And I wanted him to be the one to want me.
I waited on the path, wil ing him to look out the window. To wonder about me. To come look for me. To risk something for me. But he didn't come.
After a few moments, I wandered back down the path into the milky whiteness, not bothering to look back. When I reached the place in the clearing where we'd first met, I unpinned my corsage and placed it on the stump.
"Goodbye," I whispered. "And good luck, Henry."
I walked slowly back through the clearing and broke through on our side. Katie was at the edge of the woodlot, barking like crazy.
"It's okay, girl. I'm right here," I said.
She kept barking ferociously. I ran closer to see what she was going nuts over. And I found Mae unconscious on the ground.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"What are you doing al alone in here?" Grandpa Briggs stood in the doorway.
"Nothing much." Henry sat up on his brother's bed. "Just thinking about Robert," he said.
Grandpa entered and sat down in the desk chair. "I've been doing some thinking, too." Grandpa picked up one of the toy airplanes on Robert's desk and turned the propel er. "You know, son, whatever was going to happen to our family was what was meant to be," he said. "I truly believe the Lord has a plan for al of us."
"This plan wasn't a good one."
"You take the bitter with the sweet," he said. "Can't have one without the other."
"What if it's al bitter?"
"No such thing," Grandpa said with a half smile. He set the airplane back down on the desk. "I've always looked back on the hard times and somehow found the blessings within."
"Wel —"
"Henry, something's been bothering me since that night you explained everything to us in the kitchen. You never told us why you prayed that prayer."
"It had to do with Mother," he said.
"I worried it was about her," said Grandpa.
"If we go forward, something bad might happen."
"True. But what if that is what is supposed to happen? And what if something good comes after the bad? If you don't al ow the one, then the other doesn't happen, either."
Henry nodded. He looked up at the wal s, where Robert had tacked posters of ships and airplanes. His brother had always been fascinated by the service. He had been ready to go when his turn came up. He had been ready to fight. Henry didn't share his brother's fascination. He never had.
"We can't predict what's going to happen any more than we should command what should happen. That's not for us to say." Grandpa got up from the chair and shuffled to the window. He pul ed the curtain back, peering out toward the mist. "Now you have a choice to make."
"I know, sir."
"You let us go forward and let things unfold how they wil , or you keep us here in this falsehood."
"But what about Mother? What if she—"
"Then as painful as it would be, son, that is the way it is supposed to be. We live our lives, and then we pass on."
Henry's stomach tensed. "You're saying you don't care if Mother dies."
"I care that your brother lives. "
"How did you—"
Grandpa turned back toward him. "I found this paper out on the porch swing the last time Amy was here."
Henry reached for the smal white square. "She must have left it behind."
"Did you read the date, son? It's in the next century, for goodness' sake!"
Henry forced himself to unfold the paper. There it was in black and white. A tiny picture of his brother, old and gray, and there were the dates Grandpa was talking about. "I knew there was something a little peculiar about that girl. Very sweet, but not a bit like us."
"Yes, it's true that she's not from our time. But how do we know she didn't just have this printed up? How do we know this is the truth about Robert?"
"Why would she lie to you? She likes you, and for her to tel you about your brother was the right thing to do. And how did you thank her? By sending her away. And rudely, I might add."
Henry got up from the bed and began to pace the room slowly.
"I think you know what needs to be done," Grandpa said, his voice steely.
"I didn't do this on purpose," Henry said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "When I prayed that night, I didn't expect a miracle."
"Is it a miracle? Is that what this is? Your mother and I in a fog. The summer stretching into mindlessness. I hardly cal that a miracle. In fact, I think the only miracle I have seen around this place lately is Amy." Grandpa gazed sadly at Henry. "If it weren't for that girl, your mother and I wouldn't have woken up to this phony summer. And I dare say that Amy has opened your eyes, too, son."
Henry stopped his pacing. "Yes," he said, quietly, "and if we move forward, then I'l never see her again."
"Ah." Grandpa gave Henry a gentle smile. "There's the rub."
Henry sat back down on the bed. "I've never felt this way about a girl."
"There wil be others," Grandpa said.
"No. Not like Amy. I don't want to lose her."
"She knows this is right," Grandpa said. "And the right thing is not always the easiest to do."
***
After a hard sleep, Henry walked slowly down the sunlit path to the clearing, wishing he'd find Amy waiting for him. She probably hated him for how he'd acted. He had to see her, though. He had to hold her in his arms one more time and tel her goodbye. He couldn't go on without doing that.
The mist felt like a cold, wet shroud as he stepped through it. He shivered and took steps forward. "Amy?" he cal ed, knowing that he had only a pale hope of her being there. No answer from the mist. He walked forward, into the center of the clearing, until he reached the stump. And then he saw the corsage—white gardenias.
Amy had been there, and judging by the freshness of the flowers, it hadn't been that long ago. He cal ed out for her again, but no answer came. And the sobering thought struck him that she'd been there, in the clearing, but she hadn't crossed over to see him.
Suddenly, the flowers in his hand reminded him of a funeral offering, a goodbye without words, without second chances. Amy had left that corsage, never intending to return.
She wasn't coming back.
