Between Here and Forever (11 page)

twenty-nine

We end up talking on the stairs until it’s dark
outside. Eli first started showing signs of obsessive-compulsive disorder when he started school, and found out he could only do his work in a certain way.

“And if I didn’t,” he says, “I’d get—I don’t even know how to describe it. It was like I was going to die—I mean, I actually felt like I was—and all because I didn’t do things like I was supposed to.”

It got worse as he got older, and his parents sent him to doctors, put him on medication, and told him he just had to tell himself to stop.

“They made it sound like it was so easy,” he says. “Like if I just thought about it enough, I’d realize ‘Hey, walking through a doorway forty times to stop myself from dying if I cross through it on my right foot is stupid!’ Like I didn’t already know that. I did. I do. I just—I can’t help it.”

I think about how he walks a little behind me, like he
has
to, and how I’m always catching him moving his fingers like he’s restless.

Or counting out something.

I think about how he reacted when I punched in the unit door code with my left hand instead of my right. How weird I thought he was being afterward.

How upset he must have been.

“I—I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

He looks at me. “You didn’t?”

I shake my head.

“Wow. I figure it’s—I figure it’s all anyone can see,” he says. “After Harvey was put to sleep, I got even worse. It used to take me two hours to get ready to leave the house every morning. My parents were—they weren’t happy. I went to see more doctors, had my medicine adjusted, everything. But nothing—I couldn’t get better. Even now, I still have to—” He points at his hands.

“So you came here to see another doctor or something?” I say.

He laughs, but it’s a sad, bitter sound. “No. I mean, I do see a doctor. But my parents—I was embarrassing them. All their friends have kids who can, as my father says, control themselves. But the madder they got, the worse I got, and … well, like I said, I was embarrassing them. So they sent me to live with Clement. I spent years listening to my dad complain about this place—we never came to visit, you know, not ever—and they still sent me here.”

“That’s—your parents suck,” I say.

He stares at me.

“I’m sorry, but they do. You’re amazing and—” I break off, aware of what I’ve just said. Out loud. “Anyway, they do suck.”

“They’re not that—okay, yeah, they do,” he says. “I hate it here. Well, not everything. Clement’s okay. And you …”

I hold my breath, waiting in spite of myself, hoping in spite of myself, but he doesn’t finish his sentence, just trails off and taps his fingers against his legs.

“I really hate this,” he finally says, looking at his fingers. “I hate my brain. If it worked right my parents would—I don’t know. Not act like I was something they need to hide.” He looks at me. “What’s it like having parents that actually like you?”

“Ask Tess,” I say, and realize how bitter I must sound because he tilts his head a little to one side, like I’ve surprised him. I immediately feel guilty, not just because my parents are amazing compared to his, but also because it’s not my parents’ fault I’m not Tess. That’s nobody’s fault.

“I don’t mean it like it sounds,” I say. “My parents are okay. It’s just that since she got hurt, it’s … I’m not Tess, and it’s become this huge, obvious thing that—it’s all I can think about. I can’t draw everyone to me like she does. I don’t know how to shine like she does. She would know what to do now, if I was where she is. She always knows what to do and I … don’t.”

“You seem to be doing okay to me.”

“But I’m not. If Tess doesn’t wake up in the next few days, she’s getting moved to a home. And my parents … it’s breaking their hearts, you know? They’re not happy and Tess could always get them—or anyone—to stop whatever it was they were doing and focus on her.”

“That sounds … I don’t know. She sounds sort of dramatic,” Eli says.

“She wasn’t—well, she did know how to get attention,” I say. “But you’ve seen her.”

“I have,” Eli says. “You’re as pretty as she is, you know.”

I laugh for real for the first time in ages then, laugh even as my heart kick-thumps inside my chest, a throbbing, hopeful beat.

“Okay,” I say when I’m done, and stand up, start to head farther downstairs, outside. “Thanks for that, for being—for being so nice.”

“Hey, I meant what I said,” he says, getting up and following me, his voice quiet. “How come you’re so sure that your sister is better than you?”

“Because she is. She always has been.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone.”

“Well, I’m not everyone,” he says as we walk out of the hospital, and smiles at me.

I smile back. I can’t help myself.

I can’t help wanting to believe him.

We’re both silent as we cross to the bike rack, but as I’m unlocking my bike he says, “Thanks for, you know, listening.”

