Early Thursday afternoon, just one day after celebrating his 18th birthday, Jason Cullen was found dead in the home of his mother and stepfather in Elm Falls, Illinois, by his stepbrother Sean, 14.
I hear Amanda’s sharp intake of breath. Tears spring to my eyes. I look at Sean who is standing silently by the bed. Our eyes meet. I raise my hand to my lips and then look back at the article. Memorial services were held late Friday at Our Lady of Grace, in West Edgebridge. “He was the kindest person I’ve ever known,” said Max Davies, 20. “My family moved around a lot my entire life, Tennessee, Florida, Pennsylvania, but moving to Chicago was the first time I actually felt at home. And that was because of Jason. He was my first friend and my best friend. The fact that he’s no longer alive isn’t going to change that.” His family could not be reached for comment. Authorities have yet to determine whether the overdose was accidental or suicide.
To the right of the article there’s a picture of Jason, smiling in a graduation hat. Strong jaw, wide mouth. He looks happy. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before. He has that kind of face.
Sean is standing by the desk, looking down. I go over, lean against him.
“Hey,” I say. He looks up and smiles a small sad smile that says, “well, so now you know.” It hits me like a brick in the chest. What must it have been like for him? I can just imagine—fourteen-year-old Sean walking into his brother’s room to say good morning, to see if his brother wants some breakfast. Jason is lying in his bed, maybe Sean thinks he’s asleep. Maybe he always sleeps late and this is a familiar scene, or maybe he usually gets up early and the fact that he’s not up yet is already odd. He’s lying in bed. Is he dressed? Is he wearing pajamas? His eyes are closed. Maybe Sean says good morning, calls him a dickhead or a snotwad or whatever it is brothers call each other. Sean waits for his brother’s response, but it doesn’t come. Maybe Sean thinks this is a joke at first, or maybe he thinks his brother is just sleeping extra heavily. Calls his name again. He still doesn’t answer. And again. And again. Exactly how many times does Sean call his brother’s name before he realizes something is wrong? Does he shake him? Does he check his breathing and take his pulse? Does he run out of the room? Does he start screaming? Call 911? Does he still have hope or did he know right away? And how does he live with a memory like that floating in his head, polluting and darkening all the others?
I turn to Amanda, who’s still staring at the clipping. And she just has this look on her face, maybe it’s shame? Maybe it’s horror? I don’t know. I don’t care.
“It’s time for you to go now,” I say to her.
Amanda reaches out, trying to grab my hand. I move away.
If it is time to pick sides, I am choosing. I have chosen. I lean against Sean. Amanda looks up, her mouth open. “Just go.” My voice is cold, hard. Amanda flinches. Things will not be the same after this.
Twenty-seven
The moment the door closes behind Amanda, everything changes. It’s like she took all the bad air in the room, packed it into her cherry-print LeSportsac, and took it downstairs with her to catch a cab to the airport. And now that she’s gone, Sean and I can finally breathe again.
I am about to apologize for what happened, for everything Amanda said, but before I can even start, Sean is turning toward me, a sweet dreamy smile on his lips. “Thank you,” he says. He puts one hand on either side of my waist and pulls me toward him. “Thank you.” He holds my head against his chest and whispers into my hair. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.” And although I’m not even entirely sure what he’s thanking me for, I nod and hug him back. His T-shirt is warm against my skin.
He puts one hand on the side of my neck and brings my face toward his, brushing his lips so gently against my cheek I can barely feel them. He kisses me again, right next to my mouth, again on my chin, my forehead, the tip of my nose, again and again all over my face. When he finally presses his lips against mine, my insides turn to liquid. “Come,” he says, and leads me toward the bed. He lies down and pulls me on top of him, arranging my body like a doll’s, my head on his chest, my arms around his neck.
“This is fate,” Sean whispers. “This is fate, Ellie.”
I know there are things I need to tell him, about meeting Monster Hands, what they said about Nina, about the house in Big Sur, and I know I need to call Brad, and maybe my mom, too, but when I look up and see Sean’s face, so close to my own, sweet and peaceful, I decide all that other stuff can wait. For the first time in a long time, I’m happy exactly where I am and I’m exactly where I know I need to be.
Twenty-eight