before they start talking. We know because the two gray suitcases are up from the basement and have been side by side in the guest room for days.
“Your mother and I have decided it’s time for me to move out,” Dad says. They are words Bronte and I have been dreading for so long, I can’t recall when the dread began.
“It’s just for a while,” Mom says, but that’s like closing the barn door after the lawyers have fled.
Bronte’s tears come quickly. “Don’t lie to us. There is no ‘just for a while.’”
Our parents’ eyes have become shiny and wet as well. “Maybe you’re right,” Dad says. “Maybe it’s forever. Maybe.”
It’s the F word that gets my waterworks going. Forever. The escape valve opens; I wipe my eyes quickly and close the valve again. Forever sucks.
While Bronte gets herself under control I say, “Things will probably get worse before they get better.”
“Tennyson’s right,” says Bronte. “And we’ll probably both have bizarre meltdowns every once in a while, even if we seem okay.”
“Yeah,” I say, and add, “If we don’t have meltdowns, that’s when you should worry.”
Our parents look at us with the stupefied kind of amazement that’s usually reserved for slot machine jackpots, or papal introductions.
“How did you two get to be such old souls?” says Dad, incredulous.
Without missing a beat I say, “Prolonged sun exposure,” and pinch crow’s-feet into the corners of my eyes.
“Yeah,” says Bronte. “We’ll probably need Botox at twenty-two.”
And in spite of the seriousness of the day, Mom and Dad can’t help but chuckle.
It’s only after they leave the room that it truly begins to hurt. I hold Bronte—not just to comfort her, but to comfort myself as well, because maybe I’m feeling as awful as she is, whether I show it or not.
But in that bottomless moment when the whole world feels like it’s tearing in half, I realize deep down that this is the moment we’ve been waiting for since the day Brew fell silent. We’ve finally come back around to where things were when we took Brewster and Cody Rawlins into our home…
…which means this is the moment that we have finally, truly taken back our own pain.
That day at the pool we could only bring Brew halfway back—he needed something more to complete the journey home. But now we’ve finally taken full possession of what is rightfully ours, because everyone must feel their own pain—and as awful as that is, it’s also wonderful…
…because isn’t that the sound of a phone ringing?
Not just one, but all of them. Our house phone here in the kitchen, Bronte’s cell phone up in her room, Mom’s in her purse—for all I know every phone in the world is ringing at that very moment. But there’s one ring in particular that grabs my attention.
In the kitchen junk drawer sits my old waterlogged cell phone, which I never had the chance to replace. It hasn’t worked since the day it journeyed with me to the bottom of the pool—but as I open the drawer, there it is, playing a familiar ringtone, its call light blinking as magically and impossibly bright as a firefly.
Like me, Bronte looks at it with awe, and a little bit of fear—because there are some things you simply know. Miles beyond intuition, and one step past a leap of faith, there are some things you know!
“Answer it,” she says.
But instead I put it into her hands and smile.
“I think it’s for you.”
As she moves the phone to her ear, I can already feel our spirits rising with anticipation—amazed at how quickly that can happen after our parents’ news. I’ve always been a rational guy. I believe what I can see, but now I also believe there is room in the world for miracles. Maybe not the ones we expect, but they’re miracles all the same. They happen every day if only we pay attention.
“Hello?” says Bronte into a phone that shouldn’t work—and the smile on her face, the sudden joy in her eyes tell me everything I need to know. Yes, today is a day for our family to grieve, but now it’s also a day to rejoice!
So open your eyes, Brew. Open your eyes, and talk to us. We’ll keep our pain, but I promise we’ll share our joy. Talk to us, Brew… because we’re finally ready to take your call.
About the Author
NEAL SHUSTERMAN is the award-winning author of more than thirty books for teens that span many genres. He has also written screenplays for motion pictures and television shows such as
Other books by NEAL SHUSTERMAN
DARK FUSION SERIES
STAR SHARDS SERIES
STORY COLLECTIONS
AUTHOR’S WEBSITE: www.storyman.com
