I CALLED EDDIE BEFORE going to his place tonight to say goodbye to Sarah and him, wondering if it was safe for me to do. He let me know Paul had a colleague from the Bureau dispatched to his house for protection.
As I pass the agent dressed in uniform, I weakly smile at him before knocking on Eddie’s door. Even though none of this is my fault, I can’t help but feel guilty that I’ve unwittingly dragged Sarah and him into this mess. At least they have someone watching over them now.
“Hi,” Eddie says, opening the door. “I saved you salmon and rice for dinner.”
“I already ate,” I lie.
For most people, it doesn’t feel good when they’re hungry and haven’t eaten for an extended period. But for someone like me, who’s suffered or is suffering from anorexia, it does. That’s the rub of it all and one of the many dangers of the disease.
It finally made sense to me when researchers discovered genetic markers associated with anorexia a few years ago, including one that has to do with how a person’s body metabolizes fat. It turns out that those of us who are prone to this disease metabolize fats differently. For this reason, it’s now considered a metabolic psychiatric disorder.
Despite how hard it was seeing Jay with his two small children in our old home, and getting confirmation that by being around Eddie and Sarah, I could be putting them in danger, the warm buzz I felt when I left his house—the one that comes from not having eaten all day, the one I haven’t felt in nearly a decade, since I was pregnant—helped blunt my sadness.
“Do you think it’s safe for you to go to New York?” Eddie asks me now. He looks worried.
“I’ll be in a city with nine million people and cameras on every street corner,” I say, trying to reassure him.
We’re not having the real conversation, which involves acknowledging I’m out of good options. If I stay here, it’s not safe for any of us. And if I go to New York, I’ll likely be at risk there too. And there’s a larger issue—when, if ever, will any of this be resolved, and what does that mean for the three of us?
Instead, we’re dancing around it, the way human beings do when they’re trying to run away from a difficult truth.
Sarah appears in the living room dressed in her pajamas. “I brushed my teeth,” she says. “I’m ready for bed. Will you tuck me in?”
“Sure,” Eddie says.
“No, I meant Beans,” she says.
Usually, anytime Sarah brings me into the fold, Eddie lights up, but tonight he doesn’t. His face is only worry.
“Why don’t we both tuck you in?” I say.
She nods. “Okay.”
We follow her through the hallway to her room. She gets in bed, and we sit next to her. She asks me to read from Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends. Eddie’s been reading her a poem a night from the collection.
I open the book to where they last left off and read Smart, a poem about a boy whose father gives him a one-dollar bill that he keeps trading for coins until he proudly ends up with five pennies, thinking they’re worth more than the single dollar his dad had first given him.
“But five cents is less than a dollar,” Sarah says, turning to Eddie. “Why’s his dad proud of him?”
“Because he’s his child,” Eddie explains, and kisses Sarah on her forehead.
“Love you,” she says.
“Love you more,” he says.
“Love you too,” I blurt out.
Eddie looks at me, surprised. It’s the first time I’ve ever said it to Sarah, even though it’s what I’ve long felt deep inside me. I say it now because I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but what I do know is what I think my mom knew too—she never wanted to leave any doubt in my mind about how much she loved me.
The last time she told me she loved me, it was a regular school day morning. But when I went into the kitchen for breakfast, she wasn’t there to greet me with her cup of coffee in hand like she usually did. Dad was there instead.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“She’s not feeling well,” he told me. “I’m taking you to school today.” Mom was the one who usually dropped me off at school on her way to work.
“What’s wrong?”
“She has a stomachache.”
After eating, I went to their bedroom to say goodbye to her and heard her throwing up in the bathroom.
“Are you okay, Mom?” I asked, standing in front of the bathroom door.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just have an upset stomach.”
“I wanted to say goodbye before Dad takes me to school.”
“One minute,” she said.
I sat on their bed, waiting. She took a long time, and I started to worry she might be sicker than Dad had let on. When she finally appeared, she looked like a shell of herself. Her face was ashen, and she was clutching her stomach in distress.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go to school today,” I said. “I think someone should stay here to be with you in case you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine,” she told me. “It’s important for you to go to school … and live your life.” She struggled to get the words out.
When she hugged me, I saw the tears in her eyes.
“Were you crying?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, I just don’t feel well.”
“I’m sorry.”
She hugged me tightly. “You know how much I love you, right?”
“Yes.”
When I pulled out of the embrace, I could tell she was having trouble letting go. I wondered if I should stay and be with her despite her telling me not to.
“Good luck with your test today. You’ll do great,” she said. “Remember, I love you.”
“I know,” I said. “I love you too.”
Now, Sarah hugs me, pulling me out of my memory.
“Love you too, Beans,” she says.
Eddie looks at us both with a pained smile.
And, like that, we all say goodbye.