The Things We Keep(15)

At this, Jack’s enthusiasm is replaced by suspicion. “Bingo?”

“I mean … I didn’t play or anything, but they have it, so that’s good.”

I need to backpedal, fast. I want Jack to think I’m happy, not crazy. But I get the feeling that, with bingo, I took it too far.

Helen and the boys run up, saving me at the eleventh hour. “Anna do you have one of those beds that goes up and down?” Hank asks.

“Bed goes up, bed goes down. Bed goes up, bed goes down,” Brayden and Ethan chant.

“Why don’t you go have a look?” I suggest, because I have no idea if I have one of those beds. For all I know, I’ve been sleeping on a lump of clay since I arrived—beds have not been at the top of my mind.

They jog toward the house, trailed by Helen, and I watch them go. There’s a floor-to-ceiling window, I notice, way at the top of the building, directly above the paved courtyard. I zero in on it.

Back when I was a paramedic, I’d once been the first to reach a woman who’d leapt in front of a train. Her right leg had landed over the track and had been sheared off at the knee. On the way to the hospital, she slipped into a coma.

Tyrone sat beside her, shaking his head. “You gotta feel sorry for this one. This wasn’t no cry for help. She wanted out.”

I nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“She needed height.”

“What?”

“Height,” he repeated. “You fall from a certain height, you’re dead. You don’t need to be worryin’ about the speed of the train or the amount of pills or the strength of the rope. You just need a bridge or a tall building. It’s foolproof.”

I stare at the window and think about what he told me. All of a sudden, I have my plan.

“Anna?” someone is shouting. “Do you have any gum?”

I look away from the window at Ethan. “What?”

“Gum,” he says. “Do you have any?”

I blink. Gum? Do I have gum? The sun is still pounding down on me like an unrelenting beast, and I can’t think. I close my eyes, but it just continues to beam, turning my eyelids red.

“Can someone turn off that damn sun?”

There’s a silence. I feel my chair being dragged along the grass, and a second later, blissfully, the sun is gone. “Well,” I say. “Praise be to God.”

I open my eyes. Ethan is staring. “What? What are you staring at?”

“You’re being weird,” Ethan says. “Isn’t she, Dad?”

Jack looks at Ethan and slowly back to me. Typical attorney—when you don’t know what to say, say nothing.

“Is it because you’re in this place?” Ethan asks. “With these old people?”

Jack touches Ethan’s shoulder. “Buddy—”

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” he says, ignoring Jack. “Because I got burned?”

His eyes get shiny.

“Eath,” I say. “Nothing is your fault.”

“Of course not,” Jack says, finding his tongue. “Anyway, this place hasn’t made Anna weird. Anna has always been weird.”

“He’s right,” I say. “In seventh grade, I was voted Weirdest in the Whole School.”

This isn’t true, but I figure, it doesn’t matter. Ethan lowers his hands and sniffs. A tiny pathetic-excuse-for-a-smile appears on his face.

“How’s this for weird?” I lean in toward him, bulging my eyes as wide as they go and waggling my eyebrows.

His smile swells. “Pretty weird.”

“Told ya,” I say proudly. “Your dad tried to beat me, but year after year, Anna Forster won for Weirdest. He’s always been pretty sore about it, too.”

“Yeah, well, Dad’s a sore loser. Sorry,” he says when Jack frowns at him, “but you are.” He looks back at me. “So you don’t hate it here?”

“Nope. It’s actually pretty nice. Don’t you think?”

“I guess. I like the garden. And that’s a good climbing tree.” He looks at me. “Remember when we told Dad that we were stuck up that tree at the park, and we made him climb all the way up to rescue us even though we were fine?”

His face is so happy that I have to smile back. But it’s a stretch. Because I have no recollection of what he’s talking about. Not even the foggiest, haziest hint of a memory.

“Now, that,” I say, giving him a high five, “was a fun day.”

I glance at the tree in this garden. Its long, thick arms are solid, forking out in different directions, many low enough even for Ethan to jump to from the ground. Once, I’d have noticed that tree immediately. I’d have been the one to suggest to Ethan that we climb it, all the way to the top, then throw acorns down on Hank and Brayden and Jack. Once, not so long ago.

When I look back at Ethan, he’s already looking at me. His joker-smile is a question: Are you game?

I know what Jack will say: It’s not safe. Anna can’t climb, her depth perception is off, she might fall. I’ll climb with you Eath, he’ll say. So I don’t look at Jack. Instead, I nod at Ethan infinitesimally. His smile widens. And together we sprint toward the low arms of the tree.

Now, this is the memory I want to leave my nephew with.