Amy Inspired - Bethany Pierce [117]
She said this with a strangely nostalgic tone. It annoyed me. I couldn’t think of a single excuse she had to remember this year fondly. Because I was exhausted and because I was anxious, I said as much to her aloud.
“I don’t know. It had its moments.” She cracked up. “Remember when you set the fire alarm off? When Eli was first here? I think he nearly peed his pants.”
I laughed in spite of myself.
“Who knows what he thought of us,” she said. “Fighting over checklists, over that stupid magazine.”
For no good reason we both got the giggles. Then we started to laugh, really laugh, until our sides hurt. When we’d recovered, she sidled up to me, skin sticky with sweat, and laid her head on my shoulder. When her wig brushed my skin I shuddered.
“Zoë, how long are you going to wear those things?”
“As long as I need to. They smell like her, you know.”
“You could just keep her clothes,” I said. “I’m sure they smell as good.”
“But that would be so much less interesting.”
A cool breeze rustled the curtain. Two blocks away a car rumbled by on the cobblestones. Kathryn’s wind chimes jangled in that discordant way that always sounded so lonely to me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been thinking about Eli. I know you miss him.”
I started to protest, but she stopped me.
“You’d think losing a parent would be all the hurt a body could handle. But there are still nights when I think of Michael. I miss him, too, in all his stupid ways.”
I put my arm around her shoulder, forcing myself to not mind the wig and how alarmingly real it felt. “He did have a way of reducing the collective intelligence in a way that was entertaining,” I agreed.
“What I said about Eli—I didn’t mean for that to upset you. It’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“It’s all right, Zoë,” I said. “In a weird way, you said exactly what I needed to hear.”
“So can I go to bed now without worrying about you?”
The irony of her question was almost funny. If she had any idea how many sleepless nights I lay in bed waiting for her to wake from nightmares and call my name: I’d never been so worried for anyone in my life.
“You can go to bed,” I reassured her.
But she was asleep before either of us found the motivation to get up.
I kissed her brow, relieved. The narrow bed was a ship in the night and sleep the safest passage to morning. I thought of Jesus in the boat with His disciples as they tried to cross the sea in a nighttime storm. Whenever ministers preached from that story, they always focused on the disciples’ unbelief: If only they had truly trusted the Lord, they wouldn’t have been so afraid of the waves and lightning.
What struck me, however, was that Jesus was asleep despite the violence of the storm. I was taken by the thought of a Savior who could be so utterly exhausted.
Because she was in my bed, it took me twice as long to pack. Every drawer I opened creaked too loudly. Every light was too bright. I didn’t want to wake her, because I didn’t want to explain.
At two in the morning, a small duffel bag in hand, I gently clicked the bedroom door shut. I studied the directions I’d printed out, memorizing the route. I set my alarm for five. I lay down on the futon fully dressed. In my head I did the math: The exhibition was from seven to ten. If I left by six, if I only took three half-hour breaks, and if there were absolutely no traffic jams, accidents, or unexpected breakdowns, I would arrive in time to get dinner and freshen up before the show.
The night dragged on. I held my eyes tightly shut, but like a child on Christmas Eve I was too excited to sleep. At the very first hint of birdsong, I threw off the blanket and reached for my shoes.
Before leaving, I stood a while in the hallway, ear pressed against my bedroom door, listening for sounds of weeping. But there was only the steady hum of the ceiling fan rhythmically stirring the air.
26
The last city (significantly smaller than the previous one) passed and it