Dear Edward(50)



“I know you don’t want to sleep in the nursery. But there’s a pullout couch in your basement. You should sleep there. I can help you set it up. You can sleep in my room for a few more days, until the basement is ready.”

Edward blinks. He knows he has to reply, so he says, “Okay.”

“We both knew it couldn’t go on forever.”

He thinks, I didn’t.

The next day is Wednesday, so Edward shows up at Principal Arundhi’s office after school. They circle the perimeter of the room, Edward with the blue watering can, the principal with tiny muslin bags filled with different plant foods. The bags aren’t labeled, but he knows which bag is which. For a few of the plants, the principal massages the food into the leaves and then adjusts the heat lamps situated overhead. For others, he makes careful divots in the soil with his index finger and then gently tips the contents of a bag into the holes.

Edward has learned to pour water slowly and to watch the soil color to see if it’s saturated. Dark brown is good; tar-black and muddy means he’s gone too far. He focuses on controlling his pour. His hands have an uneven tremor, because he barely slept the night before. He’d lain awake on Shay’s floor, trying to memorize the Y-shaped crack in her ceiling, trying to memorize the tiny squeaks she makes when she rolls over in her sleep.

“Can you name them, Edward?” The principal is three plants ahead of the boy. He sniffs the leaf of a plant and then tips his head to the side, as if considering the meaning of the smell.

Edward knows now that the entire room is filled not with many different types of plants, as he’d assumed on his first visit, but with various ferns. Principal Arundhi is not just an avid gardener but specifically an expert on ferns. He’s even published a book, called Ferns of the Northeast: Including Clubmosses and Horsetails, which is showcased on the windowsill between two large flowerpots.

Edward sets down the watering can and picks up a spray bottle from the desk. The frilly plant in front of him does best when misted with water. “This is a crocodile fern.”

“Good.”

Edward names the next one. “Boston fern. Staghorn. Then a couple maidenhairs. A holly fern.” He squints at the plant in the corner. It’s two feet tall with strappy, leathery fronds. “That one and the one behind it are bird’s nests.”

Principal Arundhi nods affectionately in the same direction. “I’ve had the beauty in front since graduate school.”

“Button fern. The ones up on the shelf are silver brakes, and that’s a kangaroo paw.”

“Excellent. And what do they all have in common that differentiates them from other plants?”

“They’re vascular and reproduce via spores.”

The man nods, his mustache pulled taut with a smile. “Fine work. You’re a pleasure to teach.”

When Edward’s finished watering, he pulls on his backpack. Shay is waiting for him at home, to start setting up the basement. Edward shifts the straps of the backpack and draws slow breaths, willing time to slow around him.

Principal Arundhi turns from the oldest fern in the corner. “Is it four already? One other thing before you go, Edward. Mrs. Tuhane told me that you opted out of gym.”

“My leg hurt.”

“Hmm, yes. She told me about the class and what the note said. Can you hold this for a second? I want to fix its perch.”

Edward thinks, He knows I shoved a girl. The principal places the lemon-button fern in Edward’s hands and turns back to adjust the stand. The boy looks down at the plant. It’s bright green and about six inches tall. Its fronds are thumbnail-sized. Holding it to his chest, Edward stares directly down into the center of the fern. If a plant has a face, this is it. Edward can’t help but think that the plant is regarding him with skepticism. I agree, he thinks.

“What do you think about that idea? Edward?”

He realizes, just as he hears his name being spoken, that the principal has been talking for at least a minute. He looks up quickly and hands the plant back to him. “I’m sorry?”

“Weight lifting,” Principal Arundhi says, looking slightly annoyed. “During your gym period, you can lift weights in the weight room instead of joining your class. This will allow you to accommodate your injured leg and yet still get some exercise. It’s much quieter in the weight room than in the gymnasium. I myself prefer it. And we can all afford to get a bit stronger, can’t we?”

“Weight lifting?” Edward says. He has a hard time finding an association for the word at first. He pictures huge, oiled men in bikinis. His father would never have lifted weights, nor would John. Edward regards the principal, who has soft cheeks and a soft middle. Does the principal lift weights?

Then he remembers the soldier on the plane. Edward and Benjamin had introduced themselves outside the bathroom, and the soldier had appeared almost impossibly muscular. He definitely lifted weights; nobody would have ever messed with him. Benjamin must have felt safe everywhere, at his size. He would have been safe everywhere, except on that plane. Edward looks down at his own skinny arms and bony wrists. He feels the shape of the scar on his shin. He tries to picture himself wider, stronger, safer.

“I’ll do that,” he says, and his voice cracks. “Thank you.”

At dinner, Lacey says, “Do you have a favorite movie?”

“Me?” Edward had been staring down at his plate, trying to come up with a way to consume just enough pork chop to keep Lacey from being disappointed. His appetite has dimmed since Shay’s pronouncement. He can feel himself dimming inside, his lights going out, one by one.

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