I promised myself al that was gone, forgotten, and it’s going to stay that way. I made myself strong, I taught myself to know who—and what—I am.
I go find Clement. He’s drinking coffee in the cafeteria and looking out at the river, and he grins the second I mention Eli’s name.
“Told that boy to look out for you,” he says. “I said, ‘Eli, there’s a firecracker.’”
Wel , Eli was right. Clement didn’t cal me ugly. He just cal ed me an object people blow up on holidays. I’d been wondering a bit about how they knew each other, but now I so don’t care. And besides, Clement knows everyone.
“The thing is, I need him to help me with something,” I say. “And we both know you know everyone and everything and can do stuff. So can Eli help me?”
“What do you want him to do?” Clement says. “I know how you young girls are about love, Abby, but if you want to go out with him, you should—”
“Oh no,” I say. “I don’t—this isn’t about me. It’s for Tess. She moved her eyes, remember? And she did it when Eli was talking. So I know that if he talks to her, he can wake her up.”
Clement takes a sip of coffee. “Just like that?”
“I know it’l work. I know my sister. She likes cute guys and Eli—wel , he’s—you’ve seen him. If his voice can get her to move, just imagine what she’l do once she opens her eyes.”
“He is a good-looking boy,” Clement says. “Takes after his grandmother’s side of the family, but he looks like his mother too. She’s a tiny little thing. Came over here from Japan and—”
I cut him off. “So can he do it?”
“You know what your problem is?” Clement says. “You’re impatient.”
“You said I was worried before.”
“So you’re both,” Clement says, and takes another sip of coffee.
“Wel ?” I say, when he doesn’t say anything.
“See?” he says.
“Fine, you’re right,” I say, grinning at him. “So can Eli do it or what?”
“He can help you,” Clement says. “And you can help him.”
“Wel , I think Tess wil take care of that,” I say. “When she wakes up, I mean.”
Clement starts to say something, and then pats my hand. “You shouldn’t be—you should like yourself more, Abby.”
I swal ow. “I like myself as much as I should,” I final y say. “And thanks for agreeing to this.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I was going to have to move Eli out of the gift shop anyway. He keeps giving away gum. And it takes him forever to count out the magazines.”
“Sort out.”
“I know what I said,” he tel s me. “I meant count. So I said count.”
“Al right,” I say, holding up my hands in mock surrender, and when he pul s out another of his cough drops, I wave at him and head off.
“You’re welcome,” he cal s out after me, and I walk out of the hospital feeling lighter than I have in months.
This wil work. I know it wil . I’m going to give Tess what she wants. I’m going to watch her wake up. I’m going to see my family knit itself back together, return to the way things used to be.
I’m going to watch Tess wake up, and then I’l final y be able to get away from her. From seeing her so trapped and helpless now.
From living in her shadow.
for the ferry, but don’t bother even trying to ride up to her. People take waiting for the ferry very seriously around here, and I don’t feel like getting yel ed at for “cutting in line,” never mind that together, me and my bike make up about a quarter of a car. The ferry stil counts us as one vehicle.
And makes me pay for it too.
So I wait, and after I’m ushered on board and everyone has parked and the ferry is final y chugging away from the dock, I go find Claire.
She’s standing up near the front of the boat, pushing her hair back off her face with one hand. Claire isn’t pretty, but she stands out. She has short hair, barely over her ears, and it’s bright red, almost orange. She used to wear it super short, practical y a buzz cut. I was ten and Tess was thirteen when Claire first got it cut that way, and Tess thought it was the most amazing thing ever. She had a photo of the two of them down at the beach, the top of Claire’s head as sunburned as her nose, stuck in the frame of her dresser mirror for ages.
I wonder what she did with it when she decided she wasn’t speaking to Claire anymore. I never asked her. When Tess was eighteen and I was fifteen, I never spoke to her unless I had to.
“Hey,” I tel Claire, and plant myself next to her at the rail. The ferry pushes into a wave, and spray mists my face.
“Hey,” Claire says. “Heard you went to the gift shop today. I didn’t know you were interested in tapping that ass, Abby.”
“Tap that ass? What year is it?”
