All I want to do is touch him and tell him how wonderful it is to see him. That I promise to never take my ability to see him for granted.
I reach out my hand. My fingers are shaking.
He looks at me for a moment before taking my hand in both of his.
Chapter 11
I TELL HER EVERYTHING I know. It doesn’t take long.
This, I think, is the way to thank her. This, I believe, is the way to prove that there aren’t any more secrets. This, I hope, is the way to get her to stay.
I have lived with this truth for so long that I’m used to it. It’s through Elizabeth’s reaction that I see how strange it is. How unbelievable. How unreal.
I also see how sad it is.
“You’ve never been to school,” she says. We’re sitting on the couch, facing each other. “You’ve never had friends over. You’ve never had . . .”
“Everything was me and my mother,” I tell her. “Every valentine. Every piece of homework. Every board game. Every birthday cake. Every everything.”
“You must miss her so much.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t let myself. Not the way that you mean.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I did, I would never make it back.”
Already it’s destroying me to say it out loud. The only saving grace is that there’s someone to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Don’t be.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m sorry for putting you in this position. It’s unfair to make anyone the only one. It was unfair to my mother. And now it’s unfair to you.”
I hate that she sees I have no one else. But that’s part of the everything I know.
“And you have no idea why this curse happened?”
“No.”
“No idea who created it. No idea why.”
“No idea.”
“But your father knows.”
“Yes. I mean, I think so.”
She looks me right in the eye. “So why don’t we ask him?”
“I’ve tried.”
“Well, this time we’ll double-team him. Triple, if Laurie can come.”
Just thinking about finally having the answers makes me dizzy, frightened.
I shift on the couch so I can put my head in Elizabeth’s lap. Concentrate so I can try to feel some comfort there.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
She runs her fingers through my hair. “I know. I don’t have to be here. But here I am.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Something to do with love, I guess,” she says. “Now, quiet. Let’s rest for a second. We have a lot to think about.”
I turn my head so I’m looking up at her. She leans down.
My kiss isn’t enough. There’s so much more I want to share with her.
Love.
Fear.
Gratitude.
* * *
We go to the park.
This time, she notices. The way everyone ignores me. The way they look at her if she says something to me. The way I leave no trace.
“What’s it like?” she asks when we find a quiet spot under one of the stone bridges.
“It’s hard to say,” I tell her. But I can see that’s not good enough for her, so I go on. “It isn’t loneliness, really. Because loneliness comes from thinking you can be involved in the world, but aren’t. Being invisible is being solitary without the potential of being anything but solitary. So after a while, you step aside from the world. It’s like you’re in a theater, alone in the audience, and everything else is happening on the stage.”
“That’s awful,” Elizabeth says.
“Yes and no. Sometimes more yes, sometimes more no.”
“I know what you mean about loneliness, though. I think it’s more lonely when people you trust turn against you. When you’re exiled. I went through that, at least a little bit. It’s like being kicked off that stage, and then being forced into the audience to watch as it all goes on without you.”
So there we sit. Under a stone bridge, watching people run, walk, stroll, jog by.
An audience of two, now.
* * *
When we get back to the building, she says, “I want Laurie to be there. When your father comes. I think he can help.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s easy enough for me to sound all strong when I’m with you. But really? I’m not the biggest fan of confrontation. I’m not very good at it. Laurie, however, is a pro. I mean, when my dad saw us off at the airport, pretending we were going on some family trip without him, instead of leaving to build a new, dad-less life, I actually gave him a kiss goodbye. Laurie called him a jerk. Which was the right thing to do.”
“The more the merrier,” I say.
She goes to fill him in.
* * *
Back in my apartment, temporarily alone, I don’t know what to do.
* * *
They knock on the door at five thirty. I know it has to be them because Dad would never knock.
“Whoa,” Laurie says when I open the door. I have to remember that he’s not used to things like doors opening on their own.
“Come in,” I tell him.
“Nice place,” he says, taking it all in. I don’t know whether he’s just being polite. It’s been a long time since I’ve wondered what other people thought of the apartment. In many ways, over the past year it’s become a museum version of itself. It’s not like my mother died and I suddenly decided to order new furniture, or hang different things on the walls.
We’re all a little tense, paying a little too much attention to each other. I’m studying Elizabeth’s reactions, she’s studying mine, and Laurie is trying to study us both, although my reactions are of course more elusive. Instead of studying my expression, he’s studying the apartment, looking for clues. If there are any, I’ve never found them.
Elizabeth reaches into her pocket. “I know this is weird, but I brought something for you.”
It’s a folded piece of paper. Instead of handing it over, she unfolds it for me. Smooths it out. Puts it on the living room table.
It’s a sketch. Of a boy.
“It’s not perfect,” she says. “I mean, it was just an exercise. To draw something from memory.”
“Is that—?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s you.”
“He’s never seen himself?” Laurie asks.
“No,” Elizabeth says, looking in my eyes. “I don’t think he has. Right?”
“Right,” I whisper.
