The Wonder of All Things (19 page)

“Macon?” Wash said.

“Yeah?”

“You’d tell me if there was something going on, wouldn’t you?”

Macon laughed stiffly. “If I knew something that I felt you needed to know, Wash, I’d tell you.”

“Okay,” Wash said.

“Can I ask you something, Wash?”

Wash nodded.

“Is Ava okay? The two of you keep your secrets sometimes, like all kids do. And I don’t mind that. But if you knew something about Ava, something that maybe she wouldn’t come out and tell me, but something that was really important, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Wash said.

“Good,” Macon said. And then he and the boy walked together into his office, and for the rest of the evening there was a truce held between them. They talked about sports. They talked about movies. They talked about how cold the pending winter would be. But they asked no more questions of each other that would warrant lies.

* * *

The ride from the police station was a quiet one. Brenda revved her old station wagon and nearly took out a crowd of reporters that tried to stop them as they pulled out of the parking lot. She pressed the gas pedal and the engine roared and the cameraman that was standing in front of the car leaped out of the way, breaking his camera in the process. They did not follow.

Wash and Tom sat in the backseat, saying nothing as Brenda steered them through the town. It was early morning, and the town was slowly coming to life. Here and there a few cars passed. People who were camped out in empty lots were just beginning to come out of their tents. Each and every day, Wash was surprised by the fact that they were still there. He wondered about their lives before any of this. Didn’t they have homes to go to? Family? Jobs? How could they simply relocate the way they had? Was Ava that important to them?

They passed a woman standing on the corner of downtown. She held a sign that said Please Heal My Child. Then the car moved onward, and she was gone.

From time to time Wash looked over at his father. But Tom only gazed out of the window, full of thought. Up front, Brenda wrestled the old, tired car through the streets to the road leading out of town. It was then that Wash realized they weren’t heading toward home.

“Gonna be a cold winter,” Tom said, still looking out the window. He smelled of coffee and alcohol.

Wash knew that his father was trying to tell him something, but he wasn’t sure what. It did not take long for them to reach the place where Tom’s car had run off the road. There was a tow truck there, already in the process of pulling the car out of the ditch.

Brenda eased the station wagon to a stop.

“Okay,” Tom said. Then he opened the car door and stepped out. When Wash opened his own door, Tom turned and said, “No. You hang here with your grandmother.” He glanced forward at the woman who scowled at him in the rearview mirror.

“Are we going to meet you at the Johnsons’?”

“No,” Tom said. He squatted on his haunches, resting one hand on the still-open door. “You’re gonna go back home with your grandma. I’m gonna see about getting this car straightened out.”

“And then you’ll come get me?” Wash asked. He looked at the rearview mirror, hoping to catch Brenda’s eye, hoping to get an indication of what was happening, even though he knew perfectly well what was happening.

“I’ve got some things to tend to once I get this car fixed,” Tom said. “But I’ll be back before too long.” Tom looked over at his car, then up at the sky, then down at the ground. “I’ll be back before too long,” he said again.

“Don’t say that,” Wash said. His voice was hard and even, like a door slowly closing home. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Wash,” Tom said.

“I won’t make you do it,” Wash said. “I won’t make you say something you don’t want to say.” Then he turned to Brenda. “Can we go, Grandma?” Their eyes met in the rearview mirror, and there was sadness in her. She turned around in her seat, looking back at her grandson. “I won’t make you say anything, either,” Wash said. “I just want to go. I just want to see how Ava is.”

Tom lingered for a moment, watching the son he was losing for the second time in his life. Then he closed the car door and Brenda clunked the station wagon into gear, pressed the gas pedal and let the distance open between Wash and his father.

Saturday was yard sale day and Ava spent most of her week waiting for it. The Saturday morning cartoons that she missed out on seemed like a fair exchange for the time that she and her mother spent cruising from yard to yard, town to town, sometimes even county to county, in search of trinkets and worn pieces of splendor.

