Transcendent (24 page)

“Come here, silly,” I said, opening my arms wide. He took a step toward me, close enough that I could pull him in for a hug.

“You scared us,” he said quietly, his voice shaky. He was letting me hug him, but he wasn't hugging back. “I thought you were really gone. For good.”

“Never. I would never do that, Cal. I just needed a little time.”

“You're not going anywhere else, right?” He wiggled out of my hold and sat down on the floor, staring up at us.

My dad's smile tightened as he glanced down at my mom. Her eyes flickered open, meeting mine with silent approval.

“No,” she said, reaching down to pat Caleb's arm. “She's going to stay here. With us.”

A tapping sound at the doorway made us all jump. I turned to see Zane, with one cautious foot stepping into the room, and Zoey peeking out from behind him.

“Actually, it's not just me staying here,” I said, standing up from the sofa. “These are my friends, and they'll be here with us for a little, too. Zane, from my school, and his sister, Zoey.”

I watched as Caleb's eyes shifted from Zane to Zoey,
a slight blush dotting his cheeks. I bit down on a smile. Caleb was too young for crushes. Or was he?

My dad, on the other hand, looked entirely baffled. I watched him turn to my mom, saw her subtle, single nod in answer to his questions. He paused, just a fraction of a second. And then he stood and walked over to Zane, extending his hand.

“Welcome to our house, then,” he said. “You can call me Jesse.”

Jesse
. My dad was Jesse again.

And just like that, with one little word, it was as if the last seventeen years of lies fell away.

•   •   •

Later that evening we all ate dinner together, my parents and Aunt Izzy and Aunt Hannah sticking to the safest questions possible—basic details about the shelter, where Zoey went to school, whether Zane and I had ever shared any classes. I mentioned that Zane had been in an art class with Delia, and as soon as I heard her name on my lips, I felt the immediate need to speak to her, speak to all my friends.

I waited, though, until after Hannah and Izzy had said their good-byes, and after Zane and Zoey had settled downstairs for the night. My dad, it was decided, would drop Zoey off at her school in the morning when he took
Caleb to his. Zane said he would walk himself, though, from the way he avoided my parents' eyes when he said it, I wasn't so sure
school
was actually where he'd be headed.

I didn't say anything about whether I'd be going or not. Nobody asked.

Back in my room I plugged in my phone. Messages lit up the screen, most of them from my friends. They
had
been trying to reach me—nonstop. I skimmed it all and called Delia first, on instinct. Maybe because she'd be the easiest, the most understanding.

“Are you okay?” she said breathlessly into the phone after barely half a ring.

“I'm fine. I'm home. And I want to tell you everything. In person, though. Tomorrow?”

There was a pause, a rustling on her end of the line.

“Why the hell did she get the first call?” Ari demanded. “Because I'm looking at my phone as we speak and I don't seem to have any missed messages from you. What about you, Ethan?” she called out. I heard Ethan mumble in the background, something that caused Ari to grunt with at least some renewed confidence. “I'm glad it's not just me you bypassed.”

“I called Delia because I trusted her to be the nicest to me about it. I'm a coward, what can I say?”

“Where have you been, Iris? Your mom said something about you staying with some brother and sister from
school? Who the hell are you talking about?”

“You're not going to believe this, but . . . I've actually been with Zane Davis. And his little sister, Zoey. We were at a shelter for the first two nights, and then—”

She screamed, a string of illicit words tumbling out at full volume. I yanked the phone back from my ear, wincing.

“At a
homeless
shelter? With the crazy guy who stabbed someone with scissors? What in God's name were you doing with him?”

“Ari . . . it's not like that.
He's
not like that.”

“Are you kidding me, Iris Spero? He's
exactly
like that. You can just tell.”

“I'm tired, Ari. Let's all talk about this tomorrow, okay? Come over after school.”

“So does that mean you won't be back, then? No more school?”

