I don’t know.
My head hits the pallets stacked behind me, and another memory crosses my mind. Kin telling me we can’t do this forever. Me never wanting to acknowledge that truth.
I’m stuck. I don’t want to lose her, but I’m scared if I marry her, I will.
I stare up at a black swirl ceiling. Soft gray like the city sky.
This tunnel saved us. The idea of leaving it feels like abandoning the only thing keeping me steady. It has always been the one constant I could count on. In here, I am a King. I am free.
But I’m also hiding.
Slapping a hand over my face, I drag it down. I need to stop. I need to sleep.
A cough comes from across the room. Kite stirs, and I pat her shoulder. “I’ll go.”
Mumbling, she pulls the blanket over her head. “Kay.”
I lay my coat over her shivering body, then stroke her hair. It hurts to touch her. Does it hurt her to be touched?
I find my way in the dark, stumbling across that space between the two rooms. A small, sharp thing collides with my legs and sniffs. “I cain’t sleep,” Frankie says a little too loudly.
“Sh!” I whisper as her pokey little hands find my waist and wrap around it.
She wheezes a little. “I need ma inhaler,” she says into my stomach.
Patting her head, I tell her to wait while I fetch a candle.
I light it and we search for the inhaler, careful not to wake Kelpie, who’s curled up at the foot of the bed. She points it out and we retreat to the back of the tunnel, away from everyone.
“Can you help me?” she asks, blue eyes searching mine.
I nod and smile, setting the candle down. “Sure thing, kid.” She shows me what to do. She takes deep hollow-sounding breaths. Slowly, her wheezing begins to ease.
She crosses her legs and sits facing me, scrutinizing my face in a curious way. Tilting and tracing my features. “I love ma sister,” she whispers hoarsely.
The love blooms like a powerful bubble from her chest. “I know you do.” I stare at the ground, picking at loose mortar with my fingernail. “I love her, too.”
Giggling, she crosses her arms. “I know you do, too.” Then, more seriously, she says, “So why’re you fightin’? You shouldn’t be fightin’.”
My eyes drop again. Her stare is like a tractor beam. I don’t know how to mask the truth when she looks at me like that. “You heard us?”
She nods up, down, up, down. Her knees jut out like the angles of a set square. “Everyone heard you.” She pokes my leg sharply.
“I’m sorry.”
Suddenly, she springs up excitedly and taps my head like I’m the young child. “Wait here!” Before I can stop her, she’s disappeared into the dark. I wait, hoping she’s not woken Kite or the others.
She returns, flapping a piece of paper in front of me. She sits down with a thud before dropping it in my lap. It’s a picture of me, Kite, and the others, all holding hands like we’re a family. Over our heads is a roof. We’re all smiling and standing inside a real house.
I sigh, the image breaking into smaller, more easily absorbed pieces that try to work their way into my heart. “Thank you, Kricket.” She beams when I call her that.
I trace our round, out-of-proportion heads. The big, gooey smiles on our faces. “You can be heppy,” she says super seriously. “If you married ma sister, you could be heppy.”
“Maybe,” I murmur.
“Write down your wish, Hiro,” she says, her smile like the dying sunset. Spread thin. Colors clinging to the clouds.
She helps me write the characters in tiny print. The words Home and Family.
She pats my head. “That’s a very good wish.”
She writes Love and Health on her paper, and it makes my chest ache. She will only get one of those wishes.
We fold them into tiny stars, then put them in a jar with the rest. I saw the words the other prisoners had written. Freedom. Peace. Safety.
Simply wishes for people who have had everything taken away from them.
“Will it come true?” I ask.
She smooths her dress, staring down at her ink-smudged fingers. “The wish is the first step. We make it come true by our will.”
I hold up Kricket’s drawing. “Can I teach you something?”
She smiles and nods. “Teach me what?” Her head tipping from side to side. Never still. Always alert.
I begin folding her picture. At first, she gasps and tries to stop me. “I’m not going to damage it, I promise.”
