Bird (25 page)

And I heard Grandpa screaming.

I was screaming something too as I ran all the way to Mr. Williamson's place, the part-time paramedic, whose house was closest to the cliff, screaming something about
John
and
the cliff
and
fell
. I don't know why, but he stared at me for a long time—too long—like I was crazy, like John was already dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY

FINALLY
, though, Mr. Williamson did move from his doorway, but only when I was able to sputter it out. “
Eugene
, not John.” Then Mr. Williamson slapped his pockets like a madman, looking for his keys, and we hopped in his truck and raced to the cliff. He'd already called 911, but with the cliff being so far out, it would take them a while to get there.

He didn't look at me the whole time. Not once. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears.

My mouth couldn't stop moving. “And he didn't mean to fall, but I saw him fall and he's at the base of the boulder right now, and he was so scared and it's all my fault—” My breath was coming in short bursts, in and out, until I started to see sparkly lights at the corners of my vision.

“Jewel, breathe slower,” Mr. Williamson said. “You're going to pass out if you don't watch it. I'll see what I can do.” He was telling me this in his professional voice. Then he veered off County Line Road and plowed over the footpath. When we got there, Grandpa was bent over Eugene, knees on the earth. Eugene wasn't moving. Grandpa scrambled to his feet and ran to us.

Mr. Williamson hopped out of his truck and grabbed his first-aid kit from the backseat. “How far did he fall?” he asked me.

“Thirty feet,” Grandpa said. His voice was a hoarse whisper, like a bad case of strep throat or maybe a rusty hinge, but there it was. His voice.

Mr. Williamson's eyes got big.

“From there,” Grandpa continued, pointing to the place above the ledge. Grandpa stopped, watching Mr. Williamson watch him. “Well? Do something!”

Mr. Williamson ran over to Eugene, knelt on the ground with his bag, and leaned over him. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I looked at Mr. Williamson, who was getting out his tools, and at Grandpa, who was talking to the unconscious Eugene.
Talking
. And amid the awfulness, I laughed.

Looking back, I guess I could say that the curse on Grandpa's mouth was lifted that day, but why Dad couldn't lift it or Granny or me or even Grandpa himself, I'll never know. All I do know is that special things happen in special places, and sometimes mysteries are just that. But really, special places are everywhere. I think a place can be special simply because it
is
—it was special since the beginning of time and will be until the end, like the cliff—and other times a place can be special because of what we do when we're there.

Take the hospital, for instance. When the ambulance got Eugene to the hospital and the doctors rushed him away, Grandpa himself got on a guest phone and called Mom and Dad, telling them to come. Well, I think that just made the hospital a pretty special place, and that phone a pretty special phone.

For days Grandpa and I traveled the forty miles each way to wait for Eugene's collarbone to be fixed, along with his rib and his arm, and then for the X-rays so doctors could see everything on the inside. During the driving and waiting, while I can't say Grandpa was chatty, he certainly seemed like it considering he hadn't spoken a word in twelve years. Saying things like “How are you holding up, Jewel?” and “Want to bring out those dominoes?” Each time he spoke, his words grew stronger, more solid and anchored, like someone had wiped them off and found that beneath the thin layer of dust was a mountain of granite.

A good rain fell during those days, tapping at the windows of the waiting room. Mr. McLaren waited with us. He didn't say much and didn't sit that close, but given that I nearly killed his nephew, I couldn't blame him. Mr. McLaren checked on Eugene whenever he could, letting us know he was on the mend. Also, he said, Eugene's parents were on their way. There was a big storm out East that was holding up their flight, but they were coming.

I froze when Mr. McLaren told me that. What could I possibly say to Eugene's parents? That I had felt invincible and didn't think about their son, who almost died trying to save me? Shame wrapped itself around my heart, and the power I'd felt while climbing the boulder sputtered away.

That same afternoon the nurses decided Eugene could have visitors. It wasn't too exciting, though, because he mostly slept the entire time. Eugene looked so different in his hospital bed, so skinny and not strong at all. He couldn't even lift his head when he saw us.

It was hard to see him all weak and helpless because I knew for a fact Eugene wouldn't want anyone to see him like that. And it was even harder because I knew the only reason he got hurt was because he was trying to help me, to convince me to come back down. If I hadn't climbed up, none of this would have happened.

And strangely, even though he got hurt for me,
I
hurt everywhere, battered inside; even though Bird and I were a close binary system, I guess Eugene and I were too. I didn't think people could be close binary systems with more than one person, but maybe they can if they're really, really lucky. If folks have people around them like that, then no one would want to go off into space and never come back.

The next day in the waiting room, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Yes?” I asked, turning around.

It was Mr. McLaren, with two people standing next to him. The man's light brown hair fell over his glasses, like he needed a haircut but was too busy to notice. The woman, of course, was pregnant.

“Jewel,” Mr. McLaren said, “these are Eugene's parents.”

I stood up and took a deep breath. “Hello,” I said politely. “Nice to meet you.” I stuck out my hand, trying to be grown-up and all. Then to my horror, I burst into tears. How could I have done this to them? All I wanted was to be understood and yet I hurt everyone, disappointed everyone—if no one spoke to me ever again, I wouldn't blame them, not in a million years.

That's why I was surprised when I heard sniffling. I looked up at them and saw Eugene's mom brushing away her own tears. Eugene's dad's face was solemn. His back was stick straight.

“I'm so sorry,” I whispered. “I didn't mean to.”

They stood there awkwardly in front of me, and then to my surprise, Eugene's dad's shoulders caved in, and he started crying too. Eugene's mom hugged him, and they cried on each other for a long time.