They started out before sunup, leaving Macon snoring on his pillow. Heather and Ava sat at the kitchen table with a map of the local area with certain houses and streets highlighted. Those houses were the ones they knew were having yard sales. They also marked the “possibles”—those places that had promised nothing, but who had yard sales on such a regular basis that it could almost be depended on them to do something special.

Today their plan would take them over the length and breadth of three counties. They packed a picnic basket of food and bottles of Gatorade that they could drink through the course of the day, and they stashed away small amounts of chocolate and hard candies in the places in the basket where they would fit.

“We can’t eat just candy,” Heather said, stuffing more and more into the basket.

“When have we ever eaten just candy?” Ava asked.

“That time about two months ago.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ava laughed.

“Don’t tell your father,” Heather added. “Did you remember to get the Toblerone bars?”

They rode through darkness for half an hour before coming to the first yard sale just as the sun was brightening the sky. An old man and woman stood out front wearing thin jackets and smoking cigarettes and they smiled and said hello and asked if there was anything in particular Ava and Heather were looking for.

“Everything special,” Heather said. It was what she always told the yard sale people when they asked what they were looking for. And it was the truth. In the years since Ava and her mother had begun their yard sale hunting they had found many things that Ava felt were special. A very old broach with the face of a woman carved in it. A piece from a rifle that they had not been able to identify, but it was thick and square and made of brass and adorned with carvings that Ava had never seen. She had promised that she would one day find out where it had come from. And, even if she didn’t, it was still something beautiful to look at.

Ava liked finding pieces of things more than she cared for finding something whole and complete. A person couldn’t really understand a fully formed thing, she thought. Not unless they understood how it was before it was finished.

When someone came across a piece of something—just an element of the whole—then they were able to see the mechanics of it. They were able to put together, in their head, all the other possible ways that a thing could be. All the other paths a thing could take. It was like a ribbon unraveled into simply a smooth, even line of glimmering silk.

They rode half the day and came across little of importance or interest. There were T-shirts and chairs and tables and old records and toys that no one had played with in a very long time and movies that no one wanted to watch anymore and paintings that weren’t very impressive.

But then, when they had traveled two counties away and were about to start their journey toward home, they came upon a yard sale and a woman who stood out front wearing a large coat even though the sun was high and it was very warm that day. The woman smiled when she saw Ava coming, as though she had been waiting for her all the while.

“I’ve got just what you’re looking for,” the woman said as she saw Ava and Heather approaching. Ava couldn’t tell exactly which of them she was talking to. Then the woman reached down onto a small table in front of her and retrieved a large wooden box. She handed it to Ava.

“Can you open it?” the woman asked.

Ava looked the box over. It seemed as though it had been made of a dozen smaller boxes. It was perfectly sealed, and the wood smelled fresh and was perfectly cut. She searched and searched, but could not find a way to open it.

“It’s a puzzle box,” Heather said.

“How do I open it?” Ava asked.

“You have to figure that out,” the woman said.

Ava’s eyes went wide. Suddenly the container was filled with mystery and splendor. She imagined all the things it could hold inside: old coins, arrowheads, jewelry, treasure maps, secret letters from famous or infamous individuals, lost books and on and on. Her imagination began to push even further, in the way that only a child’s can, and suddenly the box contained people, entire cities—miniaturized and perfectly preserved—and she handled the item gingerly and with great reverence. She imagined that the very stars of heaven were held within that space, waiting to be released and returned to the sky.

She imagined that there were parts of her mother contained within the box. All of the parts of the woman that Ava could not understand. The parts of her that were sometimes sad. The parts that woke her in the late hours of the night when she would wake and walk outside of the house thinking that her husband and daughter were asleep and could not hear her as she wept. The parts of the woman that, when the morning came, would give her the strength to smile and laugh as though the sadness that Ava heard the night before had never occurred.

On the ride home, Ava could believe that all of these things were inside the intricate folds of the box. It was several days later that she finally discovered the secret to opening it. And when she opened it, she found only dust and air inside.

