Promise Bound (14 page)

I held my tongue and hoped he wouldn’t start singing, too.

“Reach back behind me,” he said. “My son left a T-shirt and a sweatshirt in here somewhere last time he was up. See it? Unless maybe the wife brought it in.”

I dug around behind the driver’s seat and found what he’d described. The T-shirt was inside the sweatshirt as if they’d been pulled off together. I pulled them on the same way.

“Looks like a wild one out there,” the man said. Through my window I could see the waves churning into whitecaps. “Best those boats get back to the marina and zipped up tight. I used to work the ferry line when I was younger. Now,
The Island Queen
, she could cut the waves pretty good, but still … I never had the stomach for a life on the water.” He patted his stomach and added, “Seasick.”

There was a lump in one of the pockets of the stolen jeans. I pushed my fingertips inside and pulled out two
wet dollar bills. “I don’t have much to offer you for gas,” I said.

The man chuckled again and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’m not about to take a young man’s last dollar. Besides, just filled up. I’m good to go. This truck here is one of those new—whatcha call it?—economy gas guzzlers. I could make it to Iowa on one tank.”

The man glanced over at me, and I held his gaze for just a second, pushing my will onto his. If I was going to search for my parents, it would be good to have a dependable vehicle. He stuttered, surprisingly susceptible to the amount of hypnosis I was putting off, and said, “Best vehicle I’ve had in a while.… I should let you take a turn at the wheel.”

But then he looked away, and I lost my grasp on his mind. Hypnosis would only work with sustained eye contact. Without that, I couldn’t connect my mind to his; I couldn’t plant the thoughts I wanted to harvest. The only way to achieve it now would be to crawl onto the hood of the truck and stare at him through the glass, like a gigantic bug splattered on the windshield.

I snorted.

“You say something, son?”

I shook my head.

The road to Washburn wound down the hill and through the trees. As the rain came down harder, the man didn’t take his eyes off the yellow line.

He could tell there was something wrong with me. I could see his nervousness sizzling on the backs of his hands, and that he was purposefully refusing to look my way again.

“How ’bout those Packers?” I asked, trying to get him to look over.

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s the off-season.”

“The Brewers, then.”

“I follow the Twins,” he said. “Ever since Kirby in ninety-one. Game Six.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. “Yeah?” I asked, hoping that was enough to keep him going.

“When he made that jumping catch against the left center wall …” He chuckled. “He’s like the patron saint of us short, chubby guys. Now, a young fella who looks like yourself … Well, I suppose you don’t have much need for heroes.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

The man turned west on Highway 2 toward Duluth and an hour later we were crossing the High Bridge into Minnesota. Up and up. Cars seemed to be passing closer than before. I was too far above sea level and, unlike in an airplane, there was no aisle seat from which to avoid the view. Instead, I laced my hands behind my head and put my forehead on my knees.

At the peak of the bridge, my stomach rose into my chest, then settled back into place as we went down the other side. The man asked, “Did I just help a fugitive cross state lines? You’re not in some sort of trouble, are you?” I sat up, and he made the mistake of glancing over.

I hit my mark.

A streetlight flooded the car with a pale amber light, and I watched as his eyes widened and his pupils dilated.
Stop
, I thought.
Your gas tank is low
.

“Y’know, I think I should stop for gas,” he said.

“You pay, I’ll pump,” I said.

His wipers went
thump, thump, thump
across the windshield as we pulled north onto Interstate 35. The old man exited the highway, put on the left blinker, and turned in to a convenience store. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Awesome,” I said. “Why don’t you have a seat at one of the booths. Take your time. I’ll be in to join you soon.” The old man’s eyes glassed over as he climbed out of the truck and strode up to the building, never looking back. I was gone before he hit the doors. My only regret was missing out on the coffee.

I
magine pain so searing you think you’ll go blind. Imagine a pain so liquefying that, to escape it, you would run naked down a city street and never care who saw. I was a horrible, terrible, disgusting person. I was stupid, too. And pathetic. And cold. Very cold. The memory of Calder’s angry words rang in my ears, diminished only by the hurt in his eyes. I did that to him.

