All afternoon I spent saying goodbye to everything in my so-called life, big and small. The noisy furnace in the basement. The big gross spider outside my bathroom window. My stoic tree. Stoic because she never talks, but she is so brave.
All the animals at the vet watched me cry, some with real concern. Others, mostly cats, were just curious. I held them all, which takes some doing with an Irish wolfhound. I had a real conversation with my favorite patient, a blind tabby named Willow. I told her there is a place where we would meet again. And I promised we would. And I kissed her.
It is just dark as I reach James’s. Stars are starting to appear in the purple sky. He comes down the steps and grabs me up in a big hug and kiss. He hasn’t seen me for two days, and he’s missed me. I force myself to realize that he doesn’t know anything is wrong. Just like Gordy and Kelly and Max. I’m fine.
I don’t know when Andrew will wake Maggie up. So I have to hurry.
Once inside, he heads for the kitchen, thinking I’ll follow. I don’t have time for cooking and eating and all that.
“You know, I just realized. I’ve never seen your room.” I head up the stairs. He follows.
“Hey,” he calls out, “this is easier than I thought.” He is joking, of course. I’m not.
His room is painted dark, midnight blue. There are books everywhere, piles and stacks on the floor. There is a photo of him surfing somewhere. No doubt about it, he looks like a god in that shot. Lots of other pictures in frames on shelves and his desk of friends, far-off places, his mom and sister. Then I notice a small shot of me, which looks like it was taken from a phone and printed by a normal laser printer on regular paper. It’s taped above his dresser. I’m standing at the microphone on the football field, speaking at Bill’s memorial. The boy who sleeps in this room, with all these books I haven’t read, all this music I’ll never listen to, the beautiful guitar I’ll never hear again, this boy wanted my picture in this room before we were ever together. Does it mean that he always hoped we would be?
He has a big bed, a queen or maybe even a king. Big, pillowy dark blue comforter, every bit as nice as Andrew’s. My stomach jumps knowing that I’ll be under that comforter soon. I’m excited and scared. Still, I know what I want and what I need to do.
He picks up his guitar and starts strumming. He hikes himself up on the corner of his desk so that the chair is free for me. But I lie down on his bed instead. The comforter billows around me like water. It’s going to happen.
“Come here,” I tell him. He puts down his guitar and smiles at me. It’s a smile I’ve never seen before and it sends shivers down the front of me.
He walks over slowly and slides down the length of the bed, the length of my body. He never touches me, but I feel his body heat as he moves closer. His beautiful face hits the pillow next to mine and he turns to me and we just look at each other.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I lean in when his lips part, and I kiss him. I don’t want to have to tell him what I want. I want him to feel it. We kiss deeper. I take his hand and put it on my bare stomach, under my shirt. But he just rubs my side, my hip. I guide it farther up. And I feel hesitation in his kiss. So I kneel and pull my shirt over my head. But then I see the look on his face. Something is wrong. There’s no time for anything to be wrong.
I bury one hand in his hair, kiss him hard. My other hand reaches down to his belt buckle. As I start to fumble with it, I feel his hand on top of mine, stopping me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, frightened. Maybe I am being clumsy or something.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says softly. “We’ve got all night.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “We’ve got forever if we want it.”
I’m so embarrassed. He thinks I’m nervous and just doing this to please him. I have to slow down. I make myself smile. I kiss him on the nose.
“Be right back,” I say.
I head to the bathroom down the hall to collect myself. I open the door and it’s dark. I shut the door as I feel along the wall for the switch.
The light goes on. Someone’s cleaned up Sloane’s mess. I wonder if they found those stupid pins she was looking for. I look and see all of Jade’s bath things in my tub. And I smile. We haven’t taken a bath together in more than a year. Maybe she’s too big a girl now. Makeup is next.
I look into the mirror. And she’s there. Just staring back at me. All the rage, and pity, and sadness just explodes inside me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?!” I demand.
But Sloane just grins that snotty, condescending little smirk. Like she knows something you don’t. Like her silence is filled with meaningful thoughts that are just so above your intelligence level.
“You’re the idiot, you know,” I hiss. “Just tell me one time, try to defend yourself, what you’re doing.”
No answer. Her smile is gone. She’s waiting to hear what she needs to hear.
“You didn’t learn your lesson? You’re going to kill this one too?”
“Sloane, what’s wrong, what are you doing?” His voice cuts through everything.
I whip around.
“You!”
But he doesn’t understand. He just stands there looking stupid with no regret, no sorrow. Not even an apology for what he’s done.
“All of this. All of this! It’s all because of you! You’re the one breaking us up!”
“Calm down. We’re not breaking up. I love you.”
He is so stupid.
“I’m not talking about you and me; no one can break up two people who aren’t even real. You know what I’m talking about. I told you.”
“You told me what, Sloane?”
“Stop calling me that!!”
He registers something. “Should I call you Maggie?”
“Don’t say her name. You have no right to say her name! It’s all your fault. You’re doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Killing me. You’re killing me. You’re the reason she’s doing it. You’re the reason she’s taking me away. Everything was fine before you came. Everything was fine before she wanted you. Before she wanted to kiss you.”
