What's Left of Me (10 page)

“But
alone
—she—no, no. I’m going with her.”

“That’s entirely unnecessary,” Mr. Conivent said.

“I’m going,” Mom said, but her voice cracked. The words came out as a plea, not a statement.

He smiled. “If you insist, Mrs. Tamsyn, of course that’s fine. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be able to provide another ticket.”

“Then we’ll take Addie there ourselves later.” Dad’s shoulders relaxed a little as he spoke.

Mr. Conivent sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Not recommended. You know how difficult it is to get tickets, and any that
are
available will be expensive. It might be a month or more before anything even vaguely reasonable comes up.” His lips thinned. “A month is a long time.”

If only they knew. A month ago, we barely knew Hally. We’d never met Devon and Ryan. I lived without hope.

“We could find something quicker than that,” Dad said. He gripped the back of our chair, refusing to look at the papers Mr. Conivent had dropped onto our table. “Give us two weeks—one week. We could—”

“A lot can happen in a few weeks,” Mr. Conivent said, raising an eyebrow. Then, like flipping between channels in a television, his expression flickered—morphed into something cold and hard. “She might get worse, as sick people often do. Think about it. Your little boy, for example. What would happen if he weren’t able to get his treatments for a few weeks?”

His words sucked all the air from the room.

“I think,” Mr. Conivent said into the vacuum, “it would be best for everyone if Addie came with me. Tonight.”

I whispered.

Addie said nothing at all.

Mom touched our shoulder with a trembling hand. “Addie. Addie, go pack, all right?”

Addie stared up at her. Our parents stood on either side of our chair like day and night. Mom, with her corn-silk hair pulled back from her pale, half-moon face. Dad gaping at her, his face red, his lips parted but nothing coming through.

“It’ll only be a few tests and things. Scans,” Mom said. Her voice was so low she might have been speaking to herself. “You had some when you were little, remember? It’s not such a big deal. It’ll be all right.”

Dad looked at us. Addie stared back.
No
, she mouthed.
No. Please.

“Take that red duffel bag,” he said, and he sounded so weary. “Don’t pack too much. You’ll only be a few days.”

Addie sobbed, but only I heard. Our face stayed an unbroken sheet of glass. We didn’t move.

“Go on, Addie,” Dad said.

We had no choice but to obey.

The stairs were mountains. Our heart dragged down our feet.

I said.

Addie pulled out the duffel bag and began folding clothes, grabbing underwear and socks from our dresser, yanking a T-shirt from the closet.

But when we finally trudged down the stairs again, duffel bag hanging like a sack of bones from our shoulder, no one said anything about changed minds. Mom’s face looked thinner than I remembered. Lined. Weary. Dad had sunk into our abandoned chair, but he stood when Addie slunk into the room. On the table, the dinner we never got to eat slowly got colder.

“There you are, Addie,” Mr. Conivent said, smiling. “Your parents have already taken care of everything.” He gestured with his folder toward the door. “My car’s parked outside. Why don’t you say good-bye now and we’ll get going.”

Our eyes slid to our parents.

“Just give us a moment,” Dad said. He grabbed our wrist and pulled us into the far corner of the family room. There, surrounded by happy pictures of us and Lyle at various ages—from babyhood to only last month, he sat us down on the couch and kneeled before us, still holding our hands.

A tingling had started in our nose. Addie blinked. Blinked again. Again.

“It’ll only be two days, tops,” Dad said. The huskiness in his voice made the tingling worse. “He told us.”

“What if he’s lying?” Addie said.

“Any longer than two days and I’ll come get you myself,” Dad said. “I’ll fly right up there and kidnap you from under their noses. You got that?” He smiled weakly, and we tried, tried so hard, to smile in response, but couldn’t. Instead, we just nodded and wiped at our eyes with the back of our hand. “So just tough it out two days, okay, Addie? You can do that.”

We nodded. Held our breath so the tears wouldn’t come. Stared at the ground because it hurt too much to look at Dad’s face.