I was suddenly exhausted, the last four nights of running crashing down all at once. “I have a few other things I need to do. Things that I'll tell you about tomorrow. When we talk civilly and calmly face-to-face, okay?”

“Fine.” She huffed. And then she sighed. “I love you, Iris. You're insane but I love you. We all do.” I heard a clicking that must have been her tapping speakerphone, because then: “Good night, Iris!” “We love you!” Ari, then Ethan and Delia.

I smiled. “I love you, too.”

I hung up and started peeling back my blankets, my eucalyptus-scented, puffy white cloud of a comforter, when my eye snagged on the violin case across the room.

I dropped the blankets.

My hands trembled as I settled onto the blue wing chair and unclasped the case.

The bow.
My
bow.

It felt like weeks since I'd played, not days. I had butterflies. It was like I was going on a first date—or how I imagined I'd feel going on a first date, since I technically never had. The rooftop with Zane, whatever that was, was clearly
not
a date.

I lifted the violin up, tucked it tightly under my chin.

And then I played.

I
WOKE UP
the next morning to a gentle knocking on my door. My eyelids were still heavy with sleepiness. It had been after two when I'd finally put down the violin. My fingers ached now, but it was a good ache; they were meant to play, meant to burn.

“Come in,” I called out, expecting to see my mom.

But no, when the door opened, it was Zane looking in. I sat up quickly, smoothing down the wild strands of my matted hair.

“Hey,” he said, smiling—a smug-looking smile, damn him—at my futile attempts to make myself more presentable. “Sorry to wake you. But your dad just took Zoey and Caleb to school, and I wanted to see if you were going to meet up with Angelica today. The Disney's Children lady.”

“I think so. I think I need to do it fast before I chicken out. Where does this Angelica live? You said Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, Fort Greene, so it's close enough. I just called
her to check in, and she said she's free all day. I can go with you. If you want.”

“You want to go?” I asked, surprised. “But I thought you were busy today. School or . . . whatever your personal business is that you do.” I turned away, unable to look him in the eye to see how he responded to that. It was his business, but I didn't have to like it. Zane was too good to be doing anything illegal. He had too much to lose.

“If you want me to go with you, I'll be there,” he said, his voice husky, gruff almost. “I feel like I'm partly responsible for getting you into all this. And I'm not just going to leave you hanging now. If you need me, that is.”

I nodded. “I'd like that. I want you there, if that's okay with you.”

Zane left me to get showered and ready, which took much longer than it should have. How did someone dress for something like this? I settled on tights and a vintage green dress covered in bright yellow daisies and sunflowers. It was my happy dress, for big exams or auditions, days that needed to start out bright and cheery. Today certainly qualified.

My mom was waiting for me at the kitchen table when I came downstairs.

“Where are you going?” she asked, eyeing the purse and jacket slung over my wrist.

“I'm meeting with the founder of Disney's Children,
the support group I'm going to maybe get more involved with. Angelica Byrne; she just lives in Fort Greene. I won't be gone long, I promise.”

“I don't want you going alone. I'm coming, too.”

“No, it's okay. I won't be alone. Zane offered to come.”

“Doesn't Zane have school?”

“Mom . . . please. I think I need to do this on my own. Zane will just stand in the background in case I really need him. Which I won't. It'll be fine. Okay?”

“This isn't a good idea. It's not just the mobs outside. I haven't heard from Kyle Bennett since you left and that scares me. I'm not buying that he's satisfied just because he broke the news to everyone. I don't like his silence. I don't know what it means, but I don't like it.”

“That's why I have Zane. People don't mess with him. Trust me. Kids at school avoid even passing him in the hallway if they can help it.”

“And
that's
supposed to make your mother feel better?”

“He's a good guy,” I said. I could feel every muscle reflexively tightening, my back straightening in defense. “He's just misunderstood.”

She shook her head, sighing. Any relief she'd felt at my return seemed to have already passed. Her skin was pasty, her eyes rimmed with dark purple circles. From the looks of it, she'd gotten less sleep than I had in the past few days, even though she'd been in her own bed.