Her mother was more than that, Ava knew. She placed the box aside, tucked away in a chest filled with the rest of the toys Ava had once adored and had long since forgotten.

EIGHT

SINCE MACON HAD
officially announced that he would be joining the reverend’s church, the attention that he’d been trying to avoid had only gotten worse. A group of people had taken to camping out at the base of their driveway with a large banner that read Ava Belongs to Everyone. Macon was never able to discern whether the people were religious zealots, hard-line atheists or something in between. And, in the end, it didn’t matter.

All the while, Reverend Brown was doing a good job of helping Macon navigate the chaos. He advised him about whose phone calls to take and which to ignore. He told Macon how to be interviewed and how to avoid saying anything at all. And, throughout it all, the reverend never asked anything of Macon. As he had promised, he let Macon do the steering. He did everything in his power to make the sheriff and his daughter feel that they had a say in their lives.

So when the reverend told Macon that he wanted to speak to Ava personally, to speak to the whole family, and that it would look better if it took place at their house, Macon agreed.

Now the reverend stood in the doorway wearing a dark suit and a thin overcoat. Behind him the policemen who had escorted him past the crowds and up the driveway waved politely to Macon before heading back down the road.

“Come on in,” Macon said, ushering the reverend into the living room.

“Thank you,” the man said, fixing his hair—which had become slightly tousled in the stiff, chilly breeze blowing outside.

Carmen and Ava sat in the living room on the couch together. Regardless of how Ava felt about Carmen, there was a solidarity beginning to form between them. Perhaps it came from the prolonged amount of time the two of them spent trapped in the house together lately. While familiarity can sometimes breed contempt, it can more often breed understanding.

Ava was beginning to understand that Carmen truly did not want to replace her mother. She simply wanted to love Macon, to have a healthy baby and to make a family with Ava. And since neither Carmen nor Ava had actually met the reverend in person before, they were unified in their leeriness of the man—regardless of how much Macon proclaimed that he was only trying to help them.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you both,” Reverend Brown said as he crossed the room. He shook Carmen’s hand first, and then Ava’s. He shook Ava’s hand slowly. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The child herself.” Then he took a seat in a chair Macon had placed in the living room for him.

Macon, Carmen and Ava sat on the couch together, all three of them aimed at the reverend. “It’s such a pleasure to be here,” he said brightly. “I apologize for insisting that we do this here, but I do feel that it will help people understand that all four of us are in this together.”

There was suspicion in Carmen’s eyes and Reverend Brown saw it. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I really am here to help.”

“And what is it you’d like for Ava to do for you?” Carmen said. She rubbed the top of her stomach, then adjusted her dress. The dress was dark blue and it was tight and uncomfortable. She’d bought it months ago halfway through her pregnancy, but it was never intended to be worn at this late stage, with the extra girth of the third trimester.

“You’re very direct,” Reverend Brown said. “Much like your husband.”

“I’m a bit curious myself,” Macon added.

“I’m sure you all are,” Reverend Brown replied. “So I’ll get straight to the point. I’d like to facilitate a healing at my church.”

“No,” Carmen said immediately.

“Please,” Reverend Brown said, “hear me out.” His gaze shifted from Carmen to Ava. “Only once. That’s all. Just one time, that’s all that we’ll need.”

“What’s the point of it?” Ava asked. Then all eyes were upon her.

“The point is to help,” Reverend Brown said. “The world knows who you are. They know what you can do. And there are people out there who want your help, people who need your help. And I’m not asking you to help everyone,” he continued. “It’s clear that doing this is taxing on you. But that’s why I feel that we should get out in front of it. By helping someone—not an animal, but a person—and by doing it publically, you might be able to get some type of reprieve from all of this.”

Ava’s mind was swirling. She wasn’t sure exactly what Reverend Brown meant. Mostly, she remembered how it felt to wake up blind in the hospital. And there was a part of her that knew, should she heal someone again, it would only be the beginning. And she might not be able to come back from it the way she had before. She was still having trouble maintaining her weight. Carmen had been forced to purchase new clothes for her because of how poorly her others fit. And then there was the cold, the hollowness she felt most days. She felt as though the wind could carry her off into the world.

