Pieces of Hope

by Carter, Carolyn

  “Patric must have forgotten the papers were there.” He was running his hand across his forehead in nerve wracking fashion. His voice cracked, and pain resonated in my chest. “Maybe it was an accident and he’d meant to put them away earlier,” he rambled on. “Then again, I don’t believe in accidents. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t looked when I picked up those papers, hadn’t stopped to read what they said. When I was younger, I never understood why I didn’t look like anyone in the family. After that day, it finally made sense . . .”

  I couldn’t say anything. The pain, expanding in my chest, was exquisite. I’d tuned in a little too closely to Ethan. It was almost unendurable.

  “I know why they didn’t tell me about the adoption. I’m certain Patric and Madeline believe I couldn’t have been more loved—and they’re probably right. But discovering that big of a secret about yourself, at any age, without being able to talk to someone, put me in a difficult spot.”

  “You found out you were adopted, but didn’t talk to your parents about it?”

  He shrugged. “It might have hurt them to think that they had accidentally hurt me. I couldn’t bear the thought of that. Most days it didn’t affect me. But then, sometimes I dreamt about them. About her, mostly. Sometimes I dream that she still misses me.”

  I pretended to guess, but my tears were real—“And the adoption agency listed on the documents was in Eugene? Is that why you’re here? To find her?”

  He nodded. “The agency’s name was Happy Endings. Ironic, isn’t it? But I checked. It’s no longer in business. For the first few months I was here, I’d walk around town thinking that someone might recognize me. Might cross me on the street and say, ‘Hey, you look like so-and-so.’ Or maybe, ‘You look like so-and-so’s son.’”

  “So you came to Oregon because you want to know your history, and you wonder if your mother is alive.” Ethan nodded again, marveling at the depth of my understanding.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said. “I’m not comparing what I feel for my mother to what you feel for yours. I miss mine, but it’s because I never knew her. It’s because I may never know her. That’s not the same as losing her.” He stroked my face with the back of his hand. His eyes were glistening again. I breathed more easily, thankful the truth was out in the open and that Ethan looked relieved. “Not knowing is the hardest part . . . I get it. I know what that’s like—the not knowing. I live with it every single day.”

  When he kissed me, something in the distance caught my attention. I stole a sideways glance at the early dawn. Streaks of something other than the sun’s rays painted the heavens in huge, sweeping bursts of color. I suppressed a gasp. It was my face! And it was big. Five-story building big. Daniel was delicately holding a paintbrush in his right hand, pointing it towards the sky, and making long strokes in mid-air. Sometimes he dabbed in the direction of a grapevine or at the darkened earth or nearer to the sun’s rays for the colors in my hair. The painting looked more beautiful than I could ever be in real life. I both despised and adored the artist in that instant.

  “Ethan!” I was breathing too hard. I took his face in my hands, hoping to shield him from my lies for an instant longer. “There’s something I need to . . . Something I should have told you about . . . About Daniel!” I couldn’t finish my thought. I watched confusion cross his face. “This isn’t easy to tell you, but I—I—”

  “Well, if it isn’t the lovely couple.” The voice came out of nowhere and everywhere. My stomach dropped. Daniel was only fifty feet away, strolling languidly toward us, wearing a bemused expression on his innocent-looking face. Reaching Erratic Rock, just yards from where we sat, he reclined back and propped his head on his hand—watching us all the while. I cringed as I imagined him blabbing the horrible truth to Ethan without giving me a chance to explain. Purposely causing him pain—which is what I believed Daniel intended to do—would only happen over my dead body!

  And yet, as Ethan caught sight of Daniel, he seemed the essence of calm. It scared me more than a little—mostly because it seemed so out of place. Well, there was that and I’d seen this movie one time, where just before the main character killed someone, he wore that exact expression.

  “Danielle . . .” Ethan began, and I nearly lost it when he called Daniel by the female version of his name. “Your over-the-top attempts to glean Hope’s affection seem desperate at best. There’s no need for grandiose gestures.” His voice was low, not abrasive. And pleasant, like he was chastising a child. “And speaking of grandiose, what were you thinking when you painted her nose?”

