The Edge of Everything (Untitled #1)(27)

When Zoe had finished her story, X felt desperate to tell her something about himself, but every thought, every memory, every feeling was stuck in his throat.

He told her this in his stumbling way.

She shook her head.

“I didn’t tell you all that because I wanted you to tell me something,” she said. “I told you because I trust you.”

“And I you,” said X. “Yet still I stand here, dumb as a stump. Everything I know about myself shames me.”

Zoe looked at him so sadly now that X feared he had only compounded her pain.

“Just tell me one thing about your mom and dad,” she said. “One tiny thing. It doesn’t have to be some huge deal.”

X considered this.

“I do not know who they were,” he said.

Zoe breathed in sharply. X felt a stab of embarrassment.

He told her about the Lowlands a little. He wondered if she would believe him. When he saw that she did, his shame at who—and what—he was kept spreading. Zoe seemed to know it. She stepped forward and hugged him. He was too stunned by the gesture to hug her back.

“It’s time we gave you a name,” she said when they pulled apart. “I’m thinking Aragorn—or Fred.”

Later, they climbed the hill back toward the Bissells’ house, the white drifts sighing beneath their feet. Zoe pointed out the willow where they had buried her father’s T-shirt. It was a slender tree, heavy with snow and bending so low to the ground it looked as if it were trying to pick something up. It struck X as a lonely sight. He stepped forward and took the branches one by one in his hand. He shook the snow off gently until the tree could stand upright.

He felt Zoe’s eyes on him all the while.



Back in the house, Zoe informed everyone of X’s new name.

Her mother laughed and said, “That’s not technically a name, but okay.” Jonah shouted, “I’m gonna call you Professor X!” And then immediately forgot to.

Zoe’s mother steered everyone into the living room, where an awkward silence fell. The silver bowl full of questions had migrated downstairs, and sat on the coffee table now. X cringed at the sight of it. He dreaded telling the Bissells even more of his story. They should have cast him out days ago, and once they knew who he truly was, they would.

Zoe was next to him on the couch.

“You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” she said softly. “And no one will judge you.”

Zoe’s mother picked up the bowl and handed it to X.

“Time to find out who we’re dealing with,” she said.

She did not say it unkindly, but it stung.

X took the bowl and set it on his lap. Immediately, he felt anxious and unsettled, like there was an animal loose in his chest. Even if Zoe had told them everything she knew about him, they knew only the bare beginnings. But that was not the only reason he feared what was about to happen.

He stared down at the nest of papers.

He could not convince his hand to reach into the bowl. He sat paralyzed.

“Pick one!” said Jonah.

X pulled out a strip of paper. The bowl made a pinging sound as his knuckle brushed against it. He unfolded the strip and stared down at the words in his hand. The letters swam in every direction, as they always did.

He looked to Zoe, helplessly.

She did not understand—but then, all at once, she did. She leaned toward him to whisper a question.

But Jonah beat her to it: “You don’t know how to read?”

X shook his head the slightest bit.

“Nor write,” he said. “Nor draw, now that I think of it.”

X knew that Zoe’s mother was gazing at him now. Was she disgusted? Scared? Was she strategizing about how to separate him from her children? He was afraid to turn to her, so he didn’t know.

“I can show you how to do that stuff,” said Jonah. “It’s actually not that hard.”

“Thank you,” said X.

Zoe took the paper gently from his hands so she could read it aloud. Her voiced quavered just enough to tell X that she was nervous, too.

“‘Why’d you get sent to the Lowlands?’” she read. “‘Did you kill somebody? Did you kill a whole ton of people—like, with a catapult?’”

“That one’s mine,” said Jonah.

“We know,” said Zoe.

X took a breath.

“I know this beggars belief,” said X, “but I committed no crime. I was never even accused of one. I will swear it upon anything you like.”

Across the room, Zoe’s mother coughed what sounded like an unnecessary cough.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but that actually does—how did you say it?—beggar belief.”

“Stop it, Mom,” said Zoe.

“Do not censure your mother on my account,” said X. “This is her home. She has shown me nothing but kindness.”

“Thank you, X,” said Zoe’s mother.

It was the first time anyone had used his name. Even in the unhappy circumstances, he liked the sound of it. It made him feel centered—present somehow, like a picture coming into focus.

“I read about a lot of religions when the kids’ dad died,” Zoe’s mother said, “and there was something in all of them that helped me. I’m kind of a walking, talking Coexist bumper sticker now.” She paused. “And, I’m sorry, but … I’ve never heard of people getting sent to hell for no reason.”