And it’s true. I’m always there in the rubble. In the cold and the dust with that tiny spray of light coming through the crack above my head. Before then, I’d always thought of aftershocks as the literal rumblings the ground made after an earthquake, but they’re something different to me now. Aftershocks are the part that stays forever, rolling in when you’re unprepared, triggered by something big and undeniable or small and unexpected. Aftershocks are PTSD, survivor’s guilt, and grief. Aftershocks are what wakes me up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, convincing me I’m still there, in the rubble with Charlie. Aftershocks are why I and pretty much everyone else I know go to therapy.
“I can only imagine,” she says, her voice drifting like she’s trying to be there with Charlie. Like she wants to. Because she’s his mom. “I owe you a thank-you.”
“He told me stuff. About his life. And what happened,” I say.
His mom smiles. But it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Leave it to Charlie to share everything with a stranger.”
“We weren’t strangers. Maybe at first, but not in the end.”
“Right.” She shakes her head, clearing it. “Of course not. You wouldn’t be strangers after what you went through together.”
“It’s not just that.” I want to make it as clear as I can. “He was kind to me. And he was brave. He was a good person and he had beautiful dreams. You should be proud of the son you raised.”
Charlie was a big heart in a small space.
I was lucky to have known him.
“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you for coming all this way. For finding me so I could have this.” She pulls the journal to her chest so much like I did.
“You’ll see who he was in his words.” I point to the journal. “There are poems in there. And stories. And truth. I hope you’ll love reading it. I loved reading it.”
“I know I will.” She shakes her head and sniffs as her tears fall freely. “Ruby”—she sucks in a breath—“can you do one more thing for me? Can you promise to go live a big and beautiful life and do all the things Charlie won’t get to do?”
“I will.”
I mean it.
As I turn to go, she mumbles something I don’t make out the first time. And then she says it again. “Water polo.” Then, “Ruby! Wait! You’re the water polo player? You play water polo?”
I turn back around. “Yes, I play water polo.” My sweatshirt kind of gives it away.
“Oh, my goodness!” She flaps her hands in excitement. “Wait here. I have something . . . I think it might be yours. Can you wait a minute?”
“Sure.”
She rushes back into the house and returns to me a moment later.
“I think this belongs to you.” She holds up my championship ring. The ring I spun around and around my finger while Charlie told me why I should be proud of it. And then he promised to keep it safe for me.
“But I wanted Charlie to have it.”
“That is so sweet of you. But it doesn’t feel right. You need to hold on to it.”
I remember how Charlie said his mom always made decisions for him. I guess this is another one of them. I want to force her to keep it, but then I realize there isn’t any point to Charlie’s mom having my ring. Because if she has it, it means he’s not wearing it anymore. But if it’s on my finger, it will be a reminder of him. Of my friend. I take it from her and slip it back on my own finger, where it belongs.
“Thank you.”
“No, Ruby. Thank you.”
She shuts the door behind me and I listen to the lock click into place as I go.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Mila says when I’m back in the car. “I need to see the ocean today.”
“Me too.”
We wind our way through reopened roads and park near the pier. I follow Mila through the sand, letting it sift between my toes, reminding me how lucky I am to still be able to savor the small things like this. To appreciate how important they are, too.
We sit down and watch the ocean. Listen to the steady rhythm of the waves going in and out. Constant and reassuring like a heartbeat. And then I lie back. Feel the warm sun on my face. I remember Charlie in the rubble, telling me to close my eyes and imagine someplace better than where we were. To let all of my senses take over. I close my eyes again now. I imagine his voice in my head.
Do you feel that, Ruby? Do you smell it? You’re here. You’re home.
Additional Resources
For more information on earthquake safety and preparedness, visit FEMA at fema.gov, the American Red Cross at redcross.org, and the Great ShakeOut at shakeout.org.
If you think you or someone you care about may need help with substance abuse, contact the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) at samhsa.gov or 1-800-662-HELP (4357).
Acknowledgments
Kate Testerman, my wonderful agent at KT Literary, thank you for always trusting and believing in this book. Your endless optimism is everything an author could hope for and I’m so grateful for you.
Maggie Lehrman, my incredible editor at Amulet, thank you for loving Ruby as much as I do and helping to make her story fuller and richer. I feel so lucky to have worked with you.
Neil Swaab and Hana Nakamura, thank you for a stunning and perfect cover for Aftershocks. And to the entire team at Amulet, thank you for all you’ve done, every step of the way, to bring this book into the world. I’m truly honored.
Elise Robins and Stacy Wise, my amazing critique partners, thank you for always being my first readers and freshest eyes. We’ve come so far since our inaugural meeting so many years ago and I’m so proud of us.
Shannon Parker, with your keen eye and stellar notes, thank you for helping make sense of this book when it needed it the most. Charlie wouldn’t be Charlie without you.
My friends in the YA community who are always there for me: Shea Ernshaw, Jeff Garvin, Kerry Kletter, Amy Spalding, Kali Wallace, and Darcy Woods, thank you for always being a text or phone call away on top of being the amazing people you are.
Jim Laing, thank you for answering my emergency medical questions at a moment’s notice. You came through when Ruby and I needed you most.
Lee Gjertsen Malone, thank you for taking the time to share your knowledge of the American Red Cross and disaster relief. Your input was valuable beyond words.
My mom and brother, thank you for your constant support and enthusiasm.
And finally, Jon and Kai, you are the very best part of my life. Thank you. I love you.
About the Author
Marisa Reichardt is the author of Underwater and Aftershocks. She lives in Southern California and can usually be found huddled over her laptop in a coffeehouse or swimming in the ocean.
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