“Why not?”
He pauses, just briefly. Then, in a library-style hush, he answers, “Because I have feelings for you, Teddi.”
“Really? And what about your girlfriend?”
Looking hopeful, he says, “It hasn’t been right with Glade for a while. Since way before I met you. But I sort of figured it would run its course. That we’d end things when I left for school this fall.”
“Very practical.”
Seeking momentary distraction, I look past him, drawn by squeals. Following the revolutions of the Rotor, I feel my stomach drop as if I’m spinning along with the screaming occupants. I refuse to give in to queasiness; instead, I allow anger to take over. Without looking back at him, I say, “Now I get it. You figure since your relationship is in the shit, you’ll bust up Aidan and me. Thanks a lot!”
“It’s not like that, Teddi.”
“Well, it sure seems like that. Why else would you be trying to turn me against him?”
Ed snorts, a You’re ridiculous laugh that seriously makes me want to hit him. “I’m hardly trying to turn you against him!”
“What exactly are you trying to do?”
He tilts his head upward, seems to study the night sky. For a second, I think he’s going to bless himself. When he looks back at me, there’s no mistaking the sincerity on his face. He says, “I’m trying to save you from getting hurt, Teddi. Because,” he shrugs, “because I care about you.”
As the Rotor screeches to a stop, he continues, “Anyway, for what it’s worth, it’s officially over between Glade and me. I broke up with her yesterday, Teddi. Told her I’d developed feelings for someone else.”
I look down, studying the daisy pendant. “Does she know it’s me?”
He takes my chin in his hands.
I wait for him to continue, but he only stands in front of me, for what stretches beyond reasonable awkward pause length. Just as I’m beginning to think nervous thoughts—of cleavage-fumbled corsage applications, Jumbotron marriage proposals—Ed clears his throat. Thankfully, he does not produce a jewelry box from his back pocket.
“I need to show you something.”
“I really think we should get back to the group.”
“Please, Teddi. Give me a chance. I know you’ll want to see this.”
I wait just long enough for him to put his arm around me. Bringing his other hand up, whispering, “It’s a surprise,” he gently covers my eyes.
I tense; a mix of fear and expectation makes me tremble, and I touch his hand with mine. As I move to uncover my eyes, he says, “Trust me.”
“I do.”
Leading me across the parking lot, Ed guides me carefully around cables snaking the ground. The carousel music fades slightly, and I sense the air thickening, closing in, as he leads me beneath the awning of the large, blue-and-yellow-striped tent.
The animal smell is dense in here; somehow, it feels even more humid than outside. I hear the bleat of goats, children giggling. Ed places my right hand atop the enclosure fence and says, “Wait right here. And no peeking. I’ll be two seconds.”
He steps away, and I hear the clunk of coins, the grind and spill as he cranks the feed dispenser handle.
“Ready?” Lifting my hand from the fence, he upturns my palm, depositing a fistful of grain pellets.
I hear the quick rustle of hooved feet, and Ed says, “Whoa! Watch out, Teddi! It’s a stampede!” Laughing, he turns me quickly, raising my cupped hand shoulder-high.
“Can I look now?”
“Not yet. Don’t move.”
Supporting my right hand with his own, he leans into me, places his left against the small of my back. Again, I feel a shiver of excitement as Ed, murmuring, “Closer, closer,” stretches my arm skyward.
“Ed—”
“Shhh.” He lets go of my hand, just as I feel it, soft pressure on my palm, at once damp and somehow rough.
I fight my reflex to pull away as Ed says, “Teddi, meet Teddy.”
The moment they open, my eyes spill tears. Locked on me, enormous brown orbs peer from above, as Teddy the Giraffe continues to probe my palm with his sinewy tongue. Once my hand is empty of grain, he lowers his head slightly, resting his chin for the briefest moment on my open palm.
An electric warmth blazes through me, this moment filling me completely, washing away the discoveries of these last weeks, the news about Aidan. For these few seconds, transfixed in the gaze of a giraffe, I am utterly happy. At peace.
