After my sudden and glorious realization that Charlie was Charlie, the rest of that night is hazy. But somehow, I ended up on my living room sofa, still in my mothball sweater but out of my giant shoes, covered with the Hudson Bay blanket from the cedar chest, and sweating like a rain forest. My mom found me there the next morning and carried me to my room, where I began my recovery, although things got a lot worse before they got better.
For days, my whole body throbbed with something like a migraine, including my bones and my internal organs. I’m not sure where my spleen is, but I’m pretty sure it was throbbing. The worst part, though, was the places my poor mind wandered to when I slept. Dark places, places so grim, empty, and sad that I’d wake up crying and calling for my mother every time.
The good news is that my mother came, every time. She brought me tea and sat in the armchair next to my bed with her tiny book light, and softly read and read, for hours, all my favorite books, and even when I was too exhausted to really listen, just the sound of my mom’s voice was enough. Even when my skin hurt so that I couldn’t stand to be touched, my mother’s voice, all the familiar ups and downs of it, wrapped all the way around me and held.
Then one day, I woke up hungry as a stray cat, starving for sunlight and food, in that order, so I threw off my covers and jumped out of bed. Since I basically hadn’t eaten for six days, I got instantly light-headed and had to sit down and put my head between my knees until the paparazzi flashbulbs stopped going off in front of my eyes. But somehow I not only made it to the window and opened the shade but also managed to drag the armchair across the room, so that I could curl up on it and let the tangerine-colored light wash over me.
That’s where my mom found me. Anyone who comes into a room with a plate of brioche and sliced peaches would look good to a person as hungry as I was, but I swear my mother was glowing.
“Look at you!” she said, smiling. “I knew you’d feel better today.”
“How’d you know?” I asked, taking a shark-sized bite of the brioche.
“I came in and sat with you for a while last night. You were sleeping so peacefully, none of that tossing and turning.”
“Have I been tossing and turning?”
“Like a fish out of water, flop, flop, flop. And then there was the groaning. And the teeth grinding.”
“Nice,” I said. I bared my teeth at her. “They still seem to work.”
“So I see,” she said, eyeing the crumbs on my plate. “Let me get you some more food, and then I have some news.”
By the way her eyes were sparkling, I knew it was good news. I thought fleetingly about telling her to forget the food and just tell me, but my stomach was calling the shots. When I had inhaled another warm brioche and had my hands firmly wrapped around a mug of lemony tea, my mother told me the news. She’d gotten a call the morning after I’d fallen ill from a professor at a law school in Tempe. He was part of a group of lawyers and law students who worked to free the wrongly convicted.
“They’re a national organization called Team Exoneration. Their success rate is amazing,” said my mom. “And they want to work on your dad’s case! They think there’s a good chance they can get him released!”
I felt dazzled, like she’d just handed me the moon. For almost a minute, I couldn’t even speak.
Finally, I squeaked, “When?”
“They met with Roland Wise three days ago! They’ve already started!”
“So he could be out soon! Like before the summer! We can have a party and invite everyone and maybe go to the beach like we always talk about! Maybe Charlie and his family can all come, too, and maybe . . .”
That’s when I noticed that a cloud, just a little one, was scudding across the sunny landscape of my mother’s face.
“Or maybe we can just keep him to ourselves,” I amended. “Just stay home and cook out and go on desert walks and be normal? That would be nice, right?”
But the cloud didn’t scud away. It just stayed, casting its small shadow into my mom’s blue eyes.
“Maybe soon,” she said, gently, “but probably not that soon. I read about some of the other Team Exoneration cases. It can take a bit of time.”
“Oh,” I said. “Like months?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes longer, even years. But not always.”
I almost said “oh” again. No, the truth is, I almost said, “Oh, no, not years!” But I caught myself in the nick of time. When your mother has come into your room with a big shining gift of hope and a smile like you haven’t seen on her face in what feels like ten centuries, you don’t wreck it.
