For Ever (30 page)

He’s right, but some part of me desperately
wants him to stay. I know I can’t have it both ways. Slowly, I
nod.

“I’m truly sorry, Wren.”

He rises from the couch, and I feel a sharp
stab of pain as he leans down quickly to kiss me on the cheek. Then
he’s gone, the front door closing softly after him. When my mom
returns a few minutes later, she looks around, puzzled.

“I thought Ever was staying for dinner?”

“Some last-minute thing came up with his
family.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” she murmurs.

I feel bad for lying, but I don’t have
another reasonable explanation. I wish I could share some of this
with her, but it wouldn’t be fair to her. What other choice would
she have, other than thinking that I’ve gone crazy?

Going up to my room, I sit down on the bed.
What I know I will never be able to share with anyone, and as a
result my life has been split in two. And I’m terrified by the fact
that I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. And I can’t judge
Ever. Well, I could, but it would make me a hypocrite. Regardless
of his previous actions, he saved me. Over and over. And from what
little I know about his past, it sounds like his existence has been
thoroughly miserable, without joy or hope. What kind of life could
it be waiting to kill people, or watching them become puppets of
incorporeal beings? The inexplicable apathy Ever seemed to have for
everyone and everything around him now makes terrible sense. With a
lot of effort, I recall brief fragments of his memory, the one I
had experienced the first day in Art. I shudder at the darkness,
the absolute loathing of whatever had been coming for Ever … and
for me by proxy.

Returning downstairs to help my mom with
dinner, I’m relieved to be put in charge of the salad. Anything
more than that would be too complicated for my brain to handle. I
smile at my mom, who is singing off-key to an album playing on the
CD player.

“Is Ever going with you guys to the coast
tomorrow?” she asks.

I hadn’t even thought about that.

“I’m not sure.”

“Doesn’t he get along with the rest of your
friends from school?” She turns and smiles at me. “The girls must
want to eat you alive for snagging him.”

“Mom!”

“What?” she laughs.

Caroline Sullivan occasionally has a creepy
sixth sense about people, and I don’t want to end up backing myself
into a corner by saying too much. I don’t think it would go over
very well if I told her that he came here planning to kill me and
has spent most of his time at school looking comatose.

“Ever doesn’t really mix well with
others.”

When my mom frowns, I try to come up with an
explanation that is less ominous sounding.

“I mean he hasn’t hung out much with my
friends.”

I sound cagey and defensive, so I decide to
redirect.

“How are things at the hospital? Anything new
going on?”

My mom smiles and looks down. And did she
just blush? Shaking the salad dressing, I frown. This is weird,
Twilight Zone weird. Caroline Sullivan is hardly ever—what’s the
right word? Coy? At least with me she’s not. She’s funny, direct,
brave, and over the top. I would normally jump all over this and
pry the information out of her, but I don’t have the stomach for it
right now. My mom can keep her secrets; I’ll keep mine. For the
first time I have problems to deal with that don’t involve my
parents, and for once I don’t feel like a little kid stuck between
adults. It’s liberating that I can make choices of my own, right or
wrong.

I listen as she talks about budget cuts that
her department is making, knowing that’s not what she smiled about.
What had Ever asked me that night in the Japanese Garden?
What
if the truth isn’t something I want to hear?
Over and over for
the past couple of months I kept thinking that the truth would
somehow make my anxiety disappear, and the world would be right
again. I’m beginning to understand how naïve I’ve been.

Some secrets are best kept.

We sit down at the kitchen table and talk
about her recipe for the chicken cacciatore and day trips we want
to take during summer break. When she asks me about the upcoming
dance, it reminds me that I never responded to my father about his
unwelcome invitation to visit him—and
Jess
—in Laguna. Deep
down, I know I should be
rational
and
gracious
, but I
can’t be. Not yet. Besides, I never told anybody I was perfect. And
I never swore in blood that I would do the right thing all the
time. Rising, I walk around to my mom’s chair and wrap my arms
around her for a few seconds.

