Silence Page 15

  — Hayden —

  Kace Maxwell approaches me after school and stops me in the parking lot with these words: “I didn’t realize you and Stella were together.”

  I try not to register my surprise at Kace talking to me as if we are friends. Or at the words he has just said—together, Stella and me.

  “Hey, K-Kace,” I say. “H-How are y-you?” Every time I look at him, I can see him kissing Stella on stage. Maria and Tony in love. I shake my head to shatter the image, like glass breaking into tiny pieces. Shards I can cut myself on if I am not careful.

  I smile at him, but Kace isn’t here to be friendly. He has an agenda. People think he is charming, charismatic, but I see someone else—manipulative, narcissistic, used to getting what he wants. And what he wants right now is Stella.

  “Not so good, actually. I just found out that my leading lady is seeing someone else.”

  Being reluctant to talk gives you one advantage, one very important advantage: you don’t rush to speak. Ever. I wait. I listen. I don’t jump at the bait. Kace is looking for information, but he won’t get what he wants—not from me.

  Kace waits for an answer. I shrug, with nothing to say.

  He takes a step closer. “She’s a star, you know. She belongs with someone like her. Someone who’s going places.” He pulls out his phone, reads his text messages, glances back at me as an afterthought.

  Why am I standing here? Why am I listening to him? With that thought, I walk toward my truck.

  Kace continues talking to me even as I walk away. “You’re only going to hold her back. You’ll see. She’ll figure that out one day. And I won’t be waiting around.”

  Kace’s words echo over and over in my mind as I walk beside Stella. It is a warm spring afternoon. I should be focusing on the fact that I am with her, but I can’t. Stella is talking, pointing out a small red and brown bird in a tree. She takes a book out of my hands—a guide to hiking in Southern California—and she searches for the name of the bird. The book has names of plants and animals commonly found in the canyons.

  We walk along a dirt path. Sunlight speckles the ground in patterns. Stella wears denim shorts and a rose-colored T-shirt, and her hair is twisted into a knot on her head. Kace is right—she is a star, and she’s meant to shine.

  “It’s beautiful here. Like another world,” Stella says. Her speech is slower than before the accident, her pronunciation more rounded. “It’s so magical. I almost expect to see fairies.”

  I reach out and take her hand. I need to tell her. This seems like as good a moment as any.

  “I kn-know I haven’t said anything b-before. I didn’t w-want you t-to feel pressured or a-anything. And th-things may s-seem different t-to you after . . . after the tenth.”

  Her eyes deepen in color, from sunrise to sunset. I watch in wonder, way more interested in looking into Stella’s eyes than at the scenery.

  “I-I’m not s-seeing anyone else.”

  Stella’s eyes drop to my mouth. I watch them as she studies my words without speaking.

  “I j-just wanted y-you to know that.” Not seeing anyone else now or ever, I want to add but don’t.

  She raises her gaze to meet mine once more. “Me, neither.” Her gaze locks with mine. “Only you.”

  This is the moment, the right moment.

  I lean closer, and then, just before I kiss her, I stop. Kace’s words echo in my ears.

  She belongs with someone like her. Someone who’s going places.

  It’s so loud that for once I am glad Stella can’t hear. I can imagine that his voice is on a loudspeaker in the canyon, broadcasting for even the birds to hear.

  I pull back, feigning interest in two squirrels chasing each other around a tree trunk. I point them out, giving myself a second while she glances away.

  Just then, a sky-blue butterfly floats over us. I tug on Stella’s hand—she sees it instantly.

  “Mother Nature welcoming us,” she says.

  We watch together as it curves in its flight, making invisible patterns on the breeze. The butterfly moves closer. Closer still.

  It rests on Stella’s shoulder as though it belongs with her. She doesn’t look surprised; she almost looks as if she expected this. As if butterflies sit on her shoulder every day.

  I reach for my cell phone and snap a photo of Stella with the butterfly. Smiling, her cheeks turn the same rose as her shirt.

