The Untimely Deaths of Alex Wayfare

by M. G. Buehrlen

  “You think I feel neglected because you break your back, dedicating your life to saving people like Audrey? If I feel anything, I feel proud. You might not be like Gran, but that doesn’t matter. You’re a hero, Mom. And heroes can’t be there for their families like normal people can. They have to sacrifice. We all get that. All of us.”

  A tear runs down her cheek, and she folds my hands into hers on the table. She sniffs. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  I truly am. No lies this time. For once I opened my mouth and let truth spill out. And it felt good and redemptive down to the soul. I don’t want to lie to my family anymore, not if I can help it. For the next few months, I want to be honest, and tell them how I feel. How privileged I am to know them.

  When the dumplings come, Mom drops a few on a plate for me, using chopsticks like a pro. “I thought dumplings were appropriate. In China, they’re eaten on New Year’s to bring luck, like how we always have corned beef and cabbage. I thought we could use all the luck we can get right now.”

  “Cheers?” I say, forgoing the chopsticks and holding a dumpling up with my fingers. It couldn’t hurt, hoping for a little luck.

  We bump our dumplings together like wine glasses. “Cheers.”

  With the first bite, I make a wish, tossing my penny into Buckingham Fountain. I wish for a cure for Audrey, a life lived fully for her, and a happy ending for my family after I’m gone.

  “Tell me about this cure you’re working on for Audrey.”

  Between bites, Mom explains. “There’s this relatively new treatment where we genetically modify a patient’s cells, turning them into little warrior cells. The warrior cells attack the cancer cells, completely eradicating the cancer in the entire body. It’s really quite remarkable. A few patients we’ve tested it on have been cured within a handful of weeks.”

  “You train their own bodies, their own cells, to fight back?”

  “Precisely,” she says smiling, chewing.

  “Why can’t you use the treatment on Audrey?”

  “We’ve never been successful with late-stage cancer patients, only early-stage. On the late-stage patients, the warrior cells are too zealous—they attack other cells, too, not just the cancer cells. We need more clinical trials and testing. And that takes time and money.”

  Mom shakes her head and sighs. “The stupid part is, scientists have been studying this type of immunotherapy for decades. Back in the seventies, a team of scientists at AIDA had a ninety percent success rate with late-stage patients like Audrey. Ninety percent. That’s huge.”

  “So what’s the problem? Why can’t you do what they did?”

  “We have no idea how they did it. Their data was lost—poof, just like that—in a fire. The discoveries they made never made it into the history books, the medical research journals.” She smiles at me in her sad-but-there’s-no-need-to-fret kind of way. It’s the same look Audrey gives me. She got it from Mom, but I never inherited it. I don’t have enough hope in my veins to pull it off. “They didn’t keep everything on hard drives back then, you know. It was all handwritten or typed on a typewriter, filed away in cabinets. That’s what my team’s been working on all these years. Recreating that lost data. Uncovering their secrets, what they did differently.”

  My skin tingles, and I sit up straighter. “And if you had those lost files? If they were sitting right in front of you?”

  “Then we could get approval to conduct another trial, and we could start treatment on Audrey.” She chews on another dumpling, staring out the window at the snow, her eyes far off. “I dream about it almost every night, actually, someone coming across the files in an attic somewhere. Some kind of unbelievably lucky fluke where the files were never in that fire. But I always wake up, and all I can do is get back to work.”

  “Maybe someone will find them,” I say.

  Her eyes slide back to mine. “That’s why we’re eating the dumplings, right? For extra luck.”

  We don’t talk about Mom’s work or the missing research for the rest of the night, even on our drive back home to Annapolis. I couldn’t talk about it even if I wanted to. My hands are shaking too much. My heart is beating too fast. Because Mom doesn’t need luck.

  She needs me.