  Daniel shot up, jerking his head toward his portrait in the sky. I could see no flaws. It was the sort of painting that could have hung in a museum—if it were a lot smaller. In it, my hair was a dark chestnut with bold streaks of purple and gold. My features were perfect. My lips dewy. My nose well-proportioned . . .

  Daniel burst into malicious laughter.

  “All the world loves a critic!” Dramatically pausing, he flashed dark, moody glances Ethan’s way. “And what is it you do, Ian? What talents do you possess?” Rubbing his chin in his hand, Daniel’s eyes flashed wickedly. “Ahh, that’s right. You’re a nurse. I’ve got a bet going. I say they make you wear dresses . . . but maybe you do that all on your own?”

  “Only on Thursdays,” Ethan replied with a tight smile. “But it’s not mandatory.” We were still half-sitting, half-leaning in the grass. Sitting up straighter, Ethan slipped his arm around my waist. I took it as a protective measure, rather than a jealous one. “What’s with the surprise visit?” Ethan asked, speaking not-so-pleasantly through his teeth now. “Can’t find enough former friends to torture—other than Hope, I mean?”

  “Last time I saw Hope,” Daniel countered, “I wouldn’t exactly call it torture.”

  “Hey, boys . . .” My chuckle sounded a little hysterical. “Play nice.”

  “I don’t believe Hope wants you here, Danielle,” Ethan said more forcefully. The air rushed into my lungs and I started to cough. Ethan patted me on my back, then helped me to my feet. I still wasn’t breathing steadily, worried that Daniel was going to spill the morally reprehensible truth to Ethan. Not now! I kept thinking. For God’s sake, not now!

  “Is that true, my love?” Daniel begged sweetly. “Do you want me to go?”

  I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. It was a given that he was smirking, and his casual use of ‘my love’ in front of Ethan made my stomach knot. I scuffed a sneaker across the ground and nodded.

  I could feel his eyes on me. “Did you like my present?” Daniel asked.

  The portrait? “Yeah, sure, nice,” I muttered at my shoe.

  “You missed your birthday,” he went on. “November twenty-second—one-half—do you remember? Did Ephraim mention you’d missed it?”

  Ethan, I wanted to say. His name is Ethan. But, of course, he knew that already. It was nauseating the way Daniel kept bringing up the past in front of Ethan. When we were together, I told him that my birthday in fractions reduced to one-half. When he told me that his was the ninth of March (one-third), I teased that he wasn’t quite my perfect half. Only two halves could make a whole, I’d told him.

  “I missed my birthday?” It was surprising how disappointed I felt.

  “I planned to tell you later,” Ethan muttered under his breath. “I didn’t dream of you that day. I guess you weren’t quite . . . yourself.” I’d bet it was that trip to rescue Daniel that caused me to miss my birthday. Yet another reason to choke him later.

  “Better luck next year.” Daniel couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic. I stared a hole into him, imagining those earlier laser beams zeroing in on his smiling eyes.

  “Okay, I get it,” he chuckled. “Three’s a crowd.” He took a step then turned back to Ethan. “Unless, of course, Enid would rather do the honors . . .”

  Ethan squeezed me tighter. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither is Hope.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Daniel said smugly.


  And during the split second where I’d glanced at Ethan then back at Daniel—and without ever seeing him draw back a shortcut or vanish into vapor—Daniel was gone. And just like that, so went the tension, like someone had taken a vacuum and sucked it from the air.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, that was—” Horrible. Gut-wrenching. Guilt-inducing.

  “Awkward,” Ethan finished.

  “Mmm, exactly what I was thinking,” I mumbled, nibbling on a fingernail.

  Ethan took my hand and led me back to Erratic Rock. It felt cool and smooth to the touch. We sat down facing one another on the flat slab. Though it was disappointing that only our knees were touching, Ethan seemed to have a reason for it. For several unspoken reasons, I would have preferred as little physical separation as possible.

  “I love this big old rock,” I blurted, thankful for a chance to change the subject. “I have a ridiculous affinity for rocks of all kinds,” I said. “I thought long and hard about being a geologist instead of a vet. But thanks to my dad, veterinarian won out in the long run.”