  She’s stunning. I catch my breath as I look at her.

  And I say a silent thank you to Mother Nature.

  10

  — Stella —

  I keep looking at the picture of me and the blue butterfly. It still feels like a dream. But it wasn’t. The picture tells me that.

  I am bringing Hayden to me. I can sense it. Every day, he comes closer. More open. And like the butterfly, he is beginning to trust me. I can tell by the way he talks to me. The things he shares. But mostly, I can tell by the way he looks at me. It’s different. The shade that used to drop over his eyes doesn’t close anymore. He is willing to let me see him. Without the need to hide.

  I wait for him on our front steps. Today is the cancer walk. It’s also Good Friday, so we have the day off school. Perfect day to help others.

  Hayden’s blue truck pulls up. He is right on time. I walk down the steps to meet him on the sidewalk. He is wearing khaki shorts and running shoes, a gray T-shirt, a baseball cap.

  I am wearing white shorts and a gray-and-white striped tank. Red Converse. My hair in two loose braids. “Hi,” I say. It is such a small word for the many things I feel when I see him, but it will have to do.

  “Hi, yourself.” Taking my hand in his, he leads me back to the passenger side of the truck.

  He opens the door and waits for me to climb in. Something is sitting on my seat. A red paper bag. White tissue paper peeks out of the top. Begging to be opened.

  I lift it and sit down. Turn to look at Hayden, eyebrows raised in question.

  Hayden grins. “Open it.”

  I pull the white tissue out of the bag. Inside the bag is the vase I painted. It is gorgeous. The colors more vibrant after being fired. The sand and sea flow over the vase. While Hayden’s sapphire eyes watch me.

  I look at him. “I still can’t believe I painted this.”

  “You can do anything. Anything you want.” His eyes deepen, reach out to me. I catch my breath. Then, “There’s more,” he tells me.

  Curious, I reach back into the bag. Find something else wrapped in white paper. Inside is the oval box Hayden painted. For me. Holding it in my hands, I marvel at the delicate details. It is so real; just by looking at it, I can see the waves crashing on the shore. The seagulls flying overhead.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. That’s not enough. I want to say more, but I can’t. Not here. Not now.

  “Look inside,” he says.

  I lift the top off. A gold chain is nestled in the box. I hold it up and see a pendant—a white daisy with an amber center. There is a note under the necklace. I see the words written in small black handwriting: “Always believe.”

  The daisy reminds me of the day he came to see me in the hospital and how he gave me hope. Tears blur my eyes. I don’t want them to, but they do.

  “Hayden,” I say. “Thank you.” Stepping out of the truck, I hold up the necklace, turn with my back to him so he can put it on me.

  After the clasp is secure, I reach up to hold the pendant. Run my fingers over the enameled petals. The raised stone. I turn back around. “How does it look?”

  “Beautiful. You are beautiful.” Then he crushes me against him as if this is the end of something rather than the beginning. He holds me close. So close I can feel the pulse of his heartbeat through my T-shirt.

  Then he releases me.

  As I climb back into the front seat, Hayden doesn’t meet my eyes.

  The keychain knot moves back and forth. I randomly steal glances at the side of his face; his jaw muscles are tight.

  Patience will lu
re the butterfly, I remind myself. I replay his words over and over, like a song in my head. You are beautiful.

  The charity walk begins at Richmond High and ends at the elementary school. We park and join the crowd. Card tables are set up to accept donations and pledges. I hand Hayden my pledge form. My mom has pledged money, and I have pledged some of my allowance.

  Hayden turns in our forms and receives our numbers. He pins mine on my back—242. And I pin a number on his—243.

  Then we join the others on the starting line. That’s when I see her.

  My rainbow girl.

  She stands at the front of the line. Dressed all in pink. Her bright jade eyes look over the crowd like beacons.

  And then she spots me.

  Waves.

  I move through the crowd to reach her.

  She waits for me, a smile lighting up her tiny face. I reach out to her. She grasps my hands in hers. At her touch, electricity shoots through me. A light brighter than the sun fills me with hope. Strength. Faith.

