She took it in again, then the next finger too, closing her eyes and giving a little moan.
I’ll just kiss her once more, once more before things change.
But when I did, she slid her hands through my hair and slipped off the stool into my arms. Her weight half on me, I lifted her higher, to keep her from hitting the floor. Then somehow she was on the counter (did I put her there?) and I was standing between her thighs and it felt good and right and even sweeter than the stuff in that jar.
Her ankles locked together behind my knees, Bailey pulled her mouth from mine, but only a few inches. “I know you said you weren’t ready, that you might not be ready for a long time.”
I’m ready now. I have to be.
“But whatever you want to do, or not do,” she continued, “I’m good.”
I knew she meant “I’m good” as in “I’m cool with that” or “I’m happy.” But after her lips and tongue formed the word “good,” the word kept echoing in my mind.
Good. Good. Good.
She’s good.
Am I good?
What if it isn’t good for her?
“David?”
How long had I been staring at her mouth? More important, why was I only staring at it?
“David!”
“Sorry. When I told you I wasn’t ready, it was true. At the time.”
“And now?”
Her silvery gaze ripped me in two. No, not ripped—undid me, like my spine was a zipper she was pulling down.
I opened my mouth, and she opened her mouth, and our bread-and-nectar breath, tinged with the salt of olives, became the same.
I answered her with an even deeper kiss, pulling every inch of her against every inch of me.
When I moved my mouth to her neck, she gasped. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Sure I’ll make an idiot of myself. But also sure I want to try anyway, because I love you.
She slid away from me, off the counter, and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go to my room.”
I took one step, then stopped. “Wait.” I could lie to everyone else about everything else, but not her, not about this. “This is the last night we can see each other until May twelfth.”
She froze, her grip spasming. “You are quitting me.”
“Not quitting. I just can’t see you. It’s only for forty days.” I tried to pull her closer. “Will you wait for me?”
She dropped my hand and covered her face. “I thought I was different. I thought I was more important to you than school or baseball or your friends.”
“You are.” I reached for her, but she backed away.
“But you’re giving me up like you gave them up.”
“I have to.”
“No, David. You’re not a slave or a robot. You don’t have to do anything. You choose to.”
“Yes.” I pointed to the floor as if to mark the moment. “I choose to put this long shot of a chance at saving my family first.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” I couldn’t think straight enough to explain, in mere words, this precious tiny power I held. The last time my family collapsed, I could only sit and watch, but maybe this time, I could stop it. I had something my father wanted, and if I gave it to him, we could be whole again.
If I said any of this out loud, she would leave me for being pathetic. How could anyone with Bailey’s strength understand what it was like to feel so helpless?
So I just said, “Because it’s what God wants from me.”
That was the wrong answer.
Bailey’s eyes flashed with fury. “Are you kidding?” She advanced on me so fast I thought she would punch me. “That’s a cop-out and you know it! Why can’t you be a man and take responsibility?”
“I am taking responsibility. You’re just pissed that for forty lousy days, my world won’t revolve around you.”
She gasped, and as her eyes flew open wide, I saw the pain within. My heartbeat surged in panic.
“Bailey, I’m—”
“You think I love you because you worship me, that I see you as some kind of, what, satellite?” She backed away, into the hall. “Get out.”
“No.” I followed her, though it brought me closer to the door. “We can’t leave things like this, not when we won’t see each other for—”
“Don’t come back in forty days, David.” She pushed my jacket into my chest. “Or forty-one days, or a hundred.”
The room seemed to shrink to a single point in front of her face. “You’re breaking up with me? Just like that? But what we have is—” I couldn’t find the words to describe it. “I love you.”
“Maybe.” Tears choked her voice. “But you don’t have faith in me.”
Her accusation sliced through my chest. “That’s not true, and I can prove it.” I shoved my arms into my jacket. “I’ll leave now, but I know you’ll wait for me. We’ll be together on May twelfth.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I believe it.” I took her face in my hands and kissed her, soft but sure. “In my book, that’s as good as knowing.”
