The End, page 27
Her eyes glow in the darkness. Her short, soft hair is slicked to her skull.
Our bodies touch, smooth and invisible under the surface.
“I’m glad you came,” I say.
“So am I.”
Her lips are so close to mine. I can’t stop looking at them.
“I have to tell you something,” she says.
Something’s has changed in her expression. And I understand that I’ve gone too far. Too quickly.
Johannes was wrong. She doesn’t feel the same way about me.
I shiver in the water.
“Don’t get mad at me,” she says.
I get a sinking feeling in my stomach, and tread harder to stay above the surface.
“What is it?” I say, although I don’t want to know.
“I like Johannes.”
“He likes you, too.”
Lucinda looks at me unhappily. And suddenly, I know exactly what this is about.
“He wasn’t at the after-party,” she says. “And he was in love with you. Did you know that?”
I swim backward. Don’t even want to be near her.
“That’s why you wanted to come with me?” I say.
“It’s not the only reason.”
I turn around and start to swim toward the beach. But moving is heavy, slow now, as if my body has been filled with rocks.
Naturally, she catches up with me easily. I feel as clumsy as Boomer as she glides through the water.
“Is it more far-fetched than when we talked to Tommy? Or Lars? Johannes has a motive.”
I refuse to ask her what she means. My feet brush against the sandy floor, and I manage another few strokes before I start climbing the rocks.
“Maybe he was hoping it would be the two of you if Tilda disappeared,” Lucinda presses on. “But when he realized his feelings were unrequited . . .”
“How do you know they were unrequited?” I say, and turn to face her.
Lucinda’s eyes widen.
“I . . . I just assumed, because—”
“You don’t know anything about me. We don’t even know each other.” My voice is satisfyingly cold. I grab a low-hanging branch and pull myself back onto the grass.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d let me come with you if I did.”
I walk over to the blanket and pull my jeans on over my wet boxers. “Just so you know, Johannes just told me what he was doing that night,” I say. “And I saw the evidence. His alibi.”
I yank my sweatshirt over my head. Hear her teeth chatter as she emerges from the water.
“I was just thinking—”
“I know what you were thinking,” I cut in. “You shouldn’t have come.”
Our eyes meet. I’m the first to look away.
“You’re right,” she says. “We don’t know each other.”
6 DAYS LEFT
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0044
We’re on the train home, and Simon isn’t talking to me. He refuses to even look in my direction.
Now you know how I feel about him. Thank you, alcohol. Thanks for making my head hurt so badly it feels like it’s splitting apart. We nearly missed the train because I couldn’t run. I don’t know what we would have done if we hadn’t made it.
It’s possible that I’ll pee myself while writing this, but the bathroom onboard is the most disgusting place that’s ever existed, and I’m going to vomit if I go near it. Everything is already swaying as it is.
Last night, everything was perfect. I swam. I felt like myself again, while also being free from myself. I was a different Lucinda. Just a normal girl. And Simon was with me in the water. We could have kissed in the moonlight. It would have been perfect. Almost ridiculously perfect. I knew he wanted it, too. And then Simon said that he was glad I’d come, and I had to tell him why I did.
It was some idiotic sense of honor that made me say it. I didn’t want to kiss him without being honest. I hate that I’m such a prude.
Johannes can’t have killed Tilda. He spent the night messaging some of the guys from the commune. If I had only waited a little longer, I would have found out anyway.
Fortunately, Simon didn’t tell Johannes what our fight was about.
Right now, I just want to die. Luckily, my wish will be granted in six days. (If I don’t get sick from having worn down my body with dandelion wine and swimming in freezing water. If the evening hadn’t ended the way it did, it might have been worth it. Now, I just feel awful.)
P.S.: Dad’s called me twice. I can’t bring myself to pick up. He might hear that I’m on a train.
P.P.S.: Dad knows. He just sent me a text. He’s waiting for me at the station.
SIMON
Boomer barks as soon as I put my key into the lock. When I open the door, he hurtles toward me as if he hasn’t seen me in years. I crouch down and ruffle his fur. He puts his paws on my shoulders and licks me on the cheek.
“It’s all right, boy. It’s all right now.”
These are symptoms typical of stress and anxiety, and a lot of people are stressed these days, someone on the television in the living room says.
I already know I’ve been busted. Lucinda’s dad talked to my moms. I have no idea how he found out we’d gone to Stockholm.
This is just like being allergic to electricity. A different voice from the TV. Just because we don’t have a clear explanation for it doesn’t mean we’re imagining it.
I struggle out of my backpack as Emma comes into the hall and gives me a hug. She bends forward to stop her stomach from pressing against mine.
“You’re dead meat,” she whispers before letting go. “Good luck.”
I nod. Kick off my shoes. The door to Emma’s room closes behind her. The hangover tingles like electricity under my skin. Stina calls from the living room. I might as well get this over with so I can spend some time alone.