  “Yeah, I was counting on that.” He pulled out a small emerald green box from his pocket and placed it between us.

  “You were counting on me being a veterinarian? Is there a small dog in there?”

  He laughed, his pleasant mood—and his pale violet hue—returning. “Open it.”

  I grinned, then gave myself a slight mental pinch to focus. His glow was distracting me. “I can’t believe I missed my birthday!” My eighteenth! In two years, I’d no longer be a teenager. Why did twenty sounded so old? And for that matter, how many days had I been in a coma? If the accident was November twelfth, and I’d missed my birthday—I ticked off the days on my fingers.

  “Open it,” Ethan urged, pushing the box closer.

  Although I usually thought birthdays and holidays were overrated—possibly a scam by the Hallmark people to sell more junk—I beamed at him, happy to see him happy again.

  “You must have checked my chart at the hospital,” I announced, still grinning.

  “Didn’t have to . . .” Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Your family threw a bedside party for you that day. You wore a pointy hat.” I grimaced. It sounded perfectly depressing—my family gathering around my limp body, blowing out my candles, wishing me another year to grow on. Ethan shrugged. “What can I say? It was Brody’s idea.”

  Fumbling with the velvet box in the palm of my hand, I flipped it open and gasped. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. I reached for the cord, but my fingers were clumsy so I grabbed at the round, craggy pendant suspended from the velvety cord.

  “I love it! I’ve never seen anything like it,” I cried. “What is it exactly?”

  “It’s a necklace,” Ethan replied, laughing. I sent him a look, which only made him laugh harder.

  “What’s it made of?” Suspended from a thin black cord, the pendant had an uneven edge. Various shades of green and purple shimmered in the sunlight as I twisted it back and forth. It was the most beautiful gift I’d ever received.

  “Here, let me put it on you.” He slipped the necklace from the box. His long fingers easily undid the clasp, and I felt the cold metal as it touched my neck. The glistening stone landed just beneath my collarbone.

  “How does it look?” I asked, fingering the stone.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “Just as I imagined.” I noticed as he spoke he wasn’t looking at the necklace, only at my face.

  I had no words. Speech was so overrated.

  “The pendant is made from a hollow rock that’s lined with crystals. Once they slice it thin and flat, you see all those amazing colors. It’s called a geode.” His voice dipped deeper, softer. “I wanted you to have something that would never let you forget me—something you would love from the moment you saw it. And for the girl who loves to climb rocks, nothing else would do.” Ethan tapped the stone.

  “Mom and I used to have a girl’s day out on my birthday,” I sighed, a sudden rush of sentiment causing me to think of her. “In truth, it was a tradition I never got used to. At her insistence, we’d get pedicures, then have lunch at a tearoom in town, ordering three deserts between us. It was always just Mom and me. Not even Claire was invited.”

  “Maybe next year I can take you there . . .”

  I returned to the present moment, still rubbing the geode. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

  Ethan reached up to brush back my hair, allowing his hand to linger on my cheek. With his other arm, he pulled me closer. We were no longer two separate pieces. I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. My half melded with his half.

  “By the way, mine’s April eighth,” he breathed near my lips. “Looks like I’m your other half . . .” he said. Then he kissed me.

  It was and wasn’t like all my other kisses. Intense—yes. Passionate enough to erase the troubling questions in my mind . . . Questions about what the future held for us, and the myriad of choices that loomed before me . . . But somehow different, too. He seemed to have a purpose in mind. His lips lingered on mine—fierce then tender, patient then urgent, crazy then gentle. I could feel his strong will, urging me to . . .

  Just. Wake. Up.

  When his lips left mine, the words came rushing out. “I need to tell you something. I should have told you sooner. Something bad happened, Ethan. It’s about Da—”

  But before I could finish, darkness swallowed me up. Into the emptiness, I groaned. I couldn’t help wondering about Ethan’s sudden untimely awakening. There was usually a fair warning of sorts—a fading—not an abrupt ending. For some reason, Daniel’s sarcastic taunt came back, “Are you sure about that?” He’d uttered it in response to Ethan’s comment that he wasn’t leaving, Daniel was. I stopped. Had Daniel . . . ? No, he couldn’t have . . . Had he returned to the living realm and shook Ethan awake? Could he do that?