“I like listening to you,” I say, and then mentally kick myself. “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was to me,” he says. “You’re the only person besides Clement I’ve told about my OCD. And Clement—well, it’s not like he didn’t already know.”

See, there he goes again, getting to me because he’s so—he’s so damn sweet. So not pushing back when I try to push him away. “I haven’t—you’re the only one I’ve told about Tess. How I can’t be like her, I mean.”

“Like I said, she sounds … dramatic,” he says. “You—”

If he says I’m solid or reliable or something like that, I will die.

“You think you’re a shadow or something,” he says. “Her shadow. But you’re not. You shine too. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I gotta go meet Clement now.”

“Okay,” I manage to get out and then just stand there, watch him walk back into the hospital.

He thinks I shine.

I think about that all the way home. That, and Tess.

thirty

Tess wasn’t—isn’t—dramatic. Not really. I mean,
she always knew what she wanted and got it no matter what, from good grades to getting into her dream school to making sure nobody talked to Claire once Claire got pregnant, but that wasn’t drama. That was will. And Tess had a lot of it.

But as the breeze created by the ferry cutting through the water blows over me, I start thinking about other things. Like how Tess acted when she found out Claire was pregnant. She was mad. And not just in the angry way. It was like she actually went a little crazy. The worst was when she saw Claire walk by our house when she was just starting to show. I don’t even remember where Claire was going—she might have just been out walking—but Tess saw her and just … snapped. She went over to the fridge, opened it, took out the Crock-Pot of meatballs Mom had made for a week’s worth of dinners featuring them, and went outside.

The next thing I knew, Claire was yelling and Dad had raced outside, Mom right behind him. Tess was just standing there, the Crock-Pot lying on the ground and her hands full of squelched meat, red sauce all over them. It’s the only time I ever remember Tess acting angry where there was a chance someone outside the house could see her. No one else did but me, my parents … and Claire.

She didn’t walk by our house after that until Tess had left for college.

But that had been the only time Tess had been “dramatic” in the sense I’m thinking Eli means. I mean, Tess could get quiet or mean sometimes, but then, she put so much pressure on herself. It’s like when she freaked out about her grades and how she wasn’t valedictorian during the last half of her senior year and went to that stupid admissions counselor.

I was glad Claire was out of school then, so pregnant—and though she’s never said it, I think so tired of Tess ruining her life—that she’d dropped out and ended up getting her GED later. Claire was the only person Tess ever—

She was the only person Tess was ever truly cruel to.

But I think that was about Tess being … well, Tess. She could be judgmental. Like with guys, for instance. She always found something wrong with them—always. They weren’t nice enough, or were immature, or got haircuts she didn’t like. And maybe, after years of people doing whatever Tess wanted, Claire got together with Rick after Tess said she shouldn’t, and Tess couldn’t forgive her for that.

I head home when the ferry docks, exhausted and exhilarated by everything that’s happened … by Eli. Seeing him, talking to him, and by him saying I shine—and then I stop in the driveway, shocked.

Beth is here.

Mom and Dad are with her, are standing by her car looking perfectly polite—they are both so good at it, and Tess got all of that skill—but I can tell from the way Dad has his hands shoved in his pockets that he’s not happy. Mom isn’t either, because she’s picking at the nail polish on her pinkie finger while she nods at whatever Beth is saying.

Beth is here, and now that I’m not looking at Mom and Dad, I see boxes in her car.

Beth has brought Tess’s stuff back.

“Hey,” I say, riding up to Beth’s car and making sure my bike hits it when I get off. “What’s going on?”

“Beth stopped by,” Mom says, all casual and calm except for the polish she’s shredding off her fingernails.

“Oh,” I say, and turn to Beth, pretending I don’t see the boxes. “You’re going with my parents to see Tess? That’s great.”

“I was actually telling your parents that I saw Tess—and you—the other day,” Beth says. “And that I’m living with someone else now, and she needs to be able to move her stuff in. So, I’ve—well, I’ve brought Tess’s things back for you.”

“For her,” I say. “Tess’s still here, Beth. You’ve seen her, remember?”

Beth must have a little bit of a heart after all, because she pales at that.

“I’ve seen her,” she says, her voice quiet. “And I—it breaks my heart. Tess was so vibrant, so beautiful. I thought she’d grow into who she was, but now—” She breaks off, turns to my parents. “We’d already decided we … we didn’t want to be roommates anymore. I don’t know if she told you that or not.”

