes sees him thumbing through during boring lectures, and the way he doesn’t even seem to feel guilty for what he did. It reminds her of how she went to Kiley Tasmin’s house for a sleepover in middle school, and saw a bong under her bed. Kat had to tell Annabelle what it was. She knew it was wrong, she knew it shouldn’t be there, she knew it felt bad, but she didn’t have a name for it.
“I’m glad you’re not going to leave me,” he says before they hang up.
She couldn’t have known what was going to happen, Annabelle tells herself, when she thinks about his hand holding hers under the library table. There are all kinds of hands—careful ones, cruel ones, ones you can trust and ones you can’t. You don’t always know the difference until too late, but it’s true, too, that ones as disturbed as The Taker’s are rare. They are rare, she reminds herself.
Most hands are good.
Will’s were.
This is a sucker punch. Her stomach reels. Her heart clutches.
Which are worse? The bad memories or the good ones?
Because now she feels Will’s hands in mittens holding her hands in mittens. His fingers on her body. His fingers lift her hand to kiss it; his hands are on a steering wheel, and they cut a sandwich in half, and they hug his mom, and carry his lacrosse bag.
There is his finger, ringing her doorbell. It is shortly after The Taker tells her about stealing the coins. It is early May, and it is starting to stay light later, and she is home after work, an extra-busy shift since Claire had to stay home with her sick kid, Harrison. She and Mom and Malc had pancakes for dinner, so when she answers the door, the smell drifts out, and he says, Mmm. Pancakes.
She is surprised to see him. She lets him in. She can’t believe he’s there. She is so, so happy he’s suddenly appeared like this, but nervous, too. She looks awful. Here, she thought it was a neighbor collecting signatures for some cause, but it’s Will.
“Oh, God, I look—”
“Beautiful. My eyes are really happy right now.”
He is in her house. He’s so familiar, so terrifically familiar, it’s almost like they should just go plop down in front of the TV and watch a show.
“Hi, Will,” Malcolm says. He’s running his finger in a syrup trail on the table, licks it.
“Gross, Malcolm.”
“How’ve you been, Will?” Gina says. She beams at him. Annabelle can feel the wink of support she would love to give. The mood in the room lifts. They all feel happy. Or maybe Annabelle is just buoyant enough for everyone.
“We’re going to—”
“Go talk. We’ll be here if you need us!” Gina says cheerfully.
“Yep, we’ll be here if you need us,” Malcolm says. Now, he’s the one who does it. He winks.
She and Will go upstairs. He pinches her butt playfully on the way up and she swats him, just like the old days. Wow, she has missed those brown eyes that look sweet as a deer’s. She’s missed his soft hair, and the smell of his shampoo. She’s missed that easy familiarity.
In her room, he kisses her. Now that’s the kiss she loves. Here’s the boy she loves. They look at each other and smile and talk. And talk, and talk.
They make a decision that changes everything.
They make a decision that changes everything forever.
• • •
Luke’s fingers, The Taker’s, Will’s. It is too much. Annabelle gets out of bed. She is holding her pillow. She clutches it hard. She walks in a circle around the beds and back. She walks in a circle. She walks in a circle. She walks in a circle.
28
1. Since his skin is translucent, you can actually see the heart of the glass frog at work.
2. The bar-headed goose has an unusually strong heart. So strong, the goose can fly over the Himalayas, 20,000 feet above sea level.
3. A giraffe depends on its powerful, twenty-pound heart to fight the force of gravity to get the blood all the way up its neck. Without that power, blood pressure would blow the giraffe’s brains out whenever it leaned down to get a drink of water. Instead, he drinks with ease.
4. The ocellated icefish lives so far down deep in the frigid waters near Antarctica, his heart has to be five times larger than the average fish. Oxygen dissolves directly into their plasma, and so their blood is clear as the ice that surrounds them.