  I knew my answer when I heard his mocking laughter resonating in my head.

  Fuming, I wished myself back to the Station. This was going to take several slices of pie to calm me down. And he had better not intercept me! He had better not!

  19 Reminders

  Of all the things to do, we played cards.

  After devouring three pieces of cheesecake—plain, cherry, then blueberry—I felt much calmer. We sat at our usual booth where Rin had me boxed-in at the corner. Through the windows, I could see the spotless yellow-bricked street; the businesses that lined it—all of them in exquisite old-fashioned detail, and always closed. Last but not least, the perpetual purpley-blue horizon. This place made it easier to forgive the stupidity of Daniel’s nonsense, and easier to forget the role that I played in it—though it killed me to admit that.

  Creesie and Gus sat across from us, and Charlotte had pulled up an extra chair on the end. No one asked what had happened since I’d last seen them. No one pressured me about going back to my body. And no one asked anything about my necklace, although I had taken the time to pull it from under my collar so everyone could see it. Even Cat was on her best behavior. If I hadn’t been on such a sugar high (and looking forward to my next visit with Ethan) it might have occurred to me that this was a little strange. But in the midst of cake, cards, and laugh-out-loud stories from Gus, little else registered.

  Charlotte was nearly as good at rummy as Sophie was at Monopoly, so we switched to poker instead. Dad ran a game with his old college buddies every Wednesday evening, and I’d watched and played hands often enough to be considered just slightly dangerous.

  But several hands into it, Charlotte started winning at penny poker as easily as she had at rummy. I was ready to throw in the towel, my shirt, my final ten cents, when Charlotte suddenly excused herself without any explanation. She was in such high spirits, though, I knew it had to be a visit with her mother.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she giggled in her little-girl voice. Creesie smiled back, laying out a full flush as Charlotte fled into the crowd.

  After numerous groans from the four remaining players, we switche
d to Go Fish. At last, a game I could win at! It did occur to me that they might be letting me win. Given their mind-reading abilities, they could certainly see my cards—well, everyone’s cards—but I was too engrossed in winning to think too much about it.

  Creesie glanced at the clock on the wall, the one without any hands.

  “Time to go,” she said. “Let’s not dilly-dally.” Her announcement was so abrupt that everyone was out of the booth before I had a chance to move.

  “Why are you still sitting there?” Rin asked me in a rush. She had her hands on her hips, and was standing next to the booth waiting for me. I was scarcely on my feet before she had taken me by the elbow and whisked me through the Station, Creesie and Gus in the lead. Seconds later, she yanked me through the wall of glass and dragged me up the three steps of the shiny, flat-nosed bus.

  “Is there a fire?” I panted. “Where are we going?” She didn’t answer me, but just as we disappeared, her hand in mine, I thought I heard someone mention a party.

  Before us sprawled an impressive home, with a bleached-blond door and plenty of lush landscaping. The scent of salt hung in the air—I tasted it on my lips—and I could hear waves crashing somewhere close. A steady breeze was blowing and a full moon hung in the evening sky. Unbridled excitement filled the air like too much static electricity. It emanated off of Rin, Gus, and Creesie in waves, just like the ones I heard nearby.

  “Where are we?” I asked, to no one in particular. I tried to place the house. “Did one of you say something about a party?”

  A fresh ocean breeze lifted my hair. Something caught my eye, and as I looked to my right, I saw that Rin had changed into a shimmery silver dress, very modern, her hair pulled up in a loose chignon. Glancing over my shoulder, I did a double-take. Creesie and Gus had slipped into equally striking attire. Gus, in a retro-suit and skinny tie. And Creesie, in a fitted fifties stunner and sky-high heels. Rin, pushing past me to ring the doorbell, nearly knocked me over into a plump bush with tiny flowers. Chimes rang. I was still gawking at the three of them when someone else spoke.