I rushed downstairs, just as Auntie Ruth came in. And when I went out to the porch, I saw that Gigi, the cat from across the street, was pawing at the katydid. And I screamed at the cat, which was kind of mean ’cause she’s a cat, and eating bugs is sort of what she’s supposed to do. And then Shadow rushed outside and went after Gigi, and the cat sort of scooped up the katydid in her mouth and ran away, and Shadow chased her, and then so did I, ’cause I didn’t want her to hurt the katydid.
Shadow was barking and running, and I know you thought I was chasing him, Auntie Ruth, and that it was your fault for leaving the door open for him to get out, but I wasn’t paying any ’tention to Shadow, Auntie Ruth, ’cause I was chasing Gigi and the katydid.
Gigi raced right across the street. And I know I’m supposed to look both ways before I cross the street, but I wanted to get to the katydid so bad, I just forgot.
When the car came, I felt a big bump, but it didn’t hurt at all. I felt floaty almost as soon as it happened.
And that’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me. I promise, Mommy.
Shadow, you’re a good boy. Auntie Ruth, don’t let yourself be lonely. Eden, you will always be the best sister ever. Daddy, keep making funny faces. Mommy, I’ll need you forever. I love you all so so so much. And I’m taking that love with me.
Sweet dreams.
PART SEVEN: ANOTHER DAY
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Sam awakens early, before seven. He rises from the couch and stretches. The rest of the house is still asleep, even Shadow, who is curled up on his bed. The dog chuffs in his sleep and wags his tail as though he is having a good dream. Sam smiles. He had a good dream, too.
He folds up the blankets of his makeshift bed and sets them on the chair, then carries the sheets to the garage, where he drops them into the washing machine. He feels well rested for the first time in ages.
He can’t quite grasp the dream. Jonah was in it. Usually, when Sam dreams of Jonah, he awakens feeling drained, anguished, his insides twisted into knots. But not this morning. This morning he feels a sense of peace, of calm.
He gets dressed in the garage, as is his habit of late. It’s Saturday, and he throws on jeans and a long-sleeved Nirvana T-shirt that he refused to part with despite Rachel’s repeated entreaties.
Sam knows what he has to do. Has known since the moment he opened his eyes. He grabs the spare set of keys for the minivan from the drawer in the kitchen and quietly lets himself out of the house.
Eden lingers in bed for a while. She stares at a spot on the ceiling and thinks about her little brother. She doesn’t know why, but she feels her love for him so strongly this morning, and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. In her mind, she tells him she’s sorry for all the times she was ever mean to him, and suddenly her mind is filled with all the times she helped him, all the ways she was there for him, all the things she did to protect him, like a big sister is supposed to, and she feels like he kept those times with him and that’s why he thought she was the best sister ever.
She throws back the covers and gets out of bed. It’s Saturday and she doesn’t have to get dressed, but she does anyway, pulling on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt with a big purple cicada on it. She goes to the bathroom and brushes her teeth and pees, then walks into Jonah’s room through the adjoining bathroom door, something she hasn’t done since the very bad day.
Eden stops just inside his room and looks around. The bug encyclopedia is still on the floor. She kneels down and gazes at the open page, at the picture of the katydid. She dreamed of Jonah and a katydid last night, but the details of the dream elude her. She closes the book and sets it on the bottom shelf of his bookshelf.
She gazes at his bed, stands, and walks over to it. Marco the Monkey lies haphazardly across the pillow, where Sam threw him so many nights ago. Eden picks him up and holds him to her chest for a long moment. Then she carries him back through the bathroom and into her room and tucks him into her backpack. Mrs. Hartnett might not want him anymore, but it’s time to take Marco back to school.
Ruth sits up and pushes herself to the head of the convertible sofa bed. She gazes at her surroundings, the small guest room in her sister and brother-in-law’s house, with its beige walls and sand-colored blinds. This is not her home. Over the course of the past year and a half, she has never felt a longing for her one-bedroom apartment with its outdated appliances and shabby furniture. She longs for it now.
Her joints don’t ache this morning. She doesn’t question it. She pushes herself out of bed and heads for the guest bathroom. She does her business, and as she washes her hands, Ruth lifts her eyes to her reflection. And what she sees surprises her.
She is not the frumpy hag she thought she’d become these last months. She is an attractive middle-aged woman in desperate need of a dye job, but otherwise somewhat fetching and alive.
She takes her time getting dressed. She has few choices here, in her sister’s house, but she chooses an ensemble that she has yet to wear since staying here, a cotton floral skirt and a pink blouse, the same color as the flowers on the hedge in front of the house.
Ruth stands for a moment, letting her thoughts wash over her. She grabs her purse from the side table and pulls out her cell phone. She swishes the screen open and finds the number of the man she’s been thinking of for a while now, the number she has never used. Before she can stop herself, she dials the number. Waits, holding her breath.
“Hi, it’s Ruth—hi. Yes, it’s me. Sorry to call so early on a Saturday.” She listens to a voice that is both foreign and familiar to her and smiles.
A few minutes later, she sets the phone back into her purse.
She strips the convertible bed. For the first time since the very bad day, she folds it up, replacing the cushions on the couch until the bed is merely a memory.
It’s time to go home.
Ruth emerges from the guest room just as the front door opens. Sam stands on the threshold, house keys in one hand and a tall bar stool in the other. He sets the bar stool just inside the entry. His eyes meet Ruth’s. She walks to the front door and wordlessly follows him to the minivan. He hands her one of the three remaining stools, grabs the others, and the two of them return to the house.
The stools are simple, cloth-covered cushions, wicker backrests, metal foundations, Target price tags. They fit perfectly at the kitchen counter, two on one side of the L, two on the other.
As Sam goes about removing the plastic packaging, Ruth moves to the pantry and pulls out a box of pancake mix. Normally, she eschews premixed anything, but the mix will be just fine this morning.
By the time she’s whisking the batter, Sam has finished with the stools. He heads for the coffeemaker, fills it with grounds and water, and presses the button. He glances at Ruth as she readies a pan with butter and heat. She looks at him and smiles. Their silence is amiable.