  Chapter 11

  Cool with Bogart

  Sunday comes and goes, but I don’t go to church with Gran, Pops, and Claire. The following week passes by, but I don’t go to school. I can’t concentrate on anything other than the lost data and how the hell I’m going to get it. I tell Mom and Dad I’m not ready to go back to school, that I want to spend as much time with Audrey as I can. They don’t object. They call in for me, they drop me off at the hospital every day and drive me home every night. They give me money for the cafeteria and all the vending machine coffee I can drink. They know I may not get moments like this with my sister ever again, and right now, that’s more important than a week sitting in classrooms, daydreaming about death, waiting with bated breath for my phone to ring so I can share my plan with Porter.

  My plan to save Audrey.

  I stopped by Porter’s apartment twice, the space he rents on the top floor of Mrs. Yoder’s little yellow Victorian house. There hasn’t been one sign of life. He’s not back yet, and I’m losing patience. It seems like forever since Micki saved me from the Descenders, since I helped plant them in the ground, since Blue told me I didn’t have much time left. It felt so long ago because it was all death, death, death, and for the past week, I’ve been thinking about life. Nothing but life, and warrior cells, and helping Audrey get the armor and weapons she needs to fight back.

  On Friday night, as I’m sitting with her at the hospital, watching The Big Sleep on my laptop and snacking on strawberry Fruit Roll-Ups, I get a text from Jensen. It’s the fourth I’ve gotten this week, but I haven’t replied to any of them. I haven’t even read them. I don’t know why. Maybe because I don’t know what to say. Maybe I feel bad for not starting work on his car. Or maybe I think it’ll be easier this way, if our friendship just sort of fades away. He’s not like Blue. He wouldn’t understand why I have to die.

  We die, Sousa. It’s what we do.

  Oddly, these words of Blue’s have always comforted me. Made death something I didn’t have to fear.

  Audrey glances at my phone. “Who is it?”

  “Just Jensen.”

  “Just Jensen,” she repeats, grinning.

  My family has teased me about my crush on Jensen since before I can remember. It used to make me blush and fidget in my chair. Not anymore.

  It feels like nothing bothers me anymore. Like I’m immune to it all.

  I’m dying, Audrey. I speak the words silently in my head. Test them out where no one can hear.

  Audrey unwraps another Fruit Roll-Up. “Has he asked you out yet?”

  I snort, grabbing one for myself. “No way.”

  “Why not? I know he likes you.”

  “You’re delirious. It must be your current cocktail of meds.”

  She gives me a whatever, you know I’m right look.

  “He doesn’t,” I say. “I am so not his type. And even if he did like me, I wouldn’t have time for that kind of thing right now anyway.”

  She arches a brow. “Jensen’s the kind of guy you make time for, Allie.”

  I try to think of a way to explain why my plate is full without going into all the time travel, reincarnation, finding a cure for cancer before I die details, but it’s useless.

  Audrey frowns, wrapping the Fruit Roll-Up around her finger. “You can’t use me as an excuse not to live your life, you know.”

  “I’m not, I swear.” I wrap mine around my finger too. It’s something we’ve always done together.

  She gives me a disbelieving look.

  “OK, so maybe you being stuck in here is part of it. But is that so bad? When I do start dating, it’ll have to be with someone who likes hospital visits. He’ll have to be cool with sitting here with
me for hours, eating junk food.”

  “And cool with Bogart?”

  “Definitely cool with Bogart.”

  She tears a bite of the fruit leather from her finger and nestles into her pillows. Lauren Bacall calls Humphrey Bogart a mess, and Audrey giggles. “You know, you’ve always reminded me of Bacall.”

  I tilt my head at the screen. “It’s the shoulder pads, isn’t it?”

  Audrey laughs. “The nose. The lips. And you’re both so…” She pauses, searching for the right word. “Blasé.”

  “Blasé?”

  “Even when you’re surrounded by all my cancer drama, you’re the portrait of calm. The center of the storm. Nothing gets to you.”

