Him: I really meant . . . can you meet us? I know crowds are hard for you. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really want to see you. But if you can’t, I’ll wait until I get to the house.
The sheer power of his understanding fueled my courage.
Me: One way or another, I’ll be there. What time?
We exchanged the details, and I let him go so he could pack.
Max was coming home.
It was the best news I’d had in a year.
Switching off the lamp, I settled under my duvet and stared at the slivers of moonlight slicing through the miniblinds in my room. Light, flying through space, bouncing off the moon from ninety-three million miles away. Crazy-powerful.
Max only had to travel twelve hundred miles tomorrow, but I thought of him the same way: a crazy-powerful light. What would he think of me? I flopped this way and that—worried about his reaction and that whoever had gone through Big might start sharing those notes with other people—before I gave up and retrieved Big from the floor.
“You can stay up here. As long as you keep your beak shut.”
Big said nothing, so I nuzzled my face against his, and listened to the ceiling fan turn until late into the night.
CHAPTER FIVE
Some Emails to Max in El Salvador From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: July 11
Subject: RE: how are you?
Max,
Thanks for emailing me. I didn’t know if you would have internet or not, but I’m glad you do. I still can’t believe you’re in El Salvador. I stare at your house, all vacant and dark, and can’t believe you’re gone. Mom said that your mom and dad met in San Vicente when they were in the peace corps. She wasn’t surprised your dad took the bridge contract when it came up because it’s a good way to go back to who they were before all this happened.
It might be great for them, but it doesn’t feel fair to you. For me, it’s too easy to believe Trent’s just on vacation.
Typing his name is hard.
Typing anything is hard. My right arm is still in a cast to my shoulder so I’m pecking this out with my left. My words still come slowly at times, but the doctors say my brain is fine. They say I’m lucky. I know you asked how I’m doing, but I’ll have to tell you more in the next email. That’s not an easy or fast answer.
What about you? How’s your voice? Is your vocal cord healing? It must be really hard not to be able to speak. Do people there know about Trent?
Sadie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: July 13
Subject: don’t be brave with me, mister
Max,
You said you were lucky that no one there knows. Did you mean that? If no one there knows, then they don’t have access to Trent or to who you were with him. That’s a shame, ya know?
I keep thinking about all the people I might meet in life, and how they won’t know him. And that seems like a whole other tragedy.
Honestly, you sound like you’re trying to be brave.
You don’t have to do that with me.
In fact, if you need bravery, you’ve come to the wrong spot. I’m empty. So what if our emails are the place we set aside to be honest? And if you’re lonely, or scared, or sad, or angry, or . . . whatever, you say it here, to me. And I’ll do the same.
Sadie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: July 17
Subject: RE: don’t be brave with me, mister
Max,
You’re right. I didn’t actually do the same. So here goes: I’m lonely, and I’m surrounded by people. People who think they understand, but they aren’t inside my head. I feel like I’m living in the middle of a terrible “You had to be there” story.
Sadie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: July 22
Subject: Where is our prestidigitator?
Max,
True. I’m not living that story alone. We were in the car together.
Thank you for telling me how angry you are. Keep telling me. I might not know what to say, but I’ll listen.
I’d pay a million dollars for a time machine or a magic wand. I’ve been a fixer my whole life, and this is unfixable. That’s overwhelming to me.
Sadie