Perfect. Part 37

And her father. Oh s.h.i.+t.

"h.e.l.lo, sir," I say, hoping for civility.

His face goes all red, and hatred feeds his ugly glare. You.

This is because of you, you G.o.dd.a.m.n- No! Kendra stops him cold. This is not because of him, Dad.

It's because of you! It's your attention she wanted, just like when she was little.

You left her, Dad. Me too. Left us for ... She shatters. Sobs.

Her knees buckle, and I move forward as she starts to fall.

But it is her father who catches her.

His eyes, wild just a few seconds ago, soften. I'm sorry.

Then, to me, Go get someone. Please.

I turn toward the nurse's station, but someone is already coming.

Can't make a scene like this without being noticed. By the time the nurse gets to us, though, Kendra has reached into some reservoir of inner strength. She is on her feet, pus.h.i.+ng her father off. I'm okay. Let go. Sorry, Andre.

"It's all ri-," I start to say, but she is already on her way to Jenna's room. Mr. Mathieson follows without a good-bye. The pretty nurse looks at me and I shrug. "Just another day in paradise."

Cara

Paradise A concept embraced by almost every culture. A land of peace and harmony. Some say it doesn't belong to the earth, that there is no Shangri-la, no utopian wilderness for the living.

Only heaven. Elysian fields. A House of Song. Afterworlds where the righteous dead exist forever in a state of pure bliss. But I wonder if there isn't some blessed place for souls in search of the sacred path. Hungry souls, and lost.

The souls of those who aren't believers yet reach for redemption, in ways small and large.

Those who love and ask for love.

Love Is Chocolate The unprocessed kind. Dark. Bitter.

But always with the promise of sweet perfection. All it takes is sugar- that certain someone's kiss, flavored with possibility. If Dani has taught me anything, it's that life is br.i.m.m.i.n.g with possibilities. Every single day brings choices. Make a bad one, you deal with the consequences.

Make a good one, you get a reward of one kind or another. Bad choices or good, if you never take chances, someone else will build your life for you. What if you decide you don't like their vision? What if they put you up on a pedestal and you hate the view?

I've never been much of a thrill seeker, mostly because I'm afraid of falling.

I'm eyeing the mountain. But I'll never climb it with my parents calling the shots.

Possibilities. Choices. Decisions.

Influencing my own fate scares me.

But it's better than the alternative.

I think. Right now, the future stares back at me, posturing. Challenging.

Graduation is two weeks away. June was supposed to be my escape, but I wish I could hold on to May just a little longer. Can't say that I want to hang on to my childhood, because I can't remember having one, at least not the kind a kid should have. But am I really ready to be out on my own?

Ready or not, here I come, I guess.

Just not sure where I'm going.

Or if I'll ever want to come home.

The Phone Rings And caller ID says it's Aspen Springs.

They don't call here often. Three rings, no one else answers, so I do. "h.e.l.lo?"

It's Dr. Starr, and she sounds shaky when she asks to talk to one of my parents. What's Conner done now?

"Mom? Dad? Pick up the phone."

Dad's just coming in from a run.

He goes into the kitchen, and I'm about to hang up when I hear Dr.

Starr through the receiver. I ... uh ...

I don't know how to tell you this but ... uh ... there was an accident.

Uh ... it's Conner. I'm afraid ... he ...

didn't make it. Didn't make what?

What is she saying? Dad asks the same question, and she answers bluntly, He's dead. Dead. Dead? He can't be dead. My stomach swells with bile.

Dread. No. Not Conner. Not my brother!

I drop the phone. Don't want to listen to the details. I run downstairs, find Dad collapsed on the cool kitchen tile. One of the chairs is overturned, like he missed it. "Dad!"

Daddy?" Tears streak his face, and his hands shake so hard he can barely hold the phone, let alone speak into it. But he won't let me take it from him. No, he says. Go find your mother. I turn around, run blindly into the living room. Not here. Upstairs, to her bedroom, don't bother to knock. She's asleep, and I don't want to wake her. "Mo ..."

Now it's me that can't talk. "Mom!"

She comes up out of her dreams, and it's all I can do to say, "Dad needs you. Now," before I crack into a million pieces. Not Conner.

But Conner Is Dead It wasn't an accident. He stepped over the edge of a very tall cliff.

Brought our world cras.h.i.+ng down.

Smas.h.i.+ng us into the rocks, right along with him. We are zombies.

The living remains of the dead.

They flew him out of the wilderness.

Already cold. Almost as cold as Mom.

She is frozen. All emotion ice dammed inside. She never even cried. Someone has to stay calm, she said. Someone has to handle the details. Will she ever cry?

Kendra

The Details Of death are the fabric nightmares are sewn from.

They weave daylight grieving with deep-of-night memory.

They chase hope into the shadows, leave it trembling there.

They menace summer's green dawning with winter's gray shroud.

They strike like lightning. Electric, unstoppable.

They stab like wooden spears, drive splinters into the heart.

Irredeemable That's what Mom called Conner when I told her the news. No way to save him.

I don't believe that. Everyone can be saved, if they just have the right person trying to save them. Right? How could he want to die so badly? He looked okay when I saw him that day at the movies.

Almost like his regular self. I didn't see death in his eyes. Didn't see the desire to leave this world behind. Leave us behind.

G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Conner. You always were a selfish p.r.i.c.k. You got us this time.

Nailed us right to the wall. And some of us will never heal completely.

I Got The News From Cara, the day after they brought Conner's body back. Laid him on a chilled slab to poke and prod and probably dig around in his brain for some tumor or other abnormality that might make a perfect kid like Conner choose to die.

I was sitting by Jenna's bedside, watching her pick at her hospital food, when Cara's call came. Um, Kendra?

I knew something was wrong from the way her voice quivered. I wanted you to hear this from me. She drew two long raspy breaths. Conner died yesterday. He, um ... committed.

My first thought was bulls.h.i.+t. Why would you make up something like this?

Then I realized immediately that no way would she. "Oh my G.o.d. Are you ..."

I almost said "sure," but of course she was, so I finished it with, "all right?"

Not really. I have to go. The wake is Sat.u.r.day. Will you let people know?

"Definitely. Cara, if I can do anything ...

help ... anything ... please call me, okay?"

I felt like someone had just smashed into me with a semi truck. And I must have looked like it too. What? asked Jenna, eyes wide. What's wrong?

I couldn't tell her. Repeating it would make it real. The dam failed, and I cried.

The Wake Is This Evening Mom's taking me because I don't want to go by myself. We drive into Reno, on the same highway as always, pa.s.sing the same trees. Same billboards.

Same buildings. But nothing will ever be exactly the same again.

"Did you ever lose someone you loved?

I mean, did someone you loved ever die?"

Mom is quiet, remembering. My first boyfriend died in a car accident.

A drunk driver ran a red light, hit him going sixty. It was horrible.

"Does it still hurt, thinking about him? Does the pain ever go away?"

The pain diminishes over time.

But it still hurts thinking about him.

The pain is sawing me in two.

I can barely breathe, and part of me doesn't want to. "Did you ever want to die enough to think about suicide?"

I think everyone considers it at some point. But I never would have done it.

Too many people rely on me. Too many people love me, and I would never want to make them feel the way you're feeling right now. You know?

Life is precious, Kendra. Never throw away a single second. And never forget about the people who love you.

There is tremendous value in that.