Letting Go of Gravity
Page 29
But underneath that all, he’s there, with us, with me.
I’ve been helping him with his chemistry homework.
He’s been teaching me how to play poker.
Every night, we binge-watch Game of Thrones.
We aren’t finding our way back to who we were before he got sick—those people are gone. Instead, we’re getting to know who we are now.
But when I try to tell Charlie that, he rolls his eyes and tells me I sound like a Hallmark card.
“You better save some of that pizza for Ruby,” I say as Charlie grabs yet another piece.
Right then, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it!” Charlie says, dropping the slice back in the box, his whole body lighting up, and I smile to myself at how wrong I was to worry about him and Ruby. He, quite rightfully, worships the ground she walks on.
“You ready for the Red Wedding?” Ruby asks me as she enters the kitchen. She takes off her Float visor and grabs the seat next to me. In a matter of seconds, Charlie appears at her side with a piece of pizza, a napkin, a glass of Diet Coke, and a jar of maraschino cherries, like he’s a waiter in a four-star restaurant.
“I could get used to this,” Ruby says, laughing. “Will you be this way in the school cafeteria next year?”
“Anything for you, Roo,” Charlie says.
“How about you carry my purse for me?”
Charlie frowns, and I laugh.
“Oh man, the thought of that almost makes me wish I could go back to high school,” I say.
“But you’ll still be around next year?” Ruby asks.
I nod. “Yep. I officially withdrew from Harvard yesterday. Dad wanted me to defer for a year, but I don’t want to have it hanging over my head. I talked with Carla and she’s going to hire me on full-time. For however long I need. I’m going to help her set up an art outreach program at the Wild Meadows Retirement Community.”
Charlie leans forward. “Parker’s underplaying it. She’s actually going to run the whole thing—set it up, design the programming, maybe even roll it out to other retirement homes.”
“So no college at all?” Ruby asks.
“Not for now. But Carla’s going to help me research art therapy programs. She said she could help with recommendations, too, when I’m ready.”
“Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy,” Ruby declares.
“I’m getting there,” I say.
She puts her slice down and wipes her mouth. “Um, Parker, there’s something I have to tell you. You know Finn’s leaving for New York tonight, right?”
My heart skips. “I do,” I say, though the news didn’t come from Finn.
Unlike Charlie and Ruby, who see each other every day, Finn hasn’t talked to me since that day at the hospital. He hasn’t responded to any of the texts I’ve sent or the messages I’ve left, and he refused to see me when I stopped by Carla’s house after work last week.
Carla tells me to give him space, that he’ll come around. But I’m not so sure.
Carla’s been my Finn lifeline ever since the afternoon at the hospital. She and her husband were the ones who checked him out that day, refusing to let him go back to his family’s house. He’s been at their home ever since, recovering slowly, quietly.
He had a broken nose, three broken ribs, numerous cuts and bruises.
He refuses to press charges.
He won’t talk about what happened.
Carla told me Johnny came by once, early on, but Carla wouldn’t let him see Finn, threatening to call the police and to report him for assault if he didn’t leave. He hasn’t been around since.
“I failed Finn,” she said to me last week, her face grim. “When they were with me, Johnny and Finn fought, but it was never more than brothers picking on each other. And after he moved back home, Finn was always so quick to reassure me the bruises I saw were from boxing. But I should have pushed him harder. I should have known. I didn’t do enough.” She shook her head, looked outside.
It was hard to hear her say those words, my words.
I know how much she loves Finn. I know what she’s given him. And I know how guilt can creep inside of you, spreading like a stain. Even now, I can feel it pushing at my edges, that I didn’t see what was happening with Finn earlier, that I didn’t help him earlier.
But just like I couldn’t make everything right for Charlie, I can’t make everything right for Finn. The only person I can do that for is myself.
All I can do is love them both the best way I know how, to be brave, so that they know when they need me, I got them.
I’m here.
When Carla told me last week that Finn was leaving, that she’d found a place for him to stay in New York with a former art professor and his wife so he could get a fresh start, I knew how important it was to tell her she was doing the right thing.
Even though inside I wanted to keep him here.
Even though I missed him so much already, it was like missing a part of myself.
“I just wish he’d talk to you before he leaves,” Ruby says unhappily, rubbing the bridge of her nose under her glasses, her silver bracelets jangling. I see the new one Charlie got her, with a small silver charm in the shape of a cherry, in homage to her love of Cherry Coke.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ruby doesn’t know everything that happened with Finn, that Johnny was the one who hurt him, who’d been hurting him. It’s not my story to tell, but I hope it will be Finn’s someday.
“It’s all right,” I say.
“No, it isn’t! He never listens to me. It’s like that time I told him that he had the flu and he kept insisting it was just allergies, and then he barfed all over the kitchen at the Float.”
Charlie smiles at her. “You’re so cute when you’re feeling self-righteous.”
“ ‘Cute’? ‘Self-righteous’?” She bristles. “How about ‘I admire how badass you are when you’re clearly right’?”
Charlie drops his head to his hands, and I high-five Ruby.
“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” Charlie says, looking back up at her with a big smile.
