Henry stands up, sits down, and stands up again, incredulous.

  “Please sit; there’s more.” Through choking tears, I tell him all about what happened to Even. I also tell him how Skunk was possibly involved, though I learned from Mama that the police questioned him and found him not at fault. He probably had Caleb’s cousin vouch for him.

  After Henry’s consoled me, he says, “You’ll have to talk to his father. You can’t just drive a motorcycle around that isn’t yours. There’s insurance and all that. You’ll have to get it straightened out. OK? And as for the Honda, that’s registered in Mama’s name. I know you’ve been keeping up on the bills, but rightfully, it’s hers.”

  This is becoming too complicated. I want to U-turn back to the bright hope I felt when we were talking about possibly meeting our father. The heaviness connecting me to my old life makes extricating myself from it more difficult. But I’m ready for something new, a fresh beginning; though, like a tether, the past draws me back, forcing me to have closure before I snip the cord.

  Together, Henry and I hatch a plan, but before we’re able to move forward, Stacy comes home. I watch as she holds Henry in her arms for a long time after he fills her in on everything, well almost, that he just learned. She leaves us to talk for a few more minutes while she starts to make dinner.

  “I promise, it will be the best meal of your life. She’s a wizard in the kitchen,” Henry says.

  From the other room, she laughs good-naturedly at his comment. After a few minutes, clanging of pots and pans, and a spicy yet smooth smell fills the kitchen.

  “You can stay here as long as you need to,” Henry says.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to make a few phone calls in the morning, and you’ll have to settle up about school, OK?”

  In under an hour, Stacy, Henry, and I sit around their small maple table. We say grace and then she dishes us up a plate of migas, a dish with onions, garlic, chili peppers, eggs, tomatoes, avocado, and corn tortillas. It’s colorful, and when I take my first bite, the taste is intensely flavorful. I wonder how I ever ate shrink-wrapped food or gobs of packaged sweets.

  “This kind of food got you to lose all that weight?” I say in disbelief. Henry nods.

  “We don’t eat anything processed, just about. Everything is fresh and natural,” Henry says with a mouthful.

  “Will you teach me?” I ask without thinking.

  “I’d love to,” Stacy says. We spend the evening chatting and then watch a movie while Stacy does some homework.

  My night’s sleep on Henry and Stacy’s couch is the deepest and best since I spent the night with Even in New York. I wake up feeling refreshed and renewed. Stacy pulls out a container of sunrise muffins that she baked.

  “They are a complete balance of protein, fiber, and nutrients to start your day,” she tells me.

  At first, I’m not so sure. They’re brown, and not because they’re chocolate. But I try one for breakfast along with lemon-infused water and a cup of coffee. Again, I understand how easy it has been for Henry to get healthy with Stacy preparing this nourishing food, not to mention her gentle manner. He calls in late to work, but it’s too early to start making phone calls, so he suggests we go for a run. I laugh.

  “Have you ever seen me run?”

  “OK, how about jog? Or yog? With a soft j.” We both laugh at a reference from the comedy we watched the night before.

  “I can’t jog or yog.” Then I think back to that morning when I’d discovered Skunk had slashed the tires on the Honda. I recall that unusual sense of lightness I experienced as I ran to school.

  “I bet you can.” He goes into his room, grabs a pair of sweatpants, and tosses them to me. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”

  I stuff myself in the gray cotton sweats and am sure to pull my T-shirt down over my ample behind. I wrinkle my brow. Juliana asked me about the thoughts, the mean little voice, I have in relation to my body and if I would ever say those kinds of things to a friend. She suggests when I hear it, I say the words out loud.

  “Pull the shirt down over your ample behind.”

  “Huh?” Henry says.

  “Sorry. It’s an exercise the therapist suggested I try. When I hear nasty comments in my head, she said I should say them aloud. Then if they sound like something I’d say to the person I love most in the world, then they’re fine, but if they’re at all questionable or insulting, she said to reframe them. Something like ‘I hear you saying I have an ample behind, but I love and treasure my body and all the amazing things it does for me.’ Stand up to the bully, but sorta in a loving kind of way.”