  Her difficult journey humbles me once again. She wears a name tag: Marisol. Now I know her name. Hayden joins me, and warmth spreads through me, glowing embers of possibility.

  Marisol stands next to me, ready to begin the walk. She keeps my hand in hers. And so with hope on one side and faith on the other, I walk in support of life. Healing. And love.

  I think I knew at the car wash that this was all for her. It had to be. If it hadn’t been for Hayden, I wouldn’t be here right now, walking beside Marisol. Helping to give her a future.

  The hour flies by in a blur of color. Photographers snap their flashes as we cross the finish line. I reach my arms gently around my new friend. Hold her as if she is a china doll. She hugs me back with a strength that surprises me. Marisol is tougher than she looks.

  I greet her parents with smiles and introduce Hayden to them. When she walks away, a wave of exhaustion passes over me. Not from the exertion of walking, but from something else. All my emotions, like waves of the sea, are churning inside me. Happiness and joy wash up on shore like seashells. Guilt and pain threaten to pull me down to the depths like anchors. I struggle to stay afloat, to stay balanced.

  Hayden’s arm comes around my shoulder. Pulls my side against him. I rest there to catch my breath. I’ve been pulled out of the water by him. Once again.

  “You constantly amaze me,” he says when I look up at him. And just like that, the anchors break away. And I am left on the shore surrounded by pink seashells.

  A shuttle drives the walkers back to Richmond. Hayden and I sit side by side in the small bus. I nestle against his shoulder, lost in thought. One hand holds onto the daisy charm. Hayden weaves his fingers through my other hand. Connecting us.

  “Do you think she’ll make it?” I finally ask. The question I have been wanting to ask.

  I sit up to face Hayden and see that his expression is soft, thoughtful. “She’s so full of life. I think she will.”

  My smile is wistful, hopeful. “I met her at the hospital before my operation,” I explain. “I was feeling so sorry for myself, weighed down in shadows. And then I saw her. She’s facing so much, yet she’s so full of light. She connected with me somehow. Without words. Ever since, she’s been in my heart. Like I have to remember to be thankful for all that I have. Like I owe it to her.” I look up to see if he’s judging me. He isn’t. He’s listening, nodding his understanding.

  “I pray for her. Every night,” I say. “I pray for you, too.”

  “My grandmother had cancer,” he says after a moment. “She died two years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I squeeze his hand.

  “Watching her lose the battle was the hardest part. She kept fighting until the very end. My grandfather believed she would beat it. And he wasn’t ready to accept it. She was the center of his world. And after she was gone—he collapsed. He wouldn’t come out of their room. He sat in the dark, holding on to the memories of her, trying to bring her back through sheer will.”

  This is the most Hayden has ever told me about his life. I can’t hear pain in his voice, but it’s etched into his eyes.

  “That must have been so hard for you.”

  His eyes grow cloudy, like the sky before a storm. “I thought I would lose him, too.”

  “What did you do? To bring him back?” I ask.

  His eyes clear, the storm blown away. He looks directly at me. “There was only one thing I could do—I used my voice. After eight years of silence. I talked to him.”

  Eight years of silence. Almost half his life without a word. And then ending it to save his grandfather. The enormity of Hayden’s gift hangs in the air. A testament to the strength of his love for his grandfather. Proof that his heart isn’t broken.

  His face becomes blurry. Through a haze of tears, I lean forward. Kiss him gently on the cheek. “You’re every kind of hero.”

  He rests his forehead against mine. We stay like that until the shuttle stops.

  Games of the mind

  — Hayden —

  It’s selfish, I know. But I have never had happiness like this before. I have never been able to share my story with anyone. It feels so good to have someone to talk to. Someone who can’t hear me stammer and stutter. She sees the real me, without the damage. The me I would have been, could have been—and I don’t want to let that go.

