Far From You (13 page)

I close my eyes,

tighter this time,

like that morning

so long ago

when they left

for the hospital.

Who was that person

so angry at Dad

for loving again?

Dad reaches over,

says to me,

“And Ali,

Victoria—”

“No,” I gasp,

my voice hoarse.

Another

forehead kiss,

and a smoothing

of my hair

by his strong hand.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers,

“she’s okay.”

My eyes

pop open,

needing to see

his lips

speak the

words I thought

I heard.

“What?

What did you say?”

“She’s alive.

She found help.

And she helped us find you.”

This time

I don’t try

to contain

my tears.

I

just

let

them

f

a

l

l

like

The IV

pumps fluids

through my veins.

The longer I am awake,

the hungrier I get.

The nurse asks me

to choose from the menu.

I ask her,

“Can I have it all?”

Dad laughs at that,

and then he says,

“I guess she’s going to be just fine.”

When Blaze walks in,

any coldness

that remains

melts completely

away.

Nothing

has ever looked

so good,

so perfect,

so absolutely

hot.

The nurse

is checking my vitals,

so he waits

for her to finish.

I want to ask her

if my heart rate

shot up

at the sight

of my boyfriend,

but I don’t.

I don’t have to ask anyway.

I know it did.

He does that to me.

He’s always done that to me.

After she leaves,

he is there,

on my bed,

holding me and

kissing

every inch

of my face.

“God, Ali.

I thought I’d lost you.”

“Shhhhhh,” I tell him.

“Don’t talk.

Not yet.

Just hold me.

Please.

Just hold me.”

And so

he does.

Because

that

is what I missed

most of all.

After lots of holding,

I tell him

about our days

in the car,

about chips and ketchup,

which kept us nourished,

and the sleeping bag

that kept us warm,

and the guitar I burned

that kept us hopeful,

and the story of Alice

that kept us company,

and how it’s all of that

and so much more

that kept us

alive.

He shivers

at times,

like he’s in the car

with us.

I shiver

at times,

because it’s hard

reliving it all again.

When I’m finished,

he tells me

how search teams were formed,

how he begged to go and help,

but his mom

wouldn’t let him go,

so he walked around in a daze,

unable to eat or sleep or work.

We’re quiet for a minute,

mentally walking

in the other one’s

shoes.

He kisses me.

A long,

warm,

soft

kiss

that reminds me

of watching

a pink-and-orange sunset

as the fireflies appear.

When we’re done,

he pulls out the key chain.

“Ali, every day,

I held this,

and I prayed you’d come back to me.”

“Really?”

He shrugs.

“Who else could I turn to?”

I smile, and ask him,

“So does that mean you’ll go to church with me

sometime?”

He laughs and says,

“You know what? Maybe I will.”

I’m not ready

for Blaze to leave,

but he says

he needs to run an errand

for his mom.

I tell him

to hurry back.

He’s only gone

for a minute.

I laugh.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away long.”

He smiles.

“Claire’s here.

She brought you doughnuts.”

I think of her

standing there,

doughnuts in hand.

I want to be happy,

but instead

I feel my heart

droop like a daisy

at night.

She didn’t

want to make up

before.

She didn’t want

to talk it out.

She didn’t want

to be my friend.

I broke my phone

because of her.

A phone that could have

saved us

from all

that we endured.

I don’t get

why she’s here.

She thought I was dead,

so now she loves me again?

“I’m not ready to see her,” I tell him.

Because it’s the truth.

I’m not.

A little while later,

Dad walks in

carrying Ivy.

I squeal

when I see her.

He places her

in my arms,

and I can’t believe

how good

and strong

and healthy

she looks.

“Ali,” he says, “I need to tell you how sorry I am.”

My eyes move

from the baby

to him.

I can tell

it’s hard for him.

“I pushed you away,” he continues.

“You remind me so much of your mom.

And it hurt, I guess.”

“I didn’t exactly make it easy for you.”

It’s not all your fault.”

Ivy is kicking her legs,

waving her arms,

and looking at me with her

big, beautiful eyes.

Thankfulness

oozes from my pores.

She is here.

She is strong.

She is fine.

“It’s so weird how much I love her now,” I say.

“I guess something good did come out of being lost.

I’m just sorry it took a stupid crisis.”

“I don’t think it matters
how
hearts are mended, Al.

Just that they are, you know?”

