by Sonya Sones
and say,
“I can
forgive you,
Mom.
I can
forgive you
right now.”
Until Today
Until
this very minute actually,
I was
under the impression
that when you forgave people
you did it to make them feel better.
Now I see that it works
the other way around:
forgiving people
makes you feel better.
Or maybe . . .
Oh, I don’t know . . .
Maybe it makes both of you
feel better.
When Mom and I
Are done wiping our eyes
and blowing our noses,
we continue on
to Cristo’s house.
But it isn’t until we’ve ridden a few blocks,
that I start to notice them—
taped onto every tree
and lamppost and empty wall:
LOST DOG signs
with Pixel’s photo on them.
Beautifully made signs
offering a $1000 reward,
with both my parents’
cell numbers listed.
I’ve cried a zillion times already today.
Why stop now?
When We Get to Cristo’s
And I step into his yard,
I can’t help feeling
a pang.
I’d give anything to be able
to call him right now and tell him all about
how Operation Red turned out.
But I guess
that’s not exactly
an option . . .
Pixel and Sequoia are chasing
each other around in such tight circles
that it’s hard to tell who’s chasing who.
Dad’s standing by the pool watching them,
with a now-I’ve-seen-everything grin
on his face.
I busy myself filling
Sequoia’s food and water bowls
while Mom goes over to talk to Dad.
I can tell by his serious expression
that she’s filling him in
on our conversation.
When She’s Done
He tries to hug her, but she pulls away.
He smiles sadly, squares his shoulders,
and marches over to me.
He clears his throat
and reaches for my hands.
But I slip them into my pockets.
“I owe you an apology too,” he says.
“For letting you think, even for a minute,
that Noah’s disappearance was your fault.”
“You sure do,” I say. “You owe me an apology
for that. And for your disappearing act, too.
I mean, you haven’t exactly been around much . . .”
“You’re absolutely right,” he says,
looking straight into my eyes.
And I can see that he really means it.
“I realized something last night,” he continues,
“when you called me and I didn’t even bother
listening to your message till my meeting was over.
I realized that I’ve been escaping
into my work to hide from you and your mom.
Because being around the two of you . . .
Well . . . I guess it reminded me
that Noah was gone.
And I just couldn’t cope with it.
I am so sorry for that, Molly. So very sorry . . .”
His voice cracks when he says this.
And something inside of me cracks, too.
Then,
I’m pulling my hands
out of my pockets
to take hold of his.
While Sequoia Eats Her Dinner
I sit with my parents on the lounge chair,
Pixel curled in my lap,
and tell them all about Red.
When they ask me whose yard this is,
I just tell them it belongs
to a friend of hers.
I don’t even mention Cristo.
I need to keep that part
of my life to myself.
Besides,
it would hurt too much
to talk about him right now—
about how
it really seemed
like he liked me.
Until it didn’t.
I Feel So Overwhelmed All of a Sudden
I wish I could talk to Red about him.
She’d understand . . .
She’s only been gone a couple of hours,
but I already miss her a ton.
I guess I’ve been so obsessed
with trying to get her back to her family
that I didn’t even notice that, along the way
somewhere, she’d become my best friend.
Sure—
she’s totally crazy.
But that’s a big part of what makes her
such fun to be with.
And what makes her so . . .
I don’t know . . .
So weirdly wise
about everything.
I mean, if it weren’t for Red,
I’d still be walking around hating myself,
feeling like Noah’s disappearance
was all my fault.
Red saved me.
My Battery’s Totally Dead
So I have to borrow my dad’s phone
to Google the hospital’s visiting hours.
But it turns out
I could see Red right now!
My parents offer
to drive me over.
And we stop on the way so I can buy her
some Skittles and Pringles and Silly Putty.
I walk up to the desk in the lobby
and tell the man I’m here to see Red.
“I’m sorry,” he says
with a sympathetic smile.
“But she doesn’t want any visitors,
and we have to respect her wishes.”