My heart leapt into my throat like a champagne cork, but even though I had got what I wanted, there was nothing to celebrate. For a second I considered turning around and
running after him, telling him I’d changed my mind and that he was perfect and beautiful and whole. Just the way he was! And that I wasn’t the soulless tramp he now thought I was. Maybe I’d tell him that I’d go with him to Thunder Bay and help him search.

But I knew I couldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t. Someone had to stay behind to keep an eye on Dad. And Danny. I had to trust that just as Nadia made me send Calder away, she would surely lead him back to me. She owed me that much.

When I’d entered the water, I’d meant to give Calder the impression I wasn’t coming back, but I never actually made the transformation. With every ounce of concentration I could muster, I held myself together, refusing to abandon my body, focusing on my legs: muscle, femur, knee, all the way down to my pinky toes. I kept myself intact until I was sure Calder was gone, then—miserably—I went back for my clothes and collected his as well.

I cringed when I felt the ring box still in his pocket, but I pushed down all my feelings of dread and turned toward home. I really needed my mom.

I was halfway there when the rain started. I cupped my hands around my face to keep it from pelting me in the eyes. There was one consolation. At least I wouldn’t have to explain why I was all wet; this way, Mom and Dad wouldn’t suspect me of being in the lake.

When I got to the front door, my hand trembled on the doorknob before I stepped into the house. Despite the rain, I swore I could still smell Calder on my skin. I’d done the right thing, so why did I feel so terrible?

“Hey, Lil. How you doing, sweetheart? Where’s Calder? Did he come in with you?”

I stared at my mom for several long seconds, eyes wide, before the tidal wave of shame hit me again. I felt every inch of separation between myself and Calder, like a great chasm was opening, one that I didn’t know how to close. Despairing, I crumpled to the floor as Mom yelled for help.

The vibration of feet rattled the floorboards beneath my cheek. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was the linty space beneath the couch and the gray rubber curve of a wheel.

“Lily, what’s wrong?” Mom’s voice called from high above me.

My eyes rolled back as I sank deeper into the floor.

There was a hard
thunk
as Sophie dropped to her knees by my head and threw a blanket over me. The wool was dry and prickly against my wet skin and smelled like a campfire.

“Lily?” Sophie shook me by the shoulders, and my body twitched as if hit with waves of high voltage electricity.

“Does she feel hot?” Mom asked.

Sophie’s hand felt small against my forehead. Her skin left a burning mark when she pulled it away. “No. She’s cold. Really cold.”

“Get a heating pad.”

Feet ran out of the room. There was a banging of drawers and cabinets, then water running in the kitchen and then a
beep, beep, beep
. When Sophie came back, something soft and hot wrapped around my neck.

“Can you get her to stand up?” Mom asked.

Sophie attempted to lift me off the floor. “She’s too heavy.”

“Leave me. I just want to stay here,” I said. I was so exhausted. Whether it was from resisting the physical transformation, or the emotional strain of saying goodbye, I didn’t know. All I wanted to do was sleep, and I didn’t care where. The floor was fine. I felt small. And very young. And I didn’t care at all.

Mom said, “Shhh,” and Sophie ran her hand from my temple around the curve of my face—over and over—until I thought there was no good reason to ever wake up. I slipped effortlessly into a dream. Nadia’s voice filled my mind:
“Someone who loves you. Someone who loves you. Someone who loves you will show you how.”

Sometime later (minutes? hours?), the sound of crunching gravel added a familiar texture to my dream, followed by the rush of air as the front door flew open. Things of various weights dropped to the floor: a
thud
, a
clunk, clunk
against the door, the soft fall of fabric. “What is it? Where is she?” demanded Dad, missing the fact that I was the crumbled ball of blankets on the floor.

“Right here,” Sophie said, and I opened my eyes.

It must have been late. Sophie was already in her pink fuzzy pajamas. I was embarrassed by the way everyone was worrying over me. It was nothing. I just needed to sleep.

Dad scooped me up and carried me into the back room. His arms were sure, and his footsteps even. He laid me on the daybed, like a toddler who’d fallen asleep in the car. I felt that somehow, with those footsteps, he was going to make everything all right. And I didn’t have to be afraid.