He pulled us into his arms, pressing us against his chest so tight he squeezed tears from our eyes. Addie put our arms around him, and in a moment Mom was there too, hugging the both of us. Dad let go, and we hugged Mom properly. Her eyes were red. They didn’t meet ours. But she clutched our hands until they ached.

“You understand, Addie,” she whispered in our ear. “You understand, darling. Lyle needs his treatments. They could cut off the treatments, and then—”

She tore herself away so only our hands remained connected, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Mom,” Addie said. Our fingers and hers were wound so tight I couldn’t tell where ours ended and hers began. “Mom, it’s—”

It’s okay.

But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t force the words out, and so we said nothing, just gripped Mom’s hands and held on.

What would they tell Lyle when he came home? Half of me was glad he wasn’t here now, that he hadn’t been here to witness any of this. The other half wept because I wanted to tell him good-bye.

“He’s waiting,” Mom said finally. “We shouldn’t make him wait.”

“He can wait a little longer,” Dad said.

But a few minutes more and we had to go. Mr. Conivent led the way to the car, Dad carrying our duffel bag and setting it in the backseat. We were just about to get in, too, when he pulled us aside and hugged us one last time.

“Love you, Addie,” he said.

“Love you.” Our voice was soft.

We turned again to go. But again he stopped us.

For a long, long moment, he just stared at us, his hand on our shoulder, his eyes tracing our face. Then, just as Addie opened our mouth to say something—I didn’t know what—he spoke again. This time it was he who whispered.

“If you’re there, Eva . . . if you’re really there . . .” His fingers tightened around our shoulder, digging into our skin. “I love you, too. Always.”

Then he pushed us away.

Twelve

T
he drive to the hotel took an hour and twenty minutes. An hour and twenty minutes of Addie hugging our bag to our chest and staring out the window. An hour and twenty minutes of me wishing we could disappear.

We got our own hotel room with a bed bigger than the one our parents shared at home. The coverlet hung perfectly parallel to the ground. The pillows sat at attention, downy chests fluffed out.

“Order dinner if you like,” Mr. Conivent said. “It’s covered by the clinic, and room service will bring it up for you.”

Addie nodded. Mr. Conivent leaned down slightly and showed us one last thing: our hotel key.

“I’m going to keep this with me,” he said. “We’re leaving before dawn tomorrow, and I don’t want you looking for it early in the morning.” He slid the card into his pocket. “Besides, you don’t really need to leave the room until then. Just call room service or reception if you want anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Addie.

“I told the front desk to call at three. I know it’s early, but please be ready by three thirty. I’ll come get you.”

“Okay,” said Addie.

He smiled. “Wonderful. Well, good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Addie didn’t order room service. The television screen stayed black and cold-faced like an enemy. The severely tucked bedsheet bound us against the mattress, and Addie curled up beneath it, shivering as the air-conditioning unit blasted under the window.

An hour later, we were still wide-awake, each minute oozing past. Our grip on the pillow tightened. Addie flipped from our side to our back to our other side, then back again. Finally, our eyes popped open.

I said, as much for my benefit as hers.

Addie said.

My words shriveled up.

she repeated, whispering. I tasted something sour in the back of our throat.

Water in our eyes. Salt on our lips.

she said, and each word carved into me until I was raw and bloody on the inside, everything scooped out.

I tried to block my pain, but I was never as good as Addie at putting a wall between us. She must have felt it. My pain, my guilt—

My anger.

I wrapped myself around the last one, feeling it heat the hollow space inside me like a sun.

Addie gave a long, shuddering sigh. Or it started as a sigh. It ended as a sob.

Once upon a time, I had been strong enough to resist fading away. I’d been reduced to smoke, stripped of everything but a voice only Addie could hear. But I’d held on. I’d refused to go.

I prayed now for the strength to face whatever came next.

The phone blasted us from our nightmare of water and coffins. It was pitch-black. The darkness choked us, digging claws into our throat.

Addie groped across the bed. Our fingers met with an endless landscape of pillows and blankets. The phone screamed and screamed. Finally, our hand slammed down on something hard and cool—the nightstand. Addie reached for the black shape beside the taller black shape, which might have been the lamp.

“H-hello?”

