“Nothing. I just didn’t want to drive home. Can you give me a ride to school in the morning?”
“Sure. I’d like to take a look at it though, just in case. And—well, your mother says . . . she tells me you had lunch with Margaret.”
I nodded. “I ran into her at church.”
“At church?”
“Yeah.”
“What were you doing there?”
I shrugged.
He cleared his throat and then kissed the top of my head. “Praying isn’t anything to be shy about, Meggie. And as for Margaret, I think she’s been lonely since Rose died, and I’m sure it did her good to talk. It was a nice thing you did, and if you want to do it again, it’s fine with me.”
“George!” Mom called from the kitchen.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Dad called back. “Meggie had lunch with someone from church. Someone we’ve known for years. Someone who has only had kind things to say to us, even back when we first got married.” He turned to me. “What did you have to eat?”
“Deviled ham.”
He made a face. Dad hated ham. “Well, then it was definitely very nice of you.”
“George!” Mom said again, and Dad squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to your show now.”
When he went back into the kitchen, I turned the television down.
“That’s it?” I heard Mom say. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Let’s see. Margaret made her lunch. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“You know I like Margaret. But I just . . . I know what the Bible says.”
“I know what the Bible says too,” Dad said, sounding tired. “‘Let him without sin cast the first stone.’ And while you may feel up to it, Laura, I know I don’t.”
“George—”
“Do you remember the look on your father’s face when you told him you were pregnant and I said we were getting married? I do. Do you remember their silence when Meggie was born, or when it looked like David . . . when it looked like he wouldn’t make it? Even when the news about Meggie’s plane came out, nothing. They’ve never said a word to us through everything, and all those letters you write come back unopened. We’ve been judged by others for what you and I have done, by family even, and I won’t do that to someone else. Only God should have that right.”
Mom sniffed twice, and then said, “George,” again, her voice cracking. I turned the television back up.
She came up to my room that night, before I was supposed to go to sleep. She kissed me good night and then took my hands in hers. “I think what you did for Margaret today was awfully kind, and I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you or don’t see how wonderful you are, all right?”
I nodded, fiddling with the top of her wedding ring. It winked up at me, glinting as she flicked off my lamp and threw my room into darkness. I lay there, staring at the ceiling and sure I wouldn’t fall asleep.
And then I did.
I woke up under a burning sky, my whole body aching, my mouth full of smoke, and when I looked down I saw green and brown disappearing under the smoke, under flames falling from the sky. I saw a snake moving across the ground, pushing awkwardly on its belly, its yellow scales a blur. The snake twitched, then screamed, and I realized it wasn’t a snake but a woman. Her hair was on fire and her hands were clawing at the ground, a gold ring on one finger flashing in the flames.
I woke up shaking, my mouth open but my throat closed up so tight my scream was a silent one, stayed inside me. I woke up and lay there, unable to push the dream away. I woke up and knew the woman from my dream was Sandra.
Sandra, from Flight 619. Sandra, with a baby that she’d left behind.
I woke up and knew what I’d dreamed wasn’t a dream at all.
I stayed home from school that day. My head hurt, a sharp band of pain across my forehead and behind my eyes. I told Mom and regretted it right away when she knelt down beside me, anxiety on her face as she felt my forehead and then yelled at Dad to call the doctor.
“I’ve just got a headache,” I told her. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll get up. I’m fine.” But it was too late, and I knew I was going to have to spend the morning in Dr. Weaver’s office.
I couldn’t stop thinking about my dream, about Sandra clawing at the ground. I shouldn’t have survived that. I shouldn’t have been able to walk away. Not when . . . Sandra had burned to death. Screaming, in pain, and I’d—
I put my head in my hands.
“Meggie, what’s wrong?” Mom sounded frantic, at the edge of tears, and I lifted my head. She relaxed, a sigh pushing out of her, and when I came downstairs because she’d been—of course—able to get an appointment with Dr. Weaver, she put a plate of food in front of me. I ate it fast and asked for more. When my stomach started hurting I was able to stop thinking.
When I saw him, Dr. Weaver took a look at me and said I seemed run down. He wanted me to go to the emergency clinic and have some blood drawn for tests.
“Now, I know how that sounds, but it’s just a precaution and our lab is closed today, otherwise I’d do it here,” he said, and I watched Mom bite her lip before she nodded.
“Laura, it’s all right. You’ve got two wonderful kids. You’re very lucky. You shouldn’t worry so much.”
“But Meggie said she had a headache,” Mom whispered, and there were tears in her eyes. “And when I went into her room she was just lying there staring at the ceiling and all I could think . . .” She broke off, pressing one hand to her mouth. I could see her fingers shaking.
Dr. Weaver patted her on the shoulder. “Frankly, I’m more worried about you than Meggie. I haven’t seen you this upset since David was just a little thing. I know what you went through when you thought Meggie was gone. But children have headaches and stomachaches and it’s perfectly normal. Meggie is perfectly normal.”