“Are you okay?” she asks with a nervous
chuckle.

“Fine. I was just feeling grateful to have
you as my mom.”

“Yeah? Well I wouldn’t win any mother of the
year awards, that’s for sure.”

“You do in my book. Here, I’ll get the
dishes.”

“Let me help—”

“Nope. Take the offer while it’s good. I hate
doing the dishes, and you cook like a crazy person.”

She laughs as I nod my head toward the
counters as proof. Forty-five minutes later, I deeply regret my
offer to clean up. Caroline Sullivan knows how to destroy a
kitchen. By the time I wipe down the counters and head upstairs, my
mom is already in bed reading. I hurry over and kiss her on the
cheek. Then I pad down the hall to the bathroom to brush my teeth,
wash my face, and apply the miracle cream my dermatologist
prescribed. When I’m in bed with the lights off, I stare up at the
ceiling for a long time.

What would I be like if I had spent an
indefinite span of time stuck between interchangeably horrible
options? Or the better question might be: how did Ever develop any
sense of conscience or remorse given his circumstances? I’m trying
to achieve some objectivity about his past, especially since I had
condemned him once and had been wrong. But when it comes down to
it, my judgment is clouded.

With a pang of guilt, I wonder what Ever had
felt a few hours ago when my fear—and repulsion—had been
overwhelming. Making things worse, I couldn’t think straight with
him right in front of me. At least I avoided the awful
I need
space
cliché. It’s the truth, though. I guess I did need space
to think things over. Now, more than anything, I just want him to
be here. Right or wrong. Irrational or not.

Closing my eyes, I say his name in my head.
Then I reach out tentatively with my mind. The only other time I
consciously tried this was the day in the cafeteria when I screamed
his name in my head—and he looked straight at me. Now the memory is
kind of funny, but laughing at my past self isn’t a good idea, I
realize. Like my current self is so much wiser. A sudden tap at my
second-story window sends me springing out of bed. Instead of
screaming like any rational person, I creep to the window and draw
up the blinds like some dimwit from a horror movie. On the street
below, standing in the pool of yellow light from the streetlamp,
Ever stares up at me.

The scene is straight out of the dream I had.
This stops me cold. Am I dreaming again? I step back and turn on my
desk lamp, glancing around. If it is a dream, it is very real. The
floorboards are cold beneath my feet, and I can feel my fingernails
pressed into my palms.

I think over my options. … I could sneak
downstairs in a button-up nightshirt that doesn’t come to my knees.
Not a good idea. Or I could get dressed. Or I could just open the
window. Turning back toward the window, I see a movement in the
dark. I open my mouth to scream, but I don’t get the chance. A
large hand clamps down over my mouth. When I jerk against the grip
and look up, I see Ever staring down at me uncertainly. He releases
me slowly, and I glare at him.

“That is the
second
time today you’ve
done that,” I hiss.

He looks only moderately sheepish.

“Why did you call my name if you didn’t want
me to come here?” he asks wryly.

“Oh, ha, ha,” I grumble. “It was an
experiment. I didn’t think it would work!”

“Then you didn’t want to see me?”

I scowl at him and move toward my bed.

“Well, I was
hoping
it would work,” I
admit, hoisting myself into bed. “And, yes. I wanted to see you.
So? Sue me.”

Silently and very quickly, Ever pulls my desk
chair to the edge of the bed. He’s already seated by the time I
pull the covers over me. The look on his face is bemused, and he
shakes his head.

“
That
is the oddest expression.”

“Okay,” I smile, “if you don’t like it, you
can take a hike.”

Suddenly he’s serious again.

“I wanted to see you as well.”

“Were you close by?” I ask, definitely
fishing.

It’s unsettling and comforting at the same
time to think of Ever loitering outside my house in the middle of
the night.

“Actually, I was at the house with the
others,” he says, smiling in a way that makes me think he’s amused
with my paranoid little fantasy.

I purposefully push his mention of the
others
out of my head.

“How far away
can
you hear me?”