5. Hearts can perform miracles, too.
• • •
Annabelle hasn’t slept at all, but she gets up early, before she sees Grandpa Ed or Dawn Celeste or Luke. She shoves down a breakfast of oatmeal and bananas, gets what she needs from the RV, and heads out. Loretta guides Annabelle out of town on Newburg Road, which has beautiful grassy banks with white houses tucked down long driveways. Next: the tiny town of Logan on Logan Street, and then Highway 20, with its flat yellow fields of alfalfa and corn and barley and wheat. A trucker passes; he honks and waves. Two women at a U-Pick farm stand offer her a bottle of water and a huge organic peach. They read in the Cherry Valley News that she’d be coming through. They ask if they can take her picture for their Belvidere Farmer’s Market Facebook page.
Now, Garden Prairie, Illinois. Small houses, grand farmhouses, and the Paradise Park Campground, which would have been a perfect stop for the night, if it weren’t a few miles shy of her destination: Marengo, Illinois.
She’s almost there. The bottle of water is gone, and so is a lot of the water in the bladder of her pack. It’s the end of June, and Grandpa Ed will soon be meeting her midway during the warmer weather, just to refuel her hydration. Tonight, they are parking overnight in the lot of the Methodist church, where the people of Marengo have the flea market on the weekends.
When she arrives, there’s the RV and Dawn Celeste’s rental car, and there’s Dawn Celeste and Luke and Grandpa Ed and a parking lot full of people. She is greeted by Cub Scout Troop 163, holding a big American flag. Behind them, there’s an enormous red pickup truck and a huge smoker, along with some plastic tables and chairs. She smells it—barbecue. People are parking, walking over, and crossing the street with big Tupperware bowls and fat brown grocery bags. Two old ladies, who remind Annabelle of Mrs. Parsons and her best friend, Ms. Sadie, from Sunnyside Eldercare, sit in lawn chairs. Marengo is having a Methodist church parking lot picnic, starring her.
After short ribs and beans and potato salad and corn and lemonade, after the Cub Scouts present her with their most important badge, the patch for courage (featuring a boy in blue wielding a yellow shield), after she almost cries, and people clap, and the town disperses, and there is only the RV left in the parking lot, which is now cleaned up like none of it ever happened thanks to the Cub Scout troop, Luke sits on the hood of Dawn Celeste’s rental car, and Annabelle sits next to him.
“You guys know how to live,” Luke says. “That food was amazing. Did you have one of those brownies?”
“Yeah! More than one. Too bad you’re going to miss the Union Lions pancake breakfast in the morning.”
Luke and Dawn Celeste are taking off, staying overnight at the Days Inn at Annabelle’s next stop, Dundee Township. “I told you, I’ve got to see the white cedars.”
“ ‘One of only three places where the ancient trees grow naturally.’ ”
“You got it. Brought to you by the Ice Age glaciers, and then nearly destroyed by man. Still surviving, in spite of all the bad shit people do.”
Annabelle smiles. He says a lot to her without really saying it.
“I can’t believe you guys are doing this. Taking a week out of your lives. I mean, this isn’t exactly Hawaii.”
“I’m just here for the white cedars. Mim’s here for the sex.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Annabelle claps her hands over her ears.
“Don’t look at the RV
. Because if it’s rocking . . .”
“Luke!”
“I’m actually here because it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever been even remotely part of.”
First the courage badge from Troop 163 and now this. Her eyes start to water.
“Come here.”
She leans against his shoulder and he puts his arm around her. God, it feels good. She’s not all nervous about it. He has a girlfriend. He doesn’t talk about her much, but they don’t do a lot of that kind of talking. They’re always just in the here and now. Martinsdale Colony, the card games, the waterslides, the Cub Scout barbecue—enjoying what is. She’d almost forgotten about the here and now. But she’s getting reacquainted with it. She’s relaxed. She likes him so much. How does she feel? Good, good, good. So good, the guilt can’t squeeze into the loop of his arm.
Dawn Celeste opens the door of the RV. Her cheeks are pink, and her long braid is over one shoulder. “Let’s get on the road, Boo-Boo Boy.”