So instead, I smiled and said, “What matters is that they believe in him, and they’re good at what they do, and we’ll get him home with us in the end.”
My mother leaned over, smoothed back my hair, which was a pile of knots and none too clean, and kissed me on the forehead.
“Yes,” she said, softly, “and meanwhile, we’ve got each other, right?”
It hit me right then how, even though we both were desperate for my dad to come home, “each other” was a lot to have; “each other” just might see us through.
“Heck yeah, we have each other,” I said. “The unstoppable O’Malley women, together forever!”
My mother rested her hand on my very dirty hair, again, with one of those full, endlessly tender looks mothers give that can make you cry if you’re not careful.
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
“I’m proud of you, too,” I said. “Can I take a shower now?”
Her laugh was like money falling from the sky. “Heck, yeah!” she said.
Charlie stopped by that afternoon. Actually, according to my mom, he’d stopped by every afternoon since I’d gotten back from 1938 (my mother didn’t say that exactly, of course), but this time, she told him to go on up and see me. I heard him running up the stairs, clomping like an elephant with his big feet, but when he got to the door of my room, he stopped and stood there with this look on his face that was part shy, part wary, like I was an endangered species, fragile but possibly also about to bite him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I said, “you coming in or what?”
“Sure,” he said, but all he did was sort of sidle past the doorjamb and lean against the wall.
“What?”
“What?”
“Why are you acting so sketchy?” I said. I threw my stuffed owl at him. It hit him in the chest.
Charlie shrugged and scratched his head.
“Well, gee, Margaret, I don’t know. It’s not like you just traveled through time and back or anything. It’s not like the last time I saw you, you looked ninety-nine percent dead. It’s not like you’ve been insanely sick for an entire week, and I wasn’t sure if you would make it. Why would I feel awkward in this situation? That’s just so silly of me.”
“Shut up,” I said, laughing.
He walked over and plopped down in the armchair.
“Thanks for carrying me home,” I said.
“Well, it was either that or leave you there for the coyotes to eat.”
I took a breath. “I didn’t save him.”
I realized right after I said it that “him” could mean one of a number of people, and I thought about clarifying things for Charlie, but then I realized that it didn’t matter. I hadn’t saved any of them.
“Well, I figured, since your dad is still in prison.”
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, Charlie already knew I hadn’t saved anyone, since the whole point of saving Luke would’ve been to keep my dad out of prison, and he was still there.
“But you tried,” said Charlie. “You did your best, probably risked your life over and over without even giving it a second thought, knowing you.”
His cheeks went red when he said this.
“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “I failed.”
“Hey, it does matter,” said Charlie, sitting up straight in the armchair. “It matters to Grandpa Joshua.
It would matter to a lot more people, if they knew. And it matters to me.”
His cheeks went redder.
“Thanks,” I said, and meant it with all my heart, even though I knew better than to mention the heart part.
“So,” I said, “I guess you want to hear what happened? You’ve been in limbo for, like, a week, which had to be tough.”
Charlie looked startled at this.
“Well, yeah. Sure. I mean, I heard some of it from Grandpa Joshua, but I definitely want to hear it from your perspective.”
And there was something else I hadn’t thought of. Here I’d been thinking Charlie had been on pins and needles all this time, waiting to hear my story, when he’d already heard it because it wasn’t just mine. It was Grandpa Joshua’s, too. It hadn’t been before I’d traveled, but now it was. Because Grandpa Joshua, Charlie’s grandfather, was also my coconspirator, my friend Josh.
“Oh. Right,” I said, shaking my head. “You know what? For someone who actually time traveled, I’m having a lot of trouble getting my mind around the whole idea.”
Charlie grinned. “Well, yeah, it only forces you to rethink everything you ever learned about the way the world works and the laws of physics, not to mention logic and common sense. Anyway, I hear Picasso and Harriet Tubman had trouble with it, too, so don’t feel bad.”