  I park. Grab a cart from the rack outside. As I step inside the grocery store, the lighting jars me, bringing me back to reality. I have a list from Gramps written in his bold printing, but I don’t open it. I like to see if I can guess what’s on the list, so I toss things into the basket. Then I scan the list before I check out to see if I missed anything. My best score is a three—only three items missed. Tonight I hope to beat that.

  The store is quiet tonight. Mostly single people on their way home from work. I see people in suits, scrubs, uniforms. Lonely people. I smile at an older woman trying to reach a box of rice high on a shelf; I hand the box to her. She thanks me.

  I remember another game I used to play in the market. The one where I imagined I belonged to a different family. I’d choose one—maybe the one with the three siblings arguing over which cereal to buy. Or the one with the mother laughing with her son and daughter. Sometimes it would be a couple holding hands. I would pretend just for a moment that I belonged to them and imagine what my life would be like. How it would be different, how I would be different. I don’t need to play that game anymore, I think, as I move down the aisles. Choosing cereal, pizza toppings, yogurt.

  I like the person I am with Stella. She thinks I’m a hero instead of a coward. She looks at me like I matter, like I’m important. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be invisible.

  So I want to hold on to that, even though it’s wrong, because I can’t have her. Not really. In nine days, everything will change. She won’t want me then, not when she can hear me.

  Because Kace is right. As much as I hate to admit it, he is.

  Stella deserves better, and after she hears again, she will realize it.

  And this will be over.

  Until then, I can have this. And after a lifetime of misery, I deserve this. Even if only for a short time.

  I pull out the list. Check it against my half full grocery cart. Only one thing missing: rice. I beat my record.

  I can’t help but smile as I realize that a box of rice had been in my hand—only I gave it to someone else.

  I run through the self-checkout. It’s faster. Scan and pay, throw the groceries into a few bags, and I don’t have to talk to anyone. Within minutes, I’m out the door. I climb back into the truck. Stella’s perfume lingers in the air. I breathe in, wanting to hold on to her a little longer.

  As I drive home, I make one promise to myself. I will make sure Stella isn’t hurt. The only way to do that is to hold back, to keep my distance so we don’t get any closer.

  Even though it’s too late for me. I didn’t know I had a heart to give. I thought it had
been broken into too many pieces. But I know now. I have given Stella my heart.

  And I will never get it back.

  9

  — Stella —

  When I wake up, the sun is shining. Which is exactly how I feel. Like liquid sunshine. I think I’ll wear a dress today. Blue with tiny white flowers. I add brown boots and Hayden’s daisy necklace. My hair is starting to grow back where they shaved it. I brush what I can until it shines. Leave it loose.

  I pick up my phone. There are two texts. One from my dad and one from Lily. I will read them later. I drop the phone into my fringed leather purse, sling the purse over my shoulder, and head down the hall.

  When I enter the kitchen, my sister looks up from her plate of eggs and raises an eyebrow. My mom winks at me. She writes on a piece of paper.

  You look beautiful.

  Mom and Emerson are dressed in their Saturday uniforms: Emerson ready to dance, Mom to garden.

  I don’t hear the doorbell, of course, but I see my sister suddenly leap out of her chair. My mom shakes her head, no. She says something to Emerson that I can’t follow. I have the sudden feeling that I’m being talked about, not behind my back, but in front of my face. Then Mom smiles at me and nods toward the door.

  “See you later,” I tell them both. I give my mom a kiss on the cheek before I practically skip out of the kitchen.

  In the car, I study Hayden. He looks relaxed today. Happy. His hair is still damp at the ends, and I can smell the scent of his shampoo. Oranges and coconut. I breathe it in.

  I don’t ask where we’re going. I used to hate surprises. The control freak part of me could never handle not knowing what was about to happen. But I like Hayden’s surprises.

  For a moment, I wonder if any of this would have happened if I hadn’t been injured. If I ever would have spoken to Hayden. If he would have spoken to me. I know that we never would have had seventeen days together. Not like this. It’s like the daisies. And the feather of hope floating through the darkness.