“Why not?”
“Because if I did, I would never make it back.”
Already it’s destroying me to say it out loud. The only saving grace is that there’s someone to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Don’t be.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m sorry for putting you in this position. It’s unfair to make anyone the only one. It was unfair to my mother. And now it’s unfair to you.”
I hate that she sees I have no one else. But that’s part of the everything I know.
“And you have no idea why this curse happened?”
“No.”
“No idea who created it. No idea why.”
“No idea.”
“But your father knows.”
“Yes. I mean, I think so.”
She looks me right in the eye. “So why don’t we ask him?”
“I’ve tried.”
“Well, this time we’ll double-team him. Triple, if Laurie can come.”
Just thinking about finally having the answers makes me dizzy, frightened.
I shift on the couch so I can put my head in Elizabeth’s lap. Concentrate so I can try to feel some comfort there.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
She runs her fingers through my hair. “I know. I don’t have to be here. But here I am.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Something to do with love, I guess,” she says. “Now, quiet. Let’s rest for a second. We have a lot to think about.”
I turn my head so I’m looking up at her. She leans down.
My kiss isn’t enough. There’s so much more I want to share with her.
Love.
Fear.
Gratitude.
* * *
We go to the park.
This time, she notices. The way everyone ignores me. The way they look at her if she says something to me. The way I leave no trace.
“What’s it like?” she asks when we find a quiet spot under one of the stone bridges.
“It’s hard to say,” I tell her. But I can see that’s not good enough for her, so I go on. “It isn’t loneliness, really. Because loneliness comes from thinking you can be involved in the world, but aren’t. Being invisible is being solitary without the potential of being anything but solitary. So after a while, you step aside from the world. It’s like you’re in a theater, alone in the audience, and everything else is happening on the stage.”
“That’s awful,” Elizabeth says.
“Yes and no. Sometimes more yes, sometimes more no.”
“I know what you mean about loneliness, though. I think it’s more lonely when people you trust turn against you. When you’re exiled. I went through that, at least a little bit. It’s like being kicked off that stage, and then being forced into the audience to watch as it all goes on without you.”
So there we sit. Under a stone bridge, watching people run, walk, stroll, jog by.
An audience of two, now.
* * *
When we get back to the building, she says, “I want Laurie to be there. When your father comes. I think he can help.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s easy enough for me to sound all strong when I’m with you. But really? I’m not the biggest fan of confrontation. I’m not very good at it. Laurie, however, is a pro. I mean, when my dad saw us off at the airport, pretending we were going on some family trip without him, instead of leaving to build a new, dad-less life, I actually gave him a kiss goodbye. Laurie called him a jerk. Which was the right thing to do.”
“The more the merrier,” I say.
She goes to fill him in.
* * *
Back in my apartment, temporarily alone, I don’t know what to do.
* * *
They knock on the door at five thirty. I know it has to be them because Dad would never knock.
“Whoa,” Laurie says when I open the door. I have to remember that he’s not used to things like doors opening on their own.
“Come in,” I tell him.
“Nice place,” he says, taking it all in. I don’t know whether he’s just being polite. It’s been a long time since I’ve wondered what other people thought of the apartment. In many ways, over the past year it’s become a museum version of itself. It’s not like my mother died and I suddenly decided to order new furniture, or hang different things on the walls.
We’re all a little tense, paying a little too much attention to each other. I’m studying Elizabeth’s reactions, she’s studying mine, and Laurie is trying to study us both, although my reactions are of course more elusive. Instead of studying my expression, he’s studying the apartment, looking for clues. If there are any, I’ve never found them.
Elizabeth reaches into her pocket. “I know this is weird, but I brought something for you.”
It’s a folded piece of paper. Instead of handing it over, she unfolds it for me. Smooths it out. Puts it on the living room table.
It’s a sketch. Of a boy.
“It’s not perfect,” she says. “I mean, it was just an exercise. To draw something from memory.”
“Is that—?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s you.”
“He’s never seen himself?” Laurie asks.
“No,” Elizabeth says, looking in my eyes. “I don’t think he has. Right?”
“Right,” I whisper.
I don’t want to see it.
I want to see it.
I see it.
There I am.
Me.
That’s me. A hastily drawn version of me.
“I just thought you’d—”
“You’re right. I do. Thank you.”
Laurie reaches down and picks up the drawing for a closer look.
“Not bad,” he says. “I mean, you look—real.”
“I feel real,” I say.
None of us know what to do with that.
“Can I see the rest of the apartment?” Laurie asks. In response I give them something approximating a tour. We’re all waiting for the sound of my father’s arrival. And at six, right on the mark, it comes.
Key in the door. My name called out.
We come back to the living room.
“Dad,” I say, “you remember Elizabeth.” I’m sure he remembers her, but maybe not her name. “And this is her brother, Laurie.”