Between Here and Forever - Elizabeth Scott [33]
It’s not that she and Dad have tried to turn me into Tess or anything like that. But Tess was the pretty one, the special one, the one people loved because she was so sunny and friendly and always knew the right thing to say. And no matter how hard I tried, I could never quite sparkle like she did.
“Are you thinking about what I said?” Mom says, and I nod, watching her eyes. They are calm, collected.
I look at her and almost believe things will be fine.
“I saw Beth today,” I say. “I bet the nurses told you, but the reason I got upset is because she told me she’s boxing up Tess’s stuff. She might as well have said, ‘I don’t think Tess’s ever coming back.’”
“She’s boxing up Tess’s things?” Mom says, and there, in her eyes, for a moment, is a flash of what I know she really feels. Surprise.
Worry.
Fear.
“Well, Tess can always move her things back,” she says, and she’s smiling and calm.
And lying.
I let her, because I know what it’s like to need to believe in lies. I once believed I could make someone who loved Tess love me.
I once believed someone could see me, just me. I once thought I could be happy like Tess was.
I know better now.
twenty-four
Dad and Mom are gone to see Tess by the time I wake up—I like to sleep as late as I can on the weekends. Past noon is best. Whoever decided high school should start when it’s still basically dark outside should be shot.
I take a long shower and dry my hair, then debate what to wear to the hospital. Then I get mad at myself for doing that because Tess doesn’t care what I wear and it’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. Right?
Not that I can imagine impressing Eli, even if I somehow managed to find an outfit that makes me look both taller and curvier. I finally throw on an old shirt and jeans that are ratty around the bottom of the legs because they’re too long for me. (I have yet to own a pair of pants that don’t end up dragging along the ground at some point or another.)
Mom and Dad get home late in the afternoon, just as I’ve finally headed downstairs and am grabbing something to eat. They both look tired and sad, how they always look when they get home from visiting Tess, and especially on the weekends, when I think they remember Tess dragging us all down to the beach or Tess sighing over her homework or Tess getting phone call after phone call or talking to the three or four or twelve people who’d stopped by to say “hi” to her.
“What have you been doing?” Dad says, trying to sound cheerful and failing miserably.
I point at my bowl of cereal.
“You don’t have to stay home all the time, you know,” he says. “You can go out. If anything … if anything happens, we’ll find a way to get in touch with you.”
I don’t say anything, because we both know I don’t go out. I didn’t when Tess lived here, and I don’t now, except to see her.
I finish my food fast and escape to the ferry.
When I get to the hospital, Clement is sitting outside, looking at his watch.
“You look like a little bird,” he says when he sees me. “All that hair and those eyes.”
“Birds don’t have hair, Clement.”
“I know that,” he says, and sounds almost petulant for a moment, like a little kid, like Cole. “But feathers, hair, it’s bascially the same thing. Is it so hard to take a compliment?”
“Thank you for saying I look like a bird,” I say, and he shakes his head at me and digs around in his pockets for a cough drop.
“Never loan your car to anyone,” he says as he unwraps the cough drop and pops it in his mouth. “You always end up waiting for it to come back.”
“You loaned your car to someone?” I didn’t know Clement liked anyone in Milford well enough to loan them anything, much less his car.
“I told Eli he could take the car while I was at work,” Clement tells me. “But here I am, done with work, and is my car here? No. His father was the same way, only he’d bring the car back with no gas in it. You don’t do that, do you?”
“I don’t have a car,” I tell him, pointing at my bike as I realize what has been right in front of me all along.
Clement