The Opposite of Hallelujah (44 page)

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I told him.

I wasn’t the only one with some anxiety about seeing Hannah for the first time in three months. Mom kept fiddling with the radio dial, apparently unhappy with all the possible choices of music. Finally, in a fit of annoyance, Dad just shut it off entirely, which I was grateful for. Although, the music was helping fill the otherwise complete silence.

When we got to O’Hare, we parked and walked to the terminal. Hannah’s plane had just landed, and we were supposed to meet her by the baggage carousel. It was weird to think that when we’d dropped Hannah off, we’d all been bundled up in winter coats, but now we weren’t wearing any at all. In fact, it’d been an atypically warm day, so I was wearing a thin T-shirt over a camisole and that was it. It was one of those moments when you thought something completely cliché—
strange, the way time passes
—and yet it seemed like the most significant, foreign, original thought in the entire world.

A whole flood of people emerged from the terminal and descended on baggage claim. I scanned them hopefully for Hannah’s face, wondering again if I would recognize her, and when the crowd finally cleared and I saw her, my heart swung up into my throat. She looked
so good
. Like a healthy, whole person. I couldn’t believe it, so I turned to the closest person—Dad—and read his expression: utter relief, and happiness. It was enough to send a calming rush of endorphins into my bloodstream, and I felt my shoulders relax.

Hannah raced toward us, and my parents folded her into their arms.

“Hiya, Goose,” Dad said, beaming. We all knew intellectually that we couldn’t take too much comfort in the way she looked, or the ear-to-ear grin she was wearing; what she had gone through, what she was still going
through, was complex and difficult, and this wasn’t a miracle that we were seeing before us. But it still felt like one. Hannah was radiant, and we were overjoyed to see her standing there.

I shooed Mom and Dad out of the way and replaced their arms with my own.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said softly.

“Same to you,” she said, pulling away. She put her hand on my cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I said, and I meant it, more than I’d ever meant anything. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I had my sister back, even though I’d tried my hardest, when I was young and stupid, to drive her away. That was the miracle, I decided. That I’d found a way to overcome my most childish, selfish impulses and make room for her in the cluttered chambers of my heart. So much space, it turned out, that it felt empty when she was gone. I had a sister.
We were sisters
. For the first time, it felt like more than a possibility—it felt like a sure thing.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to:

My parents, Jim and Barbara Jarzab, for loving me no matter what, and for being the best traveling companions a girl could have.

James and Alicia, for growing up with me (not that you had a choice), and for making me laugh. Ditto to the rest of my family, who are kind and gracious and wonderful to the last.

Joanna MacKenzie and Danielle Egan-Miller, for caring so deeply about this book, and Françoise Bui, for her keen editorial guidance and enthusiasm for Caro’s story.

Eesha Pandit, for listening, and for always being on my side.

Mary Dubbs, for the dinosaurs, and for taking me seriously.

THE Cambria Rowland, THE Kim Stokely, and THE Jenny Symmons, for more than a decade of friendship and listening to me babble on about people who aren’t real.

The authors and subjects of the following books:
How the Universe Got Its Spots: Diary of a Finite Time in a Finite Space
by Janna Levin;
Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid
by Douglas R. Hofstadter;
Unveiled: The Hidden Lives of Nuns
by Cheryl L. Reed;
The God Theory: Universes, Zero-Point Fields, and What’s Behind It All
by Bernard Haisch, PhD; and
Extraordinary Ordinary Lives: Vocation Stories of Minnesota Visitation Sisters
by
Elsa Thompson Hofmeister. Thanks especially go to Karen Armstrong, whose marvelous memoirs of the convent and afterward (
Through the Narrow Gate
and
The Spiral Staircase
) helped to inspire and shape this novel.

Everyone at Random House who works on and supports my books.

My friends at Penguin Young Readers Group, especially Emilie Bandy (work twin and keeper of my sanity), and the authors whose books I’ve had the pleasure of working on, for supporting me on the other side of all that we do together.

All the religious who have ever taught me anything.

Alex Bracken, without whom I probably would not have gotten through the past few years. It’s very rare to meet someone who is willing to read every bad partial manuscript and half-baked idea and is still capable of telling me not to give up and meaning it.

And, finally, to the late Helena Bieniewski, whose devout faith, impeccable advice, and enduring love have served as some of the great inspirations of my life. How I wish she could have read this book.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ANNA JARZAB is the author of
All Unquiet Things
. She lives in New York City and works in children’s book publishing. Visit her online at
annajarzab.com
.