“Ugh, see?” Bailey pulled away, a scowl twisting her lips. “Right there is your whole problem.”
I stepped back, feeling cut in half. It was like hearing the crack of a bat against my best pitch, then watching it sail past the fence for a grand slam. My hands started to shake and my tongue felt covered in sawdust.
Step off the mound, I coached myself. Nothing good can come from reacting mid-meltdown, but a whole lot of bad can come from it.
I opened the door to the rainy night, but her voice stopped me halfway out. “You’re leaving?”
“You told me to leave!” I shouted over the downpour. “I’m giving you what you want.”
“I know, but . . . I guess I don’t know what I want.”
I briefly considered turning back, convincing her with my mouth and hands to let me stay, maybe even take me up to her room. But I wanted our first time to be pure, not tainted with rage and mistrust.
I stepped into the rain. “You have forty days to figure it out.”
CHAPTER 29
NOW
This is it?” Mara leans over the steering wheel and peers through the windshield.
The road has ended in a place that can’t even be called a town. There are no traffic lights, no post offices, no supermarkets. Definitely no Starbucks.
What there is, is a lake, a dock, and a general store named General Store. A sign in the dusty window advertises a “café,” with the accent floating in the general vicinity of the e but not directly over it.
I take off my sunglasses and squint at the dilapidated building. “Toto, I don’t think we’re in suburbia anymore.”
“We left suburbia about eight hours ago. Were you asleep?”
“I was in denial.” After our encounter with Ezra, Mara and I spent the next three days preparing our trip to Almost Heaven, with the help of Kane and Bailey, who stayed behind.
It wasn’t just school that kept them from coming on the trip with us. We couldn’t risk telling any adults about our parents’ disappearance. They might notify Social Services, who definitely wouldn’t approve of our road trip/rescue attempt. But if we’re not back in a week, Kane will tell his mom where we are. In that event, Sophia better have an excellent lawyer.
I slip my sunglasses back on. “Maybe someone inside will know how to get to Almost Heaven. Besides, I’m starving.”
It’s been almost two hours since we passed a rest area. I’m still mad that Mara wouldn’t let us stop at the Baseball Hall of Fame. I bet Cooperstown has at least one awesome café, with the accent over the e and everything.
We enter the store, and immediately a rapid guitar riff blasts above, or at least the electronic version of such. One of those motion-sensing Big Mouth Billy Bass fish is mounted above the door, currently singing “Barracuda.”
The plastic novelty fish flaps its tail and head, which I guess is supposed to make it look like it’s da
ncing, but instead looks like it’s gasping for air, flopping helplessly on the plaque it’s nailed to.
“I thought those fish usually sang ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy,’ ” Mara whispers.
I could use a little of that sentiment right now. This place is already giving me the creeps.
The fish continues to wail in a woman’s voice as we move into the store, which so far seems empty of humans.
“Be right back.” Mara bolts for the restroom, the door of which is plastered with a bumper sticker, IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU’RE TOO CLOSE.
The cash register and “cafeé” are to the right of the front entrance. A six-flavor ice-cream display case, stocked with only vanilla fudge, sits in front of a limited snack-bar menu on the wall. Now that the singing fish has shut up, I can hear someone moving around in the back, near the stove. The place smells of grease and cheese, making my stomach growl.
I check out the store’s shelves for snacks we can bring with us on the rest of our journey. Disappointingly, most of the food is for fish, not humans.
Mara rejoins me in a few minutes.
“Remember when Dad used to take us fishing?” I hold up a package of bait balls. “We didn’t have all these fancy choices. It was either real worms or fake worms.”
“The fake ones were this cool purple, and when you held them up to the light you could almost see through them.” Her eyes go distant and sad. I wish I hadn’t brought up good childhood memories.
