emphysema for close to a year, but now he’s bedridden and without a voice. Miriam’s taken on the role of nurse, and clicks the lamp on the side table before grabbing the inhaler.
In front of me now, Miriam closes her eyes, and tears spill onto her cheeks. She thinks back on that night, and I’m there with her.
Miriam turns to her husband, and his eyes lock on hers—pleading and desperate. His look begs her to let him go, to let him finally have peace.
“Don’t you leave me,” Miriam murmurs, her lips quivering with the start of a cry. Samuel, unable to talk, only reaches to take her hand—a hand that held his for forty years—his body shaking with the coughs he tries to hold in.
She has a choice then. Instead of putting the inhaler to his mouth, forcing medication into his lungs, Miriam Kemper curls up next to her husband and feels his arms around her one last time. She cries into the warmth of his nightshirt until his coughing finally subsides. Until all is quiet and his arm falls away.
“Oh, Miriam,” I whisper, feeling the guilt the way she does. The crushing sense of final loss, the shroud of doubt. But beyond that is a message, something I have to tell Miriam—even though it’s not really from me. “It’s what he wanted,” I say, trying to soothe her pain and alleviate her guilt. “He loved you very much.”
I move to put my hand on her shoulder, and she winces as if my touch hurts her.
“I’m all alone,” she weeps. “I can’t make it without my Samuel.”
“You will.” There’s so much energy racing through me, it’s making me dizzy. I want to pull away, but I can’t. Miriam has to listen. If she doesn’t, she’ll die. “Samuel would want you to move on,” I tell her. “To have a life. You have to love him enough to let him go now.”
She’s crying, but suddenly . . . I feel it. She’s listening, accepting what I’ve told her. Miriam knows she has to keep living her life, but her grief had overwhelmed her. This small respite has given her clarity.
Miriam sniffles hard, smoothing back her hair. I lower my arm, and the pain that had built up, the energy, dissolves. I expect Miriam to turn to me, ask what just happened. But before I try to explain, warmth and euphoria spread over me, making me sway on the bench. The hot, searing pain in the back of my neck has faded away. After a moment, I turn to Miriam again. She’s gathered herself, looking as if she’s ready to leave.
“I’m sorry,” I say, worried I’ve frightened her. Miriam casts a confused glance around the street and then seems just to notice me. “Oh, hi, honey,” she says, her voice still thick from crying. “Do you know what time it is?”
Is she not going to ask what’s going on? I’m freaking out, but Miriam doesn’t appear concerned. “Uh,” I fumble, taking a long moment to answer. “It’s about one thirty, I guess.”
Miriam smiles, and reaches to pat my arm. “Well, then I better get home. I think I’ll go see my son in Denver. Tell your mother and father I said hello.” She stands, pulling her purse strap over her shoulder. And then she leaves.
I stare after her, my heart racing. My fingers still tingling. This is the second time this has happened. First with Tanner, now with Miriam. Am I psychic? Am I crazy? Tears well up, and I’m scared. Am I scared enough to tell my parents? What if they don’t believe me? What if they think—
I get up from the bench and run for my car. I turn the ignition, wishing I had a phone. My parents are probably at the bakery with River. Ezra and Soleil are at his house. I don’t know where to go, so I drive back to my house. I’ll be alone, and I’m terrified to be alone.
But I’m not crazy.
The minute I get home, I turn on my laptop and begin researching. I type in every symptom, every sensation—but nothing fits exactly. Instead it seems like I could have a million different disorders, diseases. Rather than comfort me, the internet has made me more terrified. I click the laptop shut and start toward my room. My head is foggy, and I won’t let myself cry anymore.
I’m going to sleep this off. When I wake up, I’ll talk to my mom and dad. They’ll know what to do. But I can’t discuss it right now. My body is worn down, exhausted. I climb up on my bed and hug the pillow close to me. When I wake up, it’ll make sense. I know it’ll make sense.
I gasp awake, the light outside the window set at dusk. For a moment, I can still see Harlin, still remember my face. But as I sit up, turn on my light—the dream slips away, leaving only a vague sense of loneliness. The house is still quiet when I walk out into the living room, and I’m perplexed as to where my family is. We don’t have a house phone, haven’t needed it since we all have cell phones. Or at least we did.
Ezra’s probably wondering where I am right now. Even though I doubt they’re still at the pool, I go back to my room to grab my swimsuit and then head out the door. The incident with Miriam seems far off now, like it happened to someone else. As the fear tries to creep back in, I decide not to let it. If I act normal, then I’ll be normal.
I’m going to find my boyfriend. I’m going to spend time with my best friend. I’m going to work my job at the Costas Bakery. That’s how I’ll make all this craziness go away.
I drive over to Ezra’s and immediately notice that Soleil’s car is gone. I park and knock on Ezra’s front door, the sky quickly darkening into night. No one answers, so I knock again, wondering if he and Soleil went for dinner.
Uneasy thoughts are itching at the back of my mind, wanting to call up the moments with Tanner and Miriam, so I move quickly and get back in the Jeep. I consider dropping by the bakery to see if my family is still there, prepping for tomorrow. It’s weird that they’d still be at the shop, but I can’t imagine where they’d go out and not tell me.
I start driving aimlessly, turning up the radio to distract myself. I take a right on Sycamore Road and realize that I’m near the movie theater. Maybe Lucy’s still there. Or if she’s done, maybe she’ll want to hang out for a while.
I park in the no-man’s-land section of the lot and start my trek toward the theater. When I push open the glass door, the smell of popcorn offers immediate comfort. I love the movies, especially this theater. It’s old and the seats are kind of uncomfortable, but there’s charm in the lack of updating. Vintage posters and old projectors are part of the decor.
The concession stand is in the front before the ticket office, and I notice Lucy right away. She’s wearing a red-and-white-striped shirt with a visor. It’s hysterical. I’m going to tease her about it when she looks up and sees me. I expect her to laugh, but instead she presses her lips together, looking concerned. She whispers to the boy next to her, and he leaves to go in the back.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Lucy says, sounding pained. “I called the bakery a few times. Your brother said he hadn’t seen you.”
“I fell asleep. Why? Are you okay?”
Lucy’s expression is so foreboding that my stomach starts to knot. She reaches across the glass to take my hand, startling me. An aching sort of sickness floods me.
“Ezra’s here,” she says in a low voice. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Claire. But he’s here with that friend of yours. What’s her name?”
I swallow down the acidic taste that crawls up my throat, anger starting to rise inside of me. “Are you talking about Soleil?”
Lucy’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yes. He’s here with Soleil. I spoke to them when they came in.” She tilts her head, examining my eyes. “I’m not sure they remembered me from last night, because if they did—they sure didn’t
