by Sarah Ready
The stairs fall out of her grasp. She screams.
Her hand slips from mine. She starts to fall.
I can’t let her. I won’t. I grab her fingers, and hang on with everything I have.
Slowly, I pull her up, until she can grab the stairs on her own. She drags herself over the edge and I swing my arm over and pull myself up too.
I collapse against the metal and draw in a long breath. Below us, the stairs lie on the concrete in a twisted wreck.
Ginny looks at me. Her expression stunned. She’s breathing hard and her hands are cut and bloody.
“You came,” she says. “You saved me.”
A lump lodges in my throat. I nod.
She launches into my arms and wraps her arms around me. “I love you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I never told you. I’m sorry. I love you.”
I pull back. “It’s okay,” I say. “I know. I love you too.”
I look up at the silo. Bean and Finick are still up there. Fifteen feet of stairs have pulled away. There’s no way up except to scale the wall, using the grooves and the bolts from the pulled-away stairs as hand holds.
“I’m going up.”
“I’ll come,” she says.
I shake my head. “Look at your hands. You won’t make it.”
She presses a warm kiss against my lips. “I love you,” she says.
I take in her face and the love that she’s giving me. It makes me strong.
I’ve rock climbed before. In my movies, I was constantly scaling skyscrapers, but every time I was in a harness. This time, there’s no fail safe. One wrong move…
It doesn’t matter.
I look up at the sheer wall and the tiny handholds. I kick off my shoes and socks and wipe my palms off on my jeans. Then I turn and pull myself up onto the side of the silo.
I move up the wall and steadily work my way higher. I pinch my fingers into grooves and squeeze my feet onto inch wide bolts. My muscles start to shake and I send a thanks to Ginny and her boot camp hell. I couldn’t have done this otherwise. My hands and feet are cut up as I work them into tiny holds and over rusted bolts and half-inch-wide ledges. When they get too sticky with blood, I pause my upward progress and wipe them off on my pants. Finally, I make it to the next stretch of stairs. I check the bolts. It looks intact. I set my palms on the base and pull myself up. The metal groans but holds.
I climb the steps. At the next segment, I check the integrity of the metal, then step up. I twist around the silo, and climb as fast as I can. I look down to the ground, and far below, in the darkness I can see Ginny watching.
Then I’m at the top. I vault myself over the railing and land.
When I see them, my heart stops. I nearly fall to my knees.
I run forward.
Finick’s unconscious. Bean’s superhero cape is rolled into a bandage and tied in a tight knot around his thigh. Blood soaks it. He’s pale and breathing shallowly.
Bean lies next to him. I can’t see anything wrong with her. But when I call her name she won’t wake up. Her pulse is steady, but…she won’t wake up.
The next five minutes, while I check Bean’s pulse, over and over, and press on Finick’s thigh, those five minutes are the longest of my life.
22
Ginny
We’re at the children’s hospital in Bean’s room.
Liam, Enid, Clark, Heather, Joel, Redge, Finick. Everyone’s here. It’s been twenty hours and she still hasn’t woken up. The heart monitor keeps up a steady beat, and I don’t know whether I love it for saying she’s still here with us, or hate it, because she has to be on it. The doctor’s said that the physical and emotional stress of “the event” caused this. That it was too much in her weakened state.
“Drink some coffee,” says Enid.
She hands me a Styrofoam cup full of black hospital sludge. I shake my head. I don’t want it. Enid sighs and sets it on the bedside table. The room is small, maybe ten by ten, and with eight of us in here, it’s near bursting. The high emotions in the room are almost too much for me. I just want everyone to go so I can lay on the bed and cuddle my baby.
I reach down and take her hand. It’s limp in mine.
“This is your fault,” Enid says. The anger in her voice cuts through the depressed atmosphere.
I look up, because I figure she’s talking to Liam and she’s about to unleash her mountain of misery lecture. But she’s not. She’s looking at Heather.
Heather makes a rude noise and glares. “It is not. I’m not the fool that encouraged her daughter to become a superhero.”
“Stuff it, Heather. Bean saved my life,” says Finick. He says he would’ve bled out if she hadn’t come.
“If you didn’t hang out with those friends, then this wouldn’t have happened. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s yours.”
When Finick went to the old mill he and his friends decided to climb the silo and throw their knives. One of them accidentally hit Finick in the thigh. Then, when he started to bleed and passed out, they left him. Bean got there just in time to see them running away.
“Yeah. Fine. It’s my fault,” says Finick. “According to you, everything’s my fault.”
“Quiet, boy. You’re lucky your sister took you in,” says Joel.
I look at Liam and try to gather some calm from him. How is this helping? Who cares whose fault it is?
“I’m not talking about tonight,” says Enid. “I mean all of this.” She gestures at me, at Bean on the bed, at Finick. “It’s your fault, Heather. Daughter of my heart or not. You need to stop.”
Heather’s eyes flick from me to Bean and away again.
“He left because of you. You weren’t good for him,” Enid says.
The air grows thick and full of old pain. Joel looks between Enid and Heather, confused and wary. Finick tilts his head and watches Heather.
