14

WENDELL’S RAMBUNCTIOUS BARKING cuts through the silence right when Ethan opens his mouth to say something. He starts again, but the sound of the front door opening stops him. He steps around me to leave the den.

I follow close enough behind that I catch a glimpse of Mr. Keys hanging his coat in the front closet. He looks so much like Ethan. I’ve always been fascinated by the resemblance. It’s like looking into a crystal ball at future Ethan. I used to imagine what I would look like at forty to see if we’d make as cute a middle-aged couple as we did high school sweethearts. I turn away so my thoughts won’t veer down that never-to-be-traveled path.

When I get to Ethan’s bedroom, the door is shut so I have to pass through it. Beautifully depressing music fills the room, and he’s lying on his bed facing the wall. There’s an inexplicable thickness in the air that keeps me standing in the middle of the room instead of next to him. It presses down on me. Makes me feel more real somehow.

I look at a picture of us that’s taped to the square mirror hanging above his dresser. It’s from last summer and I’m wearing those blue shorts Ethan talked about. My gaze wanders to my wispy reflection in the mirror. It’s a pale shadow where a solid face should be. I lift my fingers to my solid face in the picture and trace the lines. I know the angle of my cheekbones and my small Haines button nose that both my brother and sister also have. The sharp arch of my eyebrows, the curve of my fullish lips, the violet flecks in my blue eyes, everything is perfectly preserved in my memory. Ethan was right; the sapphire color of every other narrow stripe in those shorts could’ve been sampled straight from my eyes. It’s 100 percent me, but somehow me doesn’t fit anymore.

Ethan’s dad comes down to check on him, but he pretends to be asleep when Mr. Keys says his name.

After the door shuts, Ethan breaks the few seconds of silence between songs. “Sorry I shut the door on you. My dad,” he explains.

I nod even though he’s still facing the wall and I’m still staring at the Ghost Me in the mirror that I can hardly see.

He asks quietly, “How did it happen?”

“What?” I spin around to face him.

“On the bridge. You said you didn’t slip.”

“I don’t know,” I say slowly, trying to shake this eerie detached feeling.

“But you know it wasn’t…” He doesn’t say the word—suicide—and I’m glad of that.

“I only remember I wasn’t alone.” I take a minute to work up the courage to ask my next question, but my voice still shakes when it comes out. “Was I with you?”

Ethan presses his palms to his temples. “Drew told me where you were.”

“Drew knew … and you were there?” Suspicion stirs my insides as Aimée’s list appears behind my eyes, Ethan’s name at the top. It feels acidy and wrong.

Ethan’s voice is rigid. “We talked on the bridge. It was quick. I left, but you stayed.”

“Why did you keep this from me?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. “Why did you leave me there? What happened?”

He bends his legs up to his chest, braces his forearms on his knees, and drops his head.

“This is huge, Ethan. I can’t remember anything and you were there? You have to tell me something.”

“I wasn’t—”

There’s a knock on his door. “Ethan, sweetie?”

I ask him, “You weren’t what?”

Ethan looks at the door. “I’m sleeping, Mom.”

“I got off work early so you, me, and Dad could spend some time together.”

“You have to tell me,” I say again, unfazed by the proximity of his mom.

“I’d rather be alone,” Ethan tells her while glancing at me.

“I know, sweetie, but I was hoping…” There’s a long pause. “May I come in?”

Ethan locks eyes with me. When he doesn’t answer, his mom opens the door. “Ethan?”

He releases a resigned breath. “You can come in, Mom.”

She smiles and gives the room a quick Mom scan as she makes her way to his bed, tossing T-shirts in the laundry bin next to Ethan’s closet. I have this irrational urge to duck and hide—we’re not allowed in his bedroom alone—but, of course, she doesn’t see me.

She sits on the edge of his bed and pats his knee. “How was your day?” Her voice is so tender I don’t know how he doesn’t break down and tell her that I’m standing right next to her. “Did you make sure to eat a good lunch? There were leftovers in the fridge.” Her lips press together as she joins him in silence.

There’s no way I’m going to get any answers out of him with her here, and the helplessness in her expression reminds me too much of my brother and my parents.

“Ethan, you need to talk to her.” He starts at the sound of my voice. His eyes dart to his mom, but her head is down and she’s still patting his knee. “She’s so worried about you.”

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. I move toward the door, making the decision for him.

“I’m going to leave.” It sounds so normal saying that, like I merely stopped by to hang out and it’s dinnertime. Except Mrs. Keys doesn’t twinkle her fingers at me as she would if she could see me and there’s no goodbye kiss from Ethan.

