Marley and Danny blur in my vision as they follow the doctor through the doors I’m not allowed through. I stand there, my head replaying the doctor’s words—the first twenty-four hours—critical—his body may not accept the heart…
“Take me home, Summer.”
“Are you sure?”
“They won’t let me see him. I want to go.”
Without knowing what I’m doing or where I’m going, I pick up the to-go boxes Marley and Danny brought us and walk out into the cool of the night. My breathing is haggard and I’m starting to wish our goodies were in a paper bag as I may hyperventilate. I’m not allowed to see him—and with that realization, I need to go. At least for now.
I lay my seat down in the car and pretend to sleep. When we reach Jackson, it’s more than late, it’s the middle of the night, the very first hours of the morning. The thought of going back to Rodrick’s makes my stomach hurt.
I need a moment alone. I need to hide away by myself—just for a while.
I clear my throat, after being silent for hours. “Could you take me to the store?”
“Sure.” Summer’s eyes are drooping and her voice is hoarse. She pulls up next to my car and I know she’ll wait if I don’t tell her to go. I’m quickly learning what a saint my aunt is.
“I need to be alone for a while. I think I’m going to sleep here.”
Her brows knit and she looks wholly unhappy. “Esther, I don’t know.”
“Please.” I run a hand over my tired eyes. “I’m so thankful you were with me tonight. But I just need a little time to myself. Here.”
She shuts her eyes. “Okay, then. Call me if you need me.” She squeezes both hands on the steering wheel. “And lock up.”
I lean in and kiss her cheek, praying she knows my heart in this moment. I’ve grown to love Summer and I wouldn’t want to hurt her with this.
Finding the key in my side purse pocket, I unlatch the door and walk inside, locking it, behind me. As if I’m on autopilot, as if he’s waiting for me up there, I bound up the two flights of stairs to Finn’s bedroom. The paint cans and supplies sit where we left them. I toss my purse and the to-go boxes onto Finn’s desk, before flopping myself onto his bed. Holding my phone over my head, I find the playlist I want. Then, turning up my phone as loud as it will go, I lay and listen to the only country album in my music app—The Skyline Riders. I actually like the music—they aren’t too twangy, and every song tells a story. I roll to my side, closing my eyes, and breathe in that earthy scent that is Finn. His scent is everywhere in this room, but especially his pillow. I hold fistfuls of his comforter, gathering them to my chest, and breathe it in as well. Shuddering out a sigh, I open my eyes, and blink in a stack of books I’ve never noticed beside Finn’s bed before.
There has to be a dozen books stacked up from the floor. I lean against Finn’s wooden headboard, examining the titles one at a time, To Kill a Mockingbird, Moby-Dick, The Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, The Great Gatsby. I scan over the rest of the titles before picking up the novel on the top of the stack—To Kill a Mockingbird. There’s a bookmark about halfway through. I open to see where he is, wondering if I’ll even remember the scene, since I haven’t read this book since freshman year. But I can’t even see the chapter number—Finn’s bookmark is a folded piece of notebook paper with his handwriting scrawled across the lines. The top reads: Things I hope to do. I’ve made my own mental list—after Angelo asked him and then I started asking too. I just want Finn to have hope, to know one day he’ll be able to do more.
I run my fingers over the list and then start at the top.
Things I hope to do:
1. Run
2. Go to college
3. Become a cardiologist
4. Hike
5. Sleep under the stars
6. Travel around the world
7. Read 100 classics
8. Take my parents to Disneyland
9. Sing Karaoke
10. Go to an MLS soccer game
11. Beat Esther at AA
12. Dance with Esther
13. Love Esther for the rest of my life
I stifle out a half sob, half cry. He’s underlined numbers seven, eleven, and thirteen. He hasn’t beaten me at Assassin’s Alliance yet—but he’s been trying to. The stack of books at his bed leads me to think he hasn’t read one hundred books yet, but he’s working on it. But it’s the Love Esther that my eyes stay glued to.
All at once I leap off the bed, adrenaline coursing through my veins as if I don’t have much time. I grab hold of Finn’s bed frame and pull his bed to the middle of the room. I move his dresser and his desk too, shoving them with my new super strength into the center of the floor. I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear drips onto the plastic covering I’m throwing over his things. I ignore it and slide a few more odds and ends, like the stack of books, beneath the cover.
I roll out my floor protector and bust open the first orange can of paint. I fill one of the paint trays as full as I can. Then, without bothering to tape the ceiling or floor I thrust a roller into the marmalade paint. More tears spill as I spread paint up and down Finn’s walls.
It feels as if I’m burying myself as I work hard and fast. There’s one wall left blue. The orange will need another coat and the very tops and bottoms aren’t finished, but it’s bright and vibrant with the primer already inside the color. I peer around at the orange walls that might as well be closing in on me. The doctor’s voice ringing in my ears—twenty-four hours—critical—his body may not accept it—he could reject the heart—he could reject the heart—he could reject the heart.
I bend over, hands on my knees, feeling dizzy. The orange feels like death—like condemnation, but I can’t get away from it. It’s on my legs, my hands, my arms. My feet scurry back until I hit a wall—it’s damp, but I slide down it anyway. My heart pounds in my chest, my throat aches to cry—though that’s pretty much all I’ve done. I curl in a ball on the plastic covering Finn’s floor, wondering if I’ll die here—all alone. It hurts so much—surely this is what death feels like. Is this what Finn feels like—like his chest may explode, like no one understands, like this pain will never ever end and eventually crush him?
The concept of time is beyond me. I have no idea how long I lay there in a heap in the mostly orange room, crying and trying to breathe.
I’m too weak to move, so I lay there, wondering if Finn is awake too. My mind recreates his kiss, trying to perfect it, until I drift off to sleep.
28
The sun gleams in through Finn’s dark shades when I finally wake. My neck and shoulder ache from sleeping on his floor. I am famished and instantly remember the to-go boxes sitting on Finn’s desk. I eat my way through cold french fries and apple pie, my stomach grumbling for more.
The orange room won’t let me forget the night before. It won’t let me forget what the doctor said or that I don’t know anything yet. Our twenty-four hours isn’t up, and I’m too much of a coward to call Marley to ask for any news yet.
I rub my eyes and shudder out a breath. My face is finally dry, but I can feel the dried streaks my tears left. I use the bathroom next to Finn’s room and gulp down water from the sink.