Being at home with them, joking and laughing, I felt like myself again. And I knew I couldn’t keep being so negative. I mean, we were alive, weren’t we? And there were a lot of people in Carsville who couldn’t say the same.
I had never told my mother about my encounter with Lucy. Or how I felt it was my little sister who had guided me through the school. How she had protected me, how we had made up for lost time while I was in a coma.
I hadn’t been able to, because a part of me felt guilty for leaving Lucy and coming back. But now that I’d recovered, I knew my place was here and that Lucy would be OK.
I looked at my mother, and she was so happy, so calm at last, with the two of us beside her, that I knew it was time to tell her everything, strange or impossible as it might seem. I needed to get it off my chest, and she needed to know. It took a long time, but she listened attentively, and when I was done, I concluded, “Lucy’s all right, Mom.”
My brother had his back turned to us. I could imagine his eyes reddening from the effort not to cry. My mother, though, she seemed finally able to put an end to that story and move on. She reached up and stroked my cheek.
“I knew she’d take care of you,” she said, “no matter what choice you made. I knew you’d be together.”
“She told me to tell you she loves you and not to worry, because time there is different from time here. She told me when she saw you again, only a few days would have passed for her.”
We didn’t talk about it again.
We didn’t have to. Telling my story, telling my mother and brother how I felt when we were together, helped us all turn the page.
It took me a while to gather the courage to go see Kami. Time stretched on until she had graduated with a degree in fine arts.
I didn’t regret keeping my distance. We both needed time—to grow, to heal, to let things settle. It felt different. It felt right. Like maybe we finally had a shot at doing this the way we were meant to.
I showed up at Harvard the day after her graduation. I had no idea what her plans were or what she’d say when she laid eyes on me. I didn’t know if she was in a relationship, whether she’d fallen in love with someone else or still thought about me.
I was scared. I can admit that.
But standing there at her door, I knew I’d done the right thing. I knew it deep in my heart. Whatever happened between us, I could at least say that I had come back from the dead for her. I’d come back thank to her. And that had to mean something, didn’t it?
When she opened the door, I didn’t recognize her at first. She had cut her hair and was wearing it in two braids. She was dressed in ripped jeans covered in paint, a black tank top with a red flannel shirt tied around her waist.
She opened the door, and everything seemed to stop.
She opened the door, and life held its breath.
Would she let me back in?
Would she let me love her the way I wanted?
Or would she close the door in my face.
I think you can guess what happened.
Can’t you?