“Good mor—well,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I suppose it’s not really morning yet, is it?”

We were too groggy to form sentences.

“Hello?” said the voice.

Who—? Oh. Oh, right. The wake-up call.

“Yeah—” Addie said. “Yeah, I’m awake.” She sat up, propping ourself against the mattress with one arm. “I’m awake,” Addie repeated, our voice a little stronger. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” the receptionist said. “Have a good day.”

There was a click, and the line went dead. We sat in the darkness, the phone still pressed against our ear.

I said softly. I still rang with the reverberations of Addie’s words from last night:
Your fault.
My fault.

Addie gave no reply. Her silence hurt more than any words.

Slowly, she slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom. The tiles pricked icy needles into the soles of our feet. The sink faucet turned silently—no squeak like the ones in our bathroom at home. The water that came out heated up so quickly Addie almost burned our hands. She had to switch off the hot water completely. The cold water felt more natural, anyway, as it slapped against our face and ran down our cheeks.

She undressed and dressed again without ever turning on the light. There was a change of clothes in our bag, but our school uniform already lay in a rumpled heap on the floor, so Addie pulled it on instead. She brushed our teeth, stuffed our things back into our bag, and then sat on the bed to wait in the heavy, somnolent darkness.

It may or may not have been three thirty when there came a quiet knock. Addie didn’t move. She’d been staring at the door since she’d sat down, so she didn’t even need to shift our gaze.

“Addie?” he said, intruding on our silence, cracking and burning away the last fragments of our dreams. “I’m coming in.”

The door clicked open. Light poured into the room from the hallway, swallowing the darkness wherever the two touched. Mr. Conivent stood blinking in the doorway.

“Are you still in bed?” he said. His voice was lower, harder, sharper than I remembered. He reached inside and flicked on the lights. They seared our eyes.

We stared at him. He stared at us. Our hand tightened on our bag. Then he smiled and laughed a little.

“What are you doing sitting here in the dark? Come on, let’s go.” He beckoned, and we stood. “You aren’t leaving anything behind?”

Addie shook our head.

“Good, because we can’t come back.”

The ride to the airport wasn’t too long, but it was quiet. The radio murmured on and on as the sleeping town slipped by, melting into a never-ending stretch of highway. Each streetlight was a gold flash in the corner of our eyes. We were silent but for one question, which Addie didn’t dare ask until the journey was more than halfway over.

“Where’s Devon?”

There was a slight pause before Mr. Conivent answered. “I sent him ahead in a taxi.” He took his eyes off the road to give us a small smile that only made his next words more chilling. “He’s a little upset at the moment, so I think the two of you would be better off separated for now. Don’t worry about it. Someone will meet him at the airport.”

“We’ll be on the same plane, though?” Addie said.

“Yes,” Mr. Conivent said, a growing edge in his voice. “But we weren’t able to get seats next to one another. You won’t see him.”

It was still dark by the time we checked in at the airport. Addie and I had never been on a plane before; the excitement we might have felt was replaced by a sharp, twisting pain in our stomach.

“Come on,” Mr. Conivent said as we lagged at a window, watching a plane lift off from the runway outside. We couldn’t make out details, mostly just flashing lights in the gloom.

Addie followed him through check-in, then to security. We’d seen things like this on television, but never been near one in real life. We’d heard enough about them, though. Whenever someone at school got to go on a plane, they came back bursting with stories and wouldn’t shut up for ages.

It was early, the security area almost deserted but for us. Mr. Conivent started emptying his pockets and gestured for Addie to do the same. “Put your bag on the conveyor belt. And make sure there’s nothing metal in your pockets.”

Addie hesitated, and he motioned with his head again. “Come on, Addie.”

Addie eased the duffel bag’s strap over our head. The bag began moving away from us as soon as she set it on the belt.

“Nothing metal?” Mr. Conivent said. “No keys? Money?”

She shook our head.

“All right, then,” he said. “Go through that archway over there. I’ll be right behind you.”

