Sophie and Jake (Passports and Promises)

by Abigail Drake

  Mom smiled at me, and gave me a huge hug. For the first time since the incident in the cabin, she didn’t seem ticked off at me.

  “Dylan was himself today,” she said. “Wide awake, talkative, and so much better. We met with several of his doctors, and they are amazed at his progress. Sorry you couldn’t come and see him today.”

  Sorry, I was buying a pregnancy test with my girlfriend, and then having sex on her pink, fluffy bedspread.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I got all my work done, so I’ll go tomorrow.”

  She beamed at me. “Perfect. Can we talk for a second?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to apologize to you again for the way I acted. I mean it, Jake. I’m so sorry. Are we okay now?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  Did I still have hurt feelings? Yes. Did I still resent the way she’d made Sophie feel? Definitely. Did I need to tell her all of that? No way. She’d been through enough. Accepting her apology and moving on was the best thing I could do for everyone involved.

  She gave me a grateful hug, thanking me for all the things she knew I left unsaid. “You’re a good kid, Jake,” she said, as she looked at my shirt and laughed. “Uh, oh. Somebody was a little out of it today.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, shooting my dad a worried glance.

  She tugged on my shirt. “You’re inside out, silly boy.”

  She was right. My shirt was on inside out. “Oops.”

  She left the kitchen, and my dad raised one eyebrow at me. Somehow, he knew. “Oops?” he asked softly. “Are you being careful, Jake?”

  “Of course,” I said, giving him a thumbs up. I grabbed my sandwich and escaped to my room. I didn’t want to deal with any further questions from my dad, or observations from my mom. Sophie Skyped me not long after I finished eating. She looked miserable.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, afraid something else had happened. “Did your parents figure out I was there today or something?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her hand. “I’m in pain. I got my period. Yay.”

  “Yay. I guess it kind of confirms what we found out at the pharmacy. Do you want me to come and take care of you?”

  She stuck out her lower lip. “Yes.”

  I grinned at her. “On my way.”

  I pretended to get up and grab my jacket. She watched in alarm. “No, Jake. You can’t drive all this way again. You’ll be too tired.”

  “I was joking,” I said. “But, in all honestly, if you ever want me there, all you need to do is ask.”

  “I know,” she said, touching the screen with her finger. “Same for you, buddy.”

  As the next few weeks passed by, I existed in a sort of happy cloud. Things between Sophie and I were back to normal. Dylan was doing better, and I went to visit him every day. My mom had stopped acting angry all the time and even suggested I get Sophie flowers for Valentine’s Day. She mentioned it over dinner. My father and I looked at each other in surprise.

  “Um, I was thinking about taking her out to dinner,” I said. “If it’s okay with both of you, of course.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said my father.

  “Be sure to make a reservation,” said my mom. “Restaurants are always crazy busy on Valentine’s Day. That’s why we never went out for your brother’s birthday. Too chaotic.”

  She left the table to get a glass of water, and my dad smiled at me. “Dylan isn’t the only one getting back to normal,” he said softly. “The therapist is helping a lot, and she’s been acting more like herself again with each passing day.”

  “It seems that way,” I said.

  My parents had to go to a company dinner the night before Dylan’s birthday, so I went to visit him. My mom joked about the timing of the party.

  “Friday the thirteenth,” she said. “Why on earth would someone pick this date for a company party? It’s like asking for trouble.”

  She dressed in a sparkling cocktail dress. With her hair pulled up and diamonds glittering in her ears, she looked almost like herself again. Not because of the finery, although it was nice to see her go out with my dad and have fun again. No, something in her expression said so, a sort of ease that had slipped back into her features.

  She’d been worried about Dylan for so long I’d forgotten what she looked like when she wasn’t worried. It was like seeing someone I loved that hadn’t been around in a long time. I didn’t even realize how much I’d missed her until she acted normal again.

  I tried to explain it to Dylan when I visited him, as we played a game of cards in his room. We sat at the table near his window, munching on cookies Mom had sent over for him. Chocolate chunk. His favorite.

