Mom and Dad… the Ferris wheel… those lifeless legs hanging from the mangled gondola…The dream that was actually a memory hit me with full force, raw and painful. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that might somehow reset the clock to before that stupid county fair, and I could beg them to take me to Ruby’s Diner or throw a party at the house instead.
Dead.
No.
It can’t be.
Louise and Matthew Crawford weren’t my biological parents. My real mother died during childbirth back in England, and as far as anyone knew, my real father wasn’t in the picture at that stage. My mother had no living relatives, so I was released into the truly delightful English foster care system. I lived in an orphanage for a few years – I don’t remember it at all, except in weird flashes in my dreams sometimes, which didn’t count – before the Crawfords visited London during their missionary work, fell in love with me at first sight, and somehow found a way to obtain an international adoption. (“It was difficult,” Momalways said when I asked her, “but it was worth it for you.”) Kelly and I always suspected it was illegal, but we knew better than to bringthatup.
Apparently, I loved them instantly, too, and I cried for three days when they left the orphanage, before they came back for me. This didn’t surprise me – with their hearty Wild West accents, their eyes that sparkled like the ocean, and their ridiculous eternal optimism that God would sort everything out in the end, they were pretty damn easy to love.
Even when I became a surly teenager obsessed with astronomy and denounced religion with all the subtlety and sensitivity a fourteen-year-old could muster, they never discouraged me. Once, I got sent home from school for refusing to write an essay on the scientific evidence for Noah’s flood. Instead of yelling at me, they convinced my teachers to allow me to hand in an essay about the Voyager missions instead. I remembered the day I got my scholarship for MIT – Dad had tears in his eyes as he pinned the letter to the fridge. At his Sunday sermon he managed to mention it at least three times.
How could they just bedead?How could such kind and wonderful people be gone from the world? How could their God betray them like that?
The grief crushed against me, pressing in on me from all sides. I gasped for air, squeezing Kelly tight against me as I fought against the invisible force that threatened to collapse me in upon myself, like a black hole sucking in everything around it.
“I couldn’t save them,” I whispered. The guilt ate my insides.If I’d just moved faster. If I’d stayed inside the wheel a bit longer, I might have had a chance?—
The bed creaked. Kelly threw herself against me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “You were so brave, running into the fire like that. I thought I lost you, too. And then you wouldn’t wake up,” she whimpered. “You’re all I have left.”
Kelly burrowed her head into my shoulder, her tears puddling on my t-shirt. This was all wrong. Kelly shouldn’t be crying. I was the wailer – running bawling to Mom whenever Kelly broke the rules of a game. Rules were very important to me.
But not as important as Mom and Dad, and yet now I couldn’t muster up even a single tear. I felt numb all over, worn and squashed by the force of the grief. I rested a hand on my chest, feeling my heart pounding against my palm.
“How… how long have I been out?” I asked.
“A couple of days,” Kelly sniffed. “I can’t… I don’t remember exactly. You’ve been in and out a bit.”
Oh, jeez, she’s been here, alone, since the accident, waiting for me to wake up.I hate that I abandoned her to her grief, even though I had no control over it. I hugged Kelly to me, holding her close, letting her spill her grief over me, hoping it might draw up some of my own.
But it didn’t. I remained numb.
After a time, Kelly’s sniffles died down, and my stomach growled. I realized that I must not have eaten anything for days. Kelly might not have, either. She could barely boil an egg when she was in full control of her faculties.
“We should get some food.” I threw my legs off the bed. Kelly grabbed my arm, her red-ringed eyes burning into mine.
“Don’t even think about getting up. That guy said you hit your head pretty hard, and you should be careful in case you have a concussion.”
“What guy?”
“That hot British guy you totally blanked me for. He carried you out of the flames and helped me get you home.”
“He did?” I glanced around the room. Mr. British had been in myroom?If I’d had any chance with him, it would be over now that he’d seen my pink ruffled sheets and the telescope atthe window and the rows of dolls sitting on top of the bureau. My eyes fell on the overflowing laundry basket.Please don’t tell me he saw my underwear, too.
And then I remembered that my parents were dead, and my sister had been on her own since she got that news, and I hated myself for even thinking about a guy right now. My cheeks burned with guilt.What iswrongwith me?
I rubbed my burning cheeks. “Why am I not in a hospital?”
“He said it wasn’t a good idea. He said the ER would be full of people from the accident, and we didn’t have insurance so it would be expensive, and… he was right. I mean, I saw them carrying away people in the ambulance. He said he could help you, and I… I didn’t know what else to do…”
“It’s fine,” I hugged her again. “You did good.”
“I thought he was a doctor or something. He knew exactly what to do. He showed me how to treat your burns.” Kelly lifted one of the bandages around my arm. I looked down, but I couldn’t see any burn on my skin.
“Wow,” Kelly rubbed my arm. “This was all red and blistered the other day. He must be areallygood doctor.”
“Where is he now?”