She trusts me. Which is amazing in the first place considering what she’s been through. She also wants me to be part of her family. She is sweet and loving just like her sister, though more angular and mischievous. My affection for her grows.
I place a paper star on her knee. “For you, little Kricket.”
She stares down at it as it toddles on her jiggling knee, and then back up at me. “What is it?”
“It’s a wish.”
She toys with it, treating it like it’s fragile and may disintegrate at her touch. “A wish?”
I nod. “A wish I’m trying to find the will to make true.”
She pokes at the corners.
I understand that love is like this. Folding yourself over and into another. Creasing and compromising until you’ve made something beautiful.
She closes her hand over the star and yawns, scrunching up and laying her head in my lap. Soon her eyes have closed, and her breath has returned to its rattling but sound state.
Scooping her up, I take her back to bed.
She keeps a tight hold on the star.
Keep it safe for me, kid.
29
HIRO
The morning brings with it awkwardness and… an aching. I see it in her eyes the moment they open, and she flushes beneath my gaze. Color like a red mist, and then her face tightens and the blush disappears. Knees going to her chest.
I touch her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m going to see Kin today. Would you like to come?”
She stands very suddenly, grabbing something from her bag and tucking it into her pocket. “I, um, I… will you excuse me?” She hurries to where the makeshift bathroom is.
I sit with my elbows on my knees, waiting for her return, starting to regret everything I said to her last night. I let the outside world get to me. Again. I should be stronger than this.
The boys are shuffling out for the day. I make sure they’re all wearing gloves and scarves and coats, warning them not to stay out past daylight. They mutter and grunt and make promises I hope they’ll keep. Kamo’s death sits on their shoulders. A caution.
When Kite finally comes back from the bathroom, it’s just Kricket and me left in the tunnel. I stand as she approaches. She walks straight past me and folds up on the bed, looking a little pale. A little uncomfortable. “Are you okay?” I ask.
Kricket jumps on the bed beside her, and Kite shoots her a disparaging look. “Please Frankie, not now. I’m not feeling well.”
I kneel. She keeps her forearm pressed over her middle, and she’s breathing funny. “Are you ill?” I ask, putting a hand to her forehead.
She shakes her head. “What’s wrawng, Nor-ah?” Kricket grabs her sister’s hip and shakes it like she’s trying to wake a giant, earning a gentle slap away.
Kite’s eyes connect with mine and she whispers, redness rising in her cheeks. “I, um… I have my…” She pats her stomach.
“Your stomach hurts. Maybe we should take you to a doctor.” Rolling her eyes, she grimaces.
“Hiro. I just got my monthly visitor.” She speaks to me like I’m dumb, and it takes me far too long to understand what she’s saying. When I do, I blanch. Embarrassed that she had to spell it out for me.
“Monthly visitor?” Kricket shouts. “Who’s visiting?”
Kite groans again. “No one, Frankie. That’s not what I meant. I meant…” Her voice trails.
I grit my teeth and come closer, ba
ttling against my own discomfort. “Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head, or more like presses it into her pillow. She’s clearly in a lot of pain, and Frankie climbing all over her isn’t helping. “Frankie, please stop.” She waves her hand listlessly.
My brows knot. I have little to no experience with this, but I don’t like that she’s in so much pain. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. “Is this normal? You seem like you’re in a lot of, um, distress.”
She glances up, mouth pursed. Still beautiful even when her face is scrunched, and her skin is sweat sheened. She is mortified and exhausted and being pummeled by her clueless little sister. “I’m fine. You go see Kin. I’ll just rest here for a while. The pain doesn’t usually last very long.”
I can tell Frankie’s working her last nerve, and I scoop the little insect off the bed. “How about I take you with me, little Kricket? Give your big sister some peace and quiet.”
Kite looks at me with pure gratitude.
I dress Kricket, help her attach her hearing aid, and we leave, though I don’t feel too good about it. Either about the way we’ve left things last night and how unwell she seems. But she pretty much demands we leave her alone. I walk out with a stone in my stomach. A stone the shape of a wedding ring.