“Today, Iris. Let me just come today, okay? Please do that much for my sanity right now. I want to get a feel for this Angelica lady, and the group, and what exactly the next steps would be. And if afterward we both agree it feels right, I'll let you have more freedom. You can go with Zane from here on out. Can we agree to that?”

I nodded. I couldn't be totally unreasonable, not after everything I'd already put them through in the last few days. And this was still
my
decision, after all, my plan of action. I had control over my own life again. I could compromise.

“Thank you,” she said, giving me a weak smile. “We'll go out the kitchen door. We can use the gate in the backyard, cross through the McAllisters' property, and then have a cab waiting for us right on the other side. I don't want any of those fanatics on our trail.”

“Okay,” I said. “Sounds like a plan.” I walked over and wrapped my arms around her, tucking her head beneath my chin. Her already petite frame felt thinner to me. Fragile. “I'm going to be fine, Mom. But you said it yourself yesterday. That dream . . .” I trailed off. I closed my eyes and squeezed them tight, trying to see what she'd seen, those outrageously astonishing colors. It didn't work, though. All I saw was black.

“You have to do this, don't you?”

“I think I do.” I breathed out, her wavy hair tickling my lips.

“I always knew there was a reason—that you were born to do
something
. And as much as it scares me to say it . . . I think this is it. I think it might be your time, my baby girl.”

I lifted my head, meeting her eyes.

“Let's go, Iris. Your crazy, beautiful destiny awaits.”

•   •   •

“I'm so honored to have you both here,” Angelica said, her gray eyes bright as she grinned at me and then my mom, leaning in closer from across her kitchen table. “I speak for everyone in Disney's Children when I say that I am grateful beyond words that you've decided to meet with us. I've been following the news, of course, with everything people have been saying about you, and with everything that's happening at your home right now . . .”

She reached over the table and squeezed my hand. I itched to glance back at Zane, to remind myself that he was still here with us, too. But he had pulled his chair farther away from the table, leaving Angelica, my mom, and me in our own more intimate bubble.

I forced myself to smile, and Angelica continued. “I'm just relieved to know that you're safe. There were some who've been speculating that you were missing because the wrong people got ahold of you. People who didn't buy into the whole miracle-baby thing. They're out there, of course, but from what I've been reading and hearing, it
seems like there are a good amount of people who believe in you.” She dropped my hand and turned her gaze to my mom, her grin growing even wider. “Personally, I believed you when I was a teen, just about your age at the time it all happened. I was fascinated by the whole story, just fascinated. And that video that your friend Jesse made, your husband now, I believe . . . ?” Angelica raised her hand to her heart and fluttered her fingers, beaming at my mom. “Hit me right here. That's when I knew you were telling the truth. I was heartsick for months when I thought you'd lost the baby. It just wasn't right. It wasn't right how people treated you, no matter what they did or didn't believe.”

“Thank you,” my mom said quietly. “That means a lot.”

Angelica looked back at me then, and I nodded, too emphatically. But I didn't know what to say, really. Her tone, the look in her eyes—I felt like we were
celebrities
to her, humbly accepting her reverence and adoration. Was this how it would be from now on? How did actual celebrities handle this every day of their lives? I was already overwhelmed, and it had been less than five minutes. I had a newfound respect for my mother, her strength and her patience. I reached down and found her hand under the table, interlacing my fingers tightly with hers.

“I called Sam and Janelle after I heard from Zane, and they couldn't stop raving about the wonders you worked on little Abigail. And now to think that you'll meet so many
other kids . . .” Her eyes glossed over with tears, and she paused for a moment, swiping at her wet cheeks. “I was at Disney that day with my husband and our two kids, and our best friends and their kids, and . . . well, the four of us were lucky enough to make it out with just a few scratches from all the flying debris. But my best friend, Claire . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut as the words trailed off.

