by Nan Higgins
* * *
“I thought hospital food was supposed to be terrible,” I said. I was halfway done scarfing down a cheeseburger and onion rings when I finally paused to take a drink of water.
“It’s come a long way since I was in the hospital having you, that’s for sure.” Mom sat at the end of my bed, her hands wrapped around my feet. She’d spent the half hour from when Dr. Sukul left and I ordered my dinner hugging me, brushing my hair, putting ChapStick on my dry lips, adjusting my pillows, and fussing with my blankets until I finally had to ask her to sit and relax.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m hovering, aren’t I?”
“Just a little.”
So she’d pulled up a chair by my feet, rested a hand on them, and occupied herself with a book while I rested my eyes. When my food arrived, she set the book down and grinned while she watched me eat.
“I hope your stomach can handle all that,” she said.
I swallowed a bite of cheeseburger and said, “The doctor said I could have whatever I wanted.”
“Hey, I’m not here to judge. I’m just happy you’re well enough to eat.” Her smiled faded a little, and when she opened her mouth to speak again, I felt like I knew what was coming. “Aria, what happened?”
In the quiet moments between her making a fuss over me and my food arriving, I’d been preparing myself for this question. As nervous as I was, it was time to come clean about Clara’s visits. I’d done myself much more harm than I could’ve imagined by keeping it a secret.
“I’m going to tell you,” I said. “But I only want to tell the story once. Can we wait for Dad?”
She looked like she was going to push it, but she nodded. “I understand. He’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
I was going to ask her why he wasn’t here now when there was a brusque knock at the door. A thin man wearing a wrinkled suit and holding a clipboard came in. “Aria Jasper?”
“That’s me.” I wiped my mouth and hands and reached up to take his outstretched hand, and I noticed my hand shaking. These sudden sounds and unexpected visitors popping in and out of my room put me on edge, and I wondered again if I’d ever stop being afraid.
“Hi, I’m Gil Peters. Do you have time to answer a few quick questions?”
“What kind of questions?”
He turned to my mother. “Ma’am, could you give us a few minutes? This is standard hospital protocol. I do need privacy with the patient.”
“Oh. Okay.” Mom squeezed my feet before standing. “I’ll go get some coffee.”
Gil took the vacated seat and flipped through several pages of different colors. “Tell me about the night you came into the hospital. What were you doing before?”
“I was on a date.”
“Okay.” He arranged some papers on his clipboard and took notes. “Where did the fella take you?”
“Um. Well, the girl took me to a concert.”
His ears turned a little pink, but he didn’t look up from his notes. “Go on.”
“We saw Julien Baker at the Newport, and when it was over, we went to White Castle. I fainted at the bathroom there.”
He nodded at his papers. “Did you sustain any injuries that day or in the days leading up to your collapse that might have contributed to it?”
I thought about my head slamming against the block walls in the bathroom at White Castle. “No, I didn’t.”
As if he read my mind, he said, “How did you get the bump on the back of your head?”
“I must have hit my head when I fell.” While I was ready to tell my parents about what had been happening, I certainly couldn’t tell this guy, not unless I wanted to extend my hospital stay. It dawned on me how much interpreters had to lie in order to keep their lives a secret. It wasn’t an excuse, but it did partially explain how easy it was for my parents to lead a double life all those years. “It’s the only thing I can think of.”
Finally, he looked up from his clipboard. “Are you absolutely certain that you don’t remember injuring your head in any other way?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Ms. Jasper, do you feel safe in your home?”
He knows. They must have specials working in hospitals too. A mixture of panic and relief coursed through me as I wondered how much to tell him.
“You live with your parents?”
I nodded.
“Have you ever been harmed by them, Ms. Jasper?”
“What?” I started laughing. “Of course not.” My parents had never so much as spanked me.
“Okay, what about your date?”
“Sloane? She’d never hurt me either. Is that what this meeting is about? You think I’m being abused?”
“We take domestic violence very seriously here,” he said. “We can make sure you’re safe, Ms. Jasper. If you are having any issues with someone in your life, we can get you all the help you’ll need.”
I felt a moment of sharp disappointment. He wasn’t a special sent to help me figure out why Mrs. Braverman was following me, why I could see and talk to her when I hadn’t been released yet or how to make her leave me alone and get her crossed over without any further incidents. He was just a reg, here to help me solve a problem I didn’t have.
After several minutes of my assurances that I was in no earthly danger from any of my loved ones, Gil Peters handed me a card and left.
* * *
My mom returned with coffee for her and a few magazines from the hospital gift shop for me. I was happy to see her, but I was also anxious and uneasy. Soon I’d have to confess to my parents what had been happening to me. I couldn’t go on the way I had been, and yet nothing had changed in terms of my reasoning for not telling them. They’d kept so much from me, and even after my quickening had been less than honest about what I should expect. As much as I knew I was in over my head and needed to let them know, there was still the lingering doubt about how much I could trust them.
“Thank you,” I said. “Hey, do you happen to have my phone?”
