Dear Edward(66)

Edward attempts to picture this. A younger, exhausted version of his mom sleeping on the couch where he’d logged so many miserable hours. Lacey holding him to her shoulder, lap after lap. His mom had told him about his colicky phase, many times, but never mentioned a field trip to New Jersey. She’d always seemed to bring up his crying jag in order to retell the happy ending, about how she had woken up one morning to find Edward dive-bombing her cheek with kisses.

“I didn’t know she brought me here.”

“It’s funny now,” Lacey says, as if to herself, “to think that Jane and I ended up sharing that baby.”

Sharing. The word has a bitter taste in Edward’s mouth.

Lacey rubs at her eyes, in the manner of a sleepy toddler. “The lady who retired had been working at the hospital for thirty years, in an administrative job. She and her husband are going on a trip around the world. Isn’t that something?”

Edward nods, because a response seems required.

“I was thinking that retirement is kind of like having someone you love die. It makes you focus on how you want to live your life. It makes you start over. Or feel like you should.” She looks at Edward, appears to really notice him. “Your mother always wanted to write a movie. That’s what she would talk about when she was tipsy. Did you know that?”

“She was writing a movie on the plane.”

“No, not that. That was a dumb rewrite job, which she hated. She had an idea that she loved, that she took notes on for years. I was jealous of how much she cared about that idea. Sometimes I feel like I should write Jane’s movie for her, but then I remember that I’m not a writer.”

Edward tries to look sympathetic. He doesn’t know what to say. He both hates having this conversation with his aunt and experiences her words as a cold glass of water sating a thirst he didn’t know he had. Say more about my mother, he thinks. He knows that if he says that aloud, the moment will end, and no more truths will be revealed.

Lacey picks at the label on the beer bottle. “If you saw the lady who just retired, you never would suspect that she was going to travel the world. She looks like she would never leave this town.” She yawns. “Do you know where your uncle is?”

“At work?”

Lacey shrugs, and pushes the bottle away from her. “I never know with him these days. I’m going to take a nap. Will you wake me up for dinner?”

Edward nods and is surprised that as she leaves the kitchen, she bends down and kisses his cheek. It’s a gentle kiss, and she ruffles his hair on the way up. He’s surprised partly because Lacey rarely kisses him but also because the moment separates, the way the individual clouds did in the sky and the threads of grass did on the ground. He sees—and feels—two separate realities.

Lacey kisses his cheek the exact same way his mother had kissed Edward’s cheek when she was alive. The kiss feels deliberate and intentional; Lacey can’t write her sister’s movie, but this is something she can do. But she also kisses his cheek the way Lacey would have kissed the cheek of the baby she had so badly wanted. Edward knows this, even though he can’t explain how. The word cherish enters his brain as if on a foreign breeze, and then departs. His aunt is gone too, and Edward is left alone at the kitchen table, holding an apple core.

At midnight, he and Shay are seated on the cold floor of the garage, in front of the duffel bags. They’re wearing their winter coats and hats, because this room isn’t much warmer than the outdoors, but when Edward shivers, it’s with anticipation. He and Shay exchange a look that says, We’re finally here.

Shay has researched the combination locks on the bags, because the Internet is her domain. Edward has a laptop now, for schoolwork, and a phone. He hardly uses the phone, but sometimes Mrs. Cox texts him, since one of her sons taught her how. In the middle of math class his phone buzzes with the sentence: You will need to visit Europe before you turn twenty, while your mind is still impressionable. On a Saturday evening: I recommend keeping a list of the books you read, as well as notes on them. I forget everything I don’t write down, so notes are important. Mrs. Cox had also texted him on his birthday to say that she was gifting him several Series I savings bonds.

Edward uses Google for academic information when necessary, but he has never searched for the flight, or himself, or his family. Shay teases him that he uses technology like an old man, but of course she understands. When there’s any information to be gathered, like now, she gathers it. And according to the Internet, the lock is both old and cheap, which means that if you no longer remember the code, the best thing to do is cut it off.

“We can’t cut the lock off without John noticing,” Shay says. “I remembered this morning that I actually have a lock-picking book. I found it in the back of my dresser.” She pulls her bag toward her. “I don’t think it will help with this kind of lock, though. Why did John have to use such cheap ones?”

“Why do you have a book about lock-picking?”

“Oh, well, when I was planning to run away from home, I was going to break into houses and sleep in people’s closets while I made my way across the country. That way, I’d have shelter when I needed rest.”

Edward likes the image of a small, determined Shay with a lock-picking book under her arm. “Across the country to where?”

She shrugs. “Who knows? I told you, I knew I’d never actually do it.”