“It could work.”
All I need is my camera and tripod. No one in my family seems to care about my plan or even my decision to climb a roof—they’re just happy that I’m up. After ushering Joey out of my room, I pull jeans over my underwear and a clean T-shirt over my head. Only then do I notice the changes to my room.
Books line the shelves. Posters dot the walls. A new picture hangs above my bed. It’s of the ugliest moth I’ve ever seen, blown up a hundred times. Beneath it Find the beautiful is written in an elegant hand. My friends did this.
Something’s missing though.
I push open the basement door and walk down the wooden steps. The box containing Minnie’s raven sits behind the bin of Halloween decorations. My fingers trace the smooth, cool wood. I snap open the brass hasp to reveal the oily rainbow of the bird’s feathers. Its eye follows me, and my chest tightens. I ease the lid closed and carry the raven up to my room. Burying my fingers in its soft ruff, wrist pressing against the cold metal of the clock, I lift the gift from the box and set it beside the diorama. I shift the raven left and right, trying to position it so its feathers catch light from the window, but its eyes flash, and I realize they’re set with star sapphires.
I read the time on the clock and shudder—ten fifteen. It’s the time Minnie was hit. The time of her death. Minnie’s friends really are weird.
I owe Divina and Hal an apology. Maybe I can find a piece of her in them as well.
“Emmitt,” my mom calls, and I tear myself from the raven’s brilliant eyes.
“Emmitt, you need something to eat. Come sit,” she says. But I’m already tromping down the hallway. “At least take something to go.”
I turn and catch the plastic-wrapped sandwich she lobs at me. “It’s good to see you off the couch, Mom.”
“You too, Emmitt. Thank you for taking care of me and for forgiving me for not taking care of you.” She holds my stare for a good five seconds before my eyes blur with tears. “I love you.”
“You too, Mom.” The “Mom” emerges as a croak. “I love you too.” That feeling of invincibility in my gut like everyone has my back. That lightness in my head. These are symptoms of love.
Outside the air is thick with heat. My jeans cling to my legs, and I’ve only been walking a minute. But I have no time to waste. Becca has waited long enough. If her heart is rejecting, I will jam her remaining time full of living.
I pull Becca’s address from the photo of her medical record. Then I delete any trace of those pictures. I was wrong to have hacked the hospital, wrong to have betrayed the trust of my heart family. I will make reparations.
Between the subway, the train and the walk, it’s a two-hour commute to her house, but that gives me time to figure out the technical aspects of my plan. I bring Dennis in on the strategy and ask him to rent me a second VR headset compatible with my own, and then I consider what it is I plan to film, rereading her letters and emails to me.
I need Becca to know that her heart brother and Dappy the Clown are one and the same. I want her to know me, and I need to apologize at the same time. An apology for believing I had the right to enter her life without her knowledge. I know why she didn’t want to meet her heart family. Rejection doesn’t occur overnight. I don’t want to meet you. I have my reasons. She never left the PICU. She’s been rejecting Minnie’s heart all this time. It was guilt. I need her to know that it’s okay.
At the bottom of the escarpment near where Becca lives runs a long trail that hugs the side of the cliff all the way to the top. It doesn’t wind. It just climbs up. We will begin here. To climb this had been her definition of an awesome day. I turn on the camera and step in front of it.
“Hi, Becca. My name is Emmitt Highland, aka your heart brother, aka Dappy the Clown. Yes, we’re the same person. I’m sorry I did what I did. I was trying to put my sister back together again. I was looking for her in the people who still hold a piece of her. Instead I found these amazing, different people who have survived so much, taught me so much.
“I am ready to accept my sister’s death. You don’t have to meet me ever again, but I hope we will. You see, while trying to find Minnie again, I found you. I don’t want to lose that.
“I want to leave you with a gift. Something I hope you will one day do for real. Remember what you wrote when you were asked where you’d go if you could go anywhere? You said you didn’t want to appear at the top of Everest. You wanted to know what it was like in the alley beside the bakery, to run down a hill at full speed or sit on the roof of your house. Well, today your wishes come true.”
