The People We Keep(106)

— Chapter 69 —


I hear a voice calling to me, but there’s buzzing around the words, like someone turned up the drive on an amplifier.

“April. Come on! April! April!”

I want to answer, but I feel far away. My eyelids are heavy. Or maybe it’s dark. Maybe it’s dark. I forgot to tie a lifeline.

“Come on, April!”

There’s static behind my eyelids and the pressure churning through my body is so great that my ribs might shatter and my hips could explode. The pain goes beyond what I thought was possible until it gets so big I can’t feel anything at all. There’s a moment of peace and nothing. The static goes to black, and then the pain crashes through me again. I see blue sky and splintered wood and then my own static.

“Let’s get you up, April,” that voice calls through the feedback.

I think about an octopus with bright blue limbs.

“Let’s get you up.” It’s such a nice voice.

Arms hook under my armpits, pulling me to my feet. I try to make my legs work. They don’t want to, but I try. The ground blurs into the trees. Everything that isn’t my body feels far away.

“I got you,” she says.

It’s Carly. It’s a dream.

I can see the lake, so blue.

I’m in a car.

“Max,” I say, or maybe I just think it. I don’t hear the sound at all. Max, Max, Max.

I rest my cheek against the cold window. I can’t tell what’s static and what’s pavement whizzing by. There are so many bumps in the road. That pain crashes through my body again and the static turns to stars.





— Chapter 70 —


There’s a hand holding mine. I can’t get my eyes to open.

There’s humming, off-key, I think it’s Dylan. I can’t find the song in my head, but I know the voice.

“Margo,” I say before I even open my eyes. It comes out like a long lazy string of sound.

“Girlie, you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.” She squeezes my hand hard.

When I open my eyes, everything is blurry. I blink until my vision clears. Margo is sitting in a chair next to the bed holding my baby. He’s a little bundle tucked safely in the crook of her other arm, wrapped in a white and yellow blanket, wearing a tiny blue hat. An entire person, outside my body, and all I want to do is hold him.

“It’s your mommy,” Margo whispers like they’re already good friends and she’s telling him a secret.

She sits on the edge of the bed so I can see Max. His eyes are tiny slits, mouth pressed in a frown like he’s thinking hard about something important. I feel like I know him already. Like I’ve always known him. I cry. Margo puts her arm around my shoulder and we hold Max between us, because I’m still too shaky to take him on my own.

I touch his chubby cheek. I have never met anyone so beautiful.

“I love you,” I say, as soon as words will take shape in my mouth. Max yawns and makes a squeaking sound like a kitten. My tongue feels thick and my head is fuzzy and I worry none of this is real. I don’t understand how it’s possible for love to feel like the entire ocean churning in my chest.

Max stretches his arm in the air. I touch his hand and he wraps his fingers around my pinky. I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s very strong for a baby.

“He’s okay?” I ask.

“He’s absolutely perfect,” Margo says. “Nurse confirmed.”

She pushes hair from my face, and my forehead feels funny. I reach up and touch a bandage taped across my head.

“You’re okay too,” Margo says. “You knocked your noggin pretty good, and you had a C-section, so you’ve got stitches in both places. Nothing that won’t heal, but your head might feel swimmy for a few days.”

I think I can feel the pull of stitches in my stomach, but everything is numb. I try to wiggle my toes and I’m not sure if any of them move. I don’t remember going to the hospital. I was at the lake. I remember the lake.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“Carly called.” Margo gestures to the chair in the corner and there’s Carly, curled up, fast asleep. Her tall black boots are splayed out on the floor and my guitar case is leaning against the wall beside her. I didn’t look any further than Max. I didn’t realize there was anyone else here. But there she is. So close and she’s not a dream. I remember her calling my name now. It wasn’t a dream. I want to wake her up, but her sleep looks necessary.

“That girl hasn’t left this room. I told her I would stay and you were fine and she could go home and sleep, but she wouldn’t leave you,” Margo says, smiling, her eyes welling up.

“How did she find you?” I ask. The thread from Carly to Margo doesn’t make sense. They’re from different pockets.

“My number is in your notebook.”

“How did she find me?”

“I’m not sure,” Margo says. “She called and told me she brought you here and you were going into surgery. I got in my car so fast I didn’t stop to put on real shoes.” Margo points to her feet. She’s wearing fuzzy pink slippers. “I didn’t guess you were going to Ithaca, sweets. I thought maybe you were headed back to Florida.” She sniffles.