Then, to my even greater surprise, Eugene's mom turned to me and included me in their hug, with Eugene's dad wrapping his big arms around us both. They had a funny smell to them, like a stuck-in-an-airport smell, which made me feel even worse. They had stopped their lives because of me.

“We were terrified when Tim called us,” Eugene's dad said when we all pulled away. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a skinny guy.

I nodded mournfully. What could I say?

“We love Eugene so much,” his mom added, her words still weepy. Her hand rested on her round belly.

I swallowed. “I'm sorry,” I whispered again.

“You can't undo this, Jewel,” his dad said, shaking his head. “We have to live with the mistakes we make.” He paused. “I'm sure you won't forget this for a long time.”

I looked at my shoes. Not until the day I die.

His face softened. “But really, Jewel, we have to thank you.”

I looked up, confused. “Thank me for what?”

His mom gave a sad smile. “We know Eugene's been having such a hard time. We really didn't know what to do anymore.”

Eugene's dad shot her an embarrassed look and shoved his hands in his pockets in just the same way that Eugene would do. Then he seemed to recover and pushed his glasses back up his nose and took a deep breath. “Eugene's really changed this summer, and for the better.” He shifted uncomfortably. “When we saw him just now, he could only ask about you.” His lips twitched.

His mom nodded. “We've made mistakes too,” she added, blushing. “You've been a very valuable friend, Jewel.”

I studied the green flower designs on her shoes. His parents obviously didn't know those awful things I had shouted to Eugene when I found out about his name.

His dad cleared his throat. “And I must say, our son picked an intelligent young lady for a friend.” I must have had a confused look on my face, because he added, “Eugene's told us about you. You're going to be a famous geologist one day, with all that knowledge in your head.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “It's hard to impress our son.”

A warmth filled me up from head to toe. I mean, Eugene said I'd make a great scientist, but I never thought he'd talk to his parents about me. I glanced at Grandpa; he looked proud too. Eugene's parents followed my gaze. “This is my grandpa,” I said.

Eugene's mom tucked a blond curl behind her ear. “Jewel's a fine girl,” she said.

“Good seeds turn into good trees,” Grandpa said.

I'd never heard that expression before, but I liked it.

The night before Eugene was going to leave the hospital, we were hanging out in his hospital room, making the bed go up and down. “Hey, Jewel,” Eugene said, “you want some of my meat loaf?” He poked at it with his fork.

“No,” I replied. “It's too much like Mom's cooking.”

He grinned, and I grinned too, until I remembered that Mom didn't cook anymore. Then I sighed.

Eugene studied my face. “You're thinking about your mom, right?”

I nodded.

“I knew it!” He smiled. “You see? I'm psychic.”

“No,” I said. “You're a—what's the name of the other star in a close binary system?”

Eugene's eyes got serious. “A companion star.”

I snapped my fingers. “That's it. You're my companion star.”

We listened to the humming of the machines, to the squeaking of the nurses' sneakers as they walked by. I was startled when Eugene grabbed my hand, but it was the kind of startle you get when you receive a gift you didn't expect. We sat there holding hands for a long time, connected like those stars.

But something bothered me, and I drew my hand back. “Eugene,” I said quietly, “it's my fault you're here, you know.”

Eugene looked away.

“If I hadn't climbed up the boulder, you wouldn't have followed me and none of this would have ever happened,” I continued. “I was being stupid. You could have died.” My throat tightened. “Every night since the accident, I've had awful nightmares.”

Eugene opened his mouth to say something, but just then a nurse came in and checked his pulse, made some notes in a chart. I hated when the nurses came in; they talked to Eugene like he was a baby, like he wasn't supersmart or strong or daring. I was surprised Eugene didn't seem to mind.

After the nurse left, Eugene said quietly, “At first I was really upset at you. That was really dumb, what you did.” He paused. “But you could have been the one to fall.” Eugene's eyes were dark and full. “I'm glad you weren't.” Then he looked away, and we both breathed a little easier. “Besides,” he said, “you helped me realize something.”

My brow furrowed. “What?”

“Maybe being an astronaut wouldn't be the best thing after all. I mean, wouldn't it get lonely?”

I grinned. “Nah, there's lots of rocks to talk to, from what I hear.”

“Then maybe you should be the one to go up.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Forget it. My family's got a thing with heights.”

Eugene laughed until it started to hurt and we had to calm down. “What's today's date?” he asked.

I told him.

His face lit up—not like before, because he got tired easily, but still. “The Perseids. They start tonight.”

I turned out the lights and ran to his window. I only had to watch for a couple minutes before I saw a streaming flash of light arc across the sky.

“Oh, my God!” I cried. It took my breath away, it was so beautiful.

“Did you see one?” Eugene asked, straining from his bed.

Before I could answer, I saw another. Then another. “And this is only the beginning,” Eugene added. “The best time is in the middle of the night, when we're facing the forward side of the earth's rotation, plunging into space.”

But believe you me, it is not easy to convince a nurse that two kids in a dark room by themselves are actually trying to watch a meteor shower—not until the nurse sees a meteor and gasps, and not
really
until Eugene starts spouting off the difference between meteors and comets does she believe us and let us watch the Perseids. Of course, it's still only with Eugene's parents' permission and then with the door open.

Grandpa seemed calmer around Eugene at the hospital—I'm not sure if he felt bad about being so mean or he realized that duppies can't have X-rays and decided he was wrong. Or maybe Grandpa realized that Eugene somehow had something to do with lifting his curse, so he can't be all that bad, even if he is a duppy: He might be one of those good ones. Whatever the reason, Grandpa was whistling when we got home that night the Perseids started, and he didn't even need to ask me if I wanted to, he already knew—we sat on the bumper of the Buick and watched those meteors careen through the sky, going from one infinity to another.