In 27 Days

by Alison Gervais

  “No, Hadley. I can’t.”

  Despite myself, I felt crushed. I needed to know I was doing the right thing, that I was on the right track. There was too much at stake to mess up.

  “I don’t understand,” I finally said, sounding winded. “Why? Why me? Why would you pick me of all people to do something like this?”

  Death shrugged a shoulder again, his face a blank slate. “We all have reasons for our actions.”

  “That’s not good enough! I’m in the dark here, Death, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this! You didn’t exactly explain my job description all that well when you had me sign that contract, you know! Why would you make me sign it if you knew I couldn’t do it?”

  My voice bounced off the walls, ringing through the church with a hollow echo.

  I was out of breath and clammy all over, but I felt a sense of relief at having blurted that out. Death pulled away from the wall and came closer, like a predator moving in for the kill. I quickly stepped back, clutching at the pew behind me.

  “Let’s get something straight, Hadley Jamison.” He kept moving closer until he was gripping the pew on either side of me, bending down so we were level with one another. “I didn’t make you do anything. You signed that contract of your own volition. And I may not be able to read people’s thoughts, but don’t doubt for one second that I know what’s going through your mind right now.”

  My eyes were beginning to cross from trying to stay focused on Death. That same feeling I had the first time I’d seen him, of ice spreading through my veins, returned, only ten times more intense.

  “You’re scared. I know you are. I’ve been at this job a lot longer than you could ever possibly imagine. I’ve seen it all, Hadley. Nothing you can say would ever surprise me.”

  I was not comforted by Death’s words.

  “You . . . Well, you could have at least told me Archer’s stepfather was murdered,” I managed to force out.

  “Just a piece of the puzzle,” Death said, leaning away from me.

  “Archer’s not a puzzle. I don’t exactly understand half the things he does, but . . . he’s a human being.”

  “Then you’re already halfway there, aren’t you?”

  “Halfway there? Death, I . . .” My voice broke, and it was all I could do to keep from sobbing. “What am I supposed to do?”

  It was such a fleeting look that I couldn’t be sure, but for just a second Death looked sympathetic. “Hadley, I’m not the one with all the answers.”

  With those final words of advice, Death just . . . disappeared. I made it a few steps before my legs gave out and I landed awkwardly in the pew. The tears I had managed to keep back for days finally escaped, and it was as if floodgates had been opened.

  I sat there and cried, thankful no one else was around to witness my pathetic display.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me, miss. Are you all right?”

  I whipped my head up and saw one of the church’s priests standing in front of me, a concerned expression on his weathered face. I recognized him almost at once as the priest who had performed Archer’s funeral service.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” I said quickly, rubbing at my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “It’s quite all right,” the priest said with a kind, small smile. “People often come here during the day for the quiet, and to pray.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing. I wasn’t so sure the conversation I had with Death could be considered prayer.

  “Right,” I said uncomfortably, getting to my feet. “I should just . . .”

  I couldn’t force out any other words, so I settled for gesturing to the exit behind me.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” the priest asked, his brow furrowed. “You came here for a reason, didn’t you?”

  “Well, it’s . . .” I sighed heavily, dropping back down into the pew, suddenly feeling defeated. “No, Father. I guess I’m not all right.”

  The priest let out a sigh almost identical to my own and took a seat beside me in the pew. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I stared over at him with a frown. “Why would you want to listen to me talk about my problems?”

  The priest chuckled, giving me a bemused look. “It’s what I do.”

  “Right. Of course,” I said. “Sorry. I . . . haven’t been to church in a while.”

  The priest shrugged. “There’s no time like the present.”

  “Well, sure, I guess, but . . .” My fingers started twisting and pulling at a loose thread on my coat sleeve. “Well, I’m sort of stuck with something.”

  “And what are you stuck with?” the priest asked.

  I told him the truth. Well, as much of the truth as I was capable of telling. “I’m sort of supposed to be helping this person,” I said carefully. “But the problem is, he doesn’t want my help.”

  “Supposed to be helping someone?” the priest repeated in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  I sucked in a deep breath through my nose, debating the right way to answer the question. “This person is in trouble. Like, big trouble. And if I don’t find a way to get him to listen to me, he’s going to . . . He’s going to do something bad. Really bad.”

  The priest gave a nod, crossing his arms over his chest. “He must be a troubled man, then.”

  “Father, you don’t know the half of it,” I said. “I know he’s hurting. But he won’t let anyone help him.”

  The priest nodded again, his thoughtful frown back in place. “Why do you want to help him?”

  “Because I have to,” I said immediately.

  “But why?” he pressed. “Helping others is always the right thing to do, but nobody can force you to do it if you don’t want to.”

  I had no other answer to that question. “Because . . . because . . .” I swallowed hard, trying to get a grip on my erratic emotions. Archer was my friend. I cared about him. I cared about Archer and his family, so much so that it felt as if I had known them for a lot longer than just twelve days. “I care about him,” I told the priest. “I don’t want anything to happen to him. I need him to be okay.”

