The Wicked Awakening of Anne Merchant (19 page)

“Where are we staying?” I ask him.

“The Plaza—where else?”

He starts jogging, and I have to love the guy for his solid effort to make me look light as a feather. He’s breathless by the time we make it as far as Gigi’s house. I expect him to let me down, but he starts trudging through the snow toward the old cottage.

“It looks like the valet has retired for the night,” he says.

He lets me down just outside Gigi’s front door and, smiling a smile I’ve never seen before—one that makes me nervous, like he might say the
L word
—tells me to close my eyes. I do. Nervously.

He takes me by the hand.

“What’s going on?” I ask in the darkness.

“Step up. And again.” The old creaky front door announces that it is swinging in. “Merry Christmas, baby. Open your eyes.”

Ben’s fantasy, which seemed impromptu when we were walking, is a reality inside Gigi’s transformed living room. Strings of golden lights enrobe the dingy wallpapered walls, and rich golden velvet has been draped over and tucked into the old sofa Skippy used to sleep on. The staircase and the entry to the kitchen are strung with lights and evergreen garland that make gap-filled walls, keeping us in this room. My eyes skip from the Christmas tree to the wrapped gifts on the coffee table to the record player spinning none other than Boney M to, at last, the brass bed Ben must’ve dragged down from Gigi’s bedroom and blanketed in beautiful linens from who knows where.

“Molly helped me,” he shyly admits. “The two of us had to sneak into Dia’s place—all my old furnishings and things are there. Thankfully, it wasn’t her first time breaking in.” He leads me in. “Look past the flaws, okay? Believe the illusion. Just for tonight.”

“What flaws?” I ask.

It’s gorgeous. And dazzling. And filled with heart and love.

…Yet I can’t keep my gaze from returning to the bed.

The bed.

Oh, God, the
bed
.

“Are you okay?” He’s been watching my reaction. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” When he finally notices what I’m trying hard not to stare at, he smiles. I do my best to look as cool as Garnet probably looked when they were together. “Aww, honey, it’s not what you think.”

“It’s just—I think you got the wrong idea before, Ben. I’m not…”

“That bed is not what this is about…”

“It’s just…I don’t think…”

“Baby, I know…”

It’s like we’re competing to make as little sense as possible.

He gives up first and takes my hands in his, forcing me to look at him. How am I supposed to get out of this? It’s really beautiful and everything, and I have been about as desperate to make out with Ben as a person can get without imploding, but. But.
But
.

“Anne,” he’s trying not to smile at my distress, “I want to wake up and find you next to me, that’s all. That’s my selfish Christmas wish. Of course, yes, I’d love to do more—”

“You would?” I’m not sure if I knew that before.

His eyebrows hit his hairline. “Are you kidding?”

“But you always stop us.”

“Because I want to protect what we have. Not because…” His voice drops, and a smile flickers across his lips. “When it happens—” He half laughs. “Well, let’s just say I’m looking forward to it. But I would never pressure you. Ever.”

For some reason, I picture him and Garnet together. I squeeze my eyes as tight as they’ll go.

He waits for me to open them.

I know I’m being an idiot. Ben just wants to have a sleepover— why am I acting like I’ve never shared a bed with someone, especially with someone I love? But I know why. It’s not just about sex. It’s not just about wanting to move from the Hand-Holding Phase to whatever wonders lay in Phases II, III, IV, V—hell, every phase right up to the last one. That’s only part of the problem. My real anxiety lays in wondering whether Ben will wake me up with his screams as Harper did months ago.

“If you’re not comfortable sleeping next to me,” he says, “we can turn around and leave.”

To prove there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with him, I sit on the bed. It sags in the middle, but it’s otherwise comfortable. I smile at him, and relief lights his gorgeous face.

To my surprise, he turns on the TV.

“
It’s a Wonderful Life
,” he says, pushing a disc into the Blu-ray player. “A Christmas classic.”

It’s a wonderful life.

Sure, it is. As long as you’re playing pretend. As long as you buy into the illusion.

“It’s like we’re at the movie theater,” I say.

“No—the hotel room.”

One fantasy at a time. I get it.