“I—we didn’t know,” Mom says, and Beth says, “I’m sorry.”

“Right,” I mutter, and Mom shoots me a quick, warning look.

I ignore it.

“You just want to forget about her,” I say to Beth even as Mom shoots me another look and Dad puts a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort and quiet me. “But how can you forget about your best friend?”

“Abby, enough,” Mom says. “Go inside.”

“What? Beth dropping off Tess’s stuff like Tess is gone when she isn’t is okay with you?”

“Abby,” Dad says. “Go.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Beth says to me, and then looks at my parents. “God, no wonder Tess was so screwed up. If you two had—”

“Stop. You’re saying things you know nothing about,” Dad says, his voice very soft but very angry, and then he looks at me. “Abby, this is the last time I’m saying this. Go. Inside. Now.”

Okay, then.

I go inside and watch my parents and Beth unload four boxes from Beth’s car. That’s it. All of Tess’s things fit into four boxes.

Four boxes, and now Tess is lying silent in a hospital bed. She deserves more than that. She deserves her life back.

I bang open the front door and head back outside, but it’s too late to tell Beth off one last time because she’s backing down our driveway and onto the street. It looks like she’s wiping her eyes, but if she’s that sad for real, she could have stayed, could have gone to see Tess.

She could have not boxed all her stuff up and brought it here like Tess’s already gone.

“Well,” Mom says, looking at the boxes. “I guess we’d better take these in. I didn’t—there’s only four of them, Dave. She’s twenty and I—how can this be her whole life?”

“Katie,” Dad says, helplessness in his voice, and pulls her to him. “These are just things. Her life was so much more than this.”

Is. I wait for Mom to correct him.

But she doesn’t. She just stands there, leaning against him.

“Is,” I finally say, and watch Dad blink at me. “Her life is more than whatever is in these boxes.” And then I grab one and take it upstairs.

When I come back down, they haven’t picked up any of the others, but they are waiting for me.

“Abby, I don’t know if you’ve really thought about what we’ve told you about Tess,” Mom says. “There’s a chance she could come back, but it’s small, and her brain is—there’s been damage. If Tess does wake up, she won’t be the same.”

“She’ll still be Tess,” I say. “She’ll still be your daughter, won’t she?”

I grab another box and take it upstairs. Mom and Dad don’t follow and when I look out at them from the upstairs hallway window they are talking, Dad’s bright hair shining like Tess’s.

At least they’re talking again. They don’t look happy, though.

I wish Tess was here. She’d know how to get Mom and Dad inside. What to say to turn them toward her and away from those last boxes.

I can’t do it, though. I just watch them and wish I could make everything better. I thought I could but now—

Now I’m not so sure.

thirty-one

I actually go home after school the next day. After
last night, with Beth and my parents’ reaction to her, and what they said to me, I’m not sure visiting Tess will do any good.

I don’t think I’m reaching her.

I’m not sure I ever did.

I’m also not sure I should see Eli anymore. I’m starting to get ideas—I’m starting to wish, to want—and I don’t need that.

I figure I’ll spend the afternoon watching television, but as I’m walking home, everyone I pass—the mailman shoving an envelope labeled
DO NOT BEND
into a mailbox, the woman who used to be the office manager at the plant before she retired and Mom got the job, and two no-longer-little kids Tess used to babysit—ask about her.

They all tell me they’re thinking about her. That they miss her. That nothing’s the same without her smiling face, or “sparkling” eyes, or that she made the best hot chocolate.

I go home, but only to grab money for the ferry. Tess is everywhere and always will be, so why fight it?

I get to the hospital later than usual, of course. I figure Eli will be gone, but instead he’s sitting by the bike rack, fingers twitching away on his crossed legs.

“Hey,” I say as I pull up to him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was waiting inside but I—” He points at his hands. “Bad day, with the tapping and stuff, and there was a little kid waiting to see someone and he kept asking me what I was doing and then copying me and—anyway.”

He carefully stills his hands, awkwardly forcing them to lie flat. “I also thought—I thought maybe you might not want to see me after I … after I told you all that stuff,” he says.