  “I see.” Henry looks somewhat puzzled, but goes on, “Well, for a second you sounded like Mama. You know she used to say nasty things to me about my size. I’ve never understood it, though, because she’s always been bigger than us.”

  “That’s just it. She’s never liked herself, so she imposed her self-hatred on us; in fact, she went so far as trying to make us worse off than her, but you see where that got her.”

  In my sessions with Juliana, she explained many things to me, but it’s only now that I am with Henry, serving as a witness to the past, that I can apply these new ideas so that I fully understand them. I smile at the two of us, both on the path to health and wellness, outside in the sunshine and about ready to run. Or maybe just walk.

  “We’ll start slow. Stacy and I go every other night or morning, whatever we can squeeze into our schedules. It’s important to get the heart rate up with cardio.”

  “Who are you and what did you do with my brother?” I say with a laugh.

  We start at a slow pace, practically walking. Henry can go faster, but he hangs back with me. We follow the sidewalk and then cross the street into a residential area. When we near the end of the road, I can’t help it, I lengthen my stride, I pick up my feet, and I’m running, only this time I’m not trying to escape myself. Henry flashes a grin. We loop around, and when we reach the sidewalk back to the apartment, I let out a whoop. I’m out of breath and red-faced, but I don’t care.

  “You’re a winner, Sugar. You did great. Way to go!” He high-fives me.

  I playfully shove him. But he’s not wrong.

  When we get back to the apartment, I shower while Henry calls the insurance company about Mama. Apparently, he’s her proxy or something. He’ll report that she’s no longer able to take care of herself and refuses the help of family. The way he understands it, after doing a bit of research online, they have to step in, whether she likes it or not.

  After I’m dressed, I pop my head into their home office, which is really just the spare bedroom.

  “How did it go?” I ask.

  “I did my best to explain everything, and they said they’ll send someone over tomorrow.”

  “Good?” I ask, unsure.

  “We’ll see. I told them Mama might not make it easy. The nurse laughed at that. Your turn. Good luck with the school stuff,” Henry says.

  Henry goes to the shower. I practice what I want to say. First, I call Ms. Barrows. She answers on the second ring, sounding chipper. I’m happy to tell her the success I’ve had with Juliana, but then reveal the trouble at home and then the senior prank.

  “Yes, I heard about that. Measures are being taken.”

  “I don’t really want to get anyone in trouble. It’s just that I don’t think I can finish out the last few weeks there. To tell you the truth, I don’t feel safe, because of my brother’s friends and the bullying.” The worst that can happen is she says no, but that won’t change my stance.

  “Yes, I completely understand. You surprise me; you’re so . . .” She hesitates for a fraction of a second. I’m afraid she’s going to say something cruel. “Unique, resilient, and”—she laughs—“you’re a little bit rebellious, in a way. I admire you. I’m sorry all this has happened. I thought maybe that we could head it off with the assembly. You’re really advocating for yourself, Mercy, and I respect that. I’ll see what I can do for getting you finished up here. And your plans afterward?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” This isn’t completely true. Over the last day or so, I’ve gotten closer to knowing exactly what my plans are, but I’m not quite ready to let them surface. Ms. Barrows promises to get back to me by the end of the day. I may have to return to the school to get homework and fill out paperwork, but she seemed positive that they’d find a way for me to complete the year. Mama’s care and school—two down, one to go.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In Henry’s wake, the apartment is quiet. Too quiet. I have the urge to pilfer their cupboards for something sweet to occupy myself with but instead do another exercise Juliana taught me. I wait fifteen minutes. First, I take a few deep breaths and then chew a piece of gum. After that, I walk around the apartment just to move, but that isn’t enough, so I go back outside and find myself on the same bench as I was yesterday when I found the notes in Even’s journal.

  I slide the first two out and reread them. In tears, I unfold the last one. The handwriting on each of them is the same: solid, angular, and purposeful. I read Even’s note. The only difference is this one is dated. Even wrote it the morning of the day he died. My face tingles and more tears gush from my eyes.