“How does helping someone in front of your church help her?” Carmen asked.

“Because then people will understand that she’s not trying
not
to help people.” He sat back in his chair. “I know it sounds confusing, but there are a lot of people out there who believe your daughter is being selfish. When all of this started, I heard that there was a pair of men who broke into the hospital asking Ava for help. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” Macon said. “A couple of crazies.”

“They weren’t anomalies,” Reverend Brown said. “There are many more like them in this world. And they’re gaining a voice. But if you can show them that you do intend to help, that you really are trying to use this talent of yours in a selfless way, then we can control the time and place of it all. We can make sure people understand that none of this comes without a cost, and that Ava wants to help, but she can’t help everyone. And then you’re in charge of your lives again.”

The family considered the man’s words. Even Carmen found a certain degree of logic to them. Maybe there was a way to get control of all of this, as Macon had suggested, and maybe the reverend really was there to help.

* * *

Once the reverend left, Macon, Carmen and Ava discussed his offer throughout the day and into the night. There was talk of responsibility, talk of duty, talk of selflessness, talk of religion, talk of the general notion that people should help those they can. There was even talk of money. Publishers offered book deals and television personalities offered to pay a premium for exclusive interviews. Everyone wanted a piece of the Miracle Child.

Their talking went into the late hours of the night until, finally, Ava was drowsy from exhaustion and went to bed, leaving Carmen and Macon in the kitchen, still talking.

It was a little after 2:00 a.m. when Ava woke to the sound of Carmen crying in the bedroom next door. She was sobbing gently, obviously trying to mask the sound of it. She heard her father’s voice. She spoke in a low tone. There was something between them that they did not want Ava to hear. But with the small, frail nature of their old house, secrets were impossible to keep.

“Brenda says they’re still trying to decide how to treat it,” Macon said.

“Why won’t they tell him?” Carmen replied. She sobbed.

“It’s Brenda,” Macon said. “In her mind, she wants to let him have a little bit more of his childhood. Cancer is a hard road. Even if he responds to the treatment, Wash has got some miserable days ahead. I think she just...well, I think she just wants to let him have a few more days of sunlight.”

Ava trembled. Her stomach tightened and she thought she might vomit. It made sense now—the testing that Wash has been going through since the event. She’d thought that they were testing him to find out more about how Ava had healed him, but what they were actually doing was trying to find out more about his cancer.

Wash. Cancer.

The two words spun in her head. Without a sound, Ava turned and buried her head in the pillow. The tears came heavily. How had it happened? And why wouldn’t they tell her? She had healed him, hadn’t she? So why did he have cancer? Had she caused it somehow?

The questions swirled in her mind, and still she wept. She cried until she could not keep it silent anymore and her sorrow rolled out of her in a long, painful wail. And when Macon and Carmen came rushing into her room, asking what was wrong, she could not even say the boy’s name. When they finally calmed her, she said to them, “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Macon asked.

“What the reverend said. Heal somebody in front of his church.”

“You don’t have to,” Carmen said. “You don’t have to put yourself through that. You almost died the last time. Who knows what will happen if you do it again?”

“I need to know if I can do it again,” she said. “And maybe, like the reverend said, if there’s a big enough crowd, maybe people will understand.”

“Understand what?” Macon asked.

Ava only shook her head. “I want to do it,” she said. “I want to show everyone.”

Finally, at last, Ava had discovered a plan to stop all of this. She knew what she had to do, once and for all, in front of everyone, in full view of the world, for as many people as she possibly could, no matter what the cost. If she could only heal once more in her life, she knew who it would be. And she knew how to make it happen in a way that everyone would leave their family alone when it was over.