“Who left? Me?” asks Finick.
Silence fills the space with tension, everyone watches Heather. Then, she looks up at me and her eyes are filled with resolve.
She turns to Finick. “Not you,” Heather says. “Your father.”
“My father?” asks Finick.
“George.”
The room erupts with noise. I look between Finick and Heather, Bean and Finick, Finick and…Finick is Bean’s brother?
Finick’s father is George?
“Does that mean…are you…” asks Finick. My mother hangs in the air, unsaid.
“She darned well better not be,” says Joel. He looks at Finick with disgust. “Good for nothing.”
Finick’s face turns white.
“What a loser,” says Redge. “The son of a dead guy.”
Clark slaps his hand against the tray table and a potted flower flips to the floor and shatters.
“Get out,” he says. He points at Redge.
“Hey now,” says Joel. “He’s just expressing an opinion.”
Clark rounds on Joel and points an angry finger at him. “You too. Get out. My son was a good man. You shame his memory. Get out.”
Joel looks around in shock. But Clark stands his ground. Finally, he grabs Redge’s arm and pulls him out of the room. “Come on, Heather. Finick,” he says. He waits at the door.
Heather looks at Bean, then shakes her head no. Finick doesn’t look Joel’s way.
“Heather?”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she says.
Joel gives her a black look then leaves.
“How did you know?” asks Heather. She’s watching Enid’s pinched face.
“He looks just like George as a teenager. Likes the same food, the same sweets. And his voice, when it went deep, it’s just the same. I didn’t know before then. Only suspected until now.”
Heather nods, accepting this.
“I’m…you’re not my sister?” Finick asks.
Heather won’t look at him. “No.”
“You’re my mom,” he says. Heather flinches and curves in on herself. He turns to Enid. “You’re my gran
dma.”
Enid nods. “Yes.”
He looks at Clark. “And you’re my grandpa.”
“Guess so,” says Clark. “Didn’t expect to gain a grandson today.”
Finick smiles at this.
Liam has a curious look on his face. Then he turns to Heather. “You were never an actress. You were never in any movies.”
I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.
Heather nods. “It was our story,” she says. “I was young. I didn’t want it. The pregnancy.”
Finick stiffens and I ache to reach out to him.
“My parents convinced me that we could all go away for a year. Then they’d take the baby and pretend it was their late life miracle.” She shrugs. “My short acting career was our story.”
“I’m Bean’s brother,” says Finick. His eyes fill with wonder. And my heart fills with wonder too. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.
Heather turns away from him and wipes her eyes. “I was scared,” she says. “And I hated that he chose her over me.” She looks up at me and her eyes are red. “I wanted you to hurt.”
Liam moves to stand in front of me.
“Mountains of misery,” says Enid. “That’s you, Heather Wilson. A steaming pile of misery.”
“I’m sorry,” she says to me. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done.”
She kept Finick from Bean.
“I’m Bean’s brother,” says Finick again.
He looks at me and I nod.
“You have a sister,” I say. I squeeze Bean’s hand. “You’ve got a brother,” I tell her.
“I could save her,” Finick says. He turns back to Heather. “You were going to let her die without me trying to save her?”
She flinches.
“I wouldn’t have. I would’ve said something. I was going to…”
Finick steps up and stands next to Bean. “I’m going to see if I’m a match. I want to be her donor. She saved me. Now I can save her.”
But he’s a half-brother, and the chances of him being a match are slim to none.
Still, he wants to try.
I pray for a miracle.
I pray with my whole heart. For the long wait while Finick is tested, I pray, and bargain and think of a thousand things I’ll do or give if only…
The miracle doesn’t come.
Finick isn’t a match.
23
Liam
Finick isn’t a match. When we get the news, I watch the light of hope that was shining in Ginny flicker and then die.
Bean’s woken up a few times in the past few days, but she’s in pain and she quickly falls back asleep. We’re getting to the point where even a transplant won’t help.
“It’s okay,” Ginny says to Finick. “You tried.” She gives him a hug. He squeezes her back. When she lets him go, he turns aside so that Ginny can’t see when he quickly wipes at his eyes.
“We’re going to head out,” says Heather. “We have to get settled at Enid and Clark’s.”
“Why?” asks Ginny. I can tell she’s surprised.
“Joel wants a divorce.” Heather looks down at her feet. I realize she’s no longer in her usual designer dresses and heels, she’s in a sundress and flip-flops. She looks different. Kinder.
“I’m sorry,” says Ginny, and I realize…she means it. She and Heather have talked over the past few days, they must’ve come to an understanding.
Heather shrugs. “I guess it’s time I started living life differently. I was doing it wrong. I wasn’t very nice.”
“Yeah,” says Finick.
Heather looks at the ceiling. “Can’t argue with the truth,” she says.
“Come on, Mom,” says Finick.
Heather rolls her eyes. “Let me know, if you need anything. Real coffee. Food.”
“Don’t expect the niceness to last,” says Finick.
“Bye,” says Ginny.
They wave and we’re quiet as they walk out of the hospital room.