A middle-aged woman with reddish-blond hair and a denim shirt comes out from the kitchen area carrying a broom. She gives us the most neutral nod ever and starts sweeping the floor behind the cash register.
Mara pulls Mom and Dad’s photo from her purse as we approach the counter.
The lady sets her broom aside. “What can I do for you? Bait? Cold drinks? Sandwiches? We only have grilled cheese right now. The meat delivery’s late today, but to make up for it I’ll throw in a bag of chips with every grilled cheese.”
I speak up before Mara can distract her with the photo. “We’ll take five grilled cheese sandwiches and two cans of soda.”
“Like to see a boy with a healthy appetite.” She points to the snack aisle behind me. “Take your pick of chips while I get those sandwiches.”
“Wait.” Mara sets the photo atop the ice-cream display. “Have you seen this couple? They were on their way to a place called Almost Heaven.”
The woman ignores the photo and asks us, “Are you ready?”
We give her blank looks. “Um,” I say. “Ready for what?”
She frowns, then plasters on a fake smile. “Why, ready for lunch, of course!” She turns away. “Five grilled cheeses, coming right up.”
Mara gapes at me. “What was that all about? ‘Are you ready?’ Some kind of password?”
“I guess. Clearly ‘Ready for what?’ was the wrong answer. Come on, food time.” I pick out three bags of chips (Cheez Croc-o-Doodles, because they’re hard to find and I haven’t had them in years) and a soda (Mr. Pibb, because it’s all this place sells).
We take advantage of the only seating, a white plastic patio table with two matching chairs. Mara pauses to peer out the store’s back window, which faces the lake.
“There’s a dock out there with a few teeny little boats.” She sits across from me and pops her soda can top with a hiss. “That must be how the Rushers got to Almost Heaven.”
I rip open the bag of Cheez Doodles. “So we need a boat, plus someone who knows how to get there.”
“Or better yet, someone who’ll take us.”
The front door swings open. Billy Bass starts singing “Fisherman’s Blues” as a wiry, stooped man in bright-blue overalls shuffles to the counter. “Sandy!” he shouts. “Gimme some hush puppies to go.”
“Sure thing, Wendell,” she calls from the back.
“I didn’t know they had hush puppies.” I reexamine the menu. “It doesn’t say they have hush puppies.”
Sandy comes out to the counter with our sandwiches. Mara marches up to Wendell, brandishing the photo. “Have you seen these two?” she asks him. “John and Jennifer Cooper. We think they went to Almost Heaven Sunday morning. Did you take them?”
“Well, hello to you, too.” Wendell glances at the picture, then looks Mara over, his long, salt-and-pepper beard scraping his flannel shirt. “Sandy, hurry, would ya?” He pats his stomach. “Gotta fuel up for the last boatload of believers.”
Billy Bass stops singing midsentence. His body stays folded in half, as frozen as we are.
The last boatload of believers?
“Sir, you didn’t answer my question.” Mara forces the photo into his hands. “Did you take these people to Almost Heaven, and if so, will you please take us, too?”
He gently opens her hand and places the picture in her palm. “Are you ready?”
Mara’s face lights up. “Yes! We’re ready. Right now!”
Wendell and Sandy exchange a glance, then shake their heads. “I’m sorry,” he tells Mara. “It’s not possible.”
“This is ridiculous.” I get up and stalk over to them as confidently as I can. “It’s obvious you’re connected to Sophia Visser and this place.” I whip out the picture Ezra gave us. “Why won’t you take us to our parents?”
Wendell seems unintimidated by my greater height and youth. “Never heard of this Sophia Fisher person.”
“It’s Visser and you know it!” Mara looks ready to shove both pictures down his throat. “Our parents abandoned us. You helped them. That makes you an accessory. And who are these believers you’re meeting?”
“None of your beeswax,” he says, which I’ve never heard anyone say out loud.
“Look.” I take a sandwich half from one of the plates on the counter and start munching it, trying to play the calm Good Cop. “We don’t have anyone else in the world. Mom and Dad wanted us to come with them to Almost Heaven, but we weren’t home, so they left without us.”
Sandy brandishes her broom. “You expect us to believe that parents would up and leave their kids to fend for themselves? That’s nuts!”
“I know, but they’re kinda nuts. Also, I think they were tricked into thinking we’d be here. And if they knew we had come all this way to find them, I’m sure they’d want you to reunite us.”
Wendell seems to ponder this for a moment. I hold my breath.
And then Billy Bass starts to sing.
A redheaded lady in her fifties peers into the store. “Are you Wendell?”
Wendell checks his watch, the wristband of which looks like a strip of rag. “Late.”
She gasps. “Too late?”
“Depends. Are you ready?”
The lady squeals and claps her hands. “Hallelujah, I was born ready!”
I was born ready? That’s the password?
“Then go get your things from your driver. We can still make it by nightfall. Thank you, Sandy,” Wendell says as the proprietor passes him his hush puppies. Oil stains seep through the white paper bag.
The happy woman bounces back through the front door. As Wendell passes me on the way to the back door by the lake, I reach for him. “Please take us. We were born ready too.”
“I’m sorry, son. They’d have my head if I brought anyone unauthorized.”
“Then when you get there, please tell our parents we’re trying to find them. The Coopers. Tell Sophia, too.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever.”
Then he’s gone, and the room is silent for a moment until an outboard engine starts up outside. Mara and I go to the window and watch Wendell unwrap a rope attaching a tiny boat to the dock. Even if he’d been willing to take me and Mara, there would’ve been no room for us on this trip. A couple settles onto the far wooden seat, fastening their life vests and tucking two small duffel bags into the storage compartment.
“Now what?” Mara whispers, her voice on the edge of tears. “Mom and Dad are so close, and we can’t get to them. We traveled all this way for nothing?”
�
�Maybe Sophia will tell Wendell to get us when he comes back.”
“He’s not coming back for at least a week.” Sandy picks up the broom and starts sweeping again.
“We can’t just leave.” Mara wipes her eyes. “You take the car and go home. I’ll swim to Almost Heaven if I have to.”
“I won’t leave without you.”
Mara yanks a handful of napkins from the dispenser and covers her face. “I can’t believe we’ve lost our parents for good! Now they’ll never get to see me graduate. Or get married. They’ll never meet their grandchildren.” She lets out an anguished sob.
“We’ll figure something out.” I put my arm around her shoulders, a little freaked by her emotional display. Usually Mara holds herself together pretty well under stress.
“I’m sorry I failed you, David.” She blows her nose into the napkin, trumpeting. “I’m sorry we lost our family, and now we’ll lose the house, and soon we’ll be living in the street.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, would you kids stop?” Sandy lets the broom bang against the counter. “I’ve got a boat you can take. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 30
THIRTY-SIX TO TWENTY-NINE DAYS BEFORE THE RUSH
By the fourth day of the Abandoning, I was already going stir crazy in the house with my mom, who led me in morning prayers, afternoon prayers when she came home for lunch, evening prayers before dinner, and bedtime prayers. Dad was still off on his “fishing trip,” and Mara stayed in her room whenever she was home. Our house somehow seemed big and empty and yet claustrophobic at the same time.
I’d kept up with my workout routine, minus the most important part: the pitching itself. It felt like I was going through the motions, but I just kept thinking of league baseball this summer, when life would be normal again.
April 4 was John’s birthday, so I rode my bike to St. Mark’s Church, where he was buried. When I arrived, there was a familiar figure brushing the leaves and dust off the top curve of John’s headstone.
“How’d you get here?” I asked my sister as I deployed the bike’s kickstand. When Dad was away, the remaining car was usually on double duty.
“I have ways of getting around when Mom won’t drive me to class.” She straightened a foot-tall, new-looking American flag sticking out of the dirt. “Bus, train, boyfriend.”
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