Lightly brushing his velvet nose, I study the creature’s paisley hide, his immense neck arching in a tawny, spattered rainbow. Teddy grants my palm a last nuzzle. Then, lashes fluttering, his head lifts slowly upward, bristled horns just kissing the fabric ceiling.
“That was unbelievable.”
Leaning forward, Ed whispers in my ear, “You are unbelievable, Teddi Alder. Truly unbelievable.”
Before I even realize it, I’ve stretched onto tiptoe. Twining my fingers behind Ed’s head, I pull his lips to mine. We linger mid-kiss, a chorus of pygmy goats serenading us.
Opening my eyes, I’m met with a Joy-drunk grin. “So, I guess you’ve reconsidered.”
All I can say in return is “That was nice.”
“But?”
Pulling away, I reply, “But I told you. I’m with Aidan.”
“And you didn’t feel anything just now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then, don’t you owe it to yourself, to me—in a weird way even to Aidan—to see what’s there?”
“NO!” I bang my fist against the enclosure fence, scattering goats.
“Teddi, can’t you see—”
“Can’t you see? It’s not about what I feel for you right this minute. Or what I feel for Aidan. Or even what I feel about me right now. My brain, my heart, they’re all scrambled, in an all-out tug of war or something, and I don’t even know which side to root for. My head tells me you’re the better choice. And if what you said about him is true—” His eyes glisten, hopeful. “But Aidan has a stranglehold on my heart.”
Looking fresh-slapped, Ed says, “Well, we both know heart trumps head.”
As usual, I can’t shut up, can’t leave things alone. Especially with him looking so hurt. “It’s not just up here.” I tap my temple. “I do have feelings for you, Ed. There, I’ve said it.”
He smiles.
“But that doesn’t mean we have a future. I’m in this pretty deep with Aidan, and I owe it to him—to us—to work on it. I believe he loves me, despite his chronic bullshit behavior. And if what you told me is true, then he really needs me. I can’t just throw that away for a what-if with you. Don’t you get that?”
He hesitates, some argument on his tongue. Then he says, “Yeah, unfortunately, I do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I really like you, Joy.” He bristles at the name. “Sorry, Ed.”
“No, it’s okay. You call me Joy. It can be our thing.”
“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for us to have a thing.”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s too late.”
Briefly, something clouds his eyes, and he reaches for me.
“Ed,” I punctuate the name with a single step backward, “I really need to go. Aidan could be at my place right now, wondering where I am. I’ve got to see him, to try and make sense of all this.”
“Promise me something, Teddi.”
“What?” I anticipate some sort of demand.
“Promise me you’ll decide what’s best for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not for me. Not for Aidan. Think only of you.”
31
Binks’s hackles stand on end. A deep rumble escaping him, he strains at his leash. The yelling from the woods wedges beneath my skin, too. I feel this impulse to race for the house, ’til I realize laughter’s mingled with the hollering.
“Relax, boy. It’s just some party at Stone Loop.”
&
nbsp; Binks sinks into a defensive hunker. I squat, too; on one knee, I steady for whatever’s about to happen.
Tugging, he slips his collar, darts toward chaos, into the woods.
As someone shouts “SKUNK!” the smell assaults me.
It’s followed by a crashing through the brush. A jumble of shadows in shorts and tanks. Bouncing flashlight beams. The smoke haze is drenched with skunk, the voices an equal mix of laughter and swear words. Some girl stumbles onto the open hill. Falling drunk—or high—she can’t stop cackling.
When she strays into my flashlight beam, I recognize Jeanine. I’m about to raise my hand, to call, when she turns back to the woods. Folding at the waist, she sprays puke into the grass, lands on her knees. A guy appears. Laughing, he weaves along the tree line, collapses beside her.
“Shit, it’s Nic.”
Rolling onto his back, he howls at the cloud-rimmed moon, shaking with laughter. Jeanine laughs, too, for just a moment, before retching again.
Gulping breath, Nic sits up. Grabbing Jeanine, he shakes her. Then, looking around, he says, “Where is he? Aidan. Have you seen him?”
Jeanine just stares at him, mumbles “Skunk,” and falls backward.