“You want to hear my story now? Because I had been feeling like I wanted to put it behind me forever, but suddenly, I realize that if I don’t talk about it to someone, I might explode.”
“That would be messy,” said Charlie. “So you’d better go ahead and tell.”
I did. I told and told, every sad, terrible, funny, beautiful (it wasn’t until I was telling it that I realized there actually were beautiful parts), scary, heart-wrenching bit of it, paying special attention to the moments when Josh had been a hero, since I knew he’d downplayed those to Charlie. Afterward, I felt drained, but not in a bad way, and also sort of awestruck by all that had happened. Even if it hadn’t happened in my lifetime, it had happened in my life, and I would carry it with me forever.
“But in the end, Charlie, I failed. I let everyone down.”
“Shut up,” Charlie said. “You were amazing. You and Grandpa Joshua, both.”
Suddenly, I remembered those last moments: me limp as a sack of potatoes in Josh’s arms; the men rushing in to murder Aristotle; above us all, removed from life and death, hope and love, the ruthlessly glittering stars; and Josh, oh Josh, turning away from the infirmary toward The Octagon, away from saving Aristotle, toward saving me.
“It isn’t fair,” I murmured.
“What?” asked Charlie.
“It was my father, my quest. But in the end, Josh had to do the hardest part of all. It must have been terrible, that moment when he had to choose.”
Charlie nodded. “But he chose right. You’re here. If you weren’t here, if you’d never come back—”
He broke off, and we sat in silence, not looking at each other. Then Charlie brightened.
“Hey, your mom told me about Team Exoneration! That’s awesome!”
I smiled. “Yep! It could take a while for them to get him out, but that’s okay. As long as we all have that to look forward to, we can wait. We’ve got time.”
As it turned out, I was wrong. Time was exactly what we didn’t have.
Two days later, I came home from school to find my mom gone and our neighbor Mrs. Darley waiting for me. I hadn’t even gotten my key into the front door lock when she opened the door and said, “Before I say anything else, I want you to know that he’s going to be okay. Dr. AJ drove your mom to the hospital, and she spoke to his surgeon personally, right before they wheeled him in, and she swore up and down that your dad’s going to make it.”
The world seemed to go wavy under me, and I almost had to sit down right on the porch, but Mrs. Darley caught me under the arms. She started to pull me into a hug, but I held out my hand to stop her.
“Just tell me,” I whispered, “please.”
Tears filled her kind brown eyes. “He was stabbed in the prison yard. Oh, honey, someone tried to kill your father.”
Dr. AJ was right, as always. My dad was going to be okay. We got the news later that night that the surgery was successful, and he was out of the woods. But what everyone knew, even before Roland Wise said it out loud, was that he wasn’t going to stay out of the woods. Once he recovered, my father had to return to prison, where at least one person wanted to make very sure that he went back into those woods, this time for good.
“Our best hope is to get him protective custody,” said Mr. Wise.
He had met my mother in the hospital the night before and then come over to our house the next day.
“What’s that?” asked my mother. “Solitary confinement? John would hate that.”
“I know,” said Mr. Wise, “but it would just be until they caught the person who did this.”
At this, my mother gave him a calm, level, unwavering, slate-blue stare.
“Do you think they will?” she asked.
Mr. Wise hesitated and sighed. “I doubt it. A yard full of witnesses and no one’s talking. Somebody spray-painted the lens of the nearest surveillance camera orange, and the weapon’s vanished into thin air. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but even if they catch the individual who did it, well, someone else might try again.”
“It’s because of Team Exoneration, isn’t it?” asked my mother bitterly. “Victory Corp. wants to make that investigation go away.”
I jerked my head up to look at Mr. Wise. Team Exoneration couldn’t be putting my father in danger! Team Exoneration was going to save him.
“Well, if that investigation continues, it could turn up some extremely ugly skeletons in the Victory Corporation’s closet. It would be in the company’s interests to silence John as a witness in his own defense and to send Team Exoneration packing.”