Ruby rolls her eyes at him before turning back to me. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with him leaving.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “This is good for Finn. He needs a fresh start. It’s the best thing for him. I’m fine,” I repeat, more firmly this time.
Ruby looks doubtful.
Charlie takes a deep breath. “It can still be the best thing for him and not fine for you, Parker. You don’t have to be okay right now.”
I turn away, looking out the window.
Mustard is leaping around in the backyard, intent on killing some small animal. He pounces, then proudly lifts his head, a small, dead brown something clenched in his teeth.
I yelp in dismay, making Charlie and Ruby both start.
I point outside. “It’s Mustard,” I mumble. “He just killed something. It’s really sad. . . .” I trail off because Charlie and Ruby are both staring at me with these terrible looks of pity and understanding.
And then the tears come.
Not in a big heaving release or sputtering sobbing.
Instead they’re quiet tears: the simple devastation of not being okay.
Ruby rubs my back.
Charlie starts drumming his fingers on the table.
“What are you thinking?” Ruby asks.
“What time does Finn’s bus leave?”
“Eight,” she replies, understanding dawning on her face. “We can do it, I think.”
Charlie nods immediately. “I’ll get the keys.”
I look at them, confused. Ruby stands, like she’s waiting for me to do something, then leans down, pinching me lightly on the arm, her bracelets jangling.
“Ow,” I say.
“His bus doesn’t leave until eight,” she repeats.
Finn. She’s talking about Finn.
And then I look at Charlie, the way he’s bouncing on his heels, impatient to leave, how he’s trying to save me.
“Get that chicken ass of yours moving,” Ruby cries impatiently. Charlie snorts, and I realize yet again how lucky the McCullough twins are to know her.
I try not to smile. “Chicken ass?”
“Not my best effort, I know,” she says, giving me a gentle push on the back toward Charlie, toward the car, toward Finn.
Fifty-Seven
CHARLIE PULLS IN FRONT of the entrance of the Cincinnati Greyhound Station and jerks to a stop. My stomach drops, and I wipe my palms across my forehead, queasy.
Ruby groans. “Can Parker drive on the way back?”
“I was trying to get us here in time,” Charlie says.
“I would have stayed under the speed limit,” I say, unclicking my seat belt.
“Yeah, and you would have missed the bus. Thanks to me, though, you have seven minutes,” Charlie retorts.
I lean between the two front seats. “Do you guys want to come in too?” I ask, suddenly anxious about seeing Finn by myself.
“I said good-bye already,” Ruby says.
“What about you?” I ask Charlie.
“Parker, get off your ass and get in there,” he says. “Now.”
“Okay. Okay.” I scramble out of the backseat, then lean down to Ruby’s open window.
“Thanks, you guys.”
Ruby smiles while Charlie waves his hand. “Six minutes now. Go!”
I jog into the bus terminal.
It’s a grim place—the industrial lighting a sickly yellow-green color, bright-blue plastic benches inhabited by a ragged assortment of tired-looking people, the air-conditioning on so high I get instant goose bumps. I look for Finn, my eyes darting to the announcement board, trying to find the bus to New York City. No luck.
But then I see the line of people in the far corner. They’re moving forward slowly, bags slung over shoulders, pillows stuffed under arms, as a woman in a navy-blue shirt takes their tickets.
At the end, I see a guy with a red hooded sweatshirt, hood up, those beat-up cargo shorts, paint-spattered old shoes, a heavy backpack at his feet. A woman with brown hair has her arm wrapped gently around his shoulder.
“Carla!” I call out, my yell sharp against the murmur of white noise in the station. “Finn!”
I move toward them, around a small child holding a ragged Elmo doll, a woman with numerous bags of newspapers, a guy in a trucker hat scowling.
“Finn!” He turns around then, sliding his hood down, and finds me in the crowd. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t send radiant beams of forgiveness across the room.
I slow down, scared to reach him.
But I don’t stop.
Carla pulls me into a hug when I get to them, whispering, “Be patient with him.” She steps back. “I’ll give you guys a few minutes. But, Finnegan, promise me you won’t get on that bus without saying good-bye.”
“I promise,” he mutters.
I watch Carla leave before turning to Finn. He’s watching me with his storm-wary eyes. His face is mostly healed, just a few lingering yellow spots, but his nose is newly crooked at the bridge.
“Hey,” I say, shifting nervously in place. “I’m glad I caught you. Charlie was driving like he was possessed so we could get here in time. Ruby’s out there too. And since you didn’t return any of my messages, I really wanted to see you before you leave.”
I stop, waiting for Finn to say something, for his face to soften, for his shoulders to ease.
But his mouth is clenched shut, jaw jutted out. Even though he’s standing right in front of me, he’s so far away, he could be lost in space.
“So, New York, huh?” I ask.
Nothing.
I remind myself of hidden street-art cathedrals, of fields of sleeping sunflowers, of what it’s like to let your heart live on the outside.
I look at the boy who pushed me away in first grade, the boy who’s pushing me away now.
I swallow hard.
No more small talk.
“So, I came here thinking I’d tell you I was sorry for telling Carla. I was practicing my apology the whole way down I-71. But, Finn, I’m not sorry.”
He sucks in his breath—sharp and surprised. Angry.
I see lightning in his eyes.
“You promised me,” he says, his voice low.
I nod slowly. “I did. But, Finn . . .” I struggle to find the right words. “It’s like you’re Major Tom. I know I can’t save you. But I still had to try. ’Cause how else would you know I love you?”
I hold my breath.
Finn shakes his head and rubs his hand over the back of his neck, tries to hold it back, to keep it in, but I see it: the second when the storm breaks and all the hardness falls away, the boy underneath beginning to cry.
I step forward, put my arms gently around him, not wanting to hurt any of his broken parts.
“I have to leave,” he whispers against my hair, his voice broken.
“I know,” I say.
“You did the right thing. I don’t like it, but I love you for it. Thank you.”
My shoulders release as he kisses my forehead hard, and I wonder if I could just hold on forever. Maybe if I don’t let go, he won’t leave.
But Finn deserves better than the in-between. We both do.
He whispers against my skin, “I’m so sorry I’m leaving you, Bird. I’m sorry for everything.”
I pull back, turn his chin gently toward me so he can see my eyes, so I can see his. “I’m not sorry for anything. You know why?”
He shakes his head.
“Without you I never would have quit the internship. I never would have found Carla’s. Without you, I never would have learned to fly.” I take in his crooked nose, the ragged and worn edges of his sweatshirt sleeves, that small space between his two front teeth, the storm in his eyes, trying to memorize as much of it as I can. “I’m going to miss you.”
He doesn’t say anything, but our lips meet.
In the kiss, there’s the bittersweet taste of what might have been, the quiet acceptance of something like forgiveness for each of us.
But behind all that, there’s more: the promise of flight, of gravity-bound objects moving faster and faster, the world passing by in a blur, until the moment of lift, that glorious beautiful second of finally letting go.
Fifty-Eight
“HOW WAS THE VISIT with Alice’s niece?” Ruby asks from the front seat.
“Here,” I say, pointing to the side of the road. Charlie frowns and gives me an accusing look as the car sinks to a stop in the muddy ditch.
I shrug and turn back to Ruby. “It was amazing. The whole visit was great. Lily, Alice’s niece, was so appreciative, and her son, Jack, was really sweet with Alice. He kept making her pictures for her room.”
“Awww,” Ruby says.
“Oh, and I almost forgot. Lorna and Henry are moving in together.”
Ruby cheers and claps.
“Are they allowed to do that?” Charlie asks.
“Why wouldn’t they be?” I say.
“Because they’re old people?”
“You’re kidding, right?” I turn back to Ruby. “I didn’t even tell you the best part. Harriet’s going to be Miss Peggy’s new roommate.”
“What?” Ruby practically yells.
“I know. It’s literally the worst decision in the history of bad decisions. But Carla says it was their idea.” I shrug. “Come on, this way.”
We start walking through the field and then into the woods, hitting the top of the hill.
I realize it then, as I make my way down the slope: Charlie’s following me. For once, I’m leading the way.
“Here, Roo,” Charlie says behind me, taking Ruby’s hand, the two of them moving down the hill togeth
er.
I remember Finn holding my hand the first time he brought me here and feel the familiar shiver of missing him.
The moods pass over me a lot these days, like clouds over the sun.
We’ve talked almost every night since he left. He tells me about the brownstone he’s living in, how he thinks it might be haunted, but with a sad ghost, not a vengeful one. He describes the old man up the street, who every afternoon takes a shirtless nap stretched out on his stoop. He shares stories about his neighbors, a six-year-old boy named Archer who loves web-footed tenrecs and his three-year-old sister, Ramona, who’s going to be a superprincess when she grows up.
In exchange, I fill him in on the dinner party Harriet and Miss Peggy hosted for all of us in their new apartment at Wild Meadows, how I stopped by to see Alice afterward, how Alice is still silent but likes looking at the brand-new picture of her, Lily, and Jack next to her bed. I tell him how Ruby and Charlie and I go swimming at Caesar Creek every Saturday afternoon, how when they’re in the water, I browse the classes for the pre–art therapy certification at University of Cincinnati.
I talk with him about therapy, too, sharing some of what I’m discovering with my family and on my own. Finn tells me he’s talking to someone too, but that’s as far as he’ll go.
After every call, he texts me pictures of New York City—of green leaves in Central Park, old guys playing chess in Washington Square, an explosion of street art in Brooklyn. That’s when I hear his voice the most, when I see the world finally opening itself up for him, the way it always should have, the way he deserves.
But it was the message he sent me last night that’s prompted our visit today.
“Where in the world are we going?” Ruby asks as all three of us come to a stop at the bottom of the hill.
“This better not be some cult compound, Parker,” Charlie says, and I smile to myself.
I walk toward the tunnel, and just like Finn did with me, I pull out a flashlight from the bag on my shoulder. “This way.”
I click it on, step forward, letting the light shine.
I look over my shoulder. Ruby and Charlie are at the front of the tunnel, frozen. His arm is wrapped around her shoulder, hers around his waist, and I’d almost think they were statues except for their faces, heads titled back, eyes taking in the wonder.