“I thought about not coming,” I say, and he braces his hands on his knees so hard I can see the tension in them. “But not because of you. I … my parents said some stuff last night about Tess. About how—they say she’ll never be the same, that her brain is … she won’t ever be the same.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Are you—are you all right?” he says, and when he does, all the reminders I’ve chanted to myself, all the things I’ve sworn I won’t forget, they’re gone. Just like that. Just because of him.

“I’m okay,” I manage to say, and try not to watch him as he gets up.

I do, though, and I’m glad he has to walk a little behind me as we go inside the hospital. It gives me a chance to pull myself together. Or at least pretend I have, because then we get on the elevator and it’s crowded and he’s right next to me and he smells good, like sunshine and laundry detergent and something else, something that’s just him, and I know all about pheromones but never believed in them until now.

Clement gets on at the floor before Tess’s and says, “And how are you today?” to me.

“All right,” I say, and he glances at Eli. “So, am I allowed to say I’m your grandfather now?”

Eli blushes and folds his arms across his chest. “I never said—” He breaks off, his fingers starting to tap.

Clement looks stricken and then whispers to Eli. I try to pretend I can’t hear what they’re saying but the elevator is small and Clement isn’t exactly quiet.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he says. “I know you didn’t say I shouldn’t talk to your father, but I assumed it’s because of how your father talks about me and—”

“It’s fine,” Eli says. “I just—my parents always say I … I don’t want to embarrass you. Okay?”

“Not possible,” Clement says, and Eli mumbles something, then races off the elevator when it stops again, for once not waiting until I go first.

“Sorry,” he says when I catch up to him. “I—I’m still getting used to the fact that I have a grandfather. Not to mention that I’m living with him.”

“Is it bad?”

“That’s the thing,” Eli says. “He’s … he’s nicer to me than my parents have ever been, and I—I don’t know. It’s strange.”

“Complicated.”

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at me.

I smile back—I can’t help myself—and start to put in the unit code.

“Hold on,” Eli says.

“What?”

“Look,” he says, pointing, and I do. I see Claire in Tess’s room, moving around, straightening things.

“Oh, it’s just Claire,” I say. “She works here.”

“No, not that. She visits your sister a lot, doesn’t she?”

“Right. Works here, remember?” I say, and punch in the code, pulling the doors open as it buzzes.

Claire leaves as we’re almost at the room, waving at me and raising her eyebrows just enough that I know she’s thinking things about me and Eli. I shake my head at her, and she smiles.

Thankfully, Eli doesn’t seem to notice Claire’s look, and we settle into Tess’s room like we have every other time he’s been here.

“Hey,” I say to her as I sit down. “Me and Eli are here, and you should probably save him from having to answer whatever dumb questions I can think of.”

“Like what?” Eli says.

“Which is better, powder detergent or liquid?” I say, and then stage-whisper to Tess. “See? You’ve got to help me out here.”

“Liquid,” Eli says. “My turn. What’s better, cornflakes or oatmeal?”

“Ugh, neither. I like anything that goes in the toaster and has frosting on it, or better yet, comes with frosting packets.”

“Or waffles,” Eli says. “Clement makes only one thing, waffles. But he’s really good at it.”

I can just see Eli eating waffles now, all sleepy-eyed and dressed in—what would he wear to bed? Boxers?

I mentally shake myself.
Tess.
Think about Tess. “Tess likes waffles. She and Claire used to make the frozen ones and then put ice cream on them.” I pause, aware that I’ve just said a name I know Tess doesn’t want to hear.

“Sorry,” I whisper to her, and then say, “Eli, what’s your idea of a perfect first date?” Oh … I just. Great. I know my face must be bright red now because it feels like it’s on fire. Why did I ask that?

I know why.

“Not talking about school,” Eli says, smiling.

I look at him, hoping my face isn’t still bright red, and roll my eyes, then nod in Tess’s direction, glancing at her face.

“I actually don’t know what my perfect first date is,” he says after a moment. “What about you?”

“I don’t know either. I’ve never been on a date. Tess used to talk about hers, though. Going out to dinner, going to the movies, stuff like that.” I squeeze Tess’s hand gently and tell her, “I know you miss all that.”

“Favorite food?” Eli asks, and Tess doesn’t move.

“She likes fish sticks,” I say, watching her face closely. Still nothing. “Just kidding. She likes spaghetti and meatballs. She has it every year on her birthday.”

