When (35 page)

I STAYED AT MRS. DUNCAN’S
house during the week for the next few months, enjoying her bright spirit and the way she fussed over me. As February
began to wind down, I found myself growing sadder. The date on Mrs. Duncan’s forehead drew nearer, and I didn’t know how I was going to get through the days leading up to her deathdate
without telling her.

The odd thing was, I swear, somehow she knew it was coming. On the weekends, Donny and I spent our days fixing up our house, and one weekend Mrs. Duncan insisted both her daughters come for
dinner, and we heard the sounds of little kids playing in her backyard and adults laughing with one another. I watched through the window as Mrs. Duncan said good night to both her daughters, and I
thought she squeezed them extra tight.

I also saw a lot of visits to her home from the Salvation Army truck that February. Mrs. Duncan said she simply felt like de-cluttering her home, which had always been full of stuff, from
furniture to knickknacks, and slowly over the course of that month she whittled her belongings down to the bare minimum.

On Friday the twenty-seventh, I raced home from school to her house and found her busy in the kitchen. She’d been cooking all day. “I felt like making all of Mr. Duncan’s
favorites!” she exclaimed. Afterward, I did the dishes while she sat in the living room sipping her tea. It wasn’t lost on me that after all that cooking, Mrs. Duncan had barely touched
her own dinner.

I finished the dishes and came out to find her barely able to keep her lids open. “Oh, my,” she said with a chuckle when she saw me staring worriedly at her. “I must be more
tired than I thought.”

I helped her up the stairs to bed and then went back down to take her teacup to the sink. There I sank to the floor and wept as softly as I could for a long, long time.

The next morning I was laying curled up into a ball on the couch when there was a soft knock on the door. I opened it to find Agent Faraday there. He looked very sad. In his hand was my
notebook. “Is she gone?” he asked after taking one look at my tear-stained face.

I nodded, unable to speak. I’d found her twenty minutes earlier, after I’d woken up and gone to her room. She was lying so peacefully, with her hands folded under her head and the
sweetest smile on her blue lips.

Faraday folded me into his arms while I mourned my sweet neighbor’s passing. Later, he called Uncle Donny and escorted me back over to my house to wait with me while they took Mrs. Duncan
away. And then, about an hour after Donny arrived and was rocking me back and forth to comfort me, Faraday came back to the house and held out an envelope to me. “We found it on her
dresser,” he said.

I took the envelope and realized it was addressed to me. Opening it up I saw that it was a copy of a letter that Mrs. Duncan had sent to the Cornell admissions office.

In the letter she told them that she and her husband had always been proud alumni supporters of the school, and that she would like them to consider very closely my application for enrollment as
she found me to be an exemplary individual, and exactly the kind of student that would fit right in at Cornell. She also told them that she was enclosing a check for one hundred thousand dollars
payable to the alumni fund. She hoped that the institution could find good use for it—perhaps to help support an incoming freshman—like me.

“THE MOVING VAN’S HERE, MADDIE,”
Ma called.

I was upstairs going through old notebooks from school, trying to figure out which ones to keep and which ones to toss. School had let out a few days earlier, and I was sick of looking at the
stack. I’d almost forgotten that a new family was due to move into Mrs. Duncan’s house.

“Maddie?” Ma called again. I smiled. She no longer called up the stairs impatiently, and we no longer had clients going into that back room. Ma had turned it into an office for
herself. She’d started to take some courses to get her nursing certificate back, and she spent a lot of time in there studying.

“I see it, Ma!” I called down to her after standing up and taking a peek through the curtains.

“Why don’t you go over and introduce yourself?” Ma asked.

I realized she’d come up the stairs and was talking to me from the doorway of my room.

“Why don’t you?” I asked her playfully. These days I loved looking at her. Her skin glowed now that she was off the booze and the cigarettes. She’d even taken up yoga and
had turned vegetarian. The rehab center had completely transformed her. In fact, according to the new date on her forehead, 8-16-2065, it’d actually saved her life.

She grinned. “Me?” she said, looking down at herself. ‘Oh, honey, I’ve been in the yard and I look awful!” Ma had been trying to do something with the garden in the
backyard for days, but mostly all that was happening was that a lot of weeds were making their way into the garbage can. “You go over there first and tell me if they’re nice,” she
urged.

I had a feeling she wasn’t going to let up until I said yes. Rolling my eyes, I gave in. “Okay, but text me in ten minutes in case I can’t get away.”

Ma laughed, and I smiled reflexively—hearing her happy never got old.

Once outside, I kept close to the house as I made my way down the drive. I was hoping to sort of scope out the neighbors before actually walking up to them. I heard the sound of a basketball
bouncing off the pavement, but I couldn’t see who was playing with it through the pine trees that separated our properties.

Taking a deep breath I moved past the trees and looked up the drive. What I saw froze me to the spot. There was a boy taking aim at the basket above Mrs. Duncan’s garage. He was shirtless,
and his shoulders were broad and his arms well-muscled, and he wore a halo of soft black curls.

I stood, unable to move for several seconds as he tossed the ball and it fell right through the hoop without touching the rim. “Nice shot,” I heard someone else say. A voice I
recognized.

I turned my head and saw Agent Faraday coming down the back steps of Mrs. Duncan’s house. He spotted me, and his smile broadened. “Maddie!” he said happily. “I was about
to come over and introduce you to my son.”

