The Beginning of After

Chapter Twenty-five



David spent the rest of that Sunday at his house, and I stayed in Toby’s room, playing with Lucky and the kittens, who were just starting to crawl around while their mom watched them, tired but vigilant. I couldn’t deal with my Yale essay, so I broke out my sketch pad and started drawing some backgrounds for Joe’s art project, thinking that maybe if I focused on Joe for a little while, I wouldn’t feel like I’d cheated on him somehow.

My cell phone had four unread text messages, and I assumed they were all from Meg. Twice I started to call her back, to tell her everything that had happened in the woods, but stopped before actually pressing her speed-dial button. I wasn’t ready to share yet. I didn’t feel like giving up anything of what I’d collected from the day.

I stayed up late, waiting for David to come back, but at nine o’clock he called the house and told Nana that he’d be awhile, and she arranged to leave a key under the mat for him. I was both relieved and disappointed that I wouldn’t see David that night.

When I woke up the next morning, I got dressed and showered and crept to the doorway of the den to see David and Masher asleep on the couch.

“He got back late,” said Nana behind me.

“I figured,” I said.

“Do you want cereal or toast?”

Nana knew nothing of how my world had shifted in the last twenty-four hours. It didn’t seem possible that I could concentrate on a simple decision like that, that I could care about something as tiny as what to eat for breakfast. But somehow I was going to have to get through the day, so I had to start sucking it up.

“Cereal, please. Thanks.”

After breakfast I left for school, calculating how many hours until I could come home and potentially see David. It wasn’t that I was dying to be with him, but I was curious. How was he going to act around me now? How would the shape of his eyes be different when he looked at me, and how would his limbs move when we were in the same room together?

I just wanted to know what would happen.


At school, Meg was pissed.

“Did you get my messages?”

“It was a weird weekend.” Evasive, yet not a lie.

“Well? What happened? Why was David here?”

I told her about how the house was sold, how he had to go through his stuff, and how we let him stay with us. I told her that I barely saw him but that he was nice to me. None of it untruthful, but none of it the kind of truth I should have been telling my best friend.

“Did you have fun at the dance?” I asked her, wanting to shift the subject away from me.

“It was a blast,” she said curtly, then paused and added, “Joe came.”

A punch in my gut. “He did?”

“Yes,” said Meg, with a firm s on the end of it. “He came. Looking for you.” I had nothing to say, and it seemed like Meg needed to let that hurt me a little. But then she smiled. “He went as half Spider-Man, half Wolverine.”

I tried to picture Joe that way—walking into the dance alone, scanning the room for me—and felt a pang of regret.

“He even texted you from school to see if you were okay,” added Meg.

I glanced down at my phone, realizing that one of the messages I hadn’t bothered to read must have been from him. Now I felt even worse.

Andie and Hannah found me after third period to update me on the dance, like I’d been waiting all weekend to hear what they had to say.

“I’m sorry you missed it, it was really fun,” said Andie.

“And we won the costume contest!” added Hannah.

Well, duh, of course they did. I wondered if they were genuinely surprised that the world handed them treats or if they just faked it for the rest of us.

Not once did they ask how I was, or what had happened to make me go home so suddenly. I felt angry, but then thought of David asking me if I was afraid to be treated normally. And then that thought led to the thought of David’s lips, his hand on my ear, not afraid that touching me would break something. His “Laurel” in that flat, even, solid voice.

I thought of that voice at lunchtime when I knocked on Mr. Churchwell’s door. He opened it with a big smile, way too happy to see me.

“Laurel! What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’m almost done with my Early Action application to Yale, and I’ve decided not to write about the accident.”

He nodded at me, with a trace of a smile. Had I given him the answer he wanted?

As I walked away I heard David’s voice again: You’re strong enough, Laurel. You know who you are. The voice stayed in my ear all day as I counted down the hours, and then minutes, until I could go home and see him again.

When the final school bell rang for the day, I jumped into the car and drove three miles over the speed limit all the way home.

But when I got there, he was gone.


“What do you mean, he said to say good-bye?” I asked Nana, who was gathering David’s sheets and blankets from the couch.

“Just what it sounds like, sweetie.”

“What about his stuff?”

“It’s here. He came by this morning with a carload of boxes.”

I hurried down the hall to our attic entry, a door in the ceiling with a little rope dangling down. There was no evidence that anyone had been there. So I grabbed the rope and the door swung open, with its folding ladder attached.

“Laurel, I just swept up,” said Nana, confused. “What are you doing? Do you think I’m lying?”

I stood on my tiptoes and grabbed part of the ladder, pulled it down, then climbed up. I still had my jacket on.

The attic smelled bad, but the air felt less musty than I remembered, like it had been moved around recently. I rested my elbows on the floor of the attic and scanned the space. There were the same assortment of cardboard boxes, plastic bins, garbage bags full of stuff.

But in the far corner, I saw them. About a dozen boxes labeled DAVID KAUFMAN in neat black Sharpie. Arranged in four perfect stacks of three, so straight and arrogant I wanted to knock them over.

“Laurel, please come down,” said Nana in a very small voice.

I did. She looked at me, and I felt suddenly exposed.

“I’m not sure what happened. When he came in for breakfast, he said he had to leave town suddenly. There was some kind of job he could do with a friend’s rock band.”

“Did he say where he was going?” I asked, walking past her into my room so she couldn’t see my face.

“No, just that the rock band was going on tour and he had to meet up with them.” Nana paused, not sure whether or not to follow me in. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It must have been nice to have . . . some company.”

“It was,” I said, all garbled, before I closed the door gently. On my bed lay Masher, his eyes heavy and hollow with sadness, his body limp as though he’d been crushed. He thumped his tail when he saw me but was otherwise still. I collapsed onto the bed with him, then screamed hard into the pillow for several long, sweet seconds of frustration and then relief.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” I said into the scruff of Masher’s neck. “He’ll be back.”


That night I opened up a fresh email and clicked on the TO field. I typed D, then A. Before I could type the V, my email program filled in the rest of David’s email address, like it had been waiting for me to get up the nerve all afternoon to write to him. If only it could tell me what the hell to say, the first time I’d written to him as myself and not as a dog.

It took me what seemed like a year, but I finally came up with something that didn’t sound too angry, or too stupid, even after I read it ten times.


David—





I’m not even sure if you’re checking email, but in case you are . . .





I’m sorry you had to leave again so quickly. I’m sorry you couldn’t wait until I got home to say good-bye.





Good luck with the band and safe travels and all that. Keep in touch if you can.





We’ll all be here if you need us—your dog, your stuff, and yours truly,





Laurel





I counted to three and hit send, and as soon as I did, I felt like I could breathe again.

Then I remembered that David had planned to visit his father, but never got the chance. He wouldn’t have let me come with him. But now he was gone and had absolutely no say in the matter.