Inevitable and Only(77)
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
I took a deep breath. “I’d tell him—he doesn’t have to fix anything.”
We sat there quietly together for a few minutes, petting Chuz, whose eyes were slitted shut with contentment. Martin Chuzzlewit. I could almost feel Dad sitting there beside me.
“And I think I’d tell him—that I’d like to go see a play together. Just the two of us. Because I miss him.” I bit my lip. “I’d tell him how much I’ve missed him.”
Elizabeth squeezed my hand. “I think that’s all you have to say.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Cadie, do you think maybe …”
“Hm?”
“Well, it’s pretty late, and I’m not supposed to drive after midnight until I get my full license. So I thought maybe we could spend the night here. If you think that would be okay? I know we have school in the morning, but Melissa said if I ever needed to take personal days off from school, or sick days—the guidance counselor said it was fine too—and Rotem went to look for some pictures of my mom. I’m just not ready to leave yet.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said. “I’ll text Raven and let her know where we are. So Ruby and Renata don’t freak out in the morning when they wake up and we’re not there.”
“Okay. Good.”
My legs were cramping from crouching on the floor. I stood and stretched, then reached down and gave Elizabeth a hand to help her up.
We went back into the living room. It was almost midnight, but Josh was still playing his cello. He was back to Bach now, the playful, cheerful ending of the first suite. The swooping notes of this movement always made me think of butterflies or birds, spiraling back and forth across the sky.
My eyes might’ve been misting up a little, when Elizabeth put an arm around my shoulders. I don’t know what surprised me more: that, or what she said next. “He’s really talented,” she whispered. “Our little brother.”
So I reached out, too, and I put my arm around my sister.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am indebted to all the people who helped make this book possible. I would especially like to thank: Linda Epstein, agent extraordinaire, who was the first dream come true.
Rebecca Davis, Cherie Matthews, Barbara Grzeslo, and my whole family at Boyds Mills Press, who believed in Cadie’s story and gave her a home with a gorgeous cover.
Bill Loizeaux, without whom I never could’ve fixed everything that needed fixing.
Kitty Boyan, who encouraged a fourth-grader to keep going until she’d filled a whole marble notebook.
Shalene Gupta, for Friday writing dates.
Elé Veillet-Chowdhury, for Switched at Birth and all the big sistering.
John Astin, for Uta Hagan, Sanford Meisner, and the inevitable and only consequence of every action; James Glossman, for teaching me to direct; and Joe Martin, for Simpatico.
The Associates of the Boston Public Library, who gave me a room of my own.
Becca Derry, Billie Rinaldi, Clara Brasseur, Danielle Buonaiuto, Karina van Berkum, Mary Greene, Miriam Haviland, Thalia Coombs, and Valerie Caldas, for reading early drafts and telling me which parts made you laugh or cry. You’re all gold.
Adi Elbaz, Michael Arnst, and Ouranitsa Abbas for last-minute copyediting help.
Gerard Busnuk and Alison Chaplin, Joe Abrahamson and Danielle Buonaiuto (again!), who made Hampden my home for an incredible year. Thanks, hons.
Naomi Permutt, my Raven and my Elizabeth, forever-friend and sister. The next one’s for you.
Carolyn Rosinsky, who screamed in a crowded elevator, and who does with the cello what I try to do with words.
Ned Rosinsky, for raising me on Beethoven sonatas, teaching me to drive, and weeping at all my plays.
Fay Rosinsky, first reader and best reader. I kept going because I knew you were waiting for the next chapter. You’re my rock.
Jon Barrows, for living far away, which gave me long car rides to dream up stories, and for saying the magic words that sparked Acadia. I’m very glad we don’t live far apart now.