Addie walked toward where he pointed, but stole a glance over our shoulder before stepping under the arch. Mr. Conivent was talking with an officer. The latter mumbled into a walkie-talkie between sentences. Before we could catch more than a few words—“here?” “Yes, he—” “three”—a man in uniform on the other side of the arch called for us to come on through.

Addie obeyed, then nearly jumped out of our skin when something started beeping. A step backward brought us back under the arch again. The beeping began anew.

“Hey, hold still,” the officer said, grabbing our wrist and drawing us aside. He was dressed a little like Mr. Conivent—dark pants and shoes, white shirt. Official. “Did you empty your pockets?”

Addie pulled our hand against our chest as soon as he let it go. “I don’t have anything,”

“Well, hold out your arms—that’s right. Straight out like that. I’ll just pass this sensor over you, okay?”

The black wand flashed as he bent and moved it along our right leg. But when he passed it up our left one, it started beeping like the arch had.

“You’re absolutely sure you don’t have anything in your pocket?” the officer said. “Check for me one more time.”

“I don’t usually put anything there,” Addie said, but she reached into our skirt pocket anyway. “I—”

Something small and smooth brushed against our skin. Addie closed our fingers around it and pulled it free: a small black disk, slightly larger than a quarter, with a tiny light set in the middle. Almost—almost familiar, though I couldn’t imagine where we’d seen it before.

“See,” the officer said. He didn’t sound angry, and Addie relaxed a little. “Something like that might set these things off.”

Addie said. Something inside me unclenched at her voice. She hadn’t spoken to me since we’d woken up.

I said.

“Here, I’ll hold that for you,” the officer said. Addie put it in his hand, and he glanced at it before passing the wand over our body again. This time, the thing stayed quiet. “All done,” he said, giving the coin back to us. He even smiled a little.

“Is there a problem?”

Addie spun around. When had Mr. Conivent gotten so close?

“Not at all,” the officer said. “You’re free to go.”

“Wonderful,” Mr. Conivent said, and he was smiling the same way he had when he’d seen Addie walking down the stairs back at home. “Get your things, Addie. We’re behind on time as it is.”

“What was that all about?” he added as Addie grabbed our bag and jogged along behind him.

“Nothing,” Addie said. But our hand closed tightly around the coin.

The airport was arranged into gates, each labeled by a shiny black number on a plaque. By the time we reached the correct one, a line of people was already waiting to board the plane. Mr. Conivent strode to the service desk, leaving us behind a young woman and her two children. The boy, maybe seven or eight and looking highly uncomfortable in his dress clothes, stared at us with big blue eyes.

Addie tried not to be as obvious as she watched Mr. Conivent argue with the woman at the desk. The latter kept gesturing to the computer. We couldn’t see Mr. Conivent’s face, but his shoulders were stiff.

“Your hand’s
shining
.”

Addie looked down, frowning slightly at the little boy who’d spoken.

“Your hand,” he repeated, pointing to our right side. Addie stared. A bright red light pulsed out from between our fingers. The coin. The light we’d noticed before had come to life and was flashing slowly on and off.

“What is it?” the boy asked, leaving his mother’s side.

Addie’s frown deepened. “I don’t know.”

The boy stood on tiptoe, trying to get a better view.

“Tyler?” The line had moved. The young woman grabbed her son’s arm and pulled him forward, ignoring his protests.

“What’s that?” said a voice over our shoulder.

Addie jumped, nearly ramming our skull into Mr. Conivent’s chin. He straightened. How did he manage to keep sneaking up on us like this?

“Nothing,” Addie said. Our fingers curled shut.

His hand clamped around our wrist. “May I see?”

I said quickly.

Mr. Conivent plucked the black coin from our palm and held it to the light. Our eyes traced his movement, pinpointed on the blinking coin until he returned it to us.

“Funny-looking thing,” he said.

Addie tried to smile. “I got it at a joke shop.”

“Did you? What does it do?”

“It’s—”

I rattled off the first thing that came to mind.

“It’s part of a bigger trick,” Addie said. “And it never really worked, anyway. I just found it in my bag—I have tons of junk in there.”

“All right,” he said. He’d already turned away. “Well, let’s go, then.”