I point up the slope of the escarpment. “You also said that the power in the view from the mountaintop is from the climb. So let’s go!”
I heft the tripod and, keeping it as steady as possible, begin the long run up the side of the escarpment. I start out hard, but the cliffs have trapped the heat and smog of the city, and I’m soon gasping and have to slow to a walk. Halfway up I enter a wooded area where it’s cooler, and I pick up the pace. “There are benefits to teleportation,” I say to the camera, lungs heaving, and keep climbing. The air clears of smog, and the sun shines as I trudge the final steps to the summit and gaze out over the city and beyond to the lake.
“Now the fun part,” I say, drawing a great breath and releasing it slowly.
I turn to face the downward slope and begin to jog. The jog becomes a trot and then, after a particularly steep bit, a run. I study the path, feet dodging roots and stones. I’m not a runner, and the trip up the hill with all the gear was already painful. Muscle fibers in my thighs snap and twang as I pound down the hill, gaining more speed until my vision joggles with the camera, and I lift my chin to the sky and yell. I run all the way, through the cool woods and baking-hot open bits, back down into the hazy smog, wheezing, free arm windmilling, until I’m laughing at the bottom.
“Next,” I pant, “the alley.”
And I shut the camera off.
The evening shadows whisk some of my sweat away. Already my quadriceps ache, making it hard to walk down the hill to Becca’s neighborhood. I don’t know which bakery or which alley Becca meant in her comments, only the general area. A quick search on my phone isolates the main street with stores within walking distance of her home. I wonder why she never walked down an alley if she was so interested in it. The first bakery I pass has stores on either side, no alley, but the second explains everything. The alley isn’t so much an alley as it is a “dark heart,” a tunnel running the length of the bakery and the neighboring motorcycle-parts store.
I set up the tripod again. The alley smells pungent, and I gag once.
I wave a hand over my nose and hit record. “Really? This alley? This isn’t an alley, it’s a cave. A dungeon.” I blow out a sigh and shake my head. “We may not make it out of here.”
Picking up the tripod and camera, I shuffle into the alley-cave. Something drags across my scalp. I retch once before controlling my stomach. The end of the alley swirls in darkness, and I wonder what it would be like in daylight, thinking perhaps this part of the film can wait, but then I remember that Becca’s heart is rejecting. My foot squishes on something, and I pull out my phone to use the flashlight function, then decide I don’t really want to know what I stepped in.
A scratching echoes from the alley’s end. “Geez, I don’t really recommend this.”
I finally get the flashlight function to work. The dead end of the alley materializes.
Two doors, each with seams but no handles, are on either side of the corridor. A painted brick wall and a mouse scratching at the door. A rat trap nearby.
“It’s Ivan,” I gasp. It’s as if I’m the angel-skunk coming in for the kill. “This is our story. The ending. There’s no escape, Ivan!”
I chuckle.
“What’ll he do?” I ask. Ivan squints at me as if I’m the prey. “You know, your heart sister would open this rat trap and check for occupancy and then freshness. She brought ziplock bags with her everywher
e she went, just in case. You have a brave heart. That’s what you said you were missing, right? Courage? Well, now you have it in you.”
Suddenly the door on the right opens. I cry out. So does the man with a hairnet, standing silhouetted against the light from the bakery. Ivan slips between the legs of the baker. The baker takes a look at me, shakes his head and drops a bag of garbage in the alley. The door shuts. Ivan is free for another day. Something slides between my legs, and I jump. It races into the corner, and I follow the sound with my flashlight to see what it is. A cat.
“Shelagh! A one-headed cat.” She’s made it out of the shadows after all.
I laugh. “That’s it,” I say. “The watching mice, seeing the truth, with Ivan in the jaws of the skunk, pull their needles and attack the skunk, but it’s not enough. Shelagh pounces from the shadows to sink her claws into him. Together the mice and Shelagh save Ivan and chase the skunk away for good. Ivan is granted the boon of…” I can still smell the freshly baked bread over the stench of garbage. “…a lifetime supply of day-old chocolate croissants.”