* * *

“I’m the worst father in the world for what I’m about to do,” Macon said. He and Ava were backstage, waiting for the time when they would be called out front so that Ava could perform the act that so many people had come to see. He and Carmen were still not in agreement on whether or not they should allow Ava to do this. “It’s killing her,” Carmen had told him whenever they were alone in the days leading up to now. She repeated it whenever she could, like a chisel working against stone.

“She only has to do it one time,” was Macon’s defense. In his mind, one more time, one more miracle, would be enough. Then they would get enough attention, enough notoriety, to really make ends meet. The money would come. He never said it directly, and he didn’t have to. Carmen knew just as well as he did what was really motivating him. It was the weight of poverty combined with the notion that, if a person could endure one painful decision, they could be liberated from the worry, from the day-to-day toil of dreaming of one life while living another. “Just once.” It was his mantra of justification.

But regardless of how they felt, this had become Ava’s decision.

“I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” Macon said. He was seated in a small, steel-framed chair and Ava sat in a similar one beside him. Around them there was a buzz of people, all of them affiliated with Reverend Brown’s church—deacons and assistants and more. For the most part, they kept their distance, treating Macon and Ava with reverence from afar, like movie stars that, out of respect, they pretended not to recognize.

“It’s okay,” Ava said. She took his hand and squeezed it.

“How do you know?” Macon asked. He wanted to laugh; he wanted to turn the question into a joke, as if he had the answer and was only teasing her. But there was no humor in his voice.

“I don’t,” Ava said. And somehow she achieved the humor that Macon had been attempting. They both smiled and she squeezed his hand tighter.

“We’re ready for you both,” a man said, walking over at a lope. And, just like that, their time alone together was at an end, though neither of them could know it.

Reverend Brown’s sermon had gone on for almost two hours before the time finally came when Ava was brought out before the church. The reverend had spoken on the topic of “Willingness to Believe.”

He stood in the center of the stage—the choir and his deacons behind him, the tent above him and the twilight sky above it—and he was dressed in a suit so fine and so sharp that it seemed to be a part of him, something that he had been born into and had spent his lifetime in. The night air was crisp and, now and again, Reverend Brown would draw a handkerchief from his pocket and dab the sweat from his brow. He was full of a vigor and excitement his church had not seen from him in a very long time.

When the time was near, the reverend removed his suit jacket and passed it to one of his helpers who took it away. “And now,” he said solemnly from the center of the church, “we will all be witness to something amazing.”

Then there was a commotion at the rear of the church and the entirety of the congregation turned to witness it. A young couple was led by the ushers through the aisle. Walking between them was a boy. His hair was thin and dark, a striking contrast to the pale skin on his face. There were circles around his eyes and a stiffness in his gait as if, for each day of this child’s life, sickness had shadowed him.

“How long has your child been afflicted?” he asked when they had finally reached the stage. He pointed a microphone toward the boy’s father.

“Since he was born,” the man said.

“And what have the doctors had to say about his illness?”

“They’re hopeful,” he replied. “But they’ve been hopeful for a long time and my son has been sick all the while.”

Reverend Brown squatted slowly, as if to show that he was an old man and tired from the day’s sermon. “And what is your name, child?” Reverend Brown asked the boy.

“Ronald,” the boy said. “Ronald Williams.”

“And how old are you, Ronald?”

“Eight.”

“Eight years old,” Reverend Brown repeated—a slight tremble in his voice. “Eight years old and stricken with this terrible illness.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said.

“Such a terrible thing,” Reverend Brown said. “Come now, child,” he said, and he reached down and lifted the boy and turned toward the rear of the church and there, in the doorway, being led by Macon, was Ava.

She clutched Macon’s hand and looked up at him. “I don’t think I should have said I’d do this,” she said, but Macon was already moving forward, leading her out from backstage and into the middle of everything. The crowd held their breath. The silence was such that footfalls and the flutter of clothing could be heard as Macon and Ava marched through the aisle. A wall of deacons in matching blue suits stood at each of the pews, blocking anyone that might decide to step out or reach for the father and daughter.