I think of Claire,

going home,

an expert mender

when it comes to clothes,

but unable to mend

her broken heart

without my help.

She has the needle,

but I have the thread.

“Can I borrow your phone, Dad?”

Blaze and Claire

walk in

at the same time.

Claire is still holding

the bag of doughnuts.

And Blaze is holding

a brand-new,

supersweet

guitar.

“Blaze! Seriously?”

He puts it in my lap

and gives me a kiss.

“Figured you’d want to start writing.

And playing.

I know that’s how you deal with stuff.”

I look at Claire.

“I’m sorry, Ali,” she says.

“You can write whatever songs you want.”

I smile at her.

“No.

You were right.

People don’t want to feel sad all the time.

I’ve learned I sure as hell don’t.”

She comes over,

gives me a hug,

kisses my cheek,

and hands me my

doughnuts.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she says

with tears in her eyes.

“Me too,” I tell her.

“And I’m sorry too.

For everything.”

She hugs me again,

and when she stands up,

she says, “So come on.

Pass out the doughnuts!

I’m starving.”

I strum on my guitar,

then hand it to Blaze

so I can eat.

Doughnuts

Music.

Love.

It doesn’t get

any better

than this.

Ivy and I

are both released.

Vic has to stay

a little longer

because she lost some toes

and needs to start

rehabilitation.

When I visit her

before we go,

she’s holding

her sleeping baby,

and the picture

of the two of them

is just how it should be.

She pats the edge

of her bed

and asks me

to sit with her.

“I don’t know how you did it,” I tell her.

“Me neither,” she says.

“I just walked and walked,

even when I didn’t think I could go any further.

It’s a miracle the search team found me.

I think an angel was looking out for me.”

When she says that,

I can only nod

because I know

it’s true for all of us.

Outside the window

there is blue sky,

sunshine,

and fluffy white clouds.

In a few minutes

I’ll be out there

again.

Will I ever

think of the world

the same

again?

Will I ever

squeal in delight

at the sight of snow

again?

Her voice jars me

from my thoughts.

“Thank you, Ali.

For taking care of her.”

I reach over

and grab Ivy’s

little hand.

I don’t want to worry.

I don’t want to be sad.

I have so much to be happy about.

So I smile and say,

“Next time I baby-sit,

can we have a pizza delivered?”

Cobain

is there

as I open the door,

and I think

he might lift himself

off the ground,

his tail

is wagging

so hard.

It’s dinnertime,

and Dad asks me

if I want to

help him make enchiladas.

I see the can of sauce

on the kitchen counter,

and I remember the jingle

we made up

together.

As soon as I

start singing,

he joins in.

“Sweet Fiesta Verde Sauce,

Verde Sauce,

Verde Sauce.

Sweet Fiesta Verde Sauce,

Frankenstein’s lip gloss!”

We laugh when we get

to the final line,

and I tell him

enchiladas sound great.

But then Ivy cries

and I instinctively

reach down

and pick her up

to comfort her.

After a few seconds,

her mouth curves into

a big grin.

“Dad, she smiled!

She smiled at me!”

I talk

baby talk to her

and she keeps smiling.

“That grin’s bigger than the Cheshire-Cat’s,” Dad says.

And then I remember.

“Did the car make it back here?

Or the stuff in the car?”

He shakes his head.

“Not yet.

Why?”

My brain is thinking,

trying to remember

if I have another copy.

“Can you make dinner by yourself?

Ivy and I want to look for something.”

“Of course,” he says.

When I find the book

on my bookcase,

I flip through the pages,

wondering how

I will ever know

which part is

Mom’s favorite.

Something about

yesterday.

Flipping

skimming

flipping

skimming.

And then

a mark in the book

catches my eye.

It’s underlined.

Did she do that?

Has it been there this whole time,

and I never noticed?

I read the line out loud.

“‘…it’s no use going back to yesterday,

because I was a different person then.’”

“I guess it means

everything’s always changing,” I tell Ivy.

“Nothing’s ever the same.”

I stop and grab

a piece of paper,

lyrics coming at me

faster than my hand

can write them down.

Inspired.

As I write,

it’s as if Mom is there

next to me.

She understands.

She always did.

And suddenly

I feel the need

to go to my closet,

get the painting she gave me,

and place it on my desk.

“You know what?” I say to Ivy

as I think about our time in the snow.

“The more you can share,

the less lost you feel.”