The Last Words We Said

by Leah Scheier

  “That was a long time ago, Abba,” Danny said. “Almost a year.”

  “And you’re the brilliant chef who’s been feeding my son,” he said, turning to Rae. I could see her blush, even in the darkened room. He gave Deenie an approving nod. “And you must be the singer. I understand you’re very talented.”

  “You didn’t hear that from me,” Danny protested with a grin. “I’m not allowed to hear her sing, remember?”

  I glanced over at Danny and saw that he was watching his father with a relieved expression on his face. He’d barely touched his own food; he was sitting poised and ready on the edge of his seat, waiting for an opportunity to assist his dad. “Do you want more lasagna?” he inquired anxiously. “Let me cut you another piece.” I realized suddenly that Danny hadn’t been nervous about our meeting his father because he thought he would embarrass him; he was actually protecting his dad and trying to guard his health as best he could. I wasn’t sure what Mr. Edelstein suffered from, but Danny seemed to believe that bright lights and noisy friends could make him worse.

  * * *

  “So what do you guys think he has?” Deenie wondered out loud as we walked home.

  “Migraines?” Rae guessed.

  I remembered a story Danny had told me about a superhero whose heart was failing after years of sadness. I’d thought then that it was fiction, but the man I’d just met reminded me of Danny’s description of the sickly hero. I wondered now if there was something very real behind the fiction.

  I thought back to my own father’s battle after his dad had died, and how he had described his experience during that difficult time.

  “I’m not sure,” I told them. “But I think it’s depression.”

  Chapter 9

  “We’re smelling mangoes today?” Danny remarks as I lean over the fruit display and sniff. “Fascinating.”

  “Rae told me to pick up a couple of ripe ones for the salad she’s making. She says it’s supposed to smell sweet.” I hold one out to him. “What does that smell like to you?”

  “Honestly? Like a wasted Sunday afternoon.”

  “Come on. You like Rae’s cooking. I thought you’d want to help.”

  He pushes the mango away. “You forget that I can’t eat her cooking anymore.”

  I toss the fruit into my basket and head down the aisle toward the vegetables. “Cucumbers,” I say, ignoring his comment. “And a leek. What on earth is a leek?”

  He bounces on ahead of me and climbs up onto a tower of watermelons.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss. “Get down. That’s dangerous.”

  “Really?” he says, and lifts one foot in the air. “Come on, Ellie. What’s going to happen?”

  I hate it when he does this. When he came back to me after the accident, it was as if nothing was missing. Our relationship was perfect again, complete. But then therapy started, and slowly Danny began to change. Sometimes he’s the Danny I know and love, the one I can count on to make me smile, to relax me when I’m stressed. But recently he’s been having these diabolical spells; he tests my sanity and calls himself a ghost. It’s like he’s trying to hurt me. “You’re breaking one of the rules,” I remind him.

  “There’s a watermelon rule?” He wobbles on top of the pile and waves his arms. “Wow, that Nina sure thinks of everything!”

  “You know what I mean,” I say. “Please get down. I want to talk to you.”

  He scrambles off the mound, as un-magically as possible. Not one watermelon moves. I hate that, too.

  “You want to talk here?” he asks. “Isn’t that breaking a rule?”

  I point to the cellphone earpiece in my ear. “It doesn’t count if I talk into this.”

  He raises his eyebrows and slow-claps his approval. “Wow. Sweet loophole.”

  “Right?” I am a little proud of myself. Now I don’t have to wait until we’re alone in my room to talk to him.

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  I roll my eyes. “Take a guess. Our friend who is slowly losing it.”

  “Ah. The one who sings ever so gently?” His tone is still mocking, but his expression is sober. “So gently that no one can hear her anymore?”

  “We have to do something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know! All I know is that Deenie is making a terrible mistake.” My voice rises in frustration. “I’m sure she’s going to regret this.”

  Danny opens his mouth to reply, but there’s a noise behind me, and we both turn around to look. Rabbi Garner is standing right next to me, holding a carton of eggs in his hands. “Hi, Ellie,” he says. He looks puzzled and a bit concerned. “Who are you talking to?”

