Kelly shrugged. “He just tied off that last bandage and left. I didn’t ask where he was going. I was a little distracted, you know?”
And then she was crying again – big, heaving sobs that shuddered through her entire body. I wrapped her in my arms, pressing my cheek to hers and feeling her tears slide over my skin as if they were my own.
They’re gone. They’ll never come in at night to say a goodnight prayer with me. They’ll never wake us up at stupid-o'clock on a Sunday morning for pre-Church chocolate-chip pancakes. They’ll never see me graduate MIT, or win a Nobel Prize, or walk on Mars.
So, why can’t I cry?
My stomach rumbled again. “I’m guessing we don’t have any food in the house?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Kelly swiped at her leaking eyes. “An endless stream of well-wishers have paraded through the door, each one loaded down with casseroles in all the flavors of the rainbow. Of course, most of them came for the gory details about the accident. It’s the talk of the neighbourhood, but I can’t… oh, Maeve, it was so terrible.”
“I know.”
Kelly sniffed, wiping her nose. “Anyway, you’re awake now. I need so much help. There’s all this paperwork to go over, and Pastor Tim and Daddy’s lawyer keep bugging me. I don’t understand what any of them want?—”
“Of course I’ll help.”
“Oh,” Kelly drew a couple of envelopes off the nightstand and plopped them in my lap. “You got some mail. One of them’s from MIT.”
I stared at the college crest on the first envelope. The symbol of my future, the first step toward getting into the NASA space program. Ever since I’d got my acceptance and scholarship, I’d been unable to think about college without excited butterflies in my stomach. A giddy smile would spread over my lips.
But now, I felt nothing – the same crushing, harrowing numbness.
It meant nothing without them.
I could see from Kelly’s face that she desperately wanted a distraction. “Let’s see what they say, then,” I said, unsure if it was a good idea to remind Kelly that in forty-one days time (forty? Thirty-nine? I needed to figure that out, stat) I’d be leaving her for Massachusetts and theoretical physics. I slit open the envelope and pulled out a single page.
Dear Ms. Crawford,
Recently you received a letter stating you received the Neil Armstrong Astronomy Scholarship, which would pay tuition fees and a full stipend to complete an advanced degree in Physics or Engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
I regret to inform you that this letter was sent in error. Unfortunately, you were not successful in your application and you will not be receiving the scholarship.
This does not impact your position at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and your place is still being held. I apologize for any inconvenience caused.
Sincerely,
Professor Pauline Breuntas
Head of Physics
I stared at the page until the letters stopped spelling words – they became crude scratches on the page, weird looped hieroglyphs that held some long forgotten meaning.
My scholarship was gone. Without that money, I couldn’t afford to go to MIT. Because of the “complications” around my adoption, I couldn’t apply for a loan or financial aid.
If I took every penny in my savings account, I wouldn’t even have enough for one semester.
With one single piece of paper, the last remaining good thing in my life had been taken from me. The dream of being an astronaut I’d had since I was seven shrank before my eyes. But I couldn’t conjure up even a single ounce of feeling. Not anger, not sorrow.
Nothing.
Because it all meant nothing.
“Maeve, what is it?” Kelly asked. I didn’t want to read the words out loud, didn’t want to speak them into being. I handed her the letter, watching her already stricken face crumple as the impact of the news hit her.
“No,” she whispered, her fingers curling around the paper, crumpling it in her rage. “It’s got to be some mistake. They can’t just takeyour scholarship away. Youearnedthat. I won’t let them.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll go back to community college. I’ll apply again next year. Maybe I’ll get a private loan.”