Angelica looked ashy, suddenly, in the white sunlight spilling through the kitchen's lacy red curtains. She opened her eyes, staring at me as she continued on. “Claire survived. But she lost her husband and two of her kids . . . They were right at the castle when it happened, while Claire and her youngest daughter, Lula, were making a run to the restroom. It could have been all of them, Iris. Thank God, because it could have been
all of them
.”

Angelica frowned, slowly shaking her head as she studied me.
Me
, I realized with a start. She was glad to have my mom there, too, but
I
was the focus. The answer.

To her, my mom's story was in the past.

Mine was the present. The future.

“Even still,” she continued, bringing me back, “we have to remember what we have. Honor those we lost, but recognize that those who survived have to find a way to keep on living. That's why I wanted to start Disney's Children. I thought that if all of us banded together, we could help one another heal. Help in any way we can. Donations
and hot meals, driving families to and from the hospital for visits or treatments . . . or even something just as simple as a hug and shoulder to cry on. But it's hard. The people who have it the worst—they can't think about anything but their own families right now. I figured I had a lot to give, since I was one of the lucky ones, so . . . so starting something like this was the least I could do.”

“Can I meet Lula?” I asked, the question catching even me off guard. My mom squeezed my hand harder.

“Of course,” Angelica said, her frown instantly lifting into a smile. “I was already hoping you would be willing to meet her, since she was my inspiration for all of this.”

“How is she doing? What . . . what were her injuries like?” I braced myself, waiting to hear the worst.

“She's better off than most. A few burns and cuts on her legs, but other than that, most of the healing she has to do is on the inside. I can't imagine a seven-year-old girl like her having to mourn one member of her family, let alone three. And Claire . . . Claire's trying her best to keep up a front, but she's devastated, of course. Just devastated.” Her voice broke and she blinked, turning away from us.

“Take me to them,” I said, sounding so drastically more confident than I felt. Inside I was dizzy and nauseated and unstable, my heart racing and my palms coated in a slippery layer of cool sweat. But there was no going back. I had to do this.

Or no, it was more than that.

I
wanted
to do this.

•   •   •

Claire opened the door to her ornately decorated brownstone with a weak smile, her arms briefly reaching out, hesitating, before she turned away.

She had probably been an uncommonly gorgeous woman before, all porcelain skin and high, sharp cheekbones, towering over me by a good six inches. But she looked to me like a sad flicker of beauty now, her red-rimmed eyes lined with dark circles, greasy hair in a sloppy bun, bones that seemed just a little too pronounced, too severe. I swallowed my tears and looked away, the weight of her grief a tangible, breath-sucking creature.

“She refuses to go back to school,” Claire said, shutting the door as Angelica, Zane, and my mom stepped into the foyer behind me. I forced my eyes back to her, watching as she gave Angelica a brief, one-armed hug and nodded in acknowledgment toward Zane and my mom. “She refuses to leave her room except for when I make her come to the table for meals. I don't know what she does all day in there, really. Whenever I knock, whenever I try to interest her in doing anything at all, she just sits there staring. She's a ghost, my baby girl. She's a ghost, and she's all I have left in this world.”

The rest of us were silent. There were no words to bridge that void. Claire walked over to me, lightly taking my hand as she led me toward Lula's bedroom. “She barely says a word to me lately, but maybe she'll open up more if it's just you in the room. I'll wait right outside. Just in case you need anything.” She knocked twice, opening the door though Lula hadn't responded, and then she nudged me into the room. The door closed behind me, though not all the way. There was a thin sliver of air, just enough space for our words to carry.

I couldn't think about Claire listening, judging. It would only terrify me more.

In this room, it was just us. Me and Lula. Me standing frozen in front of her doorway, Lula sitting in a heap of blankets on the bed, curled into a tiny ball as she hugged her knees in tight. She was as beautiful as her mom, a miniature version of her with thick, wavy black hair and pale skin, dark eyelashes framing stunning sapphire-blue eyes.