Tucking the flowers in his pocket, he started walking in the direction of her house. But when he reached the humming edge of the clearing, he hesitated. He hadn't crossed before. He hadn't dared make the jump. He wasn't as brave as Amy. He wasn't ready for everything to col apse—at least not yet.
"Amy?" he cal ed out, one last time. And then, unwil ing to cross, he backed slowly into the safety of the mist.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The beeping of the machines was getting to me. And the smel of bad coffee and ammonia cleaners. And the fact that Mae was lying helpless in the bed.
I shifted in my chair, trying to keep from fal ing asleep. Through the blinds, I could see thick raindrops splashing down in the hospital parking lot. It was midday, and the TV was running an old cowboy movie, but I'd turned the sound way down. Outside, another ambulance screeched in, sirens blaring.
I touched the pearls around my neck and studied Mae's pale face. Her lips were colorless, her normal smile gone in favor of slackened wrinkles. I pul ed the blankets up around her again and reached for her hand. She let out a sigh and rol ed her head to the right, but didn't wake up.
"Oh, Amy," my mother said as she and Pete entered the room, shucking their coats. "Why didn't you cal us sooner? How is Mae?"
"Not good," I said, glancing over my shoulder and then down at Mae.
Pete came up and gave me an awkward pat on the back since I didn't get up from my chair. "How are you, kiddo?"
"Also not good," I said.
Mom came over and pul ed me up from the chair and into a hug. She didn't say anything, but she was breathing deeply, like she was trying to stay calm.
"'Scuse me girls. I'm gonna go find the doc and get up to speed on the situation." Pete left the room, shutting the door softly behind
him.
Mom let me go final y and looked down at Mae. "She's lost al her color."
I nodded. "Her heart was real y weakened. The surgery was tough on her."
"And you," Mom said, "you look like you've been up al night."
"Yeah, it happened after the dance."
"That explains the dress," she said, gesturing down at my outfit from Friday night.
I shrugged. I hadn't wanted to leave Mae, even for a second, so I hadn't changed when the ambulance arrived. I'd piled in the back with the medics.
"Listen, Ames—I want you to come back home with us. It's clear you can't stay with Mae now."
"She needs me here at the hospital."
Mom smiled gently. "No. I mean permanently. We're almost ready to move down to Phoenix, and it would be best if you come with us."
I bunched Mae's blanket in my fist. "I'm not leaving her."
"A heart bypass is serious stuff," Mom said. "Mae's going to need a lot of help and recuperation time. She's probably going to need to be in a rehabilitation center."
"No way," I said. "I'l help her."
"She'l need nursing—trained care. You can't do that."
"I'l learn. I'm not leaving Mae."
Pete came back into the room. "Doctor said he's been trying to get Mae to take better care of herself for some time. Amy, did you know she was on three different heart medications? Her heart's been weak for years," he said.
I felt a twinge of guilt. "I didn't know she was taking al that medicine," I muttered.
"There was a lot of stress on her heart," Pete continued.
"Yeah, she'd been pushing herself lately. I guess I should have told her to take it easy."
"Wel , it's not your fault," Mom said, squeezing my shoulder.
"Yeah, it kind of is," I said. I thought of Mae rushing through the woodlot to find dumb old me wasting my time in the clearing. I had a hand in what had happened to her. I'd spent time chasing after Henry, instead of truly being with Mae. I'd had one foot in the past the whole time I'd been living with her.
"So, in a couple of weeks we'l fly down to the desert," Mom said. "That'l give you time to say your goodbyes."
"Mom, did you not hear me? I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving my town."
" Your town? You haven't even been here for two months."
"It's home," I said. "More of a home than I've had in a long time."
Mom blinked at me, and her smile faded. "Do you think that's fair?"
"Mom, it's true. Mae listens to me. And Mae asks me about things. Mae cares."
"I always cared," Mom said.
"It's not the same—and it's not a competition," I said. "I want to stay with Mae. You don't understand."
Mom sighed. "You're being very dramatic. Mae's got a long recovery ahead of her. She can't watch out for you during that."
"No one needs to watch out for me. I'l watch out for her," I said. "I should have been doing that al this time, anyway. I screwed up on that part, I admit."
"Honey, you can't force her to move down with us," Pete offered, putting an arm around my mother.
"True." Mom reached out for my hand. "Look, I don't care how old you are; you're stil my little girl. I just want to protect you."
"Seriously?" I felt about ready to explode. She real y thought she had any interest in protecting me from anything? That was a change. She hadn't seemed to care about protecting me when I was with Matt. The words stuck in my throat, but I'm sure my expression said it al .
Mom glanced over at Pete, who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair and then back at me. "Of course I want to protect you. I'm your mother," she said in a quiet voice.
"I think we both know that when I needed your protection, you weren't there," I said, letting out a deep breath.
"Now, that's not fair," Pete said.
"Forget it," I said, shaking my head. "I love you, Mom. But I protect myself now." I turned back to Mae, who was snoring lightly. "And I'm making this decision. I'm sticking with Mae. She needs me as much as I need her."
