Keystone (7 page)

Mark and Brandon skulk into the room behind Sean, all three of them in black suits. Mark swings his arms, fighting the pinch of the tight fabric while Brandon’s fingertips are nearly lost beneath his long sleeves. Sean is the only one who looks right and he puts on the brakes when he sees me, sending the other two boys crashing into his back. They grunt and try to push Sean out of their way, but when they see me, they stop shoving. Mark’s arms drop to his sides.

“Noooice,” he says.

“It’s just Nali in a dress,” Brandon says and with his sleeve-covered hand, he smacks the back of his brother’s head. Mark turns on him and punches Brandon in the shoulder. Their squabbling is so normal, it makes everything feel a little less awful. Sean still breaks up the fight and hauls the boys into the row in front of me.

“Have a seat, you two,” he orders. They plop down, grumbling.

“You look really good, Nalena,” Sean says before he sits down to box the boys in.

Addo comes in next. He looks like an uncomfortable clown, thrown out of his dressing room too soon. He’s in a blazing yellow suit coat that he’s thrown over a new, smudge-free, gray set of sweats. The elastic leg cuffs are yanked up like normal, his glaring white socks still covering the face of each knee. But he’s got on brand new pair of polished sandals.

He nods, in recognition of my one raised eyebrow, as he takes his seat. In the back of my head, I hear him say,
You look very pretty.

Thank you,
I think back to him.
So do you.

Well, you know, I’m not here to mourn. No sense in that. I’m here to celebrate some lives.

It doesn’t feel anything like a celebration to me, so I just nod with a tolerant grin.

You know what the real shame is here, kiddo?
Addo goes on.
It’s that someone relegated black to represent mourning. It’s a crime, really, to pigeonhole it in like that. Black shouldn’t be used for mourning; it should only be used for slimming…

In the back of my head, Addo is still burbling about the benefits of a black wardrobe when Garrett steps into the living room, buttoning his wrist cuff. He is wearing a black suit and black shoes and his black hair hides his eyes. He is still messing with his sleeve when he stops at the edge of the folding chairs. He gives the cuff one last adjustment before looking up.

I’m the one he sees first, standing at my chair, one bare foot layered on the other and peeking out from the bottom of my gown.

His bottom lip dips open. That’s all it takes for him to make me beautiful. His eyes travel up from my feet, his brow lifting, until his gaze locks on mine. He whispers a word so softly I only see it on his lips. We sit down together and he leans toward me, like he is going to whisper the word so I can hear it this time, but instead, he whispers an entire sentence across my cheek.

“You are absolutely stunning,” is what he says.

It’s not like a doorbell rings. Nok just disappears up the staircase and reappears with a woman. She’s as thick as a file cabinet, with square glasses and a blunt haircut that makes her look as though she’s sticking her head through a picture frame. She smiles like it aches and shakes my hand with just her fingertips, but it’s weird to see Ms. Fisk anywhere except where I’m used to her being: at the circulation desk, in the library, upstairs.

The Addo ambles over to Ms. Fisk, his good arm extended like he’s going to take her hand and kiss it.

“It’s good to see you again, Alo Charlotte,” he says, but before he can take her hand, she pulls it away.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Her voice is like a doily, airy and delicate, as she touches her fingertips to her neck. “We aren’t using that terminology any longer, Addo. We’ve decided we can’t risk being identified by the old titles.”

Addo drops his hand with a tolerant grin. “Oh no? Did someone decide it was our names that were ruining our smoke screen?”

“Us,” she says. “All of us that are left, that is. We address one another as
Sir
and
Madam
and we no longer use first names. Only surnames now.”

“Mmm hmm.” Addo hums. Ms. Fisk pinches her lips together as if she wants to let Addo know he’s being difficult. But he does it right back to her and says, “So the plan is to baffle the Fury with manners and surnames. Sounds like a solid plan, Charlotte, if ever there was one.”

Ms. Fisk clasps her hands in front of her. “We simply thought it’d be best to begin fresh and have our acts together, so to speak, before we blend with the outer Curas.”

“What’s a Cura?” I whisper to Garrett.

“They are the twelve other communities, just like ours, that the other twelve Addos were responsible for,” he whispers back. The other twelve that are all dead now.

“We need to make changes,” Ms. Fisk says. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. You have to agree with that.”

“Mmm.” Addo clamps his lips together. “Well, I suppose we’ll discuss this further during the Totus. Thank you for letting me know, Charlotte.”

“Madam.” She corrects, dotting the name softly into the air with her finger.

“Excuse me, of course. Ma…dam.” When Addo says
Madam
, he says it funny like
my
damn,
which makes Brandon and Mark snicker from their seats. Although Addo doesn’t turn to look at them, his grin assures me that the next words are more for their benefit than Ms. Fisk’s. “So that would make you...
My Damn Fisk
.”

This is not lost on any of us. Not even Mrs. Reese. Her lips tremble to hold down a grin. Garrett coughs a laugh into his hand. So does Sean. I put my hand over my face and pinch the base of my nose while Mark and Brandon wheeze into their collars. When they can’t hold back any longer, they explode into a fit of coughing laughter that makes Ms. Fisk wheel around to face them. It feels good to giggle behind my hand.