“You, specifically? Quite a ways if
necessary.” He leans forward suddenly and reaches for my chest.
When I gasp, he laughs quietly and lifts the chain with the pendant
attached. “This helps.”

He leans back in the chair, allowing me to
breathe, and I look down at the necklace. Of course, I should have
known it wasn’t costume jewelry.

“You bugged me?”

“It’s more of an amplifier, to be accurate.
With it, I don’t have to worry as much about losing track of
you.”

“Like a set of car keys?” I blurt out
indignantly. “What if I don’t want to be kept track of?”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my
brain flashes to my sprint through a cemetery at night. It’s like
watching a bad re-run I can’t turn off. My heart pounds.

“Okay, I get it. I’m in danger. All the time.
Lurking, shapeless beings around every corner. But I need to
know—will that change? I mean, is there anything
I
can do
about it? Because I don’t think I can live the rest of my life on
high alert, waiting for something to jump out at me.” More calmly,
I add, “It’s not fair for you to have to race to my rescue every
time something happens. Not that I don’t appreciate it. I mean, I
wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Ever studies me, the green of his eyes
brightening.

“Wren, I don’t think you understood me
before,” he says slowly. “I care about you more deeply than I
thought possible.” His smile fades, and his eyes grow distant.
“I’ve had countless human lifetimes to observe human nature, all
the emotions and motivations—joy, hate, greed, pettiness, anger,
devotion, and even true moments of altruism. And after all this
time, I was arrogant enough to believe that I understood human
emotions while remaining skeptical of love. To me, it seemed
ethereal and implausible.”

He looks back at me.

“Until I felt it for you.”

For a second, I want to do a cartwheel—if I
could do one without falling flat on my face. Then reality rushes
in, and I look down. I don’t want to ask, but I have to. Because I
don’t understand, and I can’t take Ever’s declaration at face
value. Lately, I’ve taken a lot for granted. This, I can’t. I’m not
looking for an ego boost; I simply need evidence to justify the
unexplainable.

“But why me?” I ask softly.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time.
Because it’s likely a question he doesn’t have an answer to.

“Wren, are you so uncertain of yourself?”

“Did you forget that I can listen in on
people’s thoughts? It can get a little demoralizing. And besides,
have you looked in a mirror lately? Everyone else is thinking it:
What’s he doing with
her
?
”

“And you have obviously been ignoring what
all the sentient males in that school are thinking—thank you, by
the way,” he says with a crooked smile.

“You mean Josh? But he’s—”

“One of many,” Ever finishes a little
grimly.

“Yeah, right. Uh, huh,” I smirk at him.

Ever shrugs and leans back, lacing his hands
behind his head in another very human gesture.

“Your inclination to remain ignorant of their
attentions doesn’t trouble me in the least.”

“Okay. Have you forgotten that I know you’ve
heard what every girl in school thinks of you? Scratch that. You’ve
heard what every passing human female has thought of you. They want
to eat you alive.”

Ever doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed
by this, but in his defense, he’s had time to get used to it.

“And do you suppose they would feel the same
way if they knew
what
I was?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I say before
pausing. “Even though I don’t think I really understand what you
are.” I tap my forehead. “You know, given my limited human
intellect and all.”

It’s his turn to give me a look.

“You know enough that you should be terrified
of me. Yet you’ve allowed me the benefit of withholding judgment, a
privilege I do not deserve. I think you give yourself too little
credit and others too much.”

Ever rises from the chair when I suppress a
yawn.

“It’s late,” he says.

I sit up straight in bed, suddenly energized
by one of the countless little mysteries that keeps getting pushed
out of the way by bigger, thornier ones.

“Do you sleep?”

His eyes immediately become cautious
again.

“You don’t, do you?” I demand, enthralled
again.

“We can go long stretches without rest,
though we’ve had periods of inertia over time.”

I watch him for any indication that he’s
joking or exaggerating.

“You mean when there’s nothing better to
do?”

He smiles.

“Something like that.”