***
"Do you think she's going to wake up while I'm gone? I feel bad leaving her tonight," I said, looking over at Jackson hours later. The drive home from the hospital seemed like an endless ride down a long, dark tunnel. I fought to keep my eyes open and resisted the urge to rest my head on Jackson's shoulder.
"Don't feel bad—you're exhausted. She'd want you to rest. I promise I'l pick you up tomorrow and drive you back down. She should be awake by then." Jackson flipped on his truck's windshield wipers.
"Yeah."
"I'l get my sweats back from you then," he said, gesturing to the clothes I'd pul ed on at the hospital. "I figured you must have been getting pretty sick of the dress."
"Yeah." I slipped lower in the seat and Jackson turned on the stereo, drowning out the noise of the engine, the noise in my head. It was what I needed more than anything. I wanted to believe that Mae was going to be al right. I wanted to believe I'd be able to take care of her on my own. I wanted to believe that everything—the clearing, Henry—had somehow been worth it, even if it had ended badly, ended with Mae in the shape she was in.
The mournful, melodic guitar chords washed over me, and the darkness of the truck's cab hid my endless supply of tears. I was sure no one, ever, in the whole wide stupid world, felt how I felt in that moment. No one understood me. Not a soul.
We rol ed up into the gravel driveway, next to Mae's rig. Jackson turned the stereo way down and slipped the car into Park. Katie trotted around to the passenger side of the truck, waiting.
"Thanks again for coming to get me."
"I'm glad you cal ed," Jackson said. "So, is there anything else I can do? Anything at al that you need? And I'm asking as a friend, Amy."
I wiped my wet cheeks with the sleeve of the borrowed sweatshirt. "No. You did a lot already," I said.
He wrapped me into a sideways hug. "You want me to come in with you, make sure you're gonna be al right?"
"Nah," I said. "I'l get a fire going and feed the dog and we'l be okay." I didn't mention to him how lonely that little trailer was going to feel.
How I'd probably cry al night with Katie, missing Mae.
Jackson let go of me, looking as if he felt helpless. But I knew there was nothing he could do or say to make anything better.
"Thanks," I said.
He gave me a soft smile. "You get some sleep tonight and I'l come get you after lunch, around one. That cool?"
"Yeah, that'd be great. Real y, I appreciate it. You're a good guy," I said.
"Thanks. You are, too," he said. "A good person, I mean, not a guy."
"I know what you mean," I said, grabbing my plastic bag of clothes from the floor. I let myself out and waved at Jackson from the porch. Once Katie and I were inside the house, through the windows I watched him slowly back down the drive.
***
It was chil y in the trailer, and the sound of the rain beating down on the metal roof made it feel even colder. I got kindling arranged, along with some paper shreds, and started the fire as Mae had shown me. In just a little while I had a smal blaze started. I added some sticks to the pile and clanked the stove door shut. Over at the rack by the door, I slipped off my heavy coat and stuck it on a hook.
And then in the pile of shoes underneath, I saw Mae's rubber boots—standing vacantly.
I held back a sob. "She's going to be okay," I said aloud. "She's going to be freaking okay!" I was shivering, so I grabbed my coat back off the hook and wrapped it around my shoulders. I had to get this place warm.
Katie joined me over at the wood stove, watching me snap more smal sticks and set them atop the burning pile. She nosed my hand until I pet her, and then I was crying again, hugging her and burying my face in her fur.
"She's fine, Katie-dog," I said, trying to calm myself down again.
And then lights hit the front windows as someone started up our driveway. Jackson had come back! I don't think I'd ever been more glad that he showed so
much interest in me. He must have been able to tel that I didn't want to be alone.
I so wanted someone else—someone besides myself—to tel me everything was going to be al right. And in that moment, I didn't care if it was true or not, I just needed to hear the words.
Anxiously, I shut the wood stove door, wiped my face with my coat sleeve again, and went to answer the door. "Jackson, I'm so—"
I heard, "Hey, babe."
And Matt Parker stepped into the lighted doorway.
CHAPTER TWENTY
This was going to be it. Henry knelt down beside his bed, as he had so many nights before, and clasped his hands together. But tonight would be different. Tonight he would undo, if he could, what he had done. And tomorrow life would go on as it should have. He supposed it was the right thing to do now, but that didn't make it easier.
"Henry?"
He looked up to see his mother standing in her blue nightgown in the doorway. Her eyes were clear and open, her smile tentative, as if she expected him to shoo her away.
"Yes, Mother?" he said. "Can I get you something?"
"I don't mean to disturb you. You go on ahead and say your prayers. I'l see you in the morning." She came in and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't worry. I'm not afraid," she whispered in his ear as she pul ed away.
Henry reached out for her hand. "What do you mean?"
His mother sat down on the bed. "Grandpa told me your fears for me, but I'm not afraid. We al have paths to walk. If I wake up tomorrow and don't remember any of this, and if something bad happens, it was meant to happen. I'm not afraid of that, and I hope you won't be, either."
"I can't let you hurt yourself," Henry said, his jaw clenching. The words felt odd to say aloud.
Mother smiled tenderly. "I haven't been wel . I'm sorry you had to endure that along with me. It's a terrible thing to want to give up on life, to feel there is no way out."
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