A real partner would have talked me through the arguments for and against.
A real partner would have listened to my reasons for warning the boy.
My instincts had been right all along. Zander was playing me. But in a way I could never have expected.
I was definitely going to have to go it alone.
I finished the last of the unpacking, crushed down the final box, and closed up the supply room. Glancing out the sidelight windows in the vestibule, I could see the sky had dimmed: dusk but with the purple gray of a snow sky. Another six to twelve inches was predicted tonight, which meant that Petra would likely get stuck at the hospital and I’d better get going before it got ugly. Not that I would get trapped here, but the buses were always late in bad weather and, though I loved the snow, I didn’t want to walk all the way home in it.
I crossed to the locker room to drop off Ryan’s books. He hadn’t been here any of my last few shifts. Or called or texted or left any notes. All of which spoke volumes. I knew I hadn’t made it clear enough that I was only looking for friendship with him. It hadn’t been clear to me until I realized I’d been making him my stand-in for Jack. The guy who was safe. Who cared. The guy I’d known all along Zander wasn’t: the nice guy. But I’d messed up twice because Ryan wasn’t Jack and Jack wasn’t mine. Not anymore. Not after I’d lied because the truth was too hard. Too scary. I hadn’t given him a chance to show me he could take it. Just like Nan had never given me that chance.
But Ryan? He had nothing to do with any of it. I hoped it wasn’t too late to let him be just Ryan instead of pseudo-Jack.
I scribbled a note:
Ryan—
Thanks again for the loan. I liked them so much I bought some of my own. I’m reading the section on Hinduism now. Maybe we can hit up a few temples when I’m done or at least go out for Indian some night. I’m sorry I wasn’t up front about Zander, you deserve more. I’d like to make it up to you. Friends?
Cassie
It was easier to ask him this way and I did want us to be friends. But I knew how it felt to have your hopes and expectations squashed. I’d have to leave our future up to him.
The snow had started by the time I bundled into my coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. It was still the lightest flakes, like dust, nothingness as soon as it hit the sidewalk.
But by the time I got off the bus the flakes were chunkier, a first layer coating the ground. My footprints followed me the block and a half to the apartment.
I kept my head down most of the way, tucking my nose into the wet warmth of the knit scarf, passing building after building, their insides lit in a way that made me long for my fleece socks and flannel pants.
It wasn’t as cold as during my vigil for Jackson Kennit. Looking back, it seems obvious that even then—before I had confirmation that there were others—I’d believed. Maybe even as early as when I’d read the letter’s translation or before, when Petra had read me my mother’s files, the name Lachesis like an arrow hitting a dead-center bull’s-eye.
Realizing that, I felt a little like I’d been running in circles with all my questioning and searching. But I think what I’ve actually learned is that the only thing that matters is that I have this ability. Nothing more.
I’d hoped there would be guidelines to work within, rules, others who could help me. I’d leaned on the idea of finding out whether saving one dooms another. Crutches, I knew now. All of them crutches.
Mr. Ludwig had said what happens to one affects others—in some ways good, in some ways bad. Just like the Chicago fire. Or, a far less dramatic example, Liv’s dad losing his job and her finding a niche at TREND, enough that she’d started looking at college business programs. Her parents were thrilled, though a definite maybe was all she’d admit to. Opportunity from misfortune. Gain from loss. It’s part of life, not just the work of the Fates.
Maybe that’s why Nan decided to turn her back on the mark and let the chips fall where they may. It was tempting to ignore that people were about to die, learn to be less human, as Zander had advised. But when I pictured the kid at the mall or the twelve marked elementary school kids I’d seen when I was four, I didn’t think I could. How Nan had walked away from them, I couldn’t imagine. I didn’t want to be that cold. I wanted more, even if it hurt.
There were no right answers. The only rules and guidelines I could live with were mine. My own moral code, not Zander’s, not something set up by people who lived a gazillion years ago.
That’s what I can take on faith.
That’s what I’m learning to believe in.
Me.
I paused a few feet from our door, snow swirling around me, landing on my scarf and hat and eyelashes as I fished in my bag for keys.
I didn’t see the shadowy movement inside until I had the key in the lock, a figure in the dim corner of the hall, facing me. My throat constricted. Zander. And he’d already seen me. It was too late to escape.
I gritted my teeth and opened the door, aware that the only other person on the street was far down the block. Zander had already had his chance to hurt me, but what if he’d reconsidered? I doubted it. He needed me. He was probably just here to talk. Again.
But it wasn’t Zander.
My heart felt like it stopped. I couldn’t believe it was really him. I was terrified to take another step, afraid that he’d shimmer like a mirage and disappear. But he was still there, solid and real, when I reached him, tears already in my eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, allowing him to fold me silently into his arms.
“I miss you too,” Jack said.
That was all it took to start me crying, the relief of seeing him uncorking all the feelings I’d worked so hard to keep bottled up since leaving and, truthfully, even before.
He held me for a minute or two, then slid his hands gently to my shoulders, pulling back to arm’s length to look into my eyes. “My mom’s here, too, back at the hotel. She’s worried about you and wanted to come, but she understood I needed to see you myself first.”
I nodded, the tears still coming, faster than I could wipe them. Jack reached up, brushed away the freshest ones. His touch was so tender, just like the night I’d stayed with him.
“I thought … when I called and you …”
Jack bit his lip, looked down. He shoved his hands into his pockets, broad shoulders hunching together. “I was angry, Cass. I still am. It’d be a lie to pretend I’m not.”