  I laugh to myself, because a few days ago I broke down and cried all over her like a garden hose. And she’s never seen me spaz out at school. But she’s half right. I never had the luxury of being silly. Laughing freely, genuinely, like Audrey or Claire or Mom or Gran. They’ve always had this carefree way about them. Laughter came easy, from deep in their guts. I’ve always been bundled up to my neck, tied up tight, bound to the uncertainty and burden of my visions, my descending. Maybe in my next life I can be a better version of myself. Quick with a smile, a laugh. Maybe I’ll ask Porter not to let me grow up so serious next time. Maybe give me a little more backbone, too, like Micki. I should be matter-of-fact when it comes to Gesh and his Subs. Not a confused little kid, getting blindsided, but someone with purpose and determination. Someone who knows what the hell is going on and how to deal with it.

  “Hey.”

  Audrey and I look up, and the air in the room vanishes. Jensen’s standing there in the doorway, in his slouched beanie and black jacket, a pizza box in his hands.

  “Hey,” I say, jumping up. “What are you doing here?”

  Audrey pauses the movie and straightens her stocking cap.

  “I texted you,” he says. “Haven’t you gotten my texts?”

  “I…” I glance at my phone on the end table by Audrey’s bed. “I did, but I haven’t read them.”

  He frowns, and tips his head toward the door. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  “Sure.” I follow him out into the hall, rubbing my arms, hating how he looks right now, so hurt and rejected.

  “You haven’t been at school,” he says, his frown making me ache all the way down to my toes. There are droplets of melted snow on his jacket.

  “Yeah…things have been kind of crazy around here.”

  “I get that, I do. What I don’t get is why you didn’t tell me.”

  “About taking time off school?”

  “About Audrey.” He lowers his voice so Audrey can’t hear. “You let me come over to your house last weekend and ask you to rebuild my car, and you never mentioned any of this. I stopped by your house after school today and your grandpa filled me in. Told me I could find you here. And then I saw your dad downstairs, and he said I could come up.” His frown deepens. “I feel like a total jackass.”

  I touch his arm. “Please don’t. I just didn’t want you to have to worry about all this.”

  “But that’s what friends do. They worry about this kind of stuff. They want to be filled in. They want their texts read.”

  I drop my hands to my side. I know he’s right. Even if I’m not exactly sure how this friend stuff works, I know that much. I hadn’t expected him to seek me out. I thought after a few ignored texts, he’d give up and move on.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “This whole friendship thing is hard for me. I’m not very good at it.”

  The corner of his mouth hitches. “Hey, you can pull me out of the friend zone anytime, Wayfare. Just say the word.”

  I push his shoulder, and his smile blooms in full.

  “Is that for us?” I ask, and he hands me the pizza box.

  “It’s my Sorry for Being a Jackass peace offering.”

  “I’ll take it.” Back in Audrey’s room, I clear a spot on her dresser for the pizza and open the lid. Arugula, prosciutto, and fig from Matchbox. Pops must’ve told him it’s our favorite pizza in DC.

  I breathe it in and my mouth waters. “I can’t believe you drove all the way out here. And stopped at Matchbox.”

  He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I’m sure you’re getting tired of hospital food,” he says to Audrey.

  “You’re my hero,” she says as I hand her a slice and a napkin.

  Jensen backs toward the door, head down, honey-blond hair hiding his eyes. “I better head out. I didn’t mean to interrupt your movie.”

  “Hey, Peters,” I call out when he reaches the hall. “You cool with Bogart?”

  Audrey looks at me, eyes wide, and I smile at her.

  He ducks his head back in the room. “As in Humphrey?”

  Audrey nods, grinning.

  “I’ve seen Casablanca.”

  “Then you’re in,” Audrey says.

  “Come on.” I hold out a slice. “You provided the dinner. The least we can do is provide the show.”

  He smiles and joins us. I sit on the bed with Audrey, the pizza box at our feet, and Jensen takes the armchair in the corner.

  “Oh, I never liked this scene,” Audrey says, grabbing another slice and frowning at a nerdy-looking, buttoned-up bookstore clerk flirting with Bogart. He asks her if she has to wear her glasses. She says no and takes them off, and suddenly he’s totally into her.