“Alright then.” Ms. Fisk clears her throat with a lift of her brow. “How about if we just get started? Where is the paper?”

Addo brings her a pen and a few sheets of plain, white paper from one of Nok’s cupboards. It’s the same kind of paper I used to bring my mom from the office supply store. I sit down beside Garrett, disappointed. No, it’s more than that. My mom and Garrett’s dad deserve parchment or something. Not cheap copy paper. Not something that could be folded up and washed in the pocket of my jeans.

Ms. Fisk sits down at the card table before I can object. Addo sits off to the side. Mrs. Reese and Nok are in the front with Iris sandwiched between them; Sean, Brandon and Mark are in the next row and Garrett and I sit behind everyone. We’re all as still as strangers waiting for a bus, except that Garrett reaches over and takes my hand. I glance over and catch his eyes, brighter under the tears. He still smiles at me.

Addo leans off his chair, staring at Ms. Fisk, as if he’s waiting for an alligator to surface at an exhibit. Ms. Fisk sits back and the chair squeals beneath her. She shifts around to get more comfortable and each time, the chair squeals. I want her to stop.

Eventually, she closes her eyes. And she starts humming. Humming, not writing. Each hum drags across my ears, like sharpening a knife on my nerves. Addo settles back onto his seat, his sling resting on his belly and his eyes closed. He starts humming along with her.

Then Mrs. Reese starts humming in the front row with Nok. Even Iris. Then Brandon. Then Mark. The sounds of them all connect; all drop into the same pitch. Holy crap. It’s like they’re doing a spiritual, humming, stadium wave.

I glance to Garrett for answers, but he closes his eyes and then he’s humming along with everyone else. Sean and I are the only ones that are hum-less and Sean has his head in his hands like he’s praying into his palms. I can’t even ask him why they’re doing it.

I’m totally freaked that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Maybe I should be humming too, but no one told me to do it. I don’t want to just jump in and have all their eyes pop open and their heads whip around to see why I just ruined their tune.

I lean forward and poke Sean in the back. He lifts his head out of his hands, but as he glances over his shoulder at me, my eyelids get super heavy. Like they are made of concrete. I squint at Sean, but my lips fill with concrete too. They are too heavy to shape into words. Sean just gives me an understanding grin and turns back to his palms like there’s nothing wrong. I stop fighting the concrete and let my eyes close.

I don’t know if the hum is coming at me or if I’m charging straight into it. Whichever it is, it’s a massive, blooming wave of energy, that I can see inside my eyelids as it explodes right in front of me. I collide with it and it envelops me. My skin tingles all over and my eyes itch. My brain is rainbow Jell-O, spinning in a blender.

In the back of my head, I hear my mom’s voice whisper,
Don’t fight it. Let go.
I do what she says and I ooze into the merry-go-round of humming colors.

My mom is next to me. She’s doesn’t look like an unfinished crossword puzzle anymore. She looks like I remember her, except all the worry lines on her face are gone and there are no bullet holes.

She is beautiful, with her hair tied up in flowers. She reaches for my hand and when Garrett takes my other, we’re connected to everyone else in the room, forming a large, loose circle. My mother’s touch is soft and Garrett’s is electric, but it feels like I am welded to them both, snapped in place, in a huge energy grid.

Garrett’s gaze moves around the circle and I follow it, only stopping when we find his father standing beside his mom. Mr. Reese smiles at us and a wild current moves through Garrett’s hand to mine and I smile too. I turn to my mother.

I thought there’d be a zillion things I’d want to say to her, but standing in this circle, I don’t feel like I need to say any of it. I can feel my mom’s emotions as if they’re words on my tongue or blood moving through my heart. She’s running through me.

Her sadness over our separation comes through my chest in drumbeats and her disappointment in having to leave so soon tastes like salt on my tongue. But then those emotions melt away and they are replaced by something stronger. I inhale until my chest feels like it will burst open with joy. This is how it feels for her to love me.

The touch between us empties and becomes a clear, pulsing connection. It’s my turn. Everything comes at once and I can’t slow it down. The fear and love and worry and relief and sadness go barreling out of me at once, like a tsunami washing the massive chunks of my emotions to her, along with the tiny bits of feelings I’ve had for her through my whole life. I can feel her accepting each emotion and feeling each one of them, until I am empty.

And then she sends me back one last emotion. It swirls through me and encircles me like her arms used to. I am filled again with her love for me and it takes up so much room that my worry trickles away, my guilt dissolves, and my sadness disappears. The fear we had of being separated explodes and whisks itself out of the circle. The only thing left is how she feels about me and how I feel about her. It’s as warm and satisfying as a chocolate chip cookie right out of the oven.

The love my mother has felt for me fastens itself, like a tiny diamond, in the corner of my heart. And suddenly, like a light switch or an alarm clock or snapping fingers, the grieving is over. Somehow, she’s put me back together and left a little of herself so I won’t ever be without her. I am too whole now to be sad anymore.