I stared at him (perfectly normal?) as he flipped through papers in the folder he was holding. “One last look at what I’ve got here before you both go, all right? Let’s see . . . temperature’s normal, pulse is fine, and Megan measured half an inch over five-four, which is a little taller than when we measured her last year. Ah, and she’s up to one hundred twelve pounds—twelve more than last year. That’s very good. Now, I suspect the headache is just a headache, but we’ll run those tests just to make absolutely sure. In the meantime, it can never hurt to get plenty of rest and lots of fluids.” And that was it. He was done and gone, leaving us with a quick goodbye.
Walter was sitting in the waiting room when I came out with Mom, fiddling with his hat. I wasn’t surprised to see him but then he followed us outside. That did surprise me, and my head, which had started to feel a little better, began to hurt again. I closed my eyes and told myself he wasn’t there, but he even followed us into the car.
On our way to the clinic he was in the backseat, just sitting there, waiting, every time I turned around.
“Sweetie, are you looking for something?” Mom asked as we pulled into the clinic parking lot.
“No,” I said, and watched Walter fiddle with his hat, knowing he wasn’t really there but unable to stop seeing him.
He didn’t follow us inside, and when the doors clicked closed behind us, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and wiped my sweating, shaking hands on my jeans.
“You know,” Mom said a minute or two after we’d sat down to wait, “it feels strange to be here without David, doesn’t it? Remember the Fourth of July when he stepped on the rake?”
I nodded, staring at the television bolted to the wall because I was afraid of what I’d see if I looked anywhere else.
“Laura, is that you?” The lab tech, Jackie, poked her head into the waiting room. “It is! I thought I heard you. Wait, where’s David?”
Mom laughed. “He isn’t here today! I was just talking about it with Meggie, actually. How’s Dan doing? How are you doing?” She got up and went over to her and within seconds the two of them had
started talking about everything from how their hair looked to things they’d done back in high school. They disappeared back into the clinic, but a second later Mom came out and waved at me to follow.
“Hey there, Meggie,” Jackie said, opening up a lab cabinet. “Let me get everything ready. Laura, how’s work going? Dan wants one of those new lawn tractors and is convinced we’d be able to get credit for trading in the old one. I told him he was crazy. He is crazy, right? Meggie, just have a seat in the chair and hold an arm out for me.”
I couldn’t do it. Walter was back. He was sitting in the chair I was supposed to, still fiddling with his hat. On the wall behind him I saw a plane window, cracked open with a piece of rock shoved through it. There was blood everywhere, dripping, and below it—
“Go on, have a seat,” Jackie said again. She was standing next to Walter now and he looked up at me, waiting.
“I—I can’t,” I said, and fled into the hall.
Mom came out too, confused and then alarmed at whatever she saw on my face. “Oh, Meggie, sweetie, sit down.” She helped me slide down the wall to the floor.
“Looks like someone’s a little woozy,” Jackie said, coming into the hall as well and kneeling in front of me. “Are you afraid of needles?” When I didn’t say anything she looked over at Mom, who was staring worriedly at me.
Walter came out into the hallway then. He sat down right across from me, still turning his hat around and around in his hands. I didn’t want to see that anymore. I didn’t want to see him anymore. I didn’t want to see anything. I closed my eyes.
Mom touched my forehead. “Meggie, what’s wrong?” She leaned in closer. I could feel her breath on my face, smell her perfume. “Megan?” Her voice was high and frightened.
I opened my eyes. Walter was still sitting on the floor across from me but now Sandra was next to him too, head bowed so I couldn’t see her face, and for a second I saw her as she’d been in my dream, slithering across the ground, green-brown ground burning underneath and all around her.
I stood up so fast my head swam, spots dancing in front of my eyes.
“Careful there,” Jackie said, patting my arm. I jumped away, but she acted like she didn’t notice, turned to Mom and said, “She’s probably got a migraine. My sister gets them all the time. Pain like you wouldn’t believe and the awful lights they have in here don’t help. You know I love Doc Weaver, but Meggie doesn’t need tests. She needs to go home and straight to bed. Anybody can tell just by looking at her that she’s fine. I mean, a plane crash couldn’t even stop her.”
“That’s true,” Mom said, smiling now. “Meggie is a—”
I stopped listening because I knew what she was going to say. I knew what word she would use to mean me.
And I knew I was anything but that.
Thirteen
The next day I waited.
I waited in my room, in the dark, for the sun to come up. I waited for homemade waffles for breakfast. I waited while David claimed his leg hurt, limping to the front door, and Dad said, “David, no one has time for this. Please stop acting like your leg is going to fall off and go wait for the bus. I need to take Meggie to school.”
“Everything’s always about Megan,” David said, then glared at me and slammed the front door as he left.
At school, I waited while Dad checked my car to make sure it was running okay.
“It’s fine,” he said, and I waited while he hugged me goodbye and drove off.
In school, I waited for every class to end. I drew squares and circles in my notebook. I took a test in French, leaving blank spaces for my answers and flipping the paper over instead. I drew a map of the school, the cafeteria at the center with four enclosed hallways branching off at each corner, one outside hallway connecting them all. A square within a square, I thought, and drew in all the doors. I knew where every exit was.
I erased the map before I turned the test in.
On the drive home I waited to float up out of my body or for Walter or Carl or Sandra or Henry to show up in the passenger seat.
Nothing happened.
At home, I ate fish-shaped cheese crackers while lying on the kitchen floor. From where I was, the happy ducks on Mom’s dish towels were upside down, their dancing feet looking more like they were flailing, trying to find somewhere to land.
When I got tired of looking at them I sat at the kitchen table and waited for David to come home. I left the kitchen when he came in. We didn’t say anything to each other. I’d waited for that too.
At night, David ran into the bathroom just when I was getting ready to go in and brush my teeth, laughing as he locked the door.
I opened it—the door only had a button lock, and it would pop if you pushed the handle down hard enough.
He glared at me when I walked in. I ignored him and picked up my toothbrush.
“Give me the toothpaste,” I said.
“No. I’m using it.” He was loud, and we both heard Mom get up, heard her footsteps on the stairs.
He grinned at me, all teeth, and then yelled, “Ow! Meggie, don’t hit me!”
I stared at him, at his open mouth, his angry eyes, and then leaned toward him, putting my free hand on the back of his neck. I could see both of us in the mirror over the sink.
“Shut up,” I said quietly, not moving, but what I really wanted to do was smash his face into the sink, have Mom walk in and see me doing it, see my face as it looked right now.
David stared at me in the mirror, his eyes wide and afraid, and then broke away from me and ran out of the room, his toothbrush and the toothpaste hitting the floor.
“David Jacob,” I heard Mom say out in the hallway, and then, “David, come back here!”
“What happened?” she said to me, coming into the bathroom. “Did you two fight?”
I shrugged and she turned away, went into David’s room. I could hear him crying when she opened his door.
She came back into the bathroom when I was rinsing my mouth out. “He says you told him to shut up.”
I spit into the sink and waited. Now something would happen. I knew David would tell Mom what I’d done.
I knew he’d tell her what he’d seen when he looked at me.
“Meggie, I know he wants attention and that it can be hard, but no matter how much he tries to upset you, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t . . . you shouldn’t say things like ‘shut up.’ It’s just not nice.”
I stared at her in the mirror. She was fiddling with the ends of my hair, tucking them under so the lengths matched. “We should drive up to Derrytown and get your hair trimmed. Would you like that?”
She didn’t look at me as she said it, and I knew she wasn’t going to say anything else. She knew something had happened, that David had seen something in me, something messed up, broken, and she didn’t want to know what it was. She didn’t want to see it.
She wouldn’t see it.
I had to get away from her then. I put my toothbrush down and moved past her, walking downstairs. I yanked open the front door, the night air warm on my face.
“Sweetie,” she said, running after me, and for a second I felt something hopeful flare inside me. I turned toward her.
“Here,” she said, and handed me my sneakers and a pair of socks. “You can’t go out barefoot. And don’t come home too late, okay? You know how your father worries.”
That was it. That was all she said. It was night, I was going running again, and she—I yanked the shoes away from her and left.
I ran. I put on my shoes in the driveway and then flew down it. The trees were nothing to me now, just dark shadows, and what was a shadow?
Nothing; it was nothing and I’d known my parents wanted the crash to have left me whole, wanted to believe I was fine. That it had even somehow made me special.
I’d never thought that if they knew something was definitely wrong with me, in me, they’d pretend it away.
But that’s what had happened. What was happening.
It didn’t work and I ended up having to stop, panting. My side hurt bad, and my lungs felt like they were on fire. Reardon didn’t have much in the way of streetlights, and there were only faint pools of light coming from people’s houses, tiny half-moons on their lawns that didn’t quite reach me. I kept waiting for the dark to bother me, for the sound of the wind blowing softly through the trees to break me.
It didn’t happen. I liked being in the dark. I liked not being seen. I walked and walked, ended up on the edge of the road that circled around town, running from the hills behind Reardon Logging’s offices into town and then back up into the hills on the other side, leading to the Park Service offices. And the airport.
I kicked at some loose gravel on the side of the road, and then moved to avoid a truck coming around the corner. It was Mr. Reynolds’s. I could tell just by the sound. When he got a job driving tractor trailers, the first thing he did was buy a new truck and fiddle with the muffler so that every time he turned the engine over you could hear it all the way down the street. Supposedly he spent a lot of time driving by his ex-wife’s boyfriend’s place for a while.
After he passed, I started jogging back toward town. Mr. Reynolds must have been to see Beth because he only ever did two things when he was home. He either sat in his house and drank, or he drove up to Beth’s grave and drank. Her grave was in the town cemetery, which was up the road from where I was when the truck had passed me.
It was like death was everywhere I went. I shivered and stopped jogging. I wasn’t even back in town yet, but I just—I didn’t feel like going anywhere. I was standing in what everyone called the fire zone, a gap that circled Reardon, serving as a buffer between the town and the forest. Reardon had been built that way because the settlers that first came here were from another logging community, and they’d lost everything when a fire set to clear some of the forest ended up destroying their town. It had been called Reardon too.
I would have sat down, but the road out here was just gravel and there was no grass beside it, nothing but dirt and prickly weeds. It was a nowhere place and I liked that, stood there because it felt like it was where I belonged.
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