The Probability of Miracles (37 page)

It was past midnight, and everyone had fallen asleep in the uncomfortable reclining chairs around her bed. Cam was grateful that Izanagi held her mother as they slept together in one chair. They had remembered at the last minute to bring Tweety, and he slept on his little perch inside his cage, making tiny little puffs with his exhales.

The whole stage had been set. It was time for her to leave, but Cam could feel herself holding on. Clinging to something.

She had learned a little about hope this summer, and she was going to hold out hope until her last wish came true. She knew he would come to say good-bye. She knew he would make it back. And when she opened her eyes, Asher was there.

He was wearing his father's old cable-knit fisherman's sweater, and he leaned on the bed rail as he looked at her. He'd been crying, and his eyes were red rimmed and swollen.

“Are you real?” she asked him. She had been drifting in and out of dreams for a few hours now, and she couldn't be sure if it was him or some cruel apparition concocted by the crazy chemicals of her dying brain.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Prove it,” she said. “Pinch me or something.”

“Cam, I don't want to pinch you.”

“Then kiss me already.”

He placed his blistered hand on her forehead and kissed her gently on the lips. His lips and face were rough, and he tasted like the sea.

“I love you,” she said. She wanted to get that in before she ran out of time.

“I know,” he said, and that was better than him saying it back. She needed to know that he knew.

“The argument—”

“Cam, it's okay.”

“I wasn't trying to send you out into the Perfect Storm.”

“It
was
the perfect storm. I was trying to leave, and it kept pushing me back into the harbor. It was like it knew I needed to be here. With you.”

“Asher?”

“Yeah?” The tears now flowed freely down his face.

“You were right about something.”

“Ass Whisperer, I thought you were always right.”

“Usually. But you were right about one thing.”

“What's that?”

“The Jimmy Stewart thing.”

“It's a wonderful life?”

“Yeah. However it plays itself out.”

Cam looked out the window. A handsome, tall orangey-pink flamingo stood alone in a square patch of grass in the courtyard.

“Buddy!” she said delightedly, but she couldn't tell if she thought it or if she actually said it out loud. The courtyard was flooded by a bright white light. Cam felt her entire soul become imbued with love.
How about that
, Cam thought. Death did not mean being without love.

She felt herself drifting. Her gaze followed Buddy as he spread his wings, flapped twice, and then took off, his neck folded in a
Z
, his long pink legs trailing behind him . . . departing.

THIS BOOK COMES TO YOU ON THE SHOULDERS OF COUNTLESS FRIENDships. My heartfelt thanks to new friends who: got me day jobs, shared their offices (and beach houses), watched my child, bought me lunch, and sent me constant loving support. And to old friends who believed in the work a long time ago when believing seemed absurd. You are my heart and my other hearts.

I'm thankful to Cam, who bravely showed me her voice. Thankful to my daughter, Cadence, who makes this mothering gig a wonderfully delightful romp. Thankful to my own mom for showing me the way. And thankful to my gem of a husband, whose kind, brilliantly funny spirit inspired these pages. Many thanks to both his family and mine for cheering me on.

Thanks to the far-out and talented Alexandra Bullen for sharing her success when she didn't have to. And to “Team Miracles”: the fabulous folks at Razorbill for their keen vision and committed support, and Josh Bank, Joelle Hobeika, and Sara Shandler at Alloy, whose brilliant ideas and persistent, encouraging warmth could melt through the most unyielding of writer's blocks.

Many thanks to you for reading.