30
KITE
This is normal. This is normal. This is normal.
It comes in rippling waves. My stomach knots like a fist. It turns and twists. It blares angrily at me like the pulsing aftermath of a beating. The pain so intense I feel nauseous.
I roll to my side, breathing in too fast, not breathing out at the same pace. My face creased. My toes pointed.
Blood seeps through my dress. I jump up. Feel dizzy, but I will not soil the bed. I grab clothes to go to the bathroom to change again.
The blood flow is heavy. And though my monthly is never really ‘monthly’ and has always been unpredictable, it’s never been like this. I try to remember when it last came, and can’t. It could be over two months.
I lie back down, try to lay flat like a board instead of curling into a ball.
It will pass. It will pass. It will pass. It always passes.
I lie in pain for what seems like hours. Cramping. My lips dry. My face permanently crinkled. My heart clenches at the events of last night. It wants to wrap around the good parts. Set aside the bad. It wants to sort through things. But the pain is reaching out and slapping me, taking my attention. It can’t take away one thing, though. He said he loved me. I hold those words like a key in my fist. I will not let them go.
Another wave rolls through me, unsympathetically washing away any sense of happiness. I find Hiro’s watch. It’s been four hours. It never lasts this long.
This is not normal.
The idea of Hiro and Frankie finding me like this is unacceptable. I roll from the bed. Change my underclothes again, then dress for outside.
Something’s wrong.
I am grim, and I am gathered. I can take care of this myself.
And I know where to go.
Dr. Keneally, our family physician, is not exactly someone I wholly trust, but I don’t feel I have much of an option right now.
I claw my way onto the subway and lower myself onto a seat, gripping the metal pole as another wave of pain hits me like a shuddering earthquake. Like I’m coming apart violently. Not stitch by stitch, more like a violent tear. Crossing my legs, I grimace.
An old man leans down and speaks to me, his voice garbled by my lack of concentration on anything other than holding my body together. I think he asks me if I’m quite all right. I try to feign a smile. I try not to move too much. He backs away carefully, hands fanning the earth, like I’m a wild animal giving birth, and sits down opposite me. Too watchful.
I bow my head and pull my hair to form a curtain around my face, hiding as best I can. But the connection between my head and my body is breaking. I am running on panic and pain. I fear what’s happening to me, and I clutch my stomach under my coat.
I walk briskly, my legs performing this amazing feat, from the subway station. My eyes search the signs. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited our family doctor. Not since before Mother died. I place my hand on the edge of a garbage can to steady myself. It rattles and burns my palms with cold. Embarrassment drives me forward. The idea of blood coming through my skirt in the street is too horrifying to contemplate.
Clenching my jaw, I press on. Using every stationary object in front of me like a climber’s notch. Throwing fingers out like grappling hooks. Anything, Anything. Anything. To get me closer.
When the black-and-white sign for Doctor Keneally’s practice swings in the wind in front of my eyes, I want to lay down on the welcome mat and die. It sings to me in squeaky tones. You made it. My eyes threaten to spill. I want someone else to take care of me. Please, just for a few minutes. Can someone hold my wings? Fold them over and pat them free of dirt. Store them in the coat closet and lead me to a bed. But of course, that’s not going to happen. I shoulder the door open. The receptionist looks up at me in shock, and I manage, “My name is Nora Deere. Help me. Please,” before falling to my knees and vomiting on carpet the color of cool, wet moss.
31
HIRO
Kricket doesn’t leave me much room for thought. Like a parent pulling their child back from an icy pond, every time my mind dips into the events of the last twenty-four hours, she pokes me or leans over to look out the window, yanking me back into the present. She stands up suddenly at every stop, eager to disembark. I pull her arm gently back to sitting, worried about how strange we are as traveling companions. How everyone must be looking at us. And then I curse under my breath, realizing this is the kind of thinking that got me here in the first place. It doesn’t bother Kricket. It never bothered Kite. So why does it sit like a cold shadow over my back?