She smiled and crossed to the other side of the room, pulling my phone from a charger on the shelf.
“I know a couple girls who will be very happy to hear from you,” Mom said. “I’ve been keeping them updated, but I’m sure they’ll be glad to know you’re able to talk to them yourself.”
I had three texts, one from Macy and two from Sloane. The one from Macy said, Your mom told me what happened. I’m so scared. Please be okay! I love you. I texted her back that I was awake but tired and would call her tomorrow.
Sloane’s first text said, I can’t stop thinking about how pale you were, how scary everything was, how nothing I could do or say would make you wake up. I’ve only known you a few weeks, and I already don’t know what I would do if I lost you. That one was from three o’clock in the morning, several hours after I fainted. Her other one was from twenty minutes ago. I heard you’re awake! I texted her back and said I was, and moments later, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I said.
“She lives,” Sloane said.
“That she does.” I laughed. “How are you?”
“Better than I’ve been in days.” Her voice shook, and I realized it was the first time I’d heard her speak without that little bit of Sloane swagger.
“Yeah, me too,” I said. Any time I thought it was impossible to be anything but scared and frustrated, Sloane appeared and changed my mind. I was so touched that she had been affected by what had happened to me.
“Was it her?” She dropped to a whisper. “Mrs. Braverman?”
I glanced at my mom, who was engrossed in her book again.
“Yeah.”
“That’s what I thought. I know you probably can’t talk, so just listen. I think it’s time we told someone else. My mom or your dad. Preferably your dad. We need to be able to keep you safe.”
“I agree.” I was glad Sloane felt the same; it confirmed that we’d run out of options and needed to tell someone more knowledgeable.
“
You do? Wow, I thought it was going to be a lot harder sell than that. I have two pages of bulleted arguments about why we need to get the big dogs involved.”
“I’m sorry about all the extra work.” I giggled and realized the last time I’d laughed had been on our date the other night.
“Don’t be. Do you want me to be there when you do it?”
“Actually, that would be nice. You’re really up for all that?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”
I hadn’t expected that kind of support, and it made me feel special and honored and so cared for that I could have cried. Sloane’s tenderness had a healing effect, and I basked in the warmth that seeped into my bones.
“Okay. Hang on a second.” I set my phone down and turned to my mom, who looked up from her book. “What time is Dad coming in the morning?”
“Should be around nine.”
“Can you be here around nine?” I asked Sloane.
“Sure.” She paused. “Listen, Aria, I found something today. I was back in the file room and I came across…well, I need to tell you about it in person. Maybe we can have a few minutes to ourselves in the morning?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Normally, my heart would be racing, and I’d be trying to get her to tell me now, but my eyes were starting to get heavy again. A yawn escaped before I could pop my mouth closed and try to swallow it. “Sorry.”
“Rest,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I’d never slept in Sloane’s arms, but I drifted off that night with the sound of her voice filled with concern and kindness and imagined she was next to me in my tiny hospital bed.
Chapter Twenty-three
My mom helped me make it to the bathroom early the next morning so I could shower and get into my own clothes before Dad and Sloane arrived. By the time I got back in bed, I was clean and exhausted. I checked the time, and it was only a little after eight. I started flipping through the magazines Mom had picked up, but a few pages in, I fell asleep. A hand on my shoulder woke me.
“Hey, love.”
Sloane stood beside the bed, smiling. She had a bouquet of daffodils, and I tried to remember if I’d mentioned they were my favorite flower.
“Hi.” I sat up in bed. “Those are beautiful. Thank you.” It was so good to see her. I couldn’t believe how much I’d missed her over the last few days.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Over here okay?” She moved to set the flowers on the side table between the bed and the little lounge chair.
“Perfect.”
She pulled a chair over to sit beside my non-IV hand. She kissed it and laced her fingers with mine. The hospital was cold, and I had been wrapped in blankets throughout my stay, but Sloane’s hand made heat rise up in me where only a chill had been for days. “Aria, I am so sorry this happened to you.”
“It’s okay.” She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. I’d been pleased by her concern the night before, but I didn’t like the look of her drawn mouth and puffy eyes. I couldn’t bear the thought that I was the cause for her being so miserable. “Are you okay?”
“I just…I’ve been so worried about you. And I feel like this is my fault.”
My mouth dropped open. “How could it possibly be your fault?”
“I didn’t protect you. I knew the deal with Mrs. Braverman, and I didn’t protect you. If I had, I don’t know…”
“Followed me into the bathroom when I went to pee, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened?”
“Well, yeah.”
“No.” I took her face in my hand, needing her to know how wrong she was. She and Macy had been the ones seeing me through this madness, and I couldn’t allow another moment of her blaming herself for what happened. “You couldn’t have stopped it. You can’t see or hear Clara. There’s nothing you could have done. If you’d asked me if I wanted you to come to the bathroom, I would have told you how ridiculous you were.”
A small smile curved one side of her mouth upward. “That sounds about right. Still, I can’t stop going over that night in my mind, wondering what I should have done differently.”
