We both waited.
“There’s a family that wants to meet with us,” she said. “A family whose son was the recipient of”—and here she swallowed—“whose son benefited from our decision to donate.”
I knew right away what she meant. And it wasn’t our decision, it was hers. She was the one who had said that Ben could be an organ donor. My dad was a donor—it was on his driver’s license—so they asked her about Ben too.
“Why did they write to us?” I asked.
“I had said it would be okay,” she said. “For them to contact us. If they wanted.”
“I don’t want to meet them,” I said.
“Me either,” Miles said.
“Why not?” Mom asked.
I didn’t say anything. So Miles did. He spoke in a small voice. “Because it sounds too hard.”
And my mom nodded. Like she understood. Like maybe she was even relieved. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. Let’s think about it for a few days, but I can write back and tell them no. That’s fine.”
“Which of them was it?” I asked. “Ben or Dad?”
“Ben,” Mom said. “Ben’s cornea—part of his eye—was given to another boy. It kept that boy from going blind.”
For some reason that hit me like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t like Ben had saved anyone’s life. That boy who got the cornea wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t going to be able to see. That was the worst-case scenario. It wasn’t like Ben had died and then that boy could live. It wasn’t even as good as that.
My mom folded up the letter and Miles asked for ice cream and I went upstairs.
22.
It had been so long since I’d found anything on my windowsill.
But there was something that night. Maybe the lollipop had done the trick.
It was an old pocket-size map of Iron Creek, folded up neat and small. Ben would have liked to look at the roads and think of places to drive. Last summer he was learning to read a map and to tell time. “It’s seven forty-three,” he would say. “At eight o’clock, I go to bed.”
I lined up the things on my windowsill. The screwdriver, the purple toothbrush. The map.
They were all so specific. So tangible. And I knew it could never be Lisette Chamberlain’s ghost who left them.
Leo.
It had to be.
Even though he hadn’t known Ben.
Leo was the kind of person who did his research. He would have found out about Ben from someone. Maybe his mom had overheard something in the dentist’s office where she worked. My grandma went there for her checkups. My grandma thought Ben was an angel but not in the way I hated. When Ben was alive, she looked right into his eyes and saw him there.
I looked at the things again. Screwdriver, purple toothbrush, map. I thought about how Leo had helped me get a job and how he let us watch Times of Our Seasons at his house every day and how he listened whenever I talked about Ben and my dad but also didn’t expect me to talk about Ben or my dad and how Leo always shared the lollipops from the bank with me. (And now I’d given him one back.) How he’d shown me The Tempest with Lisette Chamberlain as Miranda. How he’d completely understood when I’d cried after I’d seen it.
And a thought came to my mind. Even though I’d only known him for part of a summer.
Leo Bishop might be the best friend I’d ever had.
I decided it was time to do something for him. Something biggish.
What could it be?
I stood at the window, looking through the diamonds into the dark. I thought about the costume shop and bullies and Barnaby Chesterfield and England. About birds and being buried alive. I thought about everything. And then I had an idea.
23.
It took me a few days to sort out my surprise for Leo but I worked it all out at last. After the tour one day, I told him I had somewhere to go.
“I have to run,” I said to Leo. “I can’t walk home with you today.”
“You mean, you’re literally going running?” he asked, because I did have on black shorts. And running shoes.
“Kind of,” I said. “I have to get back fast. But I’ll see you later after my mom leaves. For Times of Our Seasons.”
“Okay,” he said, and I hoped he hadn’t figured out what I was going to do.
I ran all the way over to the Summerlost Festival. It was exhausting. Also sweaty. I’d have to wash my Lisette T-shirt for sure before the next tour. My bag bumped against my side the whole way.