I scan the rear wall with my flashlight. Someone has graffitied the brick to make it look three-dimensional, like the alley continues until it hits a white beach and a crystal-blue ocean. A man and a woman peer from either side of the exit, beckoning. This is pretty cool, even with the bag of garbage and the rat trap. Sometimes the end doesn’t really have to be a brick wall.
“Next, your rooftop,” I say, and I shut the camera off.
With gathering cloud cover, the street is almost as dark as the alley was. I have one more scene to film.
Something I hadn’t considered until I near Becca’s home is that people who want to see the view from their rooftop do not live in bungalows. Becca’s house towers up three stories, looking out over a busy road that climbs the escarpment through a rock cut. The house’s location on the hill makes it seem even taller. Cars rattle up the road, but few people walk here. I’m in luck, because the rear yard backs onto a school parking lot, and the building code has required a fire escape for the third story of the house. From the parking lot I peer up at the roof. If I’m standing on the railing of the fire escape, I should be able to swing my leg over the edge of the roof. My quadriceps ache just thinking about it. There’s a dormer at that point, which I may be able to shimmy up. Should. May. This is stupid.
“Here we are,” I whisper at the back gate to Becca’s house, camera recording. “We’re doing this.”
Even I know this is dumb.
I reach over the gate to unlatch it, slip into the yard and close the gate behind me. I breathe. Between the noise of passing cars, I pick out the sound of water falling. A gazebo strangled with wisteria stands between me and a small pond populated with orange fish and the source of rushing water. The window facing the backyard is dark. A dog barks and barks. I can’t stop sweating. I swipe greasy hands on my jeans.
The black iron fire escape is still warm from the sun. Against the green-painted brick, my white T-shirt will stand out. I scramble up the short ladder to the second story, passing a frosted window—probably a bathroom—and then on to the third floor. No matter how softly I step, the metal rings out beneath my sneakers. My legs burn from the running. This window has curtains and a steady blue light like that of a computer screen. I listen for evidence of my detection. Nothing but the dog.
I hold my thumb up to one of the camera lenses—so far, so good—and then heave myself onto the railing, balancing with a hand against the brick. Heights have never bothered me, but the narrowness of the rail does. It presses at my feet beneath the rubber soles of my shoes. The railing trembles. With my free hand, I swing the gear onto the roof, wedging a tripod foot into a leaf-jammed gutter. The tripod rolls a couple of times before stopping. When I stretch to get it, it is out of reach. I’m committed.
I lift a leg, and only my toes touch the edge of the gutter. My hamstring twinges in protest, the railing wobbling. I should have done this first and the run second. The flat-roof dormer will work as a ledge. But I’ll have to jump and pull myself up in a single motion. It’s that or… or tumble to the ground from three stories. Or I could leave my camera and come back with a hook of some sort to grab it—this is ridiculous.
But I don’t have a rejecting heart.
I heave.
There’s a moment when I’m not sure I’ll make it. Asphalt shingle scrapes across my face. The gutter presses into my hips, bending and squeaking as I wriggle. My knee finds the gutter, which creaks as I strain to pull myself up. Wet leaves soak through denim. And then I’m on the roof.
I give my fist a silent pump. I made it.
Climbing the rest of the way to the ridge will be easier. I stay low, using the valley between the dormer and roof for stability, shifting the camera and tripod with me. The soles of my shoes rasp against the rooftop as I take small, careful steps. Finally my fingers curl over the peak, and I allow myself to straighten. I’m on top.
Suddenly a figure leaps up from their hiding spot, grinning madly. I startle and cry out. I fall backward, back and head slamming into the shingles, feet launching into the air as I roll. A hand snatches at my ankle and catches it, holding, keeping me from flipping and sliding off the roof. I stare up at a cloudy evening sky but still see stars.
