“Hello?” I drop my keys on the foyer table after having dropped off Ringo. I’ve finally fully recovered from my hangover. “Hello?” There’s no answer. I turn left down the hall. I pass Matt’s room. Empty. My heart tugs, but I don’t cry. It’s real now. “Mom? Dad?” I call. I push the doors open to the study. No one’s there. “You don’t have to worry,” I shout. My voice echoes against the walls. “It’s all going to be fine now.” My new resolve doesn’t stop my nerves from sending tremors rippling through my hands. I’d hoped it would be easier once I’d made my decision to resurrect Matt, but it’s not. I think all I can hope for now is that this resurrection will be better for our family now that we’re all being honest about it. The world feels too empty without Matt in it.
I pick up the pace, checking rooms left and right, until soon I’m jogging through the hallways. The sound of the ocean is gentle outside. “Anybody home? Where are you guys?”
They aren’t in their bedrooms. Or on the patio. What if they were worried when I didn’t come home last night? What if they’re out looking for me? I feel a surge of guilt for putting them through more than they already have been.
It’s only when I enter the kitchen for the second time that I spot the note. I slow down. My blood thunders against my eardrums, a sense of dread building as I approach the letter cautiously.
It’s instinct that makes human beings afraid of snakes. And it’s the same impulse that leads me to fear the letter. Because I’ve already spent time dealing with the world as I believed it to be. There shouldn’t be a note lying there on the counter beside the refrigerator. There shouldn’t be. But there is.
And when I pick it up to read it, this is what it says:
Hi Lakey Loo,
Mom’s agreed to do the physical writing here, but trust me, otherwise it’s all me. Got it? Just pretend she’s not here. (Sorry, Mom—see, I actually made her write that! And this!) Okay, I’m done now. We can continue.
I think I should begin by saying, I’m not dead.
Yeah, I’ll let that soak in for a second.
A few more seconds.
Has it soaked in yet? I hope so, because I think we need to keep going. Time is of the essence, after all.
Before you think I’m speaking metaphorically in some weirdly cryptic and annoying Matt-like “joke,” I’m not. I don’t blame you for thinking it, though. But for real, I’m actually alive. I have a pulse and everything. Yes, Mom cried. Dad pretended not to cry. We’ll all meet up and talk about it soon enough. For now, I’m at an undisclosed location with both of them, which means, unfortunately, you’re on your own, sis. But more on that later.
Because the second thing I think we need to address is why.
So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but for the last couple of years I’ve been a huge dick.
That was a joke. In case you couldn’t tell. Mom has very serious handwriting. I’m just now noticing.
Right. Back to me being a dick. Some of this is understandable. I mean, I’m a quadriplegic for god’s sake! But the parts that were directed at you aren’t. Lake, in no way was my getting paralyzed your fault. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to slip. You were only thirteen. And, well, the rest was just bad luck.
But I was and am honored to be your big brother and I wanted nothing more than to deserve that title. That’s why I jumped in. That’s why I was so grateful to be able to bring you back. It’s too bad that ever since that moment I’ve been doing everything in my power to lose the privilege of knowing you.
My life is hard now. I can’t deny that. But I made it harder and worse, not just for me, but for everyone. Which, when you think about it, is ridiculous considering that was the exact opposite of what I was originally trying to accomplish.
Back to the why. I don’t deserve to be called your big brother right now. And I don’t deserve your resurrection choice. Two other people have spent the last four years earning your affection. I know you. I’ve watched you grow up. There’s a reason you loved Will and Penny so deeply. Choose the person you need the most. That’s not me anymore.
All right, now for where I am.
I can’t tell you. I know, I know, forgive us one more secret, will you? See, I have no doubt that you would have used your resurrection choice on me because you’re a way better person than I’ve ever been and if you knew where I was I worry that you’d try to convince me to allow you to choose me. No can do, Lakey Loo.
I’m taking the first step on a journey to find a little redemption in this body. I found a place that’s going to give me more opportunities. Mom and Dad are on board and I’m actually a little excited. I may even be a writer or a professor after all this.
So here’s where we are: I can promise you that I’m going to try hard to be a better brother. You can think of this as my grand opening. Big Brother! Open for Business! What I can’t promise is that I’ll be around forever. But I will make the most of whatever time here that I do have.
That’s all. I’m done. We’ll talk very soon. For now, you have an important decision to make. Good luck!
With love, Matt
I stand gaping at my brother’s words, sure that I’ve misread them, that this is some kind of trick. But they’re here in black and white. Maybe that’s why he chose a letter instead of calling me. If I hung up the phone after this conversation, I could convince myself that it hadn’t happened. That my brother had died at the bottom of a pool watched by dozens of people.
But he hadn’t.
He’s alive. My palms are slick with sweat. Nothing feels like it’s where it’s supposed to be. Up is down and down is up. I’m not sure if I’m standing on the floor or on the ceiling. I don’t even know how to feel.
A few hours ago, I let Penny and Will go forever. No graduation. No going off to college together. I watched their futures whiz past me like a zooming car.
But here I am again with only one night between me and my resurrection appointment and the power to choose has been returned to me. Whether I want it or not.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes. I glance down to see that a calendar invite from Will Bryan has arrived at noon sharp. The final clue.
There are few sounds as comforting as the laughter of your best friends. Especially at midnight. Especially out on the beach with the ocean as a background soundtrack.
We’re on our backs in the sand, heads together, feet out, arranged like a three-pointed star. Milky clouds drift by in the navy sky above us. We listen to white waves crash into the shore a few yards away.
I’m holding hands with Will and Penny, grinning even though neither one of them can see me.
“On three,” Penny says. Her voice sounds thick and partially trapped inside her since she’s lying down. “One, two…three!”