I step into the main room of the basement, thankful that she left the door open so Ethan won’t have to watch me freakishly ghost through it. There’s something materially different about the world outside his bedroom. Colors translate into shades of gray. The air is so much thinner that I can feel it slipping past me, gliding across my face like a remnant of silk. The differences intensify the farther away I get from Ethan.

I don’t go home even though the idea of curling up next to Joules on the couch while she multitasks her way through cartoons, homework, and stretches is tempting. The beating in my chest draws me someplace else. I trudge an invisible path through the snow-covered woods that border Dover Park and end up in the only place that holds any hope of the answers to my questions, the questions Ethan was so hesitant to answer.

I stare at the covered bridge, examine every inch of it. Every cracked plank of old dried wood, every fleck of chipped white paint on the exterior. Beyond that I try to feel this place. Something as severe as death should leave its mark; somehow I know this.

Death isn’t what I sense though. The conflicted emotions trapped under the trusses are as alive as the fiery orange highlights streaking the violet sky. There’s life in their silent invasion, not death. With each new emotion an image flashes behind my eyes. Temptation: a bare hand on my neck. Betrayal: shadows retreating across Aimée’s backyard. Confusion: the heel of my Mary Janes lodged in a splintered piece of wood. Anger: eyes I can’t place glaring at me. They’re flat and dark and furious. With me.

I cover my face with my hands and curl into a tiny ball in the center of the bridge, rocking back and forth. I want to erase those eyes from my memory, but something tells me they’re part of me, a part I can’t rub out.

The bridge creaks the way it does in the wind. I concentrate on the sound, focus on the subtle swaying, try to match it to the shallow pulsing in my chest that led me here. When the board underneath me moves, I jerk out of my crouched position, whip around to see who’s here, and end up smashing right into my sister—literally. My arms dissolve through her chest and appear out her back with a swirl of shimmery dust. I wince as the tiny wisps of me settle back into two “solid” limbs.

I feel snow on my face, resting on my cheeks, piling up so thick on my lashes that I have to blink. I’m sure I’ll be pulled into another memory, but something keeps me here.

Joules sets her skate bag down and wraps her arms tight around her stomach. Not because she’s cold—she has figure skater blood—but to ward off tears. She thinks it makes her look tough, but when she does it her bottom lip pouts out—always—and any hope she had of looking formidable is lost. Always, even here, alone, she’s determined to act strong.

She’s supposed to be at the ice rink. Her teammates and coach must think she’s too grief-stricken to practice. She is. She just doesn’t know it.

I stumble the rest of the way through her—cringing at the prickling pain—and watch her. She stands staring downriver from the opposite side of the bridge. She starts to glance over her shoulder to see where I fell but turns back before her peripheral can catch the broken railing next to me.

Suddenly she yells, “Goddamnit!” and I jump about a foot I’m so taken aback.

I have never heard my little sister swear. She says things like “bite me” and “forget you” with enough venom to get her point across, but she’s ten. Ten-year-olds don’t swear.

She continues through the alphabet like she’s running down some vulgar list. Then she drops the big one: an f-bomb. And she yells it so loud that it reverberates off the roof.

I slap my hand over my mouth, stifling a laugh. It’s so unexpected that I can’t help myself. On top of the humor, I thought this would be a moment I would never get to experience. I’m so inexplicably elated to hear my little sister say the f-word that I could burst.

When she turns toward me, the last of my giggles tapers off. The humor is gone. Her blue eyes are rimmed in red. I can’t believe I laughed at her—no, with her. If she knew I was here, she would’ve laughed too.

“This sucks,” she says, kicking her skate bag. A metallic clank sounds from inside the black canvas, blades knocking together. As if the sun agrees, it sinks below the horizon at that exact moment, trading twilight for darkness. In a few hours the third day of my surreal afterlife will be over.

The spotlight at the end of the bridge that butts up to the Coutiers’ property casts an unnatural white glow that only illuminates a fourth of the span. It’s dark in the middle where Joules and I stand. Too dark. I’m glad she’s not out here alone, but then again, she doesn’t know she’s not alone. And what could I do to help if something bad happened? It’s an uncharacteristic risk for her to take. She probably had to guilt-trip Dad to get permission to go back to practice so soon. Then she walked halfway across town with her wrap skirt hanging over her warm-up pants, lugging her skates, to come to the bridge and stand in the cold and scream obscenities.

