by JB Dutton
* * * * *
Gran and Pops flew up later that day. I felt so incredibly bad, meeting them at JFK with a police escort. Even worse, they were taken to the station for questioning. I don’t know how they didn’t go insane with worry. Or maybe they did and kept it from me using some kind of grandparental superpower.
They were both in a daze, but I guess that was normal. They had just been told that their only daughter had committed suicide. Even though the body hadn’t been recovered, a dozen cops had witnessed her jump off the bridge into the icy water. No one could have survived.
When we got to the apartment they dumped their bags in Mom’s room. They busied themselves over Chinese food with talk of a memorial service, but quickly realized there was no one to invite. The only place it made sense to hold one was in Lancaster. But they were too heartbroken and just didn’t have the energy.
The next morning Cruz called me, saying his mom was inviting us for lunch. Gran and Pops took some convincing to go. They were sure Cruz was involved in this tragedy and didn’t trust him. But once we arrived at his apartment they were overwhelmed by Dora’s Puerto Rican welcome. They warmed to her instantly and were soon nibbling tentatively at the patacones she’d just taken sizzling out of the frying pan.
Cruz hardly said a word the whole time we ate, and his sisters were unusually quiet too. Afterward, I helped them clear away the things from the table while Cruz crashed on the couch watching a football game.
I joined him, shifting his legs out the way to make room. Dora and my grandparents huddled in a whispered kitchen discussion over coffee, occasionally glancing at me through the door to the dining room.
Cruz just stared at the screen, his thumb wandering over the buttons on the remote, never actually pushing any of them.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
He still didn’t look at me.
“Thank you for rescuing me. I’d be dead without you. You know that, right?”
He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
“None of this is your fault, Cruz.”
His eyes flicked across mine, as though searching for something. Then he looked back at the screen.
I got up from the couch but he caught hold of my wrist.
“Kari.”
My stomach was in a knot. “What?”
“I’m just a kid. I act like I’m not, but I am.”
I sat back down and put my hand on his shoulder. The pain on his face was tangible.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into all this.”
“Well I’m not,” he sighed. “I’m not sorry that you dragged me into your life. And I know I’m not cool and mysterious and... dark, but... I would do anything for you. Anything.”
My heart melted. “I know.”
I took hold of his clenched fist, slowly uncurled the fingers and placed my own on his warm, strong palm.
“You did the right thing.”
His eyes were still searching for an answer – for the truth – in mine.
I pulled him closer. I kissed him. And felt the tension disappear from every muscle in his body.
“I love you, Cruz,” I whispered into his ear.
He pressed his cheek against mine. “Me too, Kari.”
I just wish that I hadn’t heard that little voice in the back of my mind say: “Are you sure? Are you sure this is real?”
Why did I have this feeling that Noon was still alive? That they all were? Were my feelings for him real either? And what if everything Aranara had told me was true? That I was the only person that could save the universe from these... Natan. She called them High Priests. But why would priests want to destroy something? As ever, my curiosity burned brighter than my good sense. Somehow, someday, I knew I would have to find out. I just couldn’t imagine going to my grave never knowing the whole story. And besides, if I did need to sacrifice myself to save the universe, I was sure now that I would do it. I had already made that decision on the bridge.
There was so much to think about, but no matter how many questions remained unanswered, being in Cruz’s arms was what I needed right now: his warmth, strength, trust. And his love.