I hunch, feeling it wrap around me cruel and icy. It comes from a dark and old place. From years of not belonging to anyone. From losing the ones who did accept me into their lives. I can’t quite believe it will stick. And as I start to, it always disappears…
Kricket bounces in her seat. “Kettle, when’re we gonna get there?” she asks, eyes bright as crystal. Nose and cheeks red from the cold. She leans into me, and I have to force myself to stay still and not lean away. Just stop. Even if people are staring, you can’t let them get to you.
Her hair is like flames caught at sunrise. I rest my chin on her head. “Not long now.”
“And we’re going to visit Kin?” she asks huskily, checking the details. I nod. “And he’s your brother, kinda?” I nod again. “Do you think Nor-ah’s okay?”
An arrow to the heart. A clink of a sword I’m not sure how to defend against.
“She said she was okay.” I press my lips together, worried. She told me to leave. Maybe I shouldn’t have listened. But we’re hours from home now.
She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “She always says she’s okay. You’re the same, you and Nor-ah. Always sayin’ you’re okay, when there’s really somethin’ goin’ on you don’t wanna tell me.”
She pouts, her hands locked together in her lap. “I’ve told you everything, Kricket.”
She frowns, mulls my words over, and nods. “Mebbe.” Then she kicks her legs and presses them against the back of the seat in front, causing the person sitting in it to pitch forward.
They turn around and glare, and I put my hand up. “Sorry. It’s been a long drive. She’s a bit restless.” I force a grin. The woman huffs and turns around. Her intricately wound hair looks like a gray and white double helix. I imagine it took some work. Putting my hands over Kricket’s legs, I try to still her. “Is there something in particular you want to know?” I ask, trying to distract her.
“I wanna know why grown-ups make everythin’ so hard?” She crosses her arms, staring out the window at the endless white broken up only by crystalized tree branches.
I laugh out loud for two reasons. One, because I never really
considered myself a grown-up. And two, because if I could answer that question, I’d probably be able to solve not only my own problems but also the worlds.
I knock her shoulder. “Let me tell you about the movie your sister and I went to last night.” I start describing Peter Pan, and her body seems to lull. She is engrossed in my story until we pull up to the stop near Craftman House.
The screen door opens before we reach the end of the garden path. Miss Anna moves as delicately as a ribbon on the wind. “It’s good to see you! Your brother is outside, stubborn man.” She claps. Bending down from her lengthy height, she finds Kricket and smiles with sugary teeth. “And who’s this little cherub?” She places a long claw-like finger under Kricket’s chin and peers into the child’s sparkling eyes, which narrow at the intense scrutiny.
The little girl steps backward into me, pressing against my stomach. Her vertebrae sticking into me like pebbles lined up on a rock wall. Putting my hands on her shoulders, I squeeze gently. The kid puts too much faith and trust in me. I feel like I’ve barely earned it. “This is Kricket.” Kricket gives me a strange look. “Or Frankie…”
Miss Anna unfolds fast like a mouse trap and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, which is it, child?” She’s playing, but I’m not sure Kricket understands the difference.
Hands behind her back, she whispers, “Kricket, I guess.”
“You okay, kid?” I ask, whispering in her ear.
“She looks like ma mommy.” She bows her head solemnly, and I pat her back.
“Miss Anna and Miss Lake are real nice ladies,” I reassure her. “They’ve taken good care of Kin.”
She nods, but still seems off.
The smell of cigarettes wafts through the house and mixes with savory scents like gravy and roast meat. We walk down the hallway as Miss Anna explains the type of crickets or cicadas they get in summertime at Craftman. Kricket nods along quietly. It’s the most subdued she’s ever been, and I start to worry she’s also feeling unwell. I put a hand to her forehead, but she wiggles away from my touch. It makes me think of Kite, scrunched in a ball on my bed, clutching her stomach.
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