Judette reaches for the remote and turns the sound off the moment I walk into the room.
COMET SICKNESS: TRUTH OR MYTH? the screen behind the two male hosts declares. Symptoms are listed along the bottom of the screen: ITCHING, TENSION HEADACHES, TREMBLING, HOT FLASHES, NUMBNESS.
“Come and have a seat,” Stina says.
I obey. I almost fall onto the sofa opposite the moms.
Stina shakes her head. “You smell like a brewery.”
“Please. I don’t want to hear it right now.”
“You don’t have much of a choice.” Judette snorts. “What were you doing in Stockholm?”
“I was visiting Johannes.”
“But what were you thinking?” Stina says. “Don’t you realize how risky that was? What if something had happened to you over there? Or if the trains stopped running? How would we get you home?”
I wonder how she even has the time to breathe. Her face is turning red.
From the corner of my eye, the two male hosts continue their debate.
“There’s only six days left, Simon.” Judette’s bottom lip trembles. “Six days.”
“I needed to see him one final time. He was the only one who believed me. Him and Lucinda.”
“Yes, Lucinda. How could you go with her to Stockholm? She’s sick!”
That’s what Lucinda’s dad told me at the station, too. But last night, I didn’t think about Lucinda’s cancer. She was just Lucinda.
I don’t want to think about Lucinda at all right now. I refuse to be unlucky in love during the final week of my life. I’ve been unlucky in love all summer.
And I’m so tired. So terribly tired.
“You’re right. Can I go to bed?”
“No,” Stina says. “Not until we’ve finished talking about this.”
“What is there to talk about?”
She sighs and looks at Judette. But Judette’s eyes are fixed on me.
“This isn’t the right time for that particular tone.”
“Then stop talking to me like I’m a child.”
“I would if you’d stop acting like a child.”
“I thought we’d come further than this!” Stina says. “I thought we were doing really well. And then you go and do something like this. It’s so incredibly disrespectful!”
“I can’t just sit at home and think about the end.”
“So what would you prefer to do? Pretend it’s not happening?” Judette says.
“No.” I stop myself. “Or, yes. That’s exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want to be . . . dying. I wanted to feel like I had friends, like I’m young, like I’m alive.”
“I’m sorry we’re not entertaining enough for you, Simon!” Stina says. “But we are trying. We’re doing everything we can!”
I’ve had it with them. They always insist I listen to them, but they’re not listening to me.
“That’s the problem with you,” I say. “Maybe you should stop trying so goddamn hard.” I get to my feet, and look at Judette. “And you don’t have to stay here for my sake. I know Stina’s blackmailed you into playing happy family, but it was better for everyone before. You must think so, too.”
I walk toward the hall and accidentally step on Boomer’s tail. He whines loudly, giving me a reproachful look like it’s my fault he’s always in the way. Stupid dog.
“Is that what you think?” Judette shouts.
I turn around. She’s on her feet.
“This is my family!” she says. “I need you. I need you, Simon. And Stina. And Emma. Don’t you get that? You want us to talk to you like an adult. Fine. I will.”
Stina stays on the sofa, and takes Judette’s hand when she starts to cry.
“I’m afraid, too,” Judette says. “I wake up every day and count the hours we have left. I don’t want to die. And I don’t want you to die. I don’t want any of this to happen.”
Stina gazes up at her with so much love in her eyes that I can’t stand it.
“I want to see Dominica again. I want to see my family and my old friends. I want Stina and me to grow old together, and I want to see Emma’s kid grow up.” Judette’s whole body is shaking; Stina’s hand seems to be the only thing keeping her upright. “And most of all, I want you and Emma to live long and happy lives. You’re my son, Simon. I’m your mother. My most important job is protecting my children and . . . I can’t do it. I don’t know how to bear it.”
“Neither do I,” I say.
This hurts too much. And all of a sudden, I understand why I’ve kept the moms at such a distance. It’s not just because they want more than I can give them; it’s because I love them. The more I let them in, the more I’m reminded that I’m going to lose them soon. That I’m going to lose everything soon. That nothing matters.
But if nothing matters, then everything is meaningless.
Lucinda said that.
I throw my arms around Judette. She cries against the side of my neck, and I hold her until she relaxes in my embrace.
Stina puts her arms around both of us. “We’re together now,” she whispers. “That’s all that matters.”
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0045
Iwonder what Simon’s going through right now. If he’s thinking about me, and if so, what he’s thinking. Maybe I don’t want to know. If he ever felt the same about me, he’s definitely over it now.
Our neighbor Gill is the one who spotted us boarding the train yesterday. Dad found out this morning. He still hasn’t calmed down. But he will.
It feels like I’m waking up from some strange dream. I see the past few weeks so clearly now.
I’ve been obsessed with Tilda’s death. I felt so bad for not being there for her when she was alive. I tried to make up for it by walking in her footsteps, looking for answers to the riddles she left behind. But no answer could’ve brought Tilda back. And my obsession made me repeat my mistake. Once again, I’ve forgotten about the living. The ones who are here now. I need to focus on them while there’s still time. Tomorrow, there’s five days left. A school week in the old world.