“Boo-Boo Boy?” Annabelle teases. He is the least likely Boo-Boo Boy ever.
He grimaces. “Don’t ask.”
“Boo-Boo Boy Forester and Screaming Lizard Champ.”
“Run hard tomorrow,” he says.
• • •
“We know you don’t like surprises,” Zach Oh says that night. He’s the only one at the Skype meeting tonight. Olivia is celebrating her sister’s birthday, and Malcolm is having a sleepover. Zach is in his rec room. She sees a screen of Minecraft paused on his TV behind him. He’s wearing his retro Atari T-shirt and is drinking a Red Bull. His mother would kill him if she saw that.
“Oh no. What?”
“It’s good! It’s a good surprise. Your mom—”
“Oh, God. I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid. She’s been awesome. She felt so bad about you missing graduation.”
“I didn’t feel bad about missing graduation.” Which is true, but not true. She didn’t feel bad about missing all the horrible stuff—the tributes, the look back at the shattered graduating class. But she did feel bad after seeing the photos of her friends with their arms around each other. The smiles, the tears, the hugging. And maybe worse—the shots of the parents, the siblings. She looked at the large image of her graduating class in their seats, wearing their hats and shiny gowns. She found the spot where she’d be sitting. Between Oliver Abbey and Riley Allan. She moved her finger along the rows. That’s where The Taker would be. That’s where—
Stop!
What did she feel besides guilt?
Shame, remorse, regret, responsibility—all of the siblings of guilt.
Sadness. Grief.
“You don’t sound excited.”
“I couldn’t hear you. You went fuzzy.”
“I said we’re coming to Chicago. Your mom and Malc, me and Olivia. It’s kind of like a graduation celebration.”
“You guys, too? How can you afford this?” Can a heart lift and sink at the same time?
“Olivia’s mom had air miles. You’ll be staying at a Best Western downtown, but your dad—”
“My who?”
“Your father, Our Father, haha—wait, no joke. He worked with the Catholics for Nonviolence of the Chicago Archdiocese, and they got me and Olivia an off-campus apartment of Saint Xavier’s to use for the weekend.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Last week, he had a bunch of Boston College students talking about Run for a Cause on Catholic TV.”
“Why don’t I know about this?”
“We just found out. Your mom told us. He’s been calling her for regular updates, and he’s been, what, quietly supportive over there. I guess the dude is showing his love in his own way.”
“Wow. They’ve been talking? Like adults? I can’t believe it.”
“Have you heard from him at all?”
“An e-mail every now and then. An awkward phone call. But nothing like regular updates.” She’s kind of pissed at this magic trick, how she’s gone from unseen to seen in her father’s eyes, but it’s also kind of nice, too. “Huh. I guess it’s progress, right? I think I like it.”
“Still, the whole no-sex thing . . .”
“Zach!”
“The point is, get ready to party in the Windy City, graduate.”
• • •
“Since you don’t like surprises . . . ,” Malcolm says when he calls the next morning. It’s nice to talk to just him instead of the whole team. His voice sounds ragged after the sleepover, like he’s been screaming at a rock concert.
“You guys are flying into Chicago tonight! I already know.”
“Me and Mom. Carl Walter has a division meeting in Bend. But Zach and Olivia are coming, too. And Dad-Father Anthony . . .”
“I heard. It’s weird.”
“He sent me a collection of Nova videos.”
“That’s lucky.”
“He’s been calling me and Mom to check in on your run. He says he has a map on his wall, and he puts pins in it every hundred miles.”
Something about this—the map and the pins—makes her remember things about her dad besides the fact that he left. How he used to hide behind the couch when they played fort with their Nerf guns. How he used to throw a bunch of dog biscuits in the air for their old dog, Rally, shouting, Treats for no reason! How she and Malc used to really like to do stuff with him, even if it was cleaning out the garage.
“Wow. And Mom’s okay with all this? Has she turned into a new woman?”
“She’s been seeing Dr. Baker every week for counseling, plus anti-anxiety medicine. She let me ride my bike to 7-Eleven and I didn’t even have to call when I got there.”