  Dearest Sugar or Mercy, (Sometimes I want to call you that or Shoog or darling or babe- Lol)

  For some reason I couldn’t get up the courage to give you the first letter I wrote or the second one either. But I realize why now. I wasn’t saying everything I meant or I wasn’t saying enough I guess. I’ve come to realize over these months since we met, went to the lodge together, then to New York, those big moments and then all the other little ones in between, that you and I fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, maybe the most important pieces. Maybe that isn’t the best analogy. Two peas in a pod? Nah, I don’t really like peas. But I really like you. You know that night in the lodge, I couldn’t stop smiling, but it was like I wasn’t only smiling on my face, it was my whole body. Then when we kissed in New York, I just knew. I knew that I love you. I am in love with you. How many ways can I say it? Or why can’t I say it? But I will. So now that you’ve reached the end of this note, I’m going to be brave and say it. Please look up.

  And that is it. But he isn’t here to say it. I see how he wanted this moment to unfold—passing me the note, me reading it and then—but he’s gone. My lips tremble. “I love you, too,” I say.

  In the periphery of my vision, a shadow moves across the sun, and that is exactly how I feel. Happy beyond happy and at the same time the saddest I’ve ever been. I look up expecting to see the cloud-covered sky. I want to shout why? But the eagle’s there. It circles once, twice, and then flies off. “Oh, Even, I love you, too.”

  I fold the note and replace it in the journal. Now, more than ever, I know what I am going to do, what I’m meant to do. I return to the apartment, and call Juliana. Thankfully, she has time for one last session, saying she had a cancellation for her eleven o’clock slot.

  I flip through some of Stacy’s magazines to pass the time, and then log on to their computer and gather some information. At a quarter of eleven, I drive across town to the salmon-colored office. As quickly as possible, I outline everything that’s happened, and what I’d like to do.

  “This is a tough one, but I think if you approach it delicately, preferably in the morning, before he’s had a chance to, um, get bombed, as you said, he might be willing to listen. There’s a good chance if you are tactful and explain he’ll understand. Maybe this time, he’ll be more compassionate. Sometimes the heart can surprise us, even the ones that seem the coldest,” Juliana says.

  “And what if he’s not?”

  “There are other options, of course. I can see you really want this to be the one, but be patient, open, and trust that things will turn out exactly as they’re meant to. In many ways, they already have. You are a different person than the one who came in here a few months ago; you’re a woman now, actually. A person healing, ready to shine.”

  I thank her for all she’s done to help me.

  “You’ve really impressed me, Mercy. You were ripe for change, but if you ever need to talk, please don’t hesitate to call. My door is always open for you.”

  I spend the afternoon in a café finishing a book I have to write an essay on for English, and then go to meet Henry. Stacy gets home and has me help her in the kitchen, showing me how to cook for real. It’s fun, and I’m happy to have her for a sister—well, I will be once they get married.

  After we eat, Henry says, “So, are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Stacy bids us farewell, and we go in the Honda to Mama’s house. I’m jittery with nerves as we near town and absolutely shaking when we pull up to the house. Nearly all the lights are on. From the outside, it looks like any other house on the street, weather-beaten, neglected, but lit up as if there’s life inside. As I know, all too well, it is actually filled with just a slow, creeping, and cruel death.

  I lean my head back on the seat. “Are you sure about this?” I ask.

  “This was your plan. Are you sure about it?” Henry asks.

  “Yes. I doubt it’ll be easy, but yes. Let’s go.”

  As usual, the front door is unlocked. We go in, and I immediately feel seven years old. Helpless. Fear nips at my ankles. Hopeless. The smell of something burning bites at my nose. The kitchen is a wreck and the garbage can overflows onto the floor.

  “Whoever comes tomorrow will have a real thrill,” I say.

  “We’re not going to tell Mama this part, but they’re also sending someone from social services. As you said, it isn’t only medical attention she needs,” Henry whispers.

