The Believing Game (33 page)

I no longer believe that the supermarket scanner infuses the food with light. So score one for the rational interpretation of available facts. I still won't push around the big, bulky cart; instead I carry the plastic basket in one hand, balance the baby on my hip. Usually that's enough of a distraction — making sure he hasn't nabbed a Hershey's bar from the rack near the checkout. Setting down the cartons, the boxes. Counting out money. Carefully. Juggling all of that, I don't have time to remember Joshua's rules — what kind of light carries nourishment, what kind kills healthy cells. There's already enough to worry about.

The baby is closer to a toddler now, and we probably treat him too delicately. But I know how easily he can be damaged. I chose Parker as his middle name to remind me just in case. To remind his grandparents. But it's only his middle name — no one calls him that. Not even my cousin — who hosted us at his ranch last Christmas — who trains horses for people who aren't patient enough to do so themselves.

My son's father is a good man, who considers me an angel only metaphorically, who occasionally teases me about the years I spent in juvie because we can hardly imagine it now. We are that happy. We are happier than I ever thought was planned for me. Usually.

Sometimes I think of McCracken Hill, but mostly I think of Addison. Just in blinks — a certain slope of a nose in profile, the stomp of combat boots against linoleum at the mall. Those boys with the shaved heads seem much angrier now, but I try not to make assumptions. After all, Addison might be angry like that now too.

It's hard to imagine him grown older, paunchy, maybe even a little bit cowed. Unfeasible to think I could pass him on the street and not realize, not recognize. Once in a while, I type his name into the computer, but nothing rises to the surface. A publisher of academic textbooks. A construction company that had potential, but turned out to be named for the hometowns of the two founders.

I could see him enlisting. Trading in Joshua's lessons for an even more disciplined dogma. Wearing fatigues, carrying a weapon, riding in a jeep over land laced with explosives. That is the possibility that worries me most. In the decade since I've seen him, we've fought wars against actual enemies. Maybe Addison went over and did not come home.

I force myself to have faith in an alternate ending. That one day, I'll chase my son as he races over to the playground and notice a man stooped slightly over an easel in the park. Maybe I'll notice the painting first. The unfurling of the flowers' petals will seem familiar and then I'll see his hands. Then his eyes. We'll stand there, facing each other, and I'll know that Addison forgives me. After all these years, would that be so astonishing? It wouldn't count as the strangest thing that's happened. Just the universe delivering on a long-ago promise. That's the kind of truth in which I now choose to believe.

My husband, Jeff Salzberger, makes me laugh, walks the dogs, and puts up with a constant stream of creepy instrumental music as I'm writing. I am so thankful for him.

 

Love and gratitude to the Corrigan and Salzberger families, as well as Anne Glennon, Steve Loy, and Pat Neary. I feel profoundly lucky to have such caring guidance and steadfast support.

 

I am so grateful for my amazing siblings: Maureen McKay, Kathleen Ryden, John Corrigan, and Christine Corrigan. And my sort-of siblings: April Morecraft and Nina Stotler.

 

Thank you to David Levithan and the Scholastic dream team of Erin Black, Sheila Marie Everett, Esther Lin, and Chris Stengel. I'm sure that there are plenty of others who have a hand in shaping my manuscripts into books, but I am especially fortunate to benefit from their editorial, promotional, and artistic expertise.

 

Finally, I spend my days at Rutgers Preparatory School, surrounded by remarkable characters. While no aspect of this book is based on actual people or events, our exceptional
community inspires me every day. Above all, Rutgers Prep's Class of 2012 holds major territory in my heart. I know that by the time this book sees the light of day, each member will be on his or her way to a bright and brilliant future.