  “See that?” Audrey says, pointing her floppy pizza slice at the screen. “She doesn’t look any different without her glasses and yet he acts like it’s this huge transformation. She was already sexy. She didn’t need to take them off.”

  “Well,” I say, stretching my legs out and sinking into Audrey’s pillows beside her, “it wasn’t sexy to be smart, independent, and own your own bookshop back then. You had to take your glasses off and let your hair down to get noticed by a dreamboat like Bogart.”

  Audrey makes an ugly sound in her throat.

  “I like to think guys have evolved since then,” Jensen says, chewing.

  “I admire your faith in the male species,” I say.

  “Hey, I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” he says, lifting a brow. “So, clearly, there’s been some evolving going on.”

  Audrey grabs another slice and takes a huge bite. “You’re just one of the rare good ones, Jensen. An anomaly.”

  He smiles, his ankle propped casually on his knee. We stuff ourselves while Audrey gives extensive commentary on the film and trivia about Bogie and Bacall. Jensen laughs along and lets us be ourselves, giggling and remarking on everything from Bacall’s racy remarks to Humphrey’s trademark nasally voice.

  Audrey keeps glancing at me, and I know what she’s doing. Look, she says with her eyes. He’s cool with Bogart.

  And for a moment, I forget everything, tucked away in this tiny pocket of the universe, without a care in the world except for the pizza disappearing too quickly. I forget it all and imagine what it would be like to live in this moment for the rest of my life.

  But it ends too soon.

  Near the end of the movie, the pizza long gone, Audrey grabs my hand. At first I think she’s reacting to the fighting onscreen, but her eyes are wide and locked on mine, red blotches blooming across her neck, chest, and arms.

  “Get the nurse,” I tell Jensen, and he rushes out into the hall.

  “You’re going to be OK,” I tell Audrey, holding fast to her hand. She nods, never taking her eyes from mine. Not even blinking. Her face is so pale, and she’s trembling.

  A team of nurses surrounds her bed, and I back away to give them room. They say she’s developed an allergic reaction to her blood thinners. They say we have to wait outside. And I think my heart stops, because an allergic reaction at this stage could kill her.

  Jensen leads me to the waiting room and when we arrive I can’t remember how we got there. I was lost in thought as we traveled the halls, terrified that this might be the time I actually lose her, hating myself for not telling her how much I love he
r, for not shouting it before I left the room.

  I make my way over to the wall of windows, moving numbly, like a ghost gliding across the floor. The city is lit up in the dark, a blanket of pinprick lights. Cars weave through the streets below, white and red blobs blurred by my tears. Snow swirls and sticks to the glass. But I don’t see any of it. I only see her eyes. You can’t imagine it unless you’ve seen it before, the light and life and fire in someone’s eyes, unable to get out because their body keeps it caged.

  Damn Porter. Why hasn’t he contacted me yet? What if he never does? I could lose her. She could take her last breath before I lift one finger to save her.

  Jensen’s shoulder brushes against mine. He doesn’t say a word, just takes my hand and holds it tight. In the tenderness of our joined palms, I can feel his heartbeat.

  Chapter 12

  Answers

  Jensen stayed with me until Dad arrived. Until the doctors let us know Audrey pulled through and was on a different medication, and I was given a second chance at saving her life. He stayed and made things bearable, showing me what real friendship was like.

  Three days later, in my kitchen having breakfast with Gran, I finally get a text from Porter. It’s from an unknown number. I’m back, is all it says.

  Where r u?

  He texts an address I’ve never seen before, which pushes me to my feet, leaving half my oatmeal unfinished. I tell Gran I’ll be at the library, and she fusses around me, making sure I have a bottle of water and packing a few slices of banana bread so I don’t get hungry. I hug her a little longer than usual, because I’m going to miss her relentless care for me. Her lemon verbena perfume mingling with the sugar and spices from whatever she baked that day. Her long gray hair pulled into a bun. Her cardigans with seasonal-themed stitching on the pockets. Today there’s a snowflake glinting at me with shimmering thread.