Becca laughs. “I thought you’d never make it.”
THIRTY–SEVEN
Becca has my shirt twisted in her grip even as we lie flat against the roof. I’ve spun around so that blood no longer rushes to my head, but I’m not yet ready to pry myself from the coarse shingles.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I say. “I almost died.”
“I saved your life. Your friend told me you were coming,” she says. Despite the heat emanating from the roof, she shudders with cold. “I’ve been waiting an hour. That gave me too much time to come up with crazy ideas.”
“My friend?”
“Yeah, Dennis? He told me parts. He said you needed a bit less virtual reality.”
A good friend.
“Like you need a bit more of it?”
“We balance each other.”
“The hospital let you out? You’re home?”
Becca swallows. “For now. My last kitten rampage went better. My rejection numbers, I mean. Not great, but better.”
Kitten rampage. Another heart biopsy.
“So you know who I am?” I ask. “You’re not angry at me?”
“Deep down I suspected, but with everything else, my brain just didn’t go there.” She looks away. “Why’d you do it?”
“I wanted my sister back,” I say. “She’s me.”
“And now?”
“I still want her back. I also know that she’s gone, and I’m still here. But less.”
Her stare is hot like the shingles.
“You were close.” She shifts a fraction toward me. It’s minute, but I notice the bare skin of her leg brush against mine.
“The closest.”
“Willing to hack a hospital for her. To become a clown for her.”
“The clown was for you,” I say. “I am sorry.”
She leans over, hip digging into my hip. “I don’t have time for anger.”
There’s a moment when her heart beats against my chest, and I clench my eyes in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Becca drops back to the shingles with a sigh.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “The rejection.”
“I know,” she replies. “I think I’m afraid to let go of dying Becca. Healthy Becca will have to think beyond weeks. Maybe I won’t have to.”
“Don’t say—”
“Can we talk about something else?”
Tears fill her eyes.
“You’re sad,” I say. “Scared.”
She nods.
It’s this elephant in the room. On the house. “Your heart is rejecting. And that means you could die. That’s really scary. Losing the rest of your life. A life that could be amazing.”
Becca’s started s
niffling, unable to look my way yet unable to move.
So I continue, speaking the unspoken. “And there’s nothing anyone can do, is there? That must feel so lonely.”
She chokes as she nods. “So lonely.”
“I’m sorry.” I hold her. “Can I be a part of what’s left?”
Her eyes squeeze shut. We let time and road noise roll over the question until it’s gone.
“How’d you climb up here?” I ask.
“I’m stronger than I look.” She shows me a rope ladder. “It’s for emergency exits out of windows, but the principles are the same for going up.”
“You could have left it there.”
“And miss the chance to scare you?”
“I nearly fell.”
“I had you.” Her voice drops away along with her gaze.
“Let’s see this view you’ve been going on about.” I carefully edge up the roof to swing my legs over the ridge so that I’m sitting. Becca does the same, and then we’re both facing the street. The lights of the city already shine with moist fairy rings, and the black waters of the lake shimmer with the last of the evening light.
“Is it everything you imagined?” I ask.
Her hand edges over top of mine. “Better.”
“You said it’s the climb that makes it worthwhile,” I say.
“I was wrong. It’s the company.”
Over the week since I last saw her, some of the swelling in her face has gone down, revealing cheekbones and dimples.
“If we’re going to keep this up, you’re going to have to stop calling me Heart Sister.”
Something in me. A spasm of pain. It releases and flutters away.
“I stopped long ago. You just didn’t notice.”
I lean in and hover at her lips.
“Are you really sure?” she whispers. “Because I don’t know what comes next.”
“Don’t worry. It ends well for Ivan and Shelagh.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah, in the alley. I’ll explain later.”
“I meant about my heart.”
“No one knows what comes next.” I thread my fingers through hers and stare long enough into her eyes that my mind tells me to look away, but I don’t. I won’t. “Like my sister, I’ll love you for however long you have.”
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