My mouth opened but no words came out. I swallowed and then said, “You
live
here now?”

Mac laughed and waved for the boy with the basketball to come over. “I bought it the second it went up for sale. I needed a place big enough for Aiden and me.” Turning to his son,
Faraday said, “And this is my son, Aiden.”

My head swiveled again and I saw that Aiden was grinning at me, too. “I know you!” he said. “We met at the park last fall.”

Heat seared my cheeks as a thousand little pieces slid into place. Faraday at the Jupiter game, sitting in the stands—not running surveillance on me but in the bleachers to watch his son.
The boots on his desk, and that memory of seeing them before—he’d bought a pair for Aiden. The conversations with his ex-wife…all of it came together in a moment of synchronicity that
made me want to shiver with excitement. But then, I realized that both Aiden and his dad were staring at me curiously. “Uh…hi,” I said, trying to regain my composure.

“You two have met?” Faraday asked curiously.

Aiden nodded, never taking his eyes off me. And then he said, “Hey, Dad, is that your phone?”

In the distance I heard ringing, and Faraday patted his pockets and said, “Must’ve left it inside. Excuse me.”

He took off and then Aiden and I were alone. “So
you’re
the famous Maddie Fynn?” he said.

I felt a giggle burble up from inside me, and I was helpless to keep it down. “I don’t think I’m famous,” I told him.

Aiden’s brow shot up. “No? Well, my dad says you’re amazing, and he’s usually right about stuff like that.”

The heat to my cheeks got hotter.

Aiden dribbled the basketball, and then he seemed to think of something. “Is it really true that you can tell when people are gonna die?”

That threw me, but Aiden had a smile and a kindness in his eyes that I thought I could trust. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s true.”

He cocked his head. “Even mine?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Aiden pursed his lips, looking at me with playful fascination. “Would you tell me?”

I started to shake my head, but he tucked the ball under his arm and put his hands together. “Please? I can take it. I promise.”

I started to laugh and then I almost couldn’t stop. “What?” he asked, but he still had that playful smile.

I took a deep breath and let it out. I felt in my heart that I could tell him. “Your deathdate is July sixth, twenty eighty-four.” And then I grinned so big I had to look away.

“What?” he asked again, knowing there was more.

I lifted my chin to look at him again. There was a secret I’d kept to myself about Aiden’s deathdate and why it’d felt like magic when I’d first seen the beautiful boy
with 7-6-2084 on his forehead. “What?” he repeated with a chuckle, trying to coax it out of me.

“It’s the day after mine,” I confessed.

Aiden’s expression changed from playful to something a little more awestruck. “Think we’ll still know each other in twenty eighty-four?” he asked, his smile growing as
big as mine.

I felt light as air. Somewhere deep inside I also felt a knowing so strong that I couldn’t quite describe it. Still, I only shrugged and said, “Maybe.”

Just then a soft breeze came sweetly up the drive, lifting that halo of soft curls around Aiden’s forehead, and in a magical instant, I saw a series of other numbers dance across his skin.
They appeared in the space between us as if they were as much for me as they were for him. Behind each new date was a glimmer of insight. There were dates for movies and dances and graduations and
marriage and children and anniversaries and so much more.

And in that enchanted moment, as I watched the dates skipping lightly across Aiden’s forehead, instead of death, all I saw was…

Life.

THE BEGINNING OF EACH NEW
book always feels like a new mountain to climb, but in many ways this novel was my Everest. And yet, I wouldn’t trade
any moment of the climb, because it has truly provided some spectacular views.

These days, however, I will freely admit to preferring to hang out at base camp and enjoy the hot cocoa, and it’s while I’m slurping away some chocolatey goodness, all cozy in my
writer’s tent, that I can now reflect on the many people who’ve provided no small measure of support, effort, and encouragement on the way to the summit.

First, I want to thank Jim McCarthy, whose short title is: “Victoria’s agent,” but who
really
is: “Victoria’s
muse/confidant/supporter/counselor/conscience/financial advisor/life coach/ally/conspirator/humorous sidekick/treasured friend.” This book would never have been written if it weren’t
for Jim’s unflinching belief in me, and his unwavering support. And also
maaaaaaaaybe
a
weeeeeeeee
bit of his patience, which, thank God, he is in no short supply of. Thank you,
Jim. Always and all ways.

Next I’d like to thank my fantabulous editor, Lisa Yoskowitz, who wrote the most beautiful love letter to Jim and I when she was looking to acquire the book, listing all the ways
Maddie’s story moved her and why she’d be the perfect fit to edit
When
. She had me completely sold three lines in, and she’s since proven herself to be one of the most
dedicated, hard-working, insightful editors I’ve ever had the sincere pleasure to work with.
Definitely
the perfect editor for the job! I’m so thrilled and pleased to have you in
my corner, Lisa. Thank you for all that effort and dedication and especially for your diehard enthusiasm! You’ve been my Sherpa and I’m so oodley grateful for all that you do, and of
course, to be a part of the amazing Hyperion team!

I’d also like to thank the cover artist Tyler Nevins for his incredible vision. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect cover, Tyler. You took my breath away when I saw the direction
you were headed in, and without a doubt this is one of my all-time favorite covers of any book I’ve ever written. I’m smitten, I tell you! SMITTEN!