  “So, he’s important to you,” the priest said aloud for confirmation. “Sounds to me like that’s exactly the right reason for helping someone.”

  “Okay, yeah, but what if . . . What if you don’t have everything you need to help that someone?”

  “Then you show him love.”

  I stared at the priest in utter confusion. I was hardly able to believe he had just said that. Show him love? He stared back expectantly, and I realized he was absolutely serious.

  “God loves us all equally, as his children, doesn’t he?” the priest asked me. “He wants to help us, and for us to help one another.”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering where he was going with this.

  “Then all you have to do is pass that love on,” the priest said, shrugging again, like it was all just that simple. “Sometimes it’s all you can offer.”

  “But what is love?” I demanded exasperatedly. “How on earth am I supposed to know what love is if I can’t even pass a stupid high school geometry class? I’m only sixteen!”

  The priest laughed. “I believe you, but I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Love has a different definition for every person. Just look for it underneath everything, and you’ll find it.”

  I pondered his words for a second. “Father, I hate to say this to a holy man, but that makes absolutely no sense.”

  “Life doesn’t always make sense,” the priest said. “But I think . . .” He made a thoughtful humming noise, then grabbed a Bible from the stack at the end of the pew and flipped it open, thumbing through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “I think this might clear things up a bit more.”

  He pointed a finger to a passage in the gospel of John. I read it aloud. “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friend.”

  I looked up at the priest,
unsure of what to say.

  “Just think about it,” the priest repeated, reaching over to pat my hand.

  He got to his feet, and I quickly followed suit.

  “Thank you, Father,” I told him honestly.

  “I’ll pray for you,” he said, giving me a kind smile.

  And for some reason, that thought was comforting to me. “Thank you,” I said again.

  He began to make his way up the main aisle.

  “Wait! Father!”

  The priest turned back around. “Yes?”

  “If you knew you had to do the right thing, but that something bad might happen to you because of it, would you do it anyway?”

  “The right thing is always the right thing.”

  The priest gave me another smile and then continued on his way, whistling a quiet tune under his breath. Before leaving the church, I dropped a few dollars into a donation box, lit a candle, and said a silent prayer.

  CHAPTER 15

  Bottled-Up Emotions—14 Days Until

  When I woke up the next morning, I spent a good half hour staring up at the ceiling, lost in my own thoughts. I couldn’t force the conversations that I’d had with Death and the priest out of my head. Their words were buzzing around in my mind, annoying and frustrating and completely confusing.

  When my alarm finally went off at eight, I rolled out of bed and padded my way to the kitchen, ready to eat as large a breakfast as I could make.

  I stopped short when I reached the dining room. “Mom? Dad?”

  My dad looked up from the newspaper spread open in front of him and gave a smile. “Morning, Hadley.”

  My mom was too fixated on whatever was on her iPad, and the yogurt cup in her hand, to pay me much attention. She barely managed a brisk wave in my direction.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, very confused. “You guys are normally gone by now.”

  “I know,” my dad said as he took a swallow of orange juice. “Your mother and I are leaving on a business trip in a few hours.”

  That made even less sense than them actually being at home instead of their offices at this hour. “What? Why?” I said. Dad was a defense attorney, and Mom was a CFO at a Fortune 500 company. Their business paths didn’t cross often.

  “Your father’s firm is representing us in a breach-of-contract suit,” my mom said, turning off her iPad. “Our flight leaves for Miami in a few hours.”

  I had to stop myself from slapping a hand to my forehead. I felt like an idiot for forgetting that I’d spent Thanksgiving alone the first time around—well, apart from sharing some runny pumpkin pie with my ancient neighbor, Mrs. Ellis—because Taylor had gone out of town for the week to see her grandparents in Wisconsin. I’d been preoccupied with more important things to remember. And after spending the past week with Archer’s family, the thought made me feel depressed. Who wanted to spend a holiday alone, especially one that represented coming together as a family like Thanksgiving?

  I opened the freezer and grabbed a package of waffles, pulled two out, and popped them in the toaster beside the sink.

  “Hadley . . .” I glanced back toward the dining table as my dad spoke, looking rather sheepish as he adjusted his red tie. “This means we won’t be here for Thanksgiving. Will you be all right?”

  “Of course I’ll be fine,” I said shortly. “This isn’t the first time I’ll be left alone.”

  My mom looked over at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Well, we figured one of your friends invited you over for Thanksgiving dinner,” my dad said awkwardly.

  “No,” I said flatly, banging the fridge door shut as I poured myself a glass of milk to go with my waffles. “I’ll just order out or something. And besides, I have to work this week anyway, so I won’t be here alone too much.”

  “Excuse me?” my mother said. “You have to work?”

  My parents didn’t know I’d gotten a job. I’d barely seen them in the past few days, and I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t even thought about telling them. The opportunity had suddenly presented itself, though.

  “Yeah,” I said, turning around to face them. I couldn’t tell if I was proud or defensive, or somewhere in between. “I have to work.”

  “Why would you get a job?” my mom demanded. “It’s completely unnecessary. You should be focusing on your studies.”