I don’t want to see it.
I want to see it.
I see it.
There I am.
Me.
That’s me. A hastily drawn version of me.
“I just thought you’d—”
“You’re right. I do. Thank you.”
Laurie reaches down and picks up the drawing for a closer look.
“Not bad,” he says. “I mean, you look—real.”
“I feel real,” I say.
None of us know what to do with that.
“Can I see the rest of the apartment?” Laurie asks. In response I give them something approximating a tour. We’re all waiting for the sound of my father’s arrival. And at six, right on the mark, it comes.
Key in the door. My name called out.
We come back to the living room.
“Dad,” I say, “you remember Elizabeth.” I’m sure he remembers her, but maybe not her name. “And this is her brother, Laurie.”
Dad looks bewildered. “Can he see you too?”
“No,” I say. “Just Elizabeth.”
We stand in awkward silence for a second. Dad offers Elizabeth and Laurie something to drink, as if he lives here. Laurie asks for some water, which gives Dad an excuse to go to the kitchen for a second.
“You’ve got to ask him,” Laurie says as soon as Dad’s out of earshot.
“What?�
��
“Why you are the way you are. The curse.”
“He won’t tell me.”
“Fine,” Laurie says. “I’ll do it.”
“Laurie—” Elizabeth cautions. But wasn’t this why she brought him in the first place?
Before she can say any more, Dad’s back with a glass of water. Laurie waits until the very moment it’s passing from hand to hand to ask, “Why is Stephen invisible?”
Dad’s hand pulls back slightly, the water overflowing the rim and running over his fingers. Then he hands the glass over to Laurie, shaking his head.
“Stephen?” Dad says. “What’s going on?”
But Laurie won’t relent. “I think Stephen has the same question.”
“It’s okay, Laurie,” I say. “I can take it from here. Why don’t we all sit down?”
So we gather in the living room, as if we’re going to talk about a field trip I want to take, or ask him for money so the three of us can start a band.
Dad still tries to get out of it. “I’m really not sure this is the time—” he begins.
“He has black hair,” Elizabeth says. “Well, really dark brown. But it looks black. And his eyes are this brilliant blue. He’s got a birthmark—a small one—right before his left ear. He has really nice shoulders.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Dad asks, his voice cracking.
“Because you need to know. He’s a person. I can see him. He’s flesh and blood, even if you can’t see the flesh or the blood. I don’t think you see him as a person. Not like the rest of us.”
“But he’s not like the rest of us,” Dad says.
“Only in one way,” Elizabeth replies. “And not to me. Here. Look.”
She hands him the sketch. He doesn’t know what it is when he takes it. Then he looks down and his hand shakes. He blinks back tears and puts the paper back down.
“Again, why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” I say, “it’s time, Dad. I know you don’t want to tell me, but you have to tell me. What’s happened with Elizabeth changes everything. It means—well, it means other things are possible. The curse can be broken.”
Now Dad looks angry. “You’re not supposed to know about the curse!”
“Well, I do. And so what?”
“You don’t know anything.”
“So tell me!” I am matching his anger now.
“Okay, both of you,” Laurie interjects. “No yelling. The neighbors will hear. I mean, the other neighbors.”
Dad gets up from his seat and walks over to the bookshelf. He’s staring off, his back to us. Then his shoulders sag.
“Mr. Swinton?” Elizabeth asks.
He mumbles something. It takes me a moment, and then I realize what he’s said.
I always thought he was blond.
Because my mom was blond.
Because maybe when he was a kid, my dad was blond too.
He’s pictured me. All these years he’s pictured me.
And he happened to be wrong.
“Tell me,” I say. “Please. Once and for all.”
He turns back to look at Laurie and Elizabeth.
“Not with them here,” he says. “It’s not their business.”
I can see that Elizabeth’s about to agree with this. But Laurie gets it.
“No,” he tells my father. “Stephen needs us here. With all due respect, sir, you’ve left him alone for a very long time. If he needs us here, you have to let us stay.”
“It’s true,” I say. “It can’t just be me. If you kick them out now, it won’t matter. I’ll only tell them when you leave.”
Dad’s looking at Laurie, appealing to him. “I’m not a monster. I know it might seem that way to you. But there are reasons not to tell him. Knowing might not change anything. It won’t change anything. There’s nothing that can be done.”
“Let him decide that,” Laurie replies. “Not you. It’s his life.”
I see him make the choice. Even though I don’t know what it is, I am sure he’s about to say everything I’ve always wanted him to say. And as the adrenaline surges, so too does my fear. Everything is going to be different now, one way or the other. And I can no longer stop it. It’s inevitable.
My father is about to tell me the truth.
“Your grandfather is a cursecaster,” he begins. “I know this is going to sound unbelievable. It certainly did to me at first. But it’s real. Very real. Your grandfather’s a controller. And by this, I don’t mean he’s a controlling man—although I suppose he’s that as well. When I say he’s a controller, I mean that he has powers. He can do things that normal people cannot. He’s not a witch or a wizard. He’s not a god. It’s something else, although there are qualities of all of that. I don’t know that much about the background—this is your mother’s father, and she didn’t talk about any of it. She never talked about any of it.”