My mother’s hands were shaking so hard, she had to press them together to make them stop.
“Roland, we need to find a way to get John out of there. You know and I know that even if protections are put in place, they’ll find a way to get to him.”
“I hear you. I do. Unfortunately, the police here consider John’s case closed. I’m working on an appeal, but Team Exoneration has resources I just don’t have. They’re our best bet.”
Yes, I thought, yes! Team Exoneration will handle everything!
My mother covered her face with her long, lovely hands. Dr. AJ put an arm around each of us, and I let myself fall against her, fold into her, wanting her to take care of me, to make it all better. I’m tired, I thought, I’m a kid. Let the adults handle it. Let Team Exoneration save my dad.
I was so close to giving in, turning it all over to someone else. But then I remembered Josh, how he had saved me, and I was filled with shame. If Josh could rise up and be strong at the worst possible moment, so could I. I pulled out from under Dr. AJ’s arm, opened my eyes, and asked the question I had to ask.
“What if Team Exoneration went away? What if we told them to go, give up the case? Would my father be safer in prison then?”
It was like everyone in the room froze, waiting for his answer, for Roland Wise to say for us what we all already knew.
“This is all just theoretical,” he said, “but yes. I think John would be safer.”
My mother’s eyes locked with mine. After a second, both of us nodded.
“Get him solitary confinement, Roland,” said my mother, wearily. “Keep working on the appeal. But call off Team Exoneration.”
“But the Team is our best hope of proving him innocent!”
“Then we’ll just have to find a better hope someplace else,” I said.
I was allowed to visit him later that day. Dr. AJ took me so that my mother could get some sleep. For a second there, when I saw the police officer in a chair outside my father’s hospital room door, the memory of Aristotle in the infirmary stopped me dead in my tracks. But this wasn
’t then, I reminded myself, and my father wasn’t Aristotle; my father wasn’t history; he was the living, breathing, precious now, my now.
Dr. AJ let me go in alone, but when I walked into the room, I saw another police officer sitting in a chair at the opposite end of the room from my father’s bed. Because my dad appeared to be asleep, I turned to the officer, who stood up when he saw me and removed his hat. His hair was steel-gray and bristly, but his eyes were nice, velvet black and fringed with long lashes.
“Excuse me, officer,” I said, “I’m Margaret O’Malley, and I was wondering if I might be able to have a few minutes alone to talk to my dad. Would that be okay? Please?”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss O’Malley,” he said. “Name’s Officer Bob Georgopoulos. Wish I could accommodate your request. I’m sure I’d feel the same in your situation, but my orders are to stay. Tell you what, though, I’ll just sit over here with my book and you can forget I’m even here. Just go on and have your conversation, okay?”
He sat down and opened his book.
“Thanks,” I said.
My dad’s eyes were shut and his face looked oddly bare without his glasses, his eyebrows sort of floating and out of place without the thick frames to anchor them. He was paler than usual, although even pale, my ruddy dad was still sort of pink-cheeked, and he was hooked up to some tubes and machines the way people in hospital beds usually are. But he looked alive, just as alive as ever.
I touched his hand, which was warm, and he opened his eyes, which were their usual beach-glass green.
“Hey, there, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was a little strange, raspy, but his smile was just exactly right.
“Hey, there, Daddy,” I said.
“I’m glad to see you looking so chipper,” he said. “I was worried.”
“You were worried? You’re the one who got hurt, remember?”
“I heard you’d been sick.”
Suddenly, I couldn’t meet his eyes. I looked down at his hand holding mine and shrugged.
“Fever, pain all over, bad headaches, weakness. And glassy eyes, bright, bright, green glassy eyes, traffic-light, go-light eyes. I’ve never seen anyone be sick precisely like that, but I’ve heard about it.”
Saving Lucas Biggs Page 14