“Listen.” I sat forward and squeezed her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing could have changed what happened with Mrs. Braverman. I think it was inevitable. It’s over and done, and I just want to move forward and figure things out. I’m tired of all these secrets. Let’s talk to my dad and get everything out in the open.”
The last few days in the hospital had given me a lot of time to think about everything that led up to me being there. I had good reason not to trust my parents and had made the best decisions I could based on what I knew, but my situation had gotten too big and too dangerous for me to continue to hide it from them. A cloud of resignation had settled over me when I decided what I had to do. I’d run out of options.
“That sounds good,” she said, and the relief in her voice made me sad. She’d been holding my secrets at her own risk. “But, Aria, speaking of your dad and secrets, I need to tell you what I found out.” She pulled her hand away and fidgeted with the zipper on her hoodie.
“What is it?”
“I made a copy for you.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a piece of paper folded into fourths, and handed it over. “Read.”
I unfolded the page and saw what looked like an article in a newspaper or company newsletter from June 1995. In the center of the page was a blurry black-and-white photograph of a young couple, and from the look of their outfits, they had just gotten married. The picture was fuzzy enough that I had to squint to make out their faces.
“My parents?” I asked, looking up at Sloane.
She nodded.
My eyes returned to the page and I began to read:
AfterCorps is proud to announce that two of our very own families have merged together in marriage. On June 11, 1995, Joanna Sizemore and Nathan Jasper took their vows at the Columbus Museum of Art.
Nathan Jasper is, of course, the great-grandson of Myron Jasper. He has been an integral part of the organization since he joined in 1988, and took leadership of AfterCorps last year after the death of his father, Art Jasper, to colon cancer.
Joanna Sizemore, known for her roles in La Boheme and Rigoletto at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City, is the daughter of Fred Sizemore, head of the CDU. A Columbus native, she spent nine years in NYC pursuing her music career before returning to Ohio upon her engagement.
The Jaspers are honeymooning in Prague.
The paper shook in my hands while I read the article two more times. “I can’t believe this.”
“I know,” said Sloane. “I asked my mom about it. She was kinda surprised I didn’t know.”
“Why would you have known?”
For the first time, it was her blushing instead of me. “She figured you would’ve told me.”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Another secret my parents had kept from me. So far, almost none of the information I’d learned about AfterCorps and my family’s involvement in it had come from my mom and dad. Here I was, getting hit with another realization about their lies just as I was planning to share with them my most vulnerable truth. How could I trust these people to do the right thing, to help make sure I wasn’t open to another attack? How could I ever trust them with anything again after enduring betrayal on top of betrayal?
A thought pushed through the chaotic fuzz swirling around my mind, and my eyes snapped open. “Two bloodlines,” I mumbled. “Your mom said an interpreter would be able to communicate with priors before their release ceremony if they inherited their abilities from two specials but were only protected by one. That has to be why Mrs. Braverman can get through.”
“I think so too,” she said. “Your grandfather died before you were born, right?”
“Yeah, when my mom was pregnant with me.” I gasped. “Didn’t Nick say his predecessor was killed on the job by a demonic spirit?”
She took my hand again a
nd squeezed it, and I could tell by the wideness of her eyes that she’d thought of that too.
There was a knock at the door that made me jump, followed by my mom popping her head in and asking if I was decent. It took everything I had not to ask what she knew about decency. When she saw Sloane, she pulled the door wide enough for she and my father to come in. I blinked back tears when I saw them standing together. Months ago, I knew who I was and who my parents were. I was certain of my past, present, and future. Now I lived in a world where the people who raised me had lied to me my whole life, I’d given up my dreams to talk to angry ghosts, and I was in the hospital because of those two facts.
“Aria?” My dad asked. “What’s the matter?”
I handed him the paper, and he held it so he and Mom could both read. It took only seconds for them to exchange a worried look and turn their gazes to me. My mother covered her mouth with her hand.
“How could you keep this from me?” I asked. “And don’t tell me you were trying to protect me because you’ve worn that excuse out, and it’s tired. I’m tired.” Tired didn’t even begin to cover it. I felt as if every realization of lie after lie had been piled on top of me, one by one, and I had nearly suffocated from the weight of them. “Tell me the truth.”
“Sloane,” my father said, “would you mind excusing us—”
“Sloane stays,” I said. “She’s been the person helping me through all this.”
Sloane, who had been rising from the chair, sat back down and squeezed my hand.
“It’s time, Nathan,” my mother said. Dad sighed. He went to the corner of the room and dragged two folding chairs over so they could sit at the end of my bed. Mom took several deep breaths and began to speak.
“It was my decision to keep you in the dark,” she said. “Your father wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you everything, even when you were a child. He wanted to prepare you to be an interpreter, just as his father prepared him. Just as my own father prepared me, in fact, although I didn’t inherit the…” Her lips silently formed several shapes, as if her mouth and brain were having a hard time agreeing on what was the correct word to use. “The ability,” she finally said. “I said no. I said no all these years, and I kept on saying it, and your dad went along with it. For me.”