He stops. I tell him to go on. He does.
“Your mother’s early life was hell. Her own mother died when she was very young. It was just your mother and your grandfather. Maxwell Arbus. As a cursecaster, he was incapable of doing good. At least not in his work, and I haven’t heard any evidence that he did good outside of his work. The thing about cursecasters—you have to understand this—is that they are different from spellcasters. Spellcasters—if there are such things—can create as well as destroy. At least that’s what your mother told me. Cursecasters can only destroy. Again, I don’t know how. I don’t know why. All I know is that your grandfather was capable of this. And you are the proof.”
He stops again, and in his pause I can recognize a lot of what I was feeling when my own truth was revealed to Elizabeth—that fear of the words being said combined with the relief at the ability to finally say them.
“I’m the proof,” I say.
His eyes dart to where I am. Where, to him, my voice comes from.
“Yes.”
“What happened?” I ask. “Why did he curse me?”
My father shakes his head mournfully. “It wasn’t you he was cursing. Or me. I hadn’t even met your mother yet. It was her, Stephen. You have to understand. This was done long before you were born.”
Elizabeth takes hold of my hand. As if she knows that will require some of my concentration. As if she knows I need to let my father speak on.
“Tell us,” she says.
My father sees the way her hand shapes itself around mine. He knows. “As I said, Stephen’s mother’s childhood was not a good one. Cursecasting is a powerful ability—but it doesn’t actually pay the rent. So Maxwell rambled from job to job, getting angrier and angrier, which made him more inclined to lay down curses.
“When your mother was young—seven or eight—she tried to run away. As a result, your grandfather laid a curse on her, so she couldn’t leave him. She had to be within a certain radius of his presence at all times, like an invisible leash. She would try to run, or would try to stand still while he was moving away, but it wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t feel pain—she would just be unable to get very far before her body made her follow him.
“I don’t know why he wanted her around. Partly, I guess, to take care of him—make his meals, manage their squalor. And I imagine he was lonely. If I’m in a generous mood, I may even try to believe he was grieving over the loss of his wife. But at heart, he was an evil, tortured man who used his evil to torture others. His talent was cruelty. If a shopkeeper made him wait too long, he could cast a spell so that the shopkeeper would go home and start to forget his wife. Her name, her existence, everything. Or he could curse a politician into a weakness for female campaign workers, or a judge into a weakness for a certain casino. There was a limit to the power he had, but he used it when he could.
“Eventually, he loosened the leash on your mother so she could go to school, but she could never really go more than a town’s distance away. The only bright side of the curse was that he couldn’t do anything else to her—you can, apparently, only cast a si
ngle curse on anyone at a given time. He tried to pretend this wasn’t true, and tried to threaten her with others. But she started calling his bluff. She started acting out—refusing to make his meals, refusing to do his bidding. It infuriated him. And while he couldn’t curse her outright, he certainly wasn’t afraid to use his fists or his voice. She couldn’t go to the authorities, because even if they’d tried to put him away, she knew that she was bound to him, and that there was no way she could avoid going wherever he went.
“She didn’t want you to know any of this. I feel—well, I feel I’m telling you a story that isn’t mine. I know you don’t think so, but I miss her every hour of every day. I couldn’t stay—she understood that—but I still miss her. Some people are given relatively fair lives. But others—they carry the burden of the unfairness of the world. That was your mother. Until you were born, she could never get a break.”
“But wasn’t I the worst thing of all?” I can’t help but ask. “I mean, that’s what this is leading up to, isn’t it?”
“No. You were the best thing. Even if you were . . . born the way you were. She loved you unconditionally.”
“But what happened with her father?” Laurie asks. “I mean, obviously the curse was broken and she got away, right?”
“Yes. I’m getting to that. Somehow, she managed to make it to high school. She didn’t have many friends—there were always places they wanted her to go that she couldn’t, and she was afraid to bring any of them home, lest her father appear. She started to become obsessed with the source of the cursecasting—she tried to follow her father, to see if he met up with any other cursecasters, but he never seemed to. She ransacked their house when he wasn’t there, looking for books or journals or any other record of how the cursecasting worked. But there wasn’t anything, not even a stray word to go by. She had no idea how it worked, only that it kept her trapped.
“Without telling her father, she started to work after school, to save up money. When she got to senior year, she applied to colleges and got into some of them. She brought up the subject with her father, and he told her absolutely not—she was never going to leave him.
“Desperate, she resorted to what she called playing the curse—that is, giving in to it completely, and taking it to an extreme. If he wasn’t going to let her go, she wasn’t going to let him go either. She stuck by his side. She followed him everywhere. He’d yell at her, and she’d yell back. He’d push her, and she’d push back. For the first time, she started to see weakness on his part. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t cast another spell without negating the first one.
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