  I’m momentarily speechless. I can feel the blood rushing to my face; a cold sweat breaks over my neck. This is the reason Danny and I are not supposed to talk in public. Not just to avoid the obvious social weirdness of getting caught, but also because Rabbi Garner’s worried expression is yet another reminder that I’m alone. Like the stationary pile of watermelons and the standing Monday therapy appointments and the rules I have to keep breaking. Recently, I can’t seem to get away from the reminders. It’s like falling into a pit, over and over.

  “Ellie, are you okay?” The rabbi carefully lays the carton down and takes a hesitant step toward me. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  “I’m fine,” I say hoarsely.

  I’m really not, though. I know that my parents have consulted the rabbi multiple times over the last few months. And he’s actually been the only one on my side. The rabbi says that talking to the departed can be a normal part of the grieving process, my father assured my mother in one of their late-night bedroom discussions. He says we should give her time. But now the rabbi has just seen me bickering with some watermelons. And I’m pretty sure his opinion is about to change.

  Danny sidles up to me and points to the Bluetooth I’d forgotten. “You were speaking to Rae, remember?” he says.

  “I was talking to Rae,” I blurt out, tapping my ear.

  The rabbi’s concerned expression doesn’t change. There’s a distracted, pained look in his eyes, and he seems to be struggling to find words. I’ve never seen the rabbi at a loss before. “You were talking about Deenie just now,” he says, finally. It’s more of a statement than a question.

  “Well—yeah,” I stammer, and glance at Danny for help. “It’s no big deal, really, but—”

  “It’s okay, Ellie,” the rabbi says quietly. “You don’t have to share your private conversation with me.”

  “I want to, though,” I reply quickly. “I could use some advice.”

  “I think we all could.” He shakes his head and turns slightly away from me. His gaze falls on the spot right beside me where Danny is standing. Danny starts a little and grows very still, like a deer caught in headlights; they stand opposite one another, staring into each other’s eyes.

  I stop breathing, terrified to break the silence. Is it finally happening? Can the rabbi actually see him? He’s looking right at him, with the intentness of a man trying to focus on a blurry picture. I’m dying to say something, but if I’m wrong, I’ll look insane. I will Danny to move, to see if the rabbi follows him with his eyes, but he’s completely immobile, as if mesmerized. Finally, after what feels like hours, Danny takes a deep breath. “I think it’s my fault,” he whispers to the rabbi. “I made her stop singing. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s my fault,” the rabbi replies. “I encouraged her.”

  They’re talking to one another. It’s really happening. Someone else can see my Danny. And yet, I don’t understand how that’s possible. I’ve always admired the rabbi’s spirituality; if someone had told me that he could communicate with the beyond, I might have actually believed it. But Danny isn’t a spirit. He hasn’t passed.

  “Who are you looking at?” I ask, my voice edged with suspicion. “There’s no one there.”

  His eyes snap back to mine. “I’m so sorry, Ellie. I must have s
paced out. I haven’t slept much in the last few days.”

  I take a deep breath; my anxiety eases a little. Next to me Danny jolts back to life; he raises his arms and waves them around in front of the rabbi’s face. “Hey, Rabbi, I’m still here! Look at me! Come on, I know you can see me!”

  The rabbi ignores him, and after a moment Danny quiets down; he slumps, disappointed, against the vegetable bin.

  “You’re worried about Deenie too?” I ask the rabbi.

  He nods. “I know many people who have embraced religion because it made them happy, brought meaning to their lives. I encourage people who are searching for a deeper connection to learn more, to take on extra challenges. I encouraged Deenie, too. Spirituality can be a beautiful thing.”

  He falls silent, and his eyes focus briefly on Danny. “But I’m not sure now—” he murmurs. “I don’t understand what I’m seeing anymore.”