  I skirted around the subject, not wanting to make him feel guilty about the effect his illness had on our mother. He looked good, still thin and pale, but his eyes were bright, and his dark hair, although longer than I’d ever seen it, was neatly combed. I didn’t want to broach the topic of what Mom had been through these last few months while Dylan had basically checked out, so I kept the conversation focused more on Mom’s issues with Sophie instead.

  Dylan shook his head. “How could she have a problem with Sophie? She’s like the sweetest kid ever.”

  “I know, right?” I cleared my throat. “Well, it may have something to do with walking in on us while we were at the ski cabin. We were kind of naked at the time. Mom didn’t handle it well.”

  Dylan couldn’t contain his laughter. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, but I can picture the whole thing.”

  “I told Sophie we’d all laugh about it someday. I’m glad it happened so quickly for you. We’re not there yet.”

  He chuckled, looking at me over the cards in his hands. “So, I guess you aren’t a virgin anymore?”

  “Uh, no. I’m not.”

  He ruffled my hair. “Awww, our little baby is growing up. How cute.”

  I smacked his hand away halfheartedly. “Stop it,” I said. “You’re annoying. And I can’t even get pissed at you because it’s only hours away from your birthday and you’re stuck in a hospital, which sucks. I like have to be nice to you. It’s such a pain.”

  He leaned back in his chair, his face thoughtful. “You should thank me, you know.”

  “What for?” I asked, focusing on my cards. He was beating me, as he always did. I never won at cards. From the moment Dylan had taught me “Go Fish,” he always won. Every single time. It was a family joke at this point.

  “For breaking them in for you. I was their difficult child. You will always be the easy one.”

  “No need to use past tense, dude. You’re still the difficult one. I’m running a close second right now, thanks to my relationship with Sophie. Before, I wasn’t even in the race.”

  “Okay. No past tense. I’m still the problem child.” He laughed, but something strange lurked in his eyes. Something sad and kind of disturbing. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it bothered me. He laid down his cards, winning again, and winked at me. “Lucky at cards, unlucky in love. Which means you must be a regular Casanova, little brother. Isn’t that what Dad always says?”

  I tossed my cards down and grabbed another cookie, giving him a dirty look. “I want to be lucky at both.”

  He tapped his cookie to mine, almost like a toast. “Don’t we all?”

  I went home feeling better than I had in a long time. I had a nice time with Dylan. My parents were still out, which meant they were probably having a good time, too. I texted them to let them know I was back, chatted with Sophie about our plans for the following day, and fell promptly asleep. It wasn’t until much later I woke to a sound I’d never heard before, a hollow, mournful keening noise that jolted me out of my slumber and fully awake in an instant.

  I ran to the kitchen, trying to find the source of the sound, and the whole way there, I knew.

  Before I saw my parents clinging to each other, my mom still wearing her fancy dress, I knew.

 
Before they explained to me what had happened, I knew.

  Before they even uttered a word, I knew.

  Somehow, in my heart, I just knew.

  My brother was dead. Tonight, after our long talk and playful teasing and casual game of cards, Dylan succeeded in doing what he’d wanted to do all along. He finally managed to kill himself. I knew it as surely as I knew things in our family would never be the same again. He was gone, and I was suddenly and horribly all alone.

  My parents wept, and my mother screamed, “My baby, my baby,” over and over again, but, for some reason, I found it impossible to cry. I thought I should cry, but it didn’t happen. It felt like I had emotionally distanced myself from what happened, without intending to do so.

  My parents changed out of their dressy things, putting on serious black clothing that matched how they felt. My mom’s hair remained up in the complicated up-do and her nails were polished and red. Her face, however, was now completely barren of makeup. She’d cried it all off.

  I tossed a coat on over my sweats, and we sped to the hospital. When we got out of the car, I realized the moon seemed abnormally bright, the sky filled with stars. It was far too pretty a night for anything this terrible to happen, and yet, it had.