“It was stupid to come here.” She says it very grownup-like, except for the “stupid.” That part is said with a trademark stomp of her foot. She’s always been a champ about taking crap for being the youngest because, in many ways, she’s more mature than me or Shaw, but that stomp nullifies any maturity she’s earned.

“Yes, it was,” I tell her. “Mom and Dad are going to erupt when they find out you lied and ditched on practice to walk here of all places.” It dawns on me that she came here like this—alone and without permission—on purpose, not only to vent some verbal anger, but to cause a distraction.

She’s used this tactic before, whenever Shaw or I got caught breaking curfew or taking the car without permission. The discussion about punishment would inevitably lead to Mom and Dad screaming at each other about conflicting parenting styles, and Mom would segue into “This is why I need my nights away.” At that point, Joules would do something off-the-wall like walk across Mom’s Persian rug in the living room with her skates on, guards off. Damage would be minimal, but my parents would be so distracted the argument would fizzle.

Mom and Dad must be fighting again.

A shift in the shadows pulls my attention to the broken portion of the bridge. In the distance I see an elongation of darkness spilling over the riverbank in an unnatural arc. The image of Other Me bent and broken on those rocks, being swallowed by that same silhouette jolts me.

Afraid the silhouette has come to claim my sister, I rush to her side with every intention of begging her to leave, but the silhouette is gone before I can speak my plea. She sits with her hands folded in her lap, facing the damaged side of the bridge, like nothing happened. Maybe nothing did, but her eyes are closed. She still hasn’t looked at the broken rail.

I blink rapidly, making sure the invading darkness is gone, before pushing down my fear and sitting beside my sister. I cross my stretched-out legs to match her position. Our shoes almost touch. Her lashes flutter, and I can feel her building the strength to look at that forbidden spot.

“It’s okay, Jouley.” I place my hand above hers and curl in my fingers as if I’m holding her hand. “We can look together.”

She takes a deep breath, and I artificially match the rise and fall of her chest.

“Ready? One. Two.” I hesitate until her eyes start to open. “Three.” We turn our heads and see the yellow caution tape hung taunt across the break in the rail. Almost immediately, she starts shaking. I snap my head back to her and frown. “Oh, no, Jouley.”

Her cheeks are soaked with tears, eyes even redder. My fingers grasp at air as I strain to comfort her. I ignore the pain stabbing my insides and squeeze so hard I can almost feel the heat from her hand transfer into my floaty flesh.

After several minutes that feel like hours, Joules gets to her feet, wipes her face with the back of her sparkly glove, and slings her bag over her shoulder. “I really miss you, Cassidy-dee. It sucks that you’re gone … really sucks.” She takes a few steps toward Aimée’s house, then stops. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been pretending that you’re not gone.” She lifts her chin. “Shaw gets it … I know you would too. So I’m gonna keep doing it, ’kay?”

My mouth opens with a silent reply. I’m not gone, Jouley. Please don’t stop pretending. I’m here!

As she disappears into the trees beyond the bridge, darkness creeps after her in a now familiar unnatural arc. The sharp pain returns as I yell her name. “Jouley!” I can’t let the darkness fall on her like it did on me. I appear beside her in an impossible instant. “Jouley, it’s not safe—” I start, but her expression makes me look up.

“Joules? What are you doing here?” It’s Madison. “Are you alone?”

When Madison steps closer, Joules bursts into sobs. She’s wearing a stubborn frown as she nods. “I’m supposed to be at practice.”

Madison stands watching my sister cry for a stunned moment and then wraps her arm around Joules’s shoulders. “It’s okay. I’ll drive you home and make up something about seeing you at the rink while I was at Drew’s hockey game.”

My relief at seeing Madison is slightly diminished by her forcing a lie on my sister, but I’m starting to realize sometimes a lie is worth avoiding the pain of the truth.

After Joules and Madison are inside her car, I look back at the spot where I last stood alive. The darkness is gone, but the ache from walking through Joules still lingers. I focus on it for a moment, hoping the stinging under my skin might make me feel “not gone” like Joules said. It doesn’t. Guilt replaces the pain. Everything I did Saturday night—whatever I did Saturday night—not only took away my life, it took away so many irreplaceable things from my sister and brother and parents, my friends, Ethan. They’ll never be the same and it’s my fault.

This is why consciousness is supposed to disappear when you die, I think. The wreckage is too much to bear.

My hands begin to drip like melting icicles and, for the first time, I’m relieved when I slip away.