  THE GENTLE SINGER

  “I think it’s all a myth,” Danny proclaimed one morning after listening to us talk about Deenie’s latest audition. She’d just landed the role of Maria in West Side Story. The women’s theater group had been choosing musicals with Deenie in mind since she debuted as Annie in a performance that brought the audience to their feet. “Honestly, I don’t think you can actually sing at all,” Danny taunted. “I think it’s a giant conspiracy. And I’m being punked.”

  Deenie rolled her eyes. “You think a group of twenty women has been putting on fake rehearsals and concerts for years just to mess with a fifteen-year-old boy?”

  Danny climbed off the kitchen stool and stood in front of her. His growth spurt had kicked into full gear during the fall of tenth grade, so he no longer had to crane his head back to look into her eyes. In fact, he now towered over all of us. “Oh, I think the concerts are real,” he declared. “I just think that you suck. That’s why you won’t let me hear you sing.”

  Rae and I exchanged amused smiles. We all knew that Danny wasn’t being serious and that Deenie’s feelings were totally safe. Danny had been angling for a display of Deenie’s legendary voice for months. “I swear I won’t find you attractive!” he’d insisted. “What if I close my eyes? What if you paint on a mustache while you sing? What if I stab myself with a fork the whole time?”

  Deenie refused each time, patiently and firmly. “You’re still a boy and I’m still a girl,” she insisted. “It doesn’t matter how you feel about it. It would make me uncomfortable.”

  “So I’ll make myself uncomfortable too!” he pleaded. “I’ll strip naked while you sing. And dance around.”

  Deenie flushed bright red. “Well, there’s an image,” she said in a strained voice.

  “Yeah, nobody wants to see that,” Rae said, gagging. “Except maybe Ellie.”

  I threw my spoon at her.

  “Fine, then I’m leaving,” he said, pouting like a spoiled toddler. “Since I’m in the way here.”

  “Great!” Rae declared. “We can finally talk about girl stuff again.”

  But Deenie put her hand out to stop him, her fingers just barely grazing his sleeve. “Hold on,” she said softly. “Can you do me a favor?”

  He turned back to her, hesitated. “Uh… okay—”

  She walked over to the bin and pulled out a half-empty bag of trash. “Can you take this out for me, please?”

  Rae snorted with laughter. “Wow, Deenie, that’s cold!”

  But Danny didn’t appear hurt. A smile played on the edge of his lips. “Where are the cans?”

  She pointed to the open kitchen window. “There. Behind the garage.”

  He was beaming as he took the bag from her hand.

  As the door closed behind him, Deenie walked slowly over to the kitchen sink. “Well, I guess I better get started,” she murmured. Rae and I were excited because we knew that she always sang as she washed up, and we were hoping for a VIP preview of the upcoming show. But that day she ignored our requests for West Side Story and instead chose a sweet song by Avaya, a new artist that she and Danny had recently discovered online.

  And if the world was ending (she sang)

  I would be the first to call

  I’d thank you for the worst parts

  I’d thank you for it all

  Oh, I’m dreaming about you, my darling

  And what my life would be like if we didn’t last the day

  Oh, please wake me

  From this dream, my darling

  So I can tell you I love you

  And make sure we leave it that way

  If it’s the last words that we say…

  Chapter 10

  Monday afternoon rolls around again, and as usual, I find my mom waiting for me in the school parking lot after the last bell rings. I got my license during junior year, and I normally carpool with my friends to school, but my mom still takes off early from work on Mondays so she can drive me to Nina’s. I think she believes that a breakthrough won’t happen unless she’s nearby, waiting for it. She’s like my mental health spotter, poised to break my fall.

  Only it’s not happening quickly enough. So today, on my way to Nina’s, my mom decides to speed things up, blunt-mama style.

  She dives in as soon as I get into the car. “I stopped by the police station today,” she tells me. “They said that there’s been no progress on the case.”

  “Really? How shocking.”

  The sarcasm in my voice throws her for a moment. I normally get emotional and fragile when she brings up the stalled investigation. But today I’m just massively pissed.

  “I know how frustrating this must be for you, Ellie—”

  “Frustrating?! He’s my boyfriend, Mom. Not a lost bike. ‘Frustrating’ isn’t the word you’re looking for.”