  “Hang on a second, Michaela,” my dad said. “Lots of kids in high school have jobs.”

  “Well, yes, but our child doesn’t need a job, Kenneth,” my mom retorted, shooting my dad a look. “Getting a job simply puts her grades in jeopardy, and her grades are bad enough as it is.”

  “Hey! My grades aren’t that bad, and—”

  “Do you really think that’s fair?” my dad asked. “If Hadley wants a job, I think it’s her decision, not ours.”

  “You’re missing the point,” my mom snapped. “Hadley, you have more than enough money in your bank account to do whatever you want. I don’t see why you—”

  “You know what, Mom? Getting a job is better than being shut up in this stupid apartment by myself all the time!”

  My parents looked as if I had just struck them across the face. I was sure I looked the same way too. I’d never talked back to either of them in my entire life. They weren’t usually around enough for me to do so.

  But now that those words had finally left my mouth after years of being on the tip of my tongue, the rest decided to follow suit, and I went with it. After spending a couple of days with a real family, I realized how much I had been missing.

  “Do either of you even realize how often you’re gone? You’re away so frequently, it’s like I’m the only one living here! And during those rare moments where you decide to check and see if I’m still alive, it’s as if I’m talking to total strangers! I’m your daughter, not one of your business partners!”

  I snatched my waffles from the toaster and my glass of milk and then stomped from the kitchen back to my room, not giving myself time to read the expressions on their faces. They didn’t come after me. That in itself said more than enough.

  I didn’t come out of my room until I had to leave for my shift at Mama Rosa’s. My parents were already long gone, off on their business trip in Miami without saying good-bye. I tried to tell myself that their absence didn’t matter, that I had more important things to worry about, but doing so was pointless. It did matter, and it hurt.

  I took the train across town and walked the few blocks over to Mama Rosa’s, still in a tremendously foul mood. I already knew it was going to be impossible to put the conversation I’d had with my parents out of my mind and fake a happy face.

  I stepped inside the coffeehouse, immediately enveloped in the cozy warmth the fire in the grate was giving off. I made my way behind the counter and to the kitchen, where I was met with pure and utter chaos. Regina was at one of the sinks, furiously scrubbing what looked like burnt cinnamon rolls off a cookie sheet as Victoria was unloading glass plates from the dishwasher, stacking them on the counter with a speed I didn’t know someone her age was even capable of, all while she was shouting at Regina in Italian.

  And then there was Rosie, who was sitting in the middle of the floor, playing with a bunch of pots and pans that she was repeatedly hitting with a wooden spoon, while also singing at the top of her lungs. The cramped space was stiflingly hot, and with the racket everyone was making, I wanted to turn around and walk right out.

  “Hello?” I said, cautiously edging my way into the kitchen.

  Regina whipped around and let out a huge sigh of relief when she saw me. “Hadley, thank God. Would you get Rosie out of here? I can barely think straight with all of this noise.”

  “Um, sure,” I said. “Do you want me to—”

  “Archer is doing some accounting upstairs,” Victoria said briskly. “Tell him he needs to take his little sister out for the afternoon.”

  “And by all means, join him,” Regina added. “Take the day off. This is your Thanksgiving bre
ak, after all.”

  “But this is only my third shift, I really should—”

  “Honey, trust me.” Regina gave me an imploring look. “Watching Rosie for an afternoon is work enough.”

  “Go on, then,” Victoria said, giving me a dismissive wave. “Take the girl and go.”

  I would have kept protesting, but I didn’t dare refuse any order from Victoria. The woman looked like she could kill someone simply by raising an eyebrow at them.

  I crouched down beside Rosie on the floor; she was still banging away with the wooden spoon to her heart’s content.

  “Um, Rosie?”

  Rosie stopped banging on one of the pots and looked up at me with a frown. It was almost impossible not to melt at her big, blue eyes.

  “I’m singing,” she told me earnestly.

  “You are,” I said. “You sing beautifully.”

  “I know,” Rosie said.

  “So. What say you and I go upstairs and see if we can convince Archer to take us out for some brownies and hot chocolate?”

  Rosie’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. “Okay! Come on! Let’s go!”

  She dropped the spoon and jumped to her feet, grabbing at my hand, pulling me toward the stairs that lead up to the apartment. Rosie knocked open the front door when she reached the apartment and burst inside, shouting, “Archer! It’s brownie time!”

  Archer was sitting at the dining table, fingers tapping away on an adding machine while he scribbled something down on a piece of paper. He looked up as I entered, and scowled as I shut the door.

  “What are you talking about, Rosie?” he said as Rosie climbed into the chair across the table from him, now singing about brownies.

  “Hadley said you’re going to take us out for hot chocolate and brownies!”

  “Excuse me?” Archer gave me an incredulous look. “When did this happen?”

  “Just go along with it,” I said, low enough so Rosie couldn’t hear me. “It doesn’t have to be brownies. Your mom and grandma just want us to take Rosie out.”

  “Why?” he said. “I don’t—”

  “Archer, I said it’s brownie time,” Rosie said loudly before snatching at the pile of papers beside him and throwing them into the air.