I look back at Bean. She’s so small and fragile under the blanket, with IVs hooked into her and machines all around. I didn’t realize how small she was. When she was awake, she was so vibrant and full of life that it was hard to remember she’s a six-year-old with a rare childhood leukemia in dire need of a bone marrow transplant.
Ginny settles down on the bed by Bean and I pull up a chair next to her. I rub my hand in circles over her arm and try to lend her a bit of strength.
Ginny gives me a soft smile. “Thanks for being here.”
I look down at her in surprise. “Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. Hollywood?”
“Not a chance.”
“Finick told me you got the role. I’m proud of you.”
My agent called this morning. I’ve been offered a contract for another three movies in the Liam Stone movie franchise. Right now, that’s the last thing on my mind.
Ginny’s eyes flicker to the TV screen hanging from the far wall. It’s on and a commercial has started.
“That’s you,” says Ginny.
She grabs the remote and turns up the volume. She watches in amazement as I tell the world about a special little girl I care about who desperately needs a transplant. She sits up in bed and leans toward the television.
The commercial is coming to an end and the camera zooms in.
“You don’t need to be a superhero to save someone’s life,” I say in the commercial. “You can be a hero by registering for the bone marrow transplant list. Please do so today.”
The commercial ends. Ginny fumbles with the remote. Her hand shakes and she turns the TV off. Then she looks over at me. She reaches out and touches her fingers to my heart. Her fingers tremble on my chest.
“You did this for…for Bean?”
I swallow and nod.
“When?” she asks.
“The week I went to LA.”
“You went there for this?”
Her hand burns on my chest and my heart pounds. “I thought it might help, that someone would see it and be the one.”
A single tear trails down her cheek.
I reach up and wipe it away. “Don’t cry,” I say. “I’m sorry if it was the wrong thing. I didn’t want to tell you. In case it failed.”
She half sobs, half laughs at my excuse.
“That sounds familiar,” she says. And I remember her saying the same thing to me about pursuing her degree. She didn’t want anyone to know in case she failed.
“I…are you okay?” I ask.
“You weren’t in LA, planning to leave us. You were there for Bean.”
I nod.
“Not for movies or auditions or…”
“You’re my family,” I say. “You come first.”
She purses her lips together, trying to keep in the tears.
“I don’t care if you don’t want to marry me. If you’re not looking for a husband, or for a substitute father, or for anything more than friends. You’re still my family, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll be there for you. Always.”
Her hand splays over my chest and she reaches up with her other hand to cup her fingers against my cheek.
“I love you,” she whispers.
My heart cracks open under her hands and fills my chest with warmth.
“You’re my family, too,” she says.
“Always?” I ask.
“And forever.” She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
“And Bean?” I ask.
“She adopted you the minute she met you,” Ginny says.
“I’m here for you. I’ll be here, for it all. And after,” I say. “No matter what happens. You can depend on me.”
Ginny looks at me and I wonder what she’s thinking, but then she says, “I know. I trust you.”
I gather her in my arms and hold her to me.
When we finally pull apart I hear a doctor clear his throat from the doorway.
“Mrs. Weaver?”
“Yes?�
� says Ginny. Her voice is wary.
My stomach drops. What is it? “Is something wrong?” I ask.
The doctor shakes his head then smiles. “We’ve found a donor. That commercial you did that’s been playing for weeks. It worked.”
I look at Ginny and what the doctor says finally sinks in, because she bursts into tears. I wrap her in my arms.
24
Ginny
I love heroes. Everything about them. Their strength, their honor, their devotion, their pursuit of the ultimate goal in the face of unsurmountable odds. A hero always does what’s right, always wins, no matter what.
Okay, scratch that. I have a new definition of a hero. A hero tries, a hero gives, a hero loves. Like Finick said, anybody can be a hero. You just have to be willing to do something selfless.
I reach over and put my hand on top of Liam’s. He looks over at me and his eyes crinkle in the early spring sunlight.
“Almost there,” he says. He gives me that smile, the one that’s only for me, and my chest feels ready to burst it’s so full of happiness.
I glance to the backseat of the car. Bean’s strapped in her car seat. She has a pile of comic books in her lap. It’s been more than eight months since we found her donor. It was a long, hard climb, but she made it. We did it. Bean’s cheeks are pink, her short hair is curly, and she’s put her baby fat back on. She has a healthy, happy glow that makes my heart sing.
Liam started filming his latest movie last month, and Bean can’t wait to go to the premier in her Skyhawk costume. She’s one lucky kid.
Her nose is buried in a comic book and I’m struck with a wave of nostalgia. We bump down a washed out dirt road. We’re ten miles outside of Centreville where Route 511 crosses Route 511B and turns onto Pine Tree Road. Liam turns onto the long drive up his property. There’s a brand new wood fence along the drive, painted white, with daffodils blooming at the base.
Bean puts down her comic and leans forward in her seat.
“Is it a secret base?” she asks.
“It’s a surprise,” says Liam.
“Or an airplane?”
“It’s a surprise,” says Liam.
“Or a superhero training camp, with climbing walls and zip lines and—”