Dear Edward(35)

One afternoon, Shay goes back into school to get a forgotten book, and Edward is left alone on the curb. The buses just left, and the parking lot is scattered with parked cars. It’s almost Christmas break. Edward shivers in the orange coat—it’s so large that it allows drafts from every opening. He bends over to itch his shin. The scar has reached a new stage of healing, and it’s been bothering him. It looked like a pinched mouth when he woke up this morning. He scratches it gently so as not to disturb the delicate skin.

He hears a man’s voice say, “Hi, Edward—you don’t know me, but my name’s Gary.”

Edward loses his balance and has to work to steady himself. Once he’s re-rooted, he sees a middle-aged man a few steps away, wearing jeans and a thick sweater.

“My girlfriend was on the plane.” The man blinks behind his glasses. He has dirty-blond hair and a beard. “I apologize for disturbing you,” he says. “I drove here from California. I have a lot of respect for what you’ve been through.”

Edward looks around. No one else is nearby.

“I wonder if you saw my girlfriend on the plane? I think you sat near her; I studied the seating chart. Everyone talks about how you survived because of where your seat was, and Linda’s was nearby. A couple rows forward, maybe. On the other side of the aisle.”

Edward swallows. He hears himself say, “What did she look like?”

“She was twenty-five, white, but maybe I don’t need to say that. I had a professor once who said it was racist if you didn’t mention that white people were white, since we always describe black people as black. She was blond.” He is blinking wildly. “Wait a second, I’m an idiot.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He scrolls through it with his finger, and pushes it toward Edward with a velocity that makes the boy flinch for a second, before his eyes focus on a photograph of a blond young woman. She is smiling at the camera. She’s sitting on a park bench, wearing a sweater that looks like it’s made out of lace.

Edward feels something twist inside him. He remembers Dr. Mike saying: When you have memories, are they from the plane, or before? He has worked hard to remember only before, but this woman’s photo makes that impossible. He does remember her. She sat a few rows ahead of them. She was on line with Jordan for the bathroom. She’d smiled at Edward while walking past their row, the same smile she has offered the camera.

Gary seems calmer now, with the photo in his hand. “I was going to propose that day,” he says. “I was going to bring the engagement ring to the airport.”

“I did see her,” Edward says. He tries to imagine what a grown-up would want to hear. “She looked nice. She looked excited. And happy.”

He sees from the look on the man’s face that he has guessed correctly. “Thank you,” Gary says.

Edward shivers, his hands buried deep in the parka’s pockets. “Did you drive all the way here to ask me that?”

Gary nods. “They put me on leave at work, so I’ve just been sitting in my apartment, drinking Sprite, and making lists of all the questions I wanted answers to. I was driving myself crazy, and it occurred to me that you could answer one of my questions. So I got in the car.”

Edward thinks, That makes sense.

“I’m not sure if this is rude to ask.” Gary blinks rapidly again. “But I wonder if you’re okay.”

People have asked Edward if he’s okay ever since he woke up in the hospital, and the question has always bothered him. Lacey, the nurses, the doctors, and his teachers—all asked it with expectation in their voices. He could see, baked into the words, their desire for him to say yes. Edward is surprised to find that he doesn’t mind the question now, coming from this stranger in the parking lot. He can tell that Gary doesn’t want a particular answer; all he’s expecting is the truth, which is probably what frees Edward to give it.

“Not really,” he says. He pauses, then asks, “Are you okay?”

Gary gives him a measured look, and says, “No.”

They’re both quiet for a moment in the freezing air.

The man says, “The thing is, I never thought I’d have a normal life on land, and get married, until I met Linda. I didn’t want any of that until I met her.”

He closes his eyes for a second, and Edward sees the lines of pain on Gary’s face; they’re the same lines—carved by loss—that engrave Edward’s whole self, and the boy shudders in recognition.

“I’m glad to have spoken to you, though. This, right now, is the best I’ve felt in months.” Gary nods, as if in agreement with himself. “I appreciate your time, Edward.” He turns and begins to walk away.

“Wait,” Edward says.

The man stops and turns.

“Are you going to drive back to California right now?”

“Yes,” Gary says. “I study whales—they’re waiting for me.”

The whales are waiting for him, Edward thinks, and it’s weeks before that sentence strikes him as strange. He watches the man duck into his car and drive away. When Shay comes outside, they walk home together.

Edward thinks, I will tell her about this later. And he will. But during the walk home, his scar pulses, and the frozen air is sticky in his throat. He thinks of blond ladies and whales and he worries that if he tried to find words, he might dissolve into syllables, into the air particles, into the very cold around him.