“So you like fish sticks?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “The best is putting them on a roll with some cheese and mayo and a little lettuce.”

“Really? Fish stick sandwiches?”

“What’s wrong with that?” I say, and look at him again.

He’s watching me, smiling like he likes what he sees, and my whole body, from my head to my feet, feels alive in a way I thought I’d forgotten.

“Nothing,” he says. “I just never thought of eating fish sticks that way. You want to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

“What?” I drop Tess’s hand, I’m so startled, and it makes this soft, sickening sound when it hits the bed, like it’s a thing, like it’s not alive. Like it’s not her.

I look at her again then, wishing I was a better sister, a smarter person, wishing—as I’ve always wished—that I could be like Tess. That I could—and would—always know what to do.

“I said, do you want to have lunch with me tomorrow?” Eli says, his face red. “You can come meet me at school. We’re allowed to bring a guest if we have enough Saint points and—anyway. Do you want to come?”

“Saint points? For real?”

“Yeah. We get them for showing up on time and stuff.”

“Wait, you get points for just going to school?” Rich people really do have it all. I wish I got rewarded for going to school, although the idea of the reward being the chance to bring someone to the cafeteria for mystery meat and limp fries isn’t very appealing.

“Pretty much,” Eli says. “So … will you—do you—you want to come?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want me to come?”

“Because I … we were talking about food and I’ve got all these stupid Saint points and I figured—I don’t know,” he mutters. “I just thought you might like to come.”

Could he—could he really want me to come eat lunch with him? Like, as a thing? A sort of date-ish thing?

I look at him again and realize I’m crazy. He could have anyone, and he’s probably asking me to lunch because—

Because maybe he wants to.

Oh, I hate my brain, but it won’t let go of that thought. That hope.

I look at Tess. “Can you see me there?” I ask her. “I’d pull my bike into the parking lot and people would faint in horror.”

“Did Tess ever go?” Eli says.

“Sure,” I tell him, careful not to look at him, to keep watching Tess. “She dated this one guy for a couple of weeks and he took her to some dinner they have. Remember that, Tess? Mom painted your fingernails for you, and Dad took about a hundred pictures. I can’t even remember the guy’s name. What was it?”

Nothing, and as I watch her, the silence stretches out, becomes uncomfortable. I glance at Eli and see him looking at me again. This time he looks upset. Almost angry.

Good. I’ve finally done it. Made him angry, and I bet he’s going to leave. I try to ignore the way my insides feel all hollowed out at the thought of not seeing him again, or worse, seeing him here and having him not talk to me, or worse still, say hello and move on like I’m nothing to him.

“Eli, what’s wrong with you?” I force myself to say. I try to sound like I’m pissed off, try to say it with challenge in my voice, but it comes out quietly. Sadly.

“You’re as bad as everyone who lives in Milford,” he says, and it’s so not what I’m expecting him to say—it’s so not true—that I’m too startled to react at all.

“Yeah,” he says when I don’t say anything. “You are. You—look, I don’t like Milford either, but you act like anyone who lives here is … I don’t know. Evil or something. Like the fact that I go to Saint Andrew’s means you can’t ever possibly …”

He clears his throat. “Just because I—I can’t help that my parents have money, or that Clement does, any more than you can help that Tess is here.”

“You can’t compare those things! You—you’ve never had anything bad happen to you or—” I break off as I realize what I’ve said. How wrong I am.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m not a snob. Not like you think. I just … I don’t belong at Saint Andrew’s.”

“Why? It’s just a place, like here or—”

“Like here?”

“Okay,” he says, and gives me such a shy, tentative grin that my heart gives a sharp, painfully joyous kick-thump in my chest. “Not exactly like here. Here the gift shop doesn’t charge fifty bucks for a coffee mug with a motto on it.”

“I bet gum is cheaper, though.”

“Not when I was working,” he says, and now I smile at him. I can’t help it. He’s so … he should be illegal.

He really should be. He’s got me thinking things and wanting things, and looking at him looking at me like he’s happy to be doing so, I can’t help myself.

I say, “All right, if I do meet you for lunch tomorrow, what time should I meet you? And where?”

And I’m happy. That’s the worst part. I’m joyously, stupidly, overwhelmingly happy. I’m not thinking about Tess. I’m not thinking about what I learned when I fell for Jack.

I’m not thinking at all. I’m happy, and I don’t care.