I wake earlier than I would have liked. The dream breaking off before I see the face of whom I’m with—like always. I pant and hold my chest and curse my stupid head. “Already?” I whisper and slap my hands against the bed.
I lay back and think about what I saw. At least I know where to go.
My stomach gurgles, though I ate more than my share of Summer’s Independence Day snacks just hours ago. Still, I rise, my eyes unwilling to close again even though it’s not quite 7 a.m.
Rodrick and Summer sit at the table and their talking ceases when they see me.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just hungry.” I search through the multiple boxes of cereal—a different kind for every person in the family, and probably multiple kinds to help Summer decide what I like.
Summer takes two bowls from the counter and hands me one. I pour a bowl of Captain Crunch and she reaches out for the box, pouring herself the same—though I know the Special K is hers. She slides an arm around my back and rests her head onto mine for just a second before we take our food to the table.
The small gesture creates a lump in my throat, but I swallow it down.
“How are you feeling?” Rodrick asks. He’s the only one of us ready for the day. He leaves for work by 7:30, and most mornings I miss him completely.
“Better.” Or something, I think, still annoyed with a dream that I know will bombard me until I figure it out.
Rodrick kisses Summer goodbye and pats my shoulder and then he leaves thirty minutes early. The rest of the house is asleep.
I wait for Summer’s pep talk, but she just shovels another bite of cereal into her mouth. I do the same, thinking about my dream, about Finn, about what I should have done differently. “Do you think it’s because I kissed him?” I say, knowing that Rodrick told her and just wanting to hear her honest answer.
She halts her spoon on its way to her mouth. “I do not.” She sets it completely down and twists a little to see me better. “I think poor Finn has a lot of problems, but I’m guessing you kissing him isn’t one of them.” She grins and I laugh a little despite my solemn mood.
“I told him I was praying for him to get a heart,” I say and Summer reaches for my hand. “You know what he said?”
She watches me. “Thank you? I assume religious or not, Finn and his parents are praying too.”
“He said that I shouldn’t pray for someone else to die so that he can live.” I think about that night in The Pavilion, how I accused him of being afraid to die. “He doesn’t want to live if it means someone else has to die.”
Summer thinks for a minute. “Finn can’t control what happens to another person—none of us can. And what happens would never be his fault. That person would die whether they gave their heart to Finn or not.”
“Yes.” I wish I would have thought to say that to him.
“And no matter how you beat yourself up—it will never be your fault that Finn is sick or that he passed out last night.”
Why is that one so much harder to believe? I know I didn’t get Finn sick, but I did push him.
Summer still watches me, like she knows I haven’t let it go yet. “You can blame yourself all you want, but it won’t help, and it won’t let you move on.”
For the first time in a month and a half I am on time to work. Marley texted me and said Finn would be coming home and she would be taking the day off. But that I could still come in, that she’d like me to come in.
The door jingles when I push through it. There are a few customers wandering and Marley comes in from the back. She holds a book in one hand, her other hand fisted at her side.
“Oh, good. Esther, will you take this up to Finn?” She holds out her fisted hand and drops two small pills into my palm.
“I—are you sure? I can help down here.” I nod to the book.
“No, go. He’ll be happy to see you.”
I head up the stairs, a shake in my knees. I’m afraid to see him after I watched them roll him into the hospital on a gurney. I’m nervous, knowing now that he likes me.
But when I reach the landing, Finn isn’t on the second floor. Marley’s opened living room and kitchen are empty. My robotic legs walk to the second set of stairs. The oxygen concentrator sits at the bottom of the staircase like normal, but the long flow of tubing heads upward.
I start up, quiet, like I’m sneaking, then stop on the third stair from the top. I purposely take my next steps with loud, pounding stomps. I don’t want to sneak up on him.
At the top of the stairs there’s a bathroom, just like I’d suspected. There’s a door to the left and a couple to the right. They’re all shut and I’m not sure which to knock on. The few family pictures in the hallway distract me from my door conundrum and I gaze over them, touching Finn’s baby face.
One of the doors at my right creaks open and I jump, pulling my fingers back from baby Finn.
“Esther?” He doesn’t look too bad—in fact, he looks good. He seems tired and his oxygen cannula is in place at his nose, but his cheeks are pink, his eyes are bright, and his lips—I realize I’ve been looking at his lips far too long when he speaks again. “What are you—”
“Marley asked me to bring you these!” I practically shout, then holding out my hand, I show him the two little pills.
His eyes flutter, not in a roll, but in tired acceptance. “Thanks.” He takes the pill, and his fingers brushing mine form a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.
“I’ll get some water.”
“That’s okay,” he says, walking past me into the bathroom. He turns on the faucet and cups one hand beneath the water, gulping down a couple drinks before taking the pills. He wipes his mouth on a hand towel and runs his fingers through his tousled hair. “I look like crap.”
I don’t know why, but it makes me laugh—just a small titter, but enough that I shut my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You don’t though.” Wasn’t I just thinking how good he looks? “You just look tired.”
“Yeah, well all I’ve done is sleep.” He starts back toward the room, but pauses at the door. “You want to come in?”
“Um,” I’m here to work… but Marley knows where I am. “Sure.”
Finn’s room is dark, like the color of his navy beany, so it immediately repels me a little. But the space is nice. There’s a beneath the window—just like the one by our tree, only half the size. A large bed is centered against the main wall, but there’s still space for a couple of bean bags and a TV. There’s a desk too, with papers in neat stacks, pens in metal holders, and a laptop closed, but in the perfect spot. This must be where he does his online school work.
If I did decide to stay for more than just the summer, it would be weird to not see Finn at school—then again, it would be weird to see Finn at school.
“You wanna play?” Finn points at a cordless controller atop one of the bags.
“Yeah.” I tilt my head. “But I’m working.”
“That’s never stopped you before.” His lips part into a smile. I shake my head, but walk over to one of the bean bags and pick up his controller. He strides over too, the oxygen tubing dragging behind him.