I once saw a documentary about a war photographer. He said he was never afraid in the field because as long as he looked through his camera, it felt like he wasn’t really there. I understand him now. On the one hand, I see reality more clearly by attempting to describe it to you. On the other hand, I make it just unreal enough, turning it into something that isn’t about me. When I write, I’m the god of this story. But the difference between this story and a fictional one is that the ending is already set in stone. No matter how much I write, I can’t change it.
It’s just as well that we never found the murderer. The police officer who spoke to Simon was right: whoever killed Tilda has loved ones, too—people whose lives would be ruined if they found out someone they care about had killed a teenage girl, hidden her body, stolen her phone, and pretended to be her.
I give up now.
I’ve been with Miranda all night. It’s the only thing that makes me feel better. We built a pillow fort in the living room that she’s going to sleep in. We’ve been talking about Tilda and looking at pictures of her. Dad doesn’t let Miranda use social media—she didn’t even own a phone until the news about Foxworth broke—so she hasn’t seen most of the photos. We’ve laughed a lot and cried a lot. That’s the only way to bring Tilda back, at least for a little while: making her live through our memories while we’re still here.
5 DAYS LEFT
SIMON
Judette’s just come home from her final shift with the garbage truck when I get up. She’s watering the plants in the living room as I step out of my room. I stay standing in the doorway, watching as she plucks dry leaves off the hibiscus while the watering can clugs.
“Why are you doing that?” I ask. “There’s only five days left.”
“Because it’s depressing enough as it is without wilting flowers in the windows.”
“Fair enough.”
Judette smiles at me when she walks to the next window.
Something feels different. The air is easier to breathe.
“Are we the only ones here?”
Judette nods, and tells me Emma has gone with Stina to church today.
I step over Boomer and walk into the bathroom, drag the trimmer over my head for the last time, wipe the short hairs out of the sink and flush them away. Afterward, I take a shower, washing away the hair sticking to my face and shoulders, watching it disappear down the drain.
When I return to the living room, Judette’s draped across the sofa, and the television’s on. She’s eating mandarin oranges straight out of the can.
“Want some?” she asks.
I take a piece. It’s wet with sugar and dissolves in my mouth. The syrupy flavor makes me miss fresh citrus fruit. I can’t even remember the last time I ate them. I should have cherished the memory.
But I remember when Judette bought the can. It was the same day we got the news about Foxworth. When I came home from Tilda’s, we went to the supermarket and stuffed an entire cart full of cans and dry goods. The store was nearly empty, and the people who were there moved like sleepwalkers. We paid for the food with a regular credit card. Money was still being used back then. When we came back to Judette’s apartment, she filled up plastic containers with water that she refilled every three days. I’ve done this before, she said. Dominica’s always had hurricanes, erupting volcanoes, earthquakes.
This can was the last of its kind in the cupboard. And in the next few days, everything we do and say and eat will be for the last time.
I sit down next to Judette, leaning back against the armrest. On the television, people are walking toward the mine in Kiruna to move in underground. They’re going to boil to death down there.
“Can you turn it off?” I say. “I can’t watch this.”
Judette picks up the remote from the table and aims it over her shoulder. The screen turns black.
“Have you spoken to Lucinda today?” she asks.
“No.”
“Will you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did something happen?”
I think about what to tell her, swiping another piece of fruit to play for time.
Lucinda in the water, her luminescent eyes. The glittering moonlight.
“I misunderstood why she wanted to come,” I finally say.
“Did she only want to be friends?”
“I don’t even know if she wanted that.”
Judette makes a contemplative noise, but she doesn’t ask again. And that’s why I want to tell her about it all. I just don’t know how.
“She won’t want to see me again anyway,” I say. “I was a fucking idiot yesterday.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Yup.”
I didn’t even try to understand. Lucinda lied about why she came, but she couldn’t know what I’d been hoping for. I didn’t even know until me and Johannes talked in Vinterviken. Right? Or have I known for longer than that?
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“Does it need to be?”
“She was Tilda’s best friend, for starters.”
Judette raises an eyebrow. “So? You said it yourself. We have five days left.”
Judette makes it sound so simple. Is it that simple?
“Were you in love with Maria?” I hear myself say.
Judette stiffens on the sofa.
“I thought we were talking about you,” she says.
“Did you love her?”
She takes another mandarin piece, chews slowly. I have to smile when I realize how similar we are. She’s also giving herself time to think.
“Yes,” she says.
“Would you have stayed together if it hadn’t been for the comet?”
“I don’t think there’s any point in thinking about that now.”
“I just don’t want you to give up on anything for my sake.”
Judette’s eyes are serious; they hold my gaze.
“I didn’t give up anything. I made a choice. And it wasn’t even difficult.”