Red doesn’t know anyone
in Santa Monica but me.
It’s me
she doesn’t want to see.
My throat closes up.
Pixel nudges his nose into my palm.
I leave my gifts on the counter
and run back out of the hospital.
I’m Not Going to Say
That the week between
Christmas and New Year’s Eve
was a blissful cozy time spent
with my deeply apologetic parents.
I’m not going to say that a workaholic
and a pothead, who are trying not
to work and smoke for the first time
in almost a year, are any fun to be around.
Or that Mom suddenly decided
to forgive Dad for ignoring her for so long
and that they started acting all lovey-dovey.
Because they definitely didn’t.
I’m not going to say how selfless I was either—
how I tended to my mom’s every need,
brewing chamomile tea to calm her nerves,
baking cookies to tempt her to eat.
Because I haven’t been doing any of that.
Though I did hide my dad’s cell phone
and computer (at his request)
for a couple of hours one afternoon.
I’m not going to say
that it didn’t demolish me
whenever I had to go over
and feed Cristo’s cat.
Or that
I finally stopped having
those hideous nightmares
about the coffin.
Or that it didn’t hurt like hell
when I called the hospital every day
and every day I was told that Red
wasn’t accept
ing any visitors.
I’m not going to say
any of that.
Because if I did—
I’d be lying.
The Truth Is
I really miss Red.
I miss her more each day.
I even sort of miss
The Duke and Lana.
(Though I don’t exactly like
admitting that.)
There are some days
when I think I miss Cristo
almost as much
as I miss Red.
And other days when I miss Red
almost as much as I miss Noah.
Or even a little more
than I miss Noah.
And when that happens
I feel kind of guilty.
Which makes me feel
even worse.
But When It Gets Real Bad
I picture Red
in the hospital,
sitting in a sunny room,
her mind becoming more and more clear,
like a window someone’s washing
with a squeegee.
I picture
her sanity returning to her
like a long-lost friend.
I picture her
dancing out of the hospital
into her family’s waiting arms
and piling into a minivan with them
for the long, pretty drive home
along the coast up to San Francisco
and how happy they all are
to be together
again.
And though none of that
makes me miss Red any less,
it does dull the ache in my chest.
And sometimes, picturing all of that
sort of makes me feel like my heart’s
too big to fit inside of me.
Because it’s just so full.
When I Wake Up on December 31st
The first thing I notice
is that I’m not drenched in sweat.
I must not have had
the coffin dream . . .
Then Pixel pulls open my curtains,
letting the sun stream in.
I groan and yank the covers up
over my head.
I wish I could just stay in bed all day
watching YouTube.
If I could do that,
maybe I wouldn’t have to face the fact
that today
is the first anniversary
of my brother’s
disappearance.
And maybe I wouldn’t have to fall
down the dark well of gloom
that’s threatening
to swallow me whole . . .
But Sequoia needs to be fed.
Even if her owner is a heartless jerk.
So I drag myself out of bed, throw on
some clothes, pop Pixel into the bike basket,
and head over to Cristo’s.
Halfway There
While waiting
at the corner of 4th and California
for the light to change,
I happen to glance off to the left
and notice some kids selling lemonade
at a stand down the block.
Suddenly,
I’m blinking back
the tears.
And even though
the stand is a little bit out of my way,
I ride straight over to it.
I order two cups
and guzzle them
both down.
Then I tell the kids
it was the most delicious lemonade
I ever drank.
And before I head off again,
I make sure to ask them
for their recipe.
I Pedal Through Palisades Park
And cruise past the spot
where Pixel ran toward Red and me
like a beautiful white blur . . .
Past the spot
where I stood and watched
as the ambulance carried her away . . .
I think about Red.
About how I couldn’t get her back
to her family,
but at least now they know
she’s in the hospital, safe,
and getting better every day . . .
I think about my parents.