“What’s wrong with me, Sloane? What’s wrong with wanting to kiss me?”
“Because you can never be him. You can never, ever and she won’t let you. She’ll take me away before she’ll let you.”
He is talking now. Saying stupid boy things about everything will be okay and how he’ll take care of me and he’s sorry he didn’t know. I can barely see him through my fury and tears.
He comes toward me, reaching out his hands, and I knock them away as hard as I can. He tries to grab me and I hit him and hit him and he can’t stop me. He gets arms around me and I claw at him and scrape his shin with my boot and spit at him. And scream and scream and scream.
He lets go. I back out the door.
“You need to go away.” It is my last warning.
“Not going to happen,” he says. “You can’t get rid of me.”
I screw my face up so tight that he can see the ugliness of how much I hate him. My finger stabs at him.
“Never see me again. Never call. Never see me. Never. Never.”
I turn and run. I fly down the stairs, out his door, onto my bike.
And am gone from him. Forever.
I’m lying in Sloane’s bed. Of course I am. I am Sloane. Whatever being Sloane means. It’s very late. I know that once I sleep, I will never wake. I stare at my stars. I try to focus on each one, to make them anchors to keep me here.
Please. Please, I beg again and again. Please don’t make me disappear. Don’t take me away from my mom and my tree and my world. He’s gone. Maggie, I promise. I’ll never see him again. Everything will be perfect. I’ll be good. I’ll never let anyone be him again.
You did it, anyway. You made him up in your dream. You made up both of them. And you made me do what I did. You have to take responsibility for your dream. It isn’t fair to take me away.
There’s a tapping at the window. I used to imagine that sound was the sorcerer. Trying to get into my room. Trying to get into my bed. Trying to control me. That was before I realized that the wind could make branches of my tree scrape the window. I would lie, a little girl, with my eyes closed and see if there was a pattern to the tapping. As long as it was random, I knew it was the tree. Because if it was him, he would tap four times and then stop. And then two more.
So now I listen with my eyes closed. And I count. One. Two. Three. Four. Silence. My breath catches in my throat. An accident, of course. A coincidence. And then, one. Two. I gasp.
I whirl toward the window.
The sorcerer is there. He will come into my room. Into my bed. He will control me. And I will be so happy.
I don’t have to get up and open the window. He sees my happiness and knows he’s allowed in. Welcomed in.
He crosses the room. He sits on my bed. He smiles the most beautiful smile.
“Happy birthday, beautiful,” he tells me.
There are tears on my face. I barely manage to say, “It isn’t my birthday anymore.”
“I’m sorry I’m late. How does it feel to be sixteen?”
I smile back. I’m so happy he’s here. I don’t know what to do.
“I’ve almost forgotten,” I say. “I’m seventeen now.”
He lies down beside me and gently turns me so that his body curls close to mine like a spoon. All the fear, all the madness, even doubt, all vaporize. I am with Bill. I am in heaven. We are together in the sea of stars above us. He entwines his fingers through mine.
He whispers, “Your mom won’t be angry. She only said you couldn’t date until your birthday. So everyone can know now. Everyone can know that you belong to me and I belong to you. Forever.”
He kisses the back of my neck. My body glows. My heart is so full. I know we will lie like this forever. And that’s all I want. It’s the thought that’s never been more than a heartbeat away for this past year. Since he died.
How comforting to learn what death really is. It’s forever. And that’s a good thing. As long as you’re together. That’s the answer. To the desperate problem I couldn’t solve. How to live without him. Now I know. Love is stronger than death. Stronger than anything. I’ll never be without him again.
I can fall asleep now. I can fall asleep in his arms.
Maggie won’t take me away. At least, not from him.
My eyes close.
“I love you,” I say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
maggie
My eyes open. I’m lying on my side, spooned into Andrew’s protective embrace. He’s cuddled into me. Even in his sleep he loves me.
So very carefully, an inch at a time, I ease my way free from his arms. I slide from the bed, turning back for a moment to watch him in peaceful sleep. I love him so much.
When I’m dressed, I leave a note. I’ll see him later. I write I love you. I haven’t said it out loud before. I will tonight.
I step onto the street. The sky is the clearest blue. The clouds are the purest white, billowing in the gentlest breeze that has cleaned everything imperfect from the air. The sun illuminates the city’s angles with precision and clarity that I’ve never seen before. It is wonderful. As is my life.
I run through the city, seeing everything, everyone. Just as it, as they, truly are. Perfect. Needing no story from my mind to be safe for me.
I run up my steps, hoping to catch my mom and my sister. They’ve already left, but that’s no problem. I’ll track them down.
In the meantime, I wander our apartment. Looking at everything. Touching everything. A blind person who has suddenly been granted the grace of sight. I want to cry with joy. And relief. I’m awake now, for the first time. I’m awake.
I go to my mom’s closet. I pull down the old Olivetti case gathering dust behind shoe boxes. I open the case and run my fingers over the keys of my dad’s ancient typewriter. It had been my grandpa’s, and my dad used it for all the stories he wrote in college. He would threaten to make me use this when I went to college too, saying it built character to write in a careful way because mistakes took time to correct.
I’d like to have character. Maybe this would help.
I decide to write a love letter to my sister that she mustn’t open until her wedding day. A little fanciful, yes, but I’m in that mood, and I’ve got all day. I hope the typewriter still works. And it does, although the little holes in the e’s are kind of filled in.
Dear Jade,
What a beautiful bride you are today. What a perfect choice you’ve made of the man to spend your life with. Whatever the weather, the sun is shining on you today. Whether or not there are birds, they are singing to you right now. The world loves you, as you deserve. And of course, so do I.
As I write this, you are only seven. It is my deepest wish to be there at your side today. But because none of us know where life will take us, it is important to me that certain things be said:
Don’t change. Everything you need to be is already there inside you. I see it every day. You are curious and brave and honest and so very alive. So very real. You are the light in every room you enter. You grow every day, every minute, and you always will. It’s your nature and your gift. Share that with the man you love and your own babies. Who will be so lucky that you are their mommy.
As you’re putting on your gown and pulling up your hair, I will be with you. Wherever I am. I will be with you.
I seal it in an envelope and put it in my desk drawer. After all, the kid is only seven. She’d tear it open in a New York minute.
I catch a cab up to Elle. Haven’t been there in a while. Jerome is glad to see me. Everyone’s glad to see me today. I just charge into Mom’s cubicle as she’s sorting through a million photos. I announce that I’m treating her to lunch. I’m completely ready not to take no for an answer when she says, “Great.”
I take her to the Palm Court at the Plaza because she used to take me there for tea so I could hope to spot Eloise and Skipperdee. I think I gave up on Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny way before I let go of Skipperdee.
“Wow,” she says as the maitre d’ seats us. “How big is that pilot fee again?”
I laugh and tell her she’ll have to call my agent for that. I’m an artist and don’t involve myself in such matters.
We eat big sloppy burgers and have the best time. She asks when I’m moving to Los Angeles, and I realize we’ve never actually discussed the specifics of that. She looks quite sad beneath her smile, and I guess I never realized how much she’d miss me.
She tells me that she’s taking all three weeks of her vacation, plus eight days of accumulated sick leave, and instead of Martha’s Vineyard, we’re all going to drive out to California together to get me settled. I remind her that if the show is canceled, I’ll be coming back to New York with my tail between my legs. She says that’s never going to happen. She knows in her heart what I’m destined to be. And that this is the start of all that. I lean over and kiss her.
Then she chokes up a little. She wishes Benjamin were here to see this. I do too. I tell her that I’ve been dreaming of him and that what I know in my heart is that he sees all of this. She nods, trying to pretend she believes this and trying not to cry.
I think of how much Andrew means to me. It makes me think in a new way what it must be like for her to think of my dad. We never know what our parents really have together. It’s funny, but we don’t think of them as real people in that way. I reach over and wrap my fingers around her hand. I debate whether to say that he loved her very much. I decide against it. She knows. She doesn’t need me to tell her.
Our cab drops her at the office. Just before she opens the door, she looks in my eyes.
“Thank you,” she says. “For everything you mean to Jade. It means everything to me to have you as my partner in raising her.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, trying to keep it light. But I guess my vo
ice betrays me because she gives me this quick, fierce hug before she jumps out.
As the cab rolls on toward Jade’s school, it strikes me as strange that my mom has said this. She never has before, not quite this way. As if she’s saying goodbye. I wonder if it’s because she’s feeling the weight of me moving to Hollywood, of our impending separation. And just now, I’m feeling it too.
I sit on the curb in front of Jade’s Montessori. I’ve seen this place a million times, but it looks new today as everything does. The kids run out to waiting cars and moms and nannies. They seem particularly adorable today, filled with the promise of after-school snacks and playdates. Bless their hearts.
Tiny hands reach from behind me to cover my eyes. She never says “guess who” during these tests of my intelligence because she fears I’ll recognize her voice. Among the hundreds of people with whom I play this game on a regular basis. I start with the Princess of Wales, as she and I have decided to call Kate Middleton, even though she is a commoner to some. I am wrong. I move along to Lady Gaga. I get a giggle, but I’m wrong again. I think harder. I try Sean Connery since Jade has decided he will always be the only real James Bond. A deep voice with a horrible Scottish accent says, “Getting warmer.” I smile.
“Jade Jameson, of course.”
“Our board of judges,” says the Scottish accent, which has become even horribler, “requires a complete answer.”
“Jade Grace Jameson.” Which is of course correct. I’ve always loved the fact that Grace is also Sloane’s mom’s name.
We walk home holding hands. We pick up Boris, who for some reason looks absolutely semi-acceptable today. We head to the Hudson River Greenery, stopping at the bodega for Japanese donuts, a special treat. They’re made of chewy mochi, filled with sweet red beans, and smothered in powdered sugar.
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