But the thin mattress hit my shoulder, and his hands slipped away. The heating pad was back around my neck, and Dad piled more blankets on me.

Then Mom’s voice was by my ear. “She’s still freezing.” She slipped a thermometer between my lips and a moment later Dad said, “Ninety-three point seven.”

I shook in my woolly cocoon, arms stiff at my sides.

Dad held my wrist between his thumb and two fingers. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was hypothermic. How did this happen? Where’s Calder?”

I pulled the blanket up and over my head.

“Lily?” Dad asked. I don’t think any of them had realized I was conscious.

“We had a … fight,” I moaned. “More than a fight. I … We … We’re taking a break.” My nose was running, snot following the line of my upper lip. I wiped my sleeve across my face. I felt someone’s fingers pull at the edge of the blanket, and I drew it tighter around me.

“Will he still sleep here tonight?” Dad asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

There was a long pause, and I wasn’t sure if the conversation was over. But then Dad asked, “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

I sniffed loudly and flipped the blanket back to look at them all through the distortion of tears. “N-n-n-o,” I said, the word coming out in multiple, staggered syllables. “Not exactly.”

Mom bowed her head. “I don’t like to hear that, Lily. I don’t like the idea of that boy alone out there. He’s not cut out for that.”

I swallowed hard. What had I done?

“Is he gone forever?” Sophie asked.

Another wave of tremors washed through me. “Can we talk about this later?”

Dad said, “But—”

“I said, can we talk about this later?”

Mourning doves woke me up. I opened one eye to find Dad sitting in Mom’s painting chair.

“You gave us quite a scare,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. My voice sounded like sandpaper, and my teeth felt like they were wearing sweaters. How long had I been sleeping?

“Are you feeling any better?” He felt my face and neck. “You feel a little warmer.”

I took an inventory of my body. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Mom asked as Sophie pushed her wheelchair into the back room.

“Yes.”

Sophie climbed onto the daybed with me. My parents hesitated and looked at each other with worried expressions I didn’t completely understand. I’d said I was fine, hadn’t I?

“Because there’s something your dad and I want to discuss with you. But we can wait until later if you want to rest.”

“I’m fine.” I struggled to a sitting position just to prove my point. My head spun and white flashes of light filled my eyes. “What do you want to talk about?”

Dad’s face was disapproving, but he said, “Your mother
would like to talk about our discussion in the kitchen the other day.”

It took me only a second to remember what conversation he was referring to. I thought we’d come to a conclusion on the issue of changing Mom. “It was a bad idea,” I said.

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Mom said. “I don’t have much time anyway.”

I dug my fingers into the blanket, clenching it tight. “Don’t say that,” I said in a hushed tone. Sophie curled into my side.

“It’s time you girls knew.” Her right hand trembled as she swiveled her chair to face us. The wheels caught for a second on the edge of the area rug and Dad helped push her over the lump. “I’ve been hiding things so you don’t notice.”

“What do you mean, ‘hiding’?” I asked.

Mom and Dad exchanged a look that told me I didn’t want to hear what they had to say. Because they had me surrounded—and I couldn’t get up and run out of the room—I twisted the blanket to wring out the impending sense of doom.

Mom said, “I keep my hands moving so you don’t notice them shaking.”

I tried to interrupt, but she shook her head and made me listen. “I don’t have a drink with dinner because it’s hard to hit my mouth on the first try. I don’t sit by the fire with your dad because the heat feels like knives. I haven’t used the walker in months. For most people with MS, these symptoms go on for a long time, decades even. But not me.
It’s not going to go like that for me. There have been some complications.”

Sophie turned her face into my arm and hid.

“I just thought …,” I said. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“Your dad can see exactly how I’m feeling—emotionally—just like I know you can, Sophie.” Sophie nodded against my shoulder. “But I didn’t know if you were seeing it, too, Lily.”

“Not like that,” I said. “I’ve never been able to see a person’s colors. And”—I swallowed hard—“I didn’t notice the rest.” Why hadn’t I noticed? How could I be so insensitive? My God, this was my mother.