  “You know what I mean.” She gives me a pained look and abruptly pulls the car over to the curb.

  “What are you doing?” I snap. “We’re going to be late to therapy. And then I might never get better. I might die from all the frustration.”

  She stares at me quietly for a moment, and I stare back at her. I can’t help noticing how much older she looks; the auburn hair beneath her bandanna is streaked with gray, and the wrinkles around her lips are as deep as the hollows beneath her eyes. She was over forty when she had me, but I’ve always been proud of her youth and energy. My father claims it’s good genetics, my mother credits her diet and the gym, but I’ve always admired how she can still outshine women half her age. Yet somehow, without my noticing, her shine has faded. I wonder when it happened. And if maybe I’m the cause.

  “I’ve been reading urban legends on the Internet,” she says unexpectedly.

  “Legends?”

  “About the lake.”

  I suppress an irritated sigh. “Let me guess. The ghostly lady that drags swimmers under?”

  She seems relieved that I know of it. “You read about that?”

  “I can google too. That’s pretty much all I did after Danny disappeared.”

  A little more relief in her eyes. The wrinkles relax a bit. It’s weird that everyone dances around his name until I say it, like they’re waiting for me to summon his spirit before they can talk about him.

  “So you know that it might take months—even years until they find Danny,” she says. I can tell she’s trying to be comforting, but she’s struggling to keep the desperation out of her voice. “The closure you’re waiting for, Ellie—it might never come.”

  “I’m not waiting for closure.”

  “In lake water they usually float to the top right away,” she continues doggedly, ignoring my response. “So the recovery isn’t delayed, like it would be at sea. But there are always exceptions. People get stuck. Under debris, or beneath rocks, places where divers can’t find them. They can get trapped.”

  “I know.”

  She reaches her hands out and grabs mine in hers, squeezes them until her rings dig into my skin. “Their loved ones get trapped with them,” she says sadly. “Waiting for them, hoping against hope. The dead never
get to rest, because their families never got to say goodbye.”

  I pull away from her so suddenly that she falls back against her seat. “Great talk. But I’m late to therapy.”

  She throws her hands up into the air. “God, Ellie! Who cares if you’re late?”

  “You’re paying for it. You should care.”

  “Of course I care!” she wails. “But what’s the point of all this therapy? You’re still talking to a boy who’s been dead for nine months.” I push her away as she grabs for my hands again. She’s violated our unspoken rule, the only one I’ve insisted on since Danny disappeared. No one uses the word “dead” around me. I can’t allow it. As I struggle to unlock my seat belt, she paws frantically at me.

  “Ellie, listen to me!”

  “Let me go!”

  “Somebody has to say it!” she cries. “We’ve all been tiptoeing around the topic for months. Nobody can even speak about Danny in the past tense around you. Your father won’t let me mention his name, your rabbi thinks you need more time to adjust, and your therapist actually talks to Danny in front of you!”

  “I’ve lost my mind, remember?” I shoot back. Damn this sticky seat-belt buckle. I’m a prisoner in the car. “Nina’s probably just humoring me so I don’t go apeshit on her.”

  “You haven’t lost your mind, Ellie!” she insists.

  “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  She stops grabbing at my hands and instead lifts my chin up so I have to look her in the eye. “You know that the boy you see isn’t real,” she says sharply. “Any more than Tzili was.”

  “Tzili?” It takes me a moment to remember. “My imaginary friend from elementary school? Really?” Why would she bring that up now? The two things have nothing to do with one another.

  “Do you know how worried I was about that Tzili business?” she persists.

  “Really. Is that right?”

  She takes her hand off my face. “You have no idea, Ellie. I was freaking out at the end. Oh, I know that it was harmless in the beginning. She was just a little imaginary friend. Your father and I actually thought it was cute. But then things started to get so intense. You began to lose yourself in your fantasy. It got to the point that I wasn’t sure if you knew the difference. Between what was real and what wasn’t.”