  Dylan chose this night, exactly an hour into his birthday, to take his own life. “Why?” I asked to no one in particular. “Why tonight?”

  My dad put his arm around me. “No one knows, son. We might never know.”

  I knew he was right, and it made me angry. So angry, I wanted to scream and punch things. Instead of doing that, however, I calmly asked my parents what we needed to do first. They weren’t thinking straight, so I had to think for them. They gave me a list of people to call, and I did, telling our family and friends what happened, and responding to their questions as best I could.

  No, we didn’t need anything. Yes, we were okay. No, we didn’t have any details yet. Yes, I would call them as soon as I knew about the funeral arrangements.

  Funeral arrangements. Dylan hadn’t even lived his life yet, and now we had to plan his funeral? This was the most bogus thing I’d ever heard.

  I noticed my mom looking at me oddly, her eyes red from crying. My father did the same. I, on the other hand, had not shed a single tear. I was more ticked off than sad at the moment. I felt like Dylan knew the entire time we played cards, and he never let on. He never even gave me a hint to his plans.

  Or had he? There was only one moment when he had that strange look in his eyes. Did he intend to tell me something? Had I missed it somehow?

  I felt numb and damaged and cold. My mom must have called Mrs. Barnes, because Sophie texted me over and over again to see if I was okay. I answered her quickly, as we rode back to the house in silence, telling her in a text I’d call as soon as I had a chance.

  People had already arrived at our house, arms heaped with food. One of our neighbors had a key, and she let them in. The air felt heavy and quiet, with only the occasional sound of a random sob, or of a person sniffing as they tried to hold back their tears. But I still didn’t cry. I couldn’t. It was like I’d turned into some kind of emotionless robot. I was on autopilot. I sat in a chair in the middle of a room filled with people, but I was frozen. It felt like choking silently on something stuck in my throat, and I couldn’t even cough to get it out. I couldn’t do anything except slowly and quietly suffocate.

  I glanced out the window to see a now familiar green mini-van pull up. Sophie jumped out before it even came to a full stop, and she marched toward my house, her face grim and determined. I managed to get to my feet, open the front door, and walk a few steps down the path. We both came to a stop, staring at each other, and the pain I saw on her face was familiar to me. It was my pain I saw reflected there. Only Sophie understood it. Only Sophie understood me.

  She took the last few steps at a run, gathering me into her arms to give me the fiercest, sweetest hug I’d ever experienced. I clung to her, inhaling her familiar scent, before I put my face into the curve of her neck, and, at last, I wept.

  Chapter 25

  ~Sophie~

  Jake’s mother called early in the morning. I heard the phone ring, and, thinking it might be Sam, I plodded over to my parents’ room, confused and a little worried. Seeing my mother’s ashen face, and my father standing by the bed next to her in his pajamas, I knew something terrible had happened. I didn’t know what. Tears ran down my mother’s cheeks as she made sympathetic noises into the phone. She paused, looking up at me, and said, “Yes, she’s right here. I’ll pass the phone to her now.”

  She covered the mouthpiece of the phone before handing it to me. “It’s Mrs. Hunter,” she said. “She’s calling about Dylan. He…well…he passed away last night.”

  I thought my knees might give out, but I managed to steady myself. I took the phone from my mother’s hand, sat next to her on the edge of their bed, and put the phone to my ear.

  “Mrs. Hunter? I’m so sorry,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  Part of me feared she might yell at me, and I mentally prepared myself for the onslaught. Instead, she surprised me. “We’re coping. It’s an awful shock, you see. He’d been doing so much better lately. We finally had hope, but I guess he fooled us all.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Please come. Jake needs you. He’s acting calm and in control, but he’s in a lot of pain and I don’t know how to reach him. If you were here, it would help.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave as soon as possible.”

  She let out a long breath. “Thank you, Sophie. I appreciate it.”

  I gave the phone back to my mother. She said goodbye to Mrs. Hunter and hung up. Then she sat, staring at her phone. “We have to let Sam know. This is going to be awful.”