I note my shifting reaction to the mention of Aidan’s name. Where it used to cause a ratcheting up of my temperature, lately those five letters have brought nothing but undue weight, a hippo roosting on my heart.
But this is different.
Something about Nic’s tone—and the absence of skunk-scented heartthrob busting into view—has me in instant panic.
Ditching Binks’s leash, I sprint toward the path, flashlight beam ricocheting. Without meaning to, I scream, “Aidan!”
Jeanine and Nic, epically wasted, struggle to sit up, to focus on me.
From the woods, eerie stillness, followed by a low wheeze, from farther in. I know it’s him. Tromping through thorn and vine, I focus on breathing evenly.
Inhaling deeply, I catch this fruity chemical scent in the air. Is it weed? Meth? Brenda would know. Fear morphs into fury as it becomes clear exactly how Prince Charming’s been spending his nights.
I’m about to turn back, begin a search for Binks, when I hear a garbled moan from my left.
Muttering “Asshole,” I take another cleansing breath, hoping to exhale anger. But when I finally find Aidan, faceup in matted fern, I’m pissed.
Stomping toward him, teeth clenched, I shine the beam directly into his face. Puzzled by his lack of reaction, I utter only “Ai—” before noticing the tremoring in his hands and feet, the way his head jerks deeper into the pillow of fern.
Falling to my knees beside him, I clamp my lids shut, just briefly, trying to erase the image burned behind them: Corey mouths my name. His eyes stare up at me, flat, unseeing.
Like Aidan’s are now.
Leaning close, pressing my cheek to his lips, I confirm the worst. My boyfriend has stopped breathing.
My brain lurches backward to freshman CPR class. Staring down at my dying boyfriend, I attempt to detach, pretend it’s just the rubbery practice dummy on the ground. Positioning the flashlight in the grass, I reach for him.
Hands trembling, I turn Aidan’s head to the side and brush my fingers across his lips. I tremble, caught in the irony that a few weeks ago, these lips, this guy, seemed unreachable.
Focusing, I sweep his mouth for obstructions. As my index finger brushes Aidan’s tongue, he retches violently, a good sign.
Then, his body goes rigid.
Slapping his cheek, I call his name, starting low, then in a frantic chant that threatens to overtake me.
“Aidan. Aidan-Aid-AID-AIDAN!”
His body hitches, and I’m forced to pull back, protect myself as stiff arms beat the air. Finally, he stills, lying flat in the grass, peaceful. But I’m granted only the briefest relief.
I whisper, “Aid,” and his gaze fixes on me for the shortest second. His panicked eyes question. Then, as if he’s swimming deep in some murky swamp, those blueberry eyes dull, stare past me—flat, black marbles—before rolling up into his head.
He convulses again.
Digging my nails into his bare shoulders, I shout his name. When he doesn’t respond, I stand. Facing the open grass, praying Nic or Jeanine will run to our rescue, I scream, “Someone help me!”
Silence.
Fumbling my phone from my pocket, I punch in 911. The screen pulses with a feeble greenish hue, as a message appears.
Low battery.
Shrieking, I drop the phone. It’s instantly sucked into Aidan’s bed of fern and vine.
Mind going blank, I waste precious seconds, as the world dims around me.
Then I hear my name.
Landing beside Aidan, I stare at his mouth, but his lips are frozen. Even in the weak flashlight beam, I can see they’ve begun to tinge blue.
Teddi.
The voice throbs. It’s inside my head. Doubling on itself, it repeats, escalates.
Teddi, listen.
It’s Corey. And Marisol’s tia Luz. They speak as one, urging me on.
You can save him, Teddi.
You know what to do.
Leaning over Aidan, gaping at him, I’m struck by how peaceful he looks, how unlike Corey.
The voices silence as a new image blooms inside my head. I see it with the laser pulse of memory.
Corey’s head is cracked, blood and thicker stuff sticky on my hands. He tries to talk, a low burble all that escapes his lips. Rocking forward, I scream—
“NO!”
Hands over my ears, I block the memory. Summoning the voices, I focus on their soothing tone. Soft. Comforting.