  I open the door to the oven and a black cloud of smoke billows out. I turn it off and open a window. Henry shakes his head, hurrying down the hall to Mama’s room.

  I take a quick survey of the kitchen, making sure the place isn’t going to burn down with us in it.

  From the gloom in the living room, Skunk appears. “Well, eff me. Look who’s here.”

  It isn’t clear whether we’re alone or if any of his friends lurk in the house. Sweat beads across my forehead. My legs tremble.

  “It must be so easy for you to just wipe your hands and walk away from us, huh?” he says, gusting me with stale beer breath.

  “No, Skunk, it hasn’t been easy,” I say evenly, daring myself to be bold.

  His eyes dart over every inch of me like his vision alone has the ability to slice me to ribbons.

  It doesn’t.

  Licks of rage burn away my sweat and fear.

  “I’ve been here, lookin’ after Mama, trying to keep shit together. Doin’ what you couldn’t. Stepping up and being a man.” He narrows his eyes and nods his head like he’s won, like his word is final, but it’s not, not anymore. Then he adds, “You’re not welcome here anymore, fatwad.”

  I’m rendered ash and reborn in flame. My indignation is singular. A fist grips my insides with bleeding knuckles for my broken family. I want to shake or punch sense into him. To explain to him how much courage it takes to really live, not whatever we’ve been doing the last seventeen years. Instead, a slurry of rage pours out of my mouth as my voice elevates from normal to shouting to growling. “You’re useless, Skunk. You don’t get it. I’m sorry for you.” I shake my head to counter his smug nod. “You’re gutless.” I’m out of breath like I’ve been fighting for my life. I leave him with my anger and rush down the hall.

  The moment I appear in the doorway, Mama launches on me with a snarling, hissing, horrid verbal assault.

  “Where the flying fuck have you been, Sugar? You piece of shit, I thought I told you I needed your help. Damn Skunk has had to look after me and you can see he ain’t no good.”

  I take a deep breath. I’m going to say exactly what Juliana and I planned, and won’t respond to her insults. “Mama, I have moved out. I’m staying with Henry and Stacy now. One of Skunk’s friends acted inappropriately to me, and I don’t feel safe here. Also, I want to say that, although I do care for you, I can’t take care of you anymore. It’s beyond my ability.”

  She glares at me. “Bullshit. You have to. Who else is going to? What the hell did I have kids for? So they could gang up on me and leave me? You’re staying in this house until I tell you you ain’t. You hear me?” She shakes with anger and then erupts into a coughing fit.

  “It’s time a professional comes to help you, Mama. I’ve arranged for someone to be here in the morning. They are going to make sure you’re OK and take care of you now,” Henry says.

  “No way. Uh-uh,” Mama answers. She tries to get up. She’s purple with rage. She wears the same expression she does just before she strikes.

  “This is the way it is. We’re sorry if you don’t like it, but it’s more important that Sugar is safe and your health is addressed properly,” Henry says.

  Mama starts in with “My health is just fine. I’m just stressed out, that’s all, trying to keep track of this deceptive little bitch and make sure Skunk don’t burn the house down.”

  “That’s just it. You can’t do either of those things anymore. And neither can we. Sorry, Mama. This is what’s going to happen, plain and simple. Sugar is staying with me, and a nurse is coming to take care of you.”

  Mama flies into a stream of expletives and looks as if she wants to mow the both of us down. When she’s out of breath and her coughing stops, I take a step closer.

  “Mama, I want to say goodbye. I’m not sure when I’ll be seeing you again. But I just want you to know—” The words that I know I should say won’t come. I know a daughter ought to love her mother, but I can’t utter the words. I know a part of me does, but it doesn’t feel true. Instead, something Juliana talked a lot about comes to mind, something I thought about this morning. “Mama, I forgive you. Goodbye.” I pat the bed where her leg is and turn to leave.

  “Bye, Mama,” Henry says, and he follows me through the door.

  She curses at us as Henry closes the door behind him. I exhale. Just when I think it’s over, Skunk charges down the hall.