“That’s amazing.”
“The science museum in Chicago has a rocket simulator.”
“Too bad not a real rocket.”
“I’d go with you if you blasted into space.”
“Thanks, butthead.”
“And another miracle. Sean was at Nathan’s party last night and he said he was sorry for being a dick.”
“That’s awesome, Malc.”
“I think it’s the corno mom got me.”
“Are you wearing it?” A corno looks like a tiny chili pepper, but it’s a small, twisted red horn, meant to ward off the evil eye and any curses to your manliness. Italian guys wear them on gold chains.
“It looks cool. Zach wants one.”
“Zach needs one. Hey, Malc? I’ve got a worry.”
“Just one?”
“Another one. We’ll have, um, friends with us when you see us tomorrow.”
“Is that bad?”
“Mom isn’t going to like it.”
“What, are they Harley guys?”
“Not quite. Remember those two people who came to my party? The ones who got me during the lightning storm? Let’s just say Grandpa has a new girlfriend.”
There’s a moment of silence. And then, Malcolm starts laughing so hard and for so long, she has to close her eyes and wait it out.
29
West Dundee to Parkridge to Chicago. Loretta takes Annabelle straight down Milwaukee Avenue, and across Lake Street. They take a right toward the Buckingham Fountain, her stop for the day.
She is in Chicago. She can’t believe it—she’s here in a city she’s never been before, all by the power of her own self. Today, she feels great. It’s muggy, and the air is locker-room sweaty, and her clothes are sticking to her everywhere they can stick. But she feels strong and good, and being in an actual big city is a shot of adrenaline.
Look—skyscrapers! People! The smell of grilling onions and car exhaust and heat on asphalt! A giant sea that is actually a lake, filled with boats. It is beautiful here. And now, at Grant Park, there’s a wide green lawn, with a cool fountain of sea creatures shooting water from their mouths. After one day to play, after she says good-bye to Luke and Dawn Celeste and her friends and family, she and Loretta will head straight down the Lakefront Trail, past the aquarium and Hyde Park and the science museum. She’l
l run all the way to Pittsburgh and then through the Pennsylvania townships and down the 355. She’ll race across the Civil War battlefields of Monocacy and Germantown, running through Gaithersburg and Rockville and Bethesda, Maryland. And then she’ll arrive in DC.
The last forty-six days of her trip.
The point is: the finish line. She can see the end of this impossible journey she started way back at Dick’s in Seattle. It is thrilling, but it is terrifying. Seth Greggory waits for her at the end.
“Stop.”
She does not shout this, but says it calmly, because she wants to take this in, this now. The Buckingham Fountain is in front of her, and this fountain in Grant Park is considered the city’s front door.
She walks through.
She walks through, and on the big grass lawn around the fountain, among the dads with babies in backpacks and dogs and tourists taking photos, there’s Gina and Grandpa and Dawn Celeste and Luke and Malcolm and Zach and Olivia, and they are all wearing leis, and they are holding this huge sign, and she recognizes Malcolm’s big blocky writing on it. The sign says CONGRATULATIONS, GRADUATE.
Okay, it’s all ridiculous and corny, because unfortunately and fortunately, some of life’s biggest moments get wrapped up in corny, Annabelle is beginning to understand. Love is corny, when you get right down to it. It has two left feet. It trips over itself, because it is so large that it’s awkward. It’s sort of silly, done right. After all, how do you convey something that huge? Big signs made with colored markers and printer paper taped together. Plastic leis bought from Party for Less.
“Oh my God!” she screams in fake surprise. A gift for a gift; love offered, love returned. “You guys!”
“Happy graduation, baby,” Gina says, and hugs her.
“I am so sweaty!”
“Do you think we care?” Gina says. Her eyes are teary. “I am so thrilled to see you right now.”
“Happy graduation, baby,” Malcolm, the smart-ass, repeats, and hugs her, too.
“Happy graduation, baby,” Zach Oh says.