You can do it.
Believe, Teddi.
We will help you.
Breath slowing, I’m filled with an eerie calm.
As if from above, I watch as a pair of hands move forward. Mine but not my own, they’re smaller, darker: Corey’s. They brush the spittle from Aidan’s face, gently tilting his head back to open his airway.
I sense stubby fingers—Tia’s? Lacing behind my neck, they draw me closer to Aidan’s ashen face.
Swallowing panic, I cross myself. Then, throwing my head back, I drink in humid midnight air. Clamping my mouth to his, I exhale forcefully. As I do, a familiar tang registers on my tongue.
For the briefest moment, carried on my breath, I taste it, a faint pucker of sour apple candy, Corey’s favorite.
As I blow frantic life into my boyfriend’s lungs, I force my mind blank. Then, from deep within this black hole of terror, I hear them, actual voices.
“This way, in the woods.”
“Hit the ferns with your high beams!”
Pausing, I look over my shoulder, see a pair of cops hustling up the bank. Their cruiser’s parked on the grass behind the pool house, headlights blazing toward us. One officer stops to check on Nic and Jeanine. The other parts the ferns that mask Aidan and me.
I barely register his yell to his partner, “Oh shit, we’ve got a 10-54,” before—vision dimming—I slump next to Aidan in the tall grass.
32
The bench cups my spine. Running fingers over the bronze oval, I touch Corey’s face, memorizing his sculpted features like Braille. Inspecting the writer’s callous that graces my index finger, I trace his name. Then I lift focus to sky. Weak afternoon sun dusts the thinning alder canopy.
I whisper, “Corey, the leaves are rusting, dropping around me.”
Same as when I was seven, I feel myself coming fully awake again in October. Mrs. Goulet’s long gone. She retired when I was in middle school, moved away—New Hampshire, I think.
I still come here.
After they found him—dented, mud-sunk barrel, weighted with stones; lonesome little bones draped in T-shirt scraps (it was on the news; no need for me to tell it)—I vowed I would never come back to the pond.
But when they held the town meetings to determine whether it should be drained permanently, I knew I had to be there. To stand up for Core
y. To beg them not to turn the pond into a spillover parking lot.
I like to imagine I made a difference with my plea for our place, for remembrance. That I had some impact.
It’s got a name now: Boatwright Pond. Hence the memorial bench. It’s a little hokey, but Corey would love the idea of his face overseeing the change of seasons, the bird rustle, the frog splash.
I’m here a lot—usually alone, when I need to talk with him. Life’s quieter now. Mirror Teddi no longer offers advice. I sort of miss her. But sometimes, if I listen real close, I can hear Corey. He’s outgrown his little boy rasp, sounds a bit like Micah.
We haven’t kept in touch. It must be too painful for Micah and his mom. They probably can’t help linking me with the story I told about Corey’s last moments. I ended up having to repeat it countless times.
For so many people.
But parts of it I saved. Just for us. The details that couldn’t have mattered to anyone else. Croc Hunter, my last “I love you.” And when I need to think about that stuff—the way I do today—I come here.
Other times, I might bring Willa. She has whole conversations, about me, of course, with the bronze plaque. Claims it was Corey who convinced her to give Nic one last chance. They’re mostly back to normal, equal parts exasperated and enamored with each other. She says she owes it to Corey, that she’s so glad they’ve become friends after all this time.
And I’ve brought Aidan to visit a few times, too. Now that he’s living back at home. It was tough, especially in the beginning when he was at Omni House, seeing him. But I went. I had to. Even though most of our early visits would begin and end with him asking me my name.
He never was good with names.
In the end, he didn’t manage to ruin himself entirely. But he came pretty close. His mom is movie-parent strong. His dad moved out, moved on, but not her. She’s full of hope. And somehow able to subsist on the “small strides” Aidan’s making.
I continue to visit; at first, I told myself it was mostly for her sake. But truthfully, it’s for my sake, and Aidan’s, too. New Aidan? Old Aidan? Doesn’t matter. A corner of my heart will always belong to him.
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