  She found the contact information for Sam’s teacher, Dr. Brown, in her address book, and called him. She thought it would be better for Sam to have someone with her, an adult, when she heard the news. She asked if he would go to Sam so that Sam could phone us while he was present. It turned out to be a good idea.

  Sam called just as we were about to leave for Jake’s house. My mom told her what she knew. Dylan had killed himself sometime during the night. I heard Sam’s panicked voice coming through my mother’s phone. Suddenly, it went utterly silent.

  “We got cut off,” said my mom. “I’m not sure what happened. Maybe her phone died.”

  My mom waited a few minutes, before Facetiming Sam. Thankfully, she answered right away. I hovered next to my dad, looking at my sister on the tiny screen. She was pale, her eyes frantic, her breathing strange. She looked like a person on the edge. My mom wept as soon as she saw Sam’s face. I started crying, too, and so did my dad. It hurt to see my sister like this, and she was so far away we couldn’t do much to help her.

  “Do they blame me?” she asked over and over again.

  No matter how much my mother tried to reassure her the Hunters did not blame her for Dylan’s death, my sister’s expression said she didn’t buy it. Mom asked to speak with Dr. Brown again. I, for one, was glad she’d asked him to be there when she gave Sam the news. He stood next to another professor, a younger Japanese man. They both looked shaken, but Dr. Brown promised they’d take care of her. He said he would call the nurse right away so she could keep an eye on Sam. A wise move.

  When we hung up the phone, we stood there for a long moment, in shock. Dylan was gone. He’d killed himself. And Sam, poor Sam, looked like she might be in the midst of some kind of emotional crisis, and there was nothing we could do.

  “Maybe we should go to Japan,” said my father, who hated plane travel so much we drove to every single vacation we ever took.

  My mom clasped his hand. “Let’s wait and see. She’s had a shock. I’ll call her when we reach the Hunters’ house, if not sooner.”

  The whole way to Jake’s house, my need to get to him, to take care of him, felt almost overwhelming. If Mrs. Hunter called me for help, h
e must be in pretty bad shape, and I was scared of what I might encounter. Seeing him walk out of his house, calm and casual in his soccer hoodie and sweats, came as both a relief and a shock. Mrs. Hunter was right. He was way too in control. He acted almost…emotionless. Frozen.

  I stomped toward him, bound and determined to make this better. To make everything better. As soon as I pulled him into my arms, hugging him with all my might, and I felt something inside him give way. He held me close, tucking his face into my neck, and started to cry, his broad shoulders shaking with pent up sobs.

  I looked over at Mrs. Hunter at the front door of her house. Thank you, she said, mouthing the words to me as she wiped away a tear.

  I nodded to her, unable to respond in any other way as tears poured down my face. My mom passed us on the walk, and went straight to Mrs. Hunter. Both of them held each other, weeping. They’d grown close over the last few months. My dad stood awkwardly off to the side, a giant box of donuts in his hands. Eventually, they walked into the house together. I stayed outside in the cold with Jake, patting his back and making soothing noises until the worst of the storm passed and he could finally talk to me.

  “I was with him last night,” he said. “We had a nice visit. I…I don’t understand.”

  I put my hand on his cheek. “There was nothing you could have done, Jake. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

  I was with my parents when they gave Sam the details of what happened. Dylan waited for exactly the right moment, as the nurses changed shifts; he strangled himself using his pajama bottoms. I shivered, thinking about it, but Jake misunderstood.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re freezing. Let’s go inside.”

  We bypassed the crowd of people in his house and headed straight to the quiet of his bedroom. I sat on his bed, my back against his headboard, and he curled up next to me, his head on my lap. He wanted to talk, and I wanted to listen, even though it was hard for both of us. We stayed that way a long time, as he spoke about his brother, wanting me to know Dylan better, to understand him better. It seemed important to Jake for me to know more about Dylan than just the illness that killed him. He wanted me to know him better as a person as well.