And about the therapy session
we all went to yesterday—
about how the doctor said it might
take us a while to realize that Noah’s
disappearance wasn’t any of our faults, . . .
and that if Mom and Dad were willing
to work hard on their relationship,
she was hopeful they could repair it . . .
I think about
everything that’s happened,
and I wonder how it’s possible
to feel so happy and so sad,
so full and so empty,
at the exact same time.
Pixel looks up at me from his basket
and cocks his head as if to say,
“Life is a mysterious thing.”
Then, just as I cross over Ocean Avenue
and head up Adelaide Drive,
my phone starts ringing.
I reach into my pocket to fish it out
and . . . oh my God—
it’s Cristo!
A Part of Me
Is so pissed off at him,
and so hurt,
that I don’t even want to pick up.
I just want
to let it go straight
to voice mail.
But another part of me
is practically dying to know
what he has to say.
And that’s
the part
that wins.
When I Answer Cristo’s Call
The first thing he tells me
is how awesome it is to hear my voice.
“Like in the literal sense of awesome,” he says,
his own voice sounding kind of shaky.
Then he tells me he’s incredibly sorry
that he hasn’t been in touch,
but that the morning after we last talked,
his parents took him to upstate New York
to visit his uncle Jeremy’s new cabin
in the middle of nowhere.
Only they accidentally on purpose
forgot to tell Cristo that they’d be
staying there for a whole week.
And that his uncle’s cabin was off-grid—
which meant that there was no Wi-Fi,
no internet, not even a landline!
So, basically, he’d been abducted.
And when he demanded that
they drive him somewhere with a signal
so he could let me know what was going on,
they said they were really sorry
but that the nearest Wi-Fi
was over two hours away
and they just couldn’t do it.
Then, finally, on the day they were
supposed to be heading back to the city,
there was a blizzard.
And then Cristo’s voice cracks a little,
and he tells me that he’s been
totally freaking out because
they weren’t able to dig themselves out
and get back to civilization until . . .
Well—until just this very minute.
What I Know Now
I know that when you think
that the boy you like
has stopped liking you,
but then he calls you
and you find out that he hasn’t
stopped liking you at all
and that maybe
he likes you even more
than you thought he did,
that in fact
he likes you a whole lot,
not just a little bit,
it makes
&nbs
p; you feel like
a sparkler
that’s just been lit.
Then
Cristo asks me
how Pixel and Sequoia are,
and what happened with Operation Red.
And I fill him in on everything.
“Whoa . . . ,” he says, when I tell him
about Red being in the hospital.
“You did an amazing thing for her, Molly.
But I bet you really miss her.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
And that’s when he tells me
that he’ll be home tomorrow.
Tomorrow!
And that he’ll do his best to cheer me up.
We make a plan to take a ride
on the Ferris wheel at sunset on the pier.
And then
we just sit there for a while,
listening to the sound of each other
grinning ear to ear.
I’m Still Not Sure If God Exists
But
I am sure
that if he didn’t
want people to feel
the way I’m feeling
right now,
he wouldn’t
have created
hearts.
It’s Almost Midnight
I’m sitting between my parents
on the couch in the family room,
with Pixel
snoozing in my lap,
watching the celebration
in Times Square.
Just as the ball begins to make
its slow-motion twinkly decent,
Dad smiles at Mom and me
and says, “Happy New Year, ladies.”
Mom and I
smile back at him.
Then Mom takes hold of one of my hands
and Dad takes hold of the other,
like we’re three links
in a chain.
The Emcee Starts Counting Down
Ten . . .
nine . . .
eight . . .
seven . . .
six . . .
five . . .
four . . .
three . . .
two . . .
And that’s when
my phone buzzes.
I pull it out of my pocket,
expecting to see a text from Cristo.
But it’s not
from Cristo.
It’s from—
Noah! Noah!
And it’s just
two words:
I’m okay.
Acknowledgments
Many kind, patient, and generous people helped me write this book. Here are my heartfelt thank-yous: