Rewrite Redemption (47 page)

I got it immediately. The whole picture just exploded in my mind. I was too stunned to speak. I wanted to yell
WTF?! You risk your life to rescue me. We survive a nightmare. I fall for you. You spend the night holding me in your arms. And you’re just…leaving?

“So my skipping doesn’t really matter,” he continued as though the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis. “It’s a waste. I’ll pick you up after school…west parking lot. I’m going to check on the family and then work on the plan.”

For a moment, I just stood there. I felt a pain deep in my chest, and I wrapped my arms around myself to hold it in. My hair fell forward, hiding my face. I slung my bag over my shoulder and said a quiet “later” without looking at him directly.

In my peripheral vision, I saw him raise his eyebrows, but I was mad and confused and…hurt. I didn’t know how to respond. So I slammed the car door without looking back and took off across the grass. This time it was Lex scurrying to keep up.

You’d think Fate could have warned me before knocking me down again.

What the heck happened? One second, I’m the time-God, handing out the secrets of the universe, and the next she won’t even look at me. She bolts from the car, slams the door, and barely says goodbye. Girls! I’ll never understand them. I thought we were good. One minute, she flows healing energy my way. And the next—bam!—she jerks it back without explanation and slams the door in my face.

Well, not exactly in my face, but
at
me.

I speak “door slam.” I’m the king of door slamming. I invented the frustrated and angry “screw you, this is unfair, like sucks” door slam. That was one of those. Was it an accident? No, I decided, as I pulled out onto Arapahoe Avenue. It was deliberate.

Thinking otherwise was, as Daniel would say, just a self-placating delusion. According to him, I used too many of those to get through life. I knew what Daniel would say about what was going on—I didn’t even have to text him. “Mellow out, man. Life’s too short to get all agro over a woman. Grab your bass. Play it out in the music.”

To complicate things, when A.J. yanked her energy away, she took all my stored-up power with her. I didn’t think she meant to, even if she was mad at me. But I was empty and not doing well. An hour earlier, I’d been walking on air. Sure, there was the mess with my family, but I had a way to fix that. Now all of the sudden, I was drowning again.

Not good.

As I drove home, I sifted through past conversations, searching for some lame-ass thing I might have said that was insulting or inappropriate. I couldn’t come up with anything.

I thought I’d been smooth. I laid next to her all night, hands to myself—how frickin responsible was that? Well, maybe I kissed the back of her neck and sniffed her hair a little, and admittedly I had some illicit thoughts. But I didn’t make one illegal move. And maybe I was out cold for 99% of that time, but still…. I should get some kind of award for that—the frickin forethought, patience, and self-restraint award. Where the heck was the Guild when I did the
right
thing?

Maybe I was seeing it all wrong. Maybe the door slam had nothing to do with me. Maybe she was just stressing about returning to school. That was it. That
had
to be it.
Please, let that be it.
I chose to go with that explanation, delusional or not. Sometimes a self-placating delusion was the only thing that got you through. Apparently, I spoke that language fluently too.

I stopped at the house to change out of my bloodstained clothes, and then I headed for the hospital. As I pulled into the parking lot, I struggled to change focus from A.J. to my family. It was hard to think when I was so drained. It was hard to concentrate.

As usual, the visitor’s lot was full, forcing me to park closer to Nebraska than the hospital. I got out of the car. Then I slammed the car door a few times, to get a sense of how hard she’d have to shove it to make the sound I’d heard earlier—pretty damn hard. She
was
mad at me. I carried the “A.J. hates me freak-out” with me as I walked through the parking lot. I wished I could have left it in the car. The one parked in Nebraska with the loud-slamming door.

I scanned the area for a tree to get some help for what waited inside. But there was nothing of any decent size nearby. I was late as it was. I was supposed to be on my way to school. I decided to just hit the park later. Hoping to hold it together till then, I headed into the hospital, completely defenseless.

In the hallway, I passed a couple of Devon’s nurses…a grandmother type and a skinny brunette about my mom’s age. They were talking and laughing about something. But when they saw me, they cut their laughter off and got quiet. The grandmother gave me a sad smile and patted me on the shoulder as she walked by. The other one avoided eye contact completely. Walking through the intensive care doors, I felt like I weighed about five hundred pounds.

Immediately, the smell of death and disinfectant punched me in the face. I shielded the best I could. Still, my Editor-enhanced senses picked up everything. The lights were dim, like at home in mausoleum mode. Everything was controlled and stark and sterile. Anxious voices murmured in low, constrained tones. It was the song of hopelessness—bad lyrics against the drumbeat of machines keeping people alive. I tried hard to shut it out. It wasn’t a cut I wanted on my memory’s play list.

When I reached Devon’s room, I just stood there for a while, watching through the window. My parents were barely recognizable. At first I thought it was my grandfather sitting by the bed. I wondered why my dad hadn’t texted me that he’d come. Then I noticed he was wearing the same rumpled shirt my dad had worn when I’d driven him to the hospital. How long ago was that? And I knew it was my dad or some version of him.

When the nurse informed my parents I was waiting, my dad dragged himself into the hallway. His zombie transformation was complete now, leaving little ability to relate to me, the living son. He didn’t try to sugar coat it. He didn’t even make eye contact. He just explained in restrained, convulsive sobs, that Devon’s brain was no longer active. They were letting him go.

My dad was a scientist. We grew up believing in facts, not superstition. There would be no argument about what to do. Brain dead was, well, dead. I knew that. All that was left was Devon’s broken body. My dad said they were doing it that day, but my mom refused to do it while the sun was shining. Devon loved the sun. So they were waiting until dark to pull the plug.

My dad put his hands on my shoulders, and with tears running down his face, he told me to say goodbye to my brother. He said there was no reason to stay after that, to just go home. There was a two-person limit on visitors.

I just nodded. Then I walked into the frigid room where my brother lay comatose, hooked up to machines with tubes and wires. My mom raised her head when I entered and immediately collapsed, sobbing against the side of the bed, unable to even look at me.

I stood stoically, saying nothing…
doing
nothing to provide her with any relief. I didn’t know what to do or say. I figured I’d just keep out of their way so they didn’t have to look at me, the son still walking around. As though each step I took, took one away from Devon. Maybe it did. I didn’t know.

But I knew that it was
my
fault.

My father gently collected my crying mother and took her to the waiting room so I could be alone with Devon. I couldn’t talk to my dad, much less my desolate mother. How could I talk to my brain-dead brother? I was alone in that room, but not with Devon.

I was just alone.

I looked at the gray ghost decaying on the hospital bed and shuddered. I forced myself to take Devon’s cold, dried-out hand. Then, looking around to make sure no one could hear me; I said only one thing, the one thing I wanted to shout at my parents, before I begged their forgiveness for having put them through such hell, “I’ll fix this, Dev. I promise.” 

Then I ran from the room, down the hallway, and out of the house of death.

It wasn’t real, I told myself on the drive home. It wasn’t permanently real, at least. By the time I went to bed that night, I’d have my old life back. I’d give back the lives I’d taken. You’d think knowing that would make it bearable. But somehow, it just frickin didn’t.

I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. I’d been so preoccupied with the hospital scene that I’d forgotten to stop by the park for tree juice.
Damn!
The drama at the hospital had pushed me even further out of whack. My whole nervous system was buzzed up and over activated. I’d never been this low before. I didn’t know it could get this bad. The only trees in Colorado I was bonded with enough to get a
real
hit were at A.J.’s house. No way could I go there in daylight. I didn’t want to run into her dad, especially in this condition.

Dude
, I said to myself.
You need to get your act together.

The house was in mausoleum mode, obviously, since no one was there but me. Still, I found myself practically tiptoeing as though they were all sleeping behind those closed doors. It was creepy. The house felt hollow, like if I spoke it might echo. So I lay on my bed with my iPod cranked high and tried hard to get lost in the lyrics.

Grabbing my Fender, I fingered the strings, even though the bass was unplugged and made no sound. At least it gave me something to hold. To fill in the empty spaces between songs, I kept telling myself that by the time I went to bed that night, I’d have my old life back. About three songs in, it hit me. My old life was in Seattle.

As in far away from A.J.

How had I not connected the dots before? I’d been so obsessed with her and with fixing my family; hadn’t thought the whole thing out. I’d just focused on Devon being okay and my family being back to normal. It didn’t register that normal was fourteen hundred miles away from A.J.

Sure, she had a boyfriend. I knew that. But in the back of my mind, I told myself that Ipod was a childhood crush. They had to be. It was just a matter of time for her and me. I had to behave, play my cards right. She was with Ipod
now
. But, we belonged together. Surely she’d realize that once she had a chance to know me better. But if I weren’t day-to-day in Boulder, knowing me better wouldn’t happen.

So incredibly not good.

The critic screamed at me to quit being so selfish. I should be thinking about my family and not some girl. Selfish was what got me into this…that and lack of forethought. He was right. I might be messed up, but every once in a while, forethought came creeping in. Maybe it didn’t always come at the right moment. But at least now I knew the word.

I had to do it. I had to leave her. I had to go back to Seattle.

Maybe I wanted her, but I had a responsibility to my family. I texted Lex that I wanted to pick them up at lunch, so we could move things along. Besides, even though they wouldn’t remember it in the end, I wanted to spare my parents the pain of having to pull the plug on Devon. I wanted to be done with it. At least, I’d get my redwood back. I could take some comfort in that.

I took my phone and recorded a message to myself, my old self, the one lacking forethought. I told him what had gone down, and what he needed to do to make it right. When the me in Seattle saw himself on the screen, he’d do the right thing. The DeMille nightmare would be over.

And the A.J. nightmare would begin.

I suppose I deserved to hurt after what I put my family through. I just never imagined that anything could be so frickin painful. The gunshot was nothing compared to this.

At least, in hindsight.