All smiles, Ben joins me on the bed and positions fluffy pillows and blankets around us. I’ve developed a habit of holding my breath and leaning away from him when he gets near—anything to avoid inhaling his sweet-meets-musky scent, anything to avoid the risk that his arm will brush mine and he’ll just apologize. Now I know that he desires more than hand-holding and kissing, but what am I supposed to do with that? As Ben wraps his arm around my shoulders and I clamp my fingertips into my thighs to keep from clawing at him, I realize that the vision Ben sees is quite different from mine. There’s no way I’m going to have an actual sexual relationship with a man on Death Row. Why would I? So he gets everything he wants…and I’m left living in the aftermath of his selfish destructive forces?

Remembering something, Ben pops up and swings open a mini-fridge next to Gigi’s old hutch. “Can I get you something from the minibar?”

“They always overcharge for those things. Six bucks for a Pepsi.”

With a heartbreaking grin, Ben pulls out two cans of soda and shimmies next to me again.

“Money is no object,” he says.

I want to smile with him. But this whole charade is actually starting to frustrate me. So while Ben watches George Bailey dance his way into a swimming pool, it occurs to me that, instead of making sacrifices, Ben’s PT should be to live selfishly. He’d be a sure thing. He’s selfishly choosing the briefest period of time with
me and creating these charming illusions of a life we could lead together, a life he’s keeping us from.

“I know you mean well,” he says out of the blue, “but let’s just watch a movie like two normal people.”

“We are.”

“Your whole body is tense. You’re thinking about that damn competition.”

“You knew what I was thinking? And you were just letting me sit here and stress out?”

“
Letting you?
” He laughs. “When did I get any say over what you do?”

“This isn’t funny, Ben. This is your life.”

“I know.”

“Then do something!” I spring from the bed. “Fight for it!”

“Anne, just give me tonight. Give that gift to me. For Christmas.” Calmly, he pauses the movie. “Just one night of normalcy.”

“I’ve given you three and a half months.”

“Do you regret that?”

“None of this is real. How can this be enough for you? Tonight, like every night, is bringing me closer to you when all you’re going to do is leave me.”

He takes a deep breath. “All roads lead to death. Mine is just shorter.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way!”

“It already is that way!”

I watch him try to calm down, but that’s the last thing I want him to do. I need to see him angry. I need to know he’s got fight left in him.

“I can’t be the reason you die, Ben. To spend a short time with me. Don’t do that to me.”

“I’m already dead. Why don’t you understand that?”

Leaning back, he stretches out his long legs and looks up at me. The twinkle lights glimmer against his irises, transforming his eyes into bright pools I can see my reflection in.

“For five years,” he says, his playful tone long gone as the old Ben, the anguished Ben I first met, makes a surprise appearance, “I’ve considered myself dead. Because, as hard as it is for you to hear, I am dead. I’ve been here to help my dad get through his grief. But I’ve
never fooled myself into believing that I’m alive or could be again. I’m here because a devil is selling immortality to fools. A
devil
.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, you know this isn’t a miracle. It’s a dark art. And it’s been keeping me from reuniting with my mom and Jeannie.”

Always the words to shut me up. There’s no arguing with Ben when it comes to his mom and sister. I could never ask him to choose a life with me instead of the afterlife with them.

“You’ve thrown a wrench into things,” he says. “But just because I
feel
alive doesn’t mean it’s my right to expect to live again.”

“You never intended to stay with me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, exasperated. “
A-Anne!
I’d love to spend forever with you.”

“Then prove it. Go with Garnet. Break up with me now. Fight for us by fighting for you.”

“We all die!” Ben’s eyelids snap wide open, and he bounces to his feet. His cool façade slides off, exposing the mere mortal beneath. “Death is permanent. That’s the idea! These fleshy bodies of ours are always fighting it. Yet you want me to leave you now, hook up with Garnet, align with her so I
might
become valedictorian.”

“It’s possible!”

“And risk dying without even memories of you to help me through?” He looks at me like
I’m
the one who’s not making sense. “Or, in your vision, you think I’ll win the Big V and you’ll wake up. Only to what, Anne? Only to spend the rest of our lives worrying about being separated by car accidents, disease, plane crashes, cancer, global epidemics?—an endless list of forces driving us to the grave!”

“Well, that’s life!”

“No, that’s death. And that’s what we’re driving toward. So I’m done fighting it! Let’s die. Together.”

His final words floor me.

“Wait, you want me to die, too?”

He looks guiltily at the floor. “The ethical dilemma of euthanasia.” His face, unaccustomed to fury, is still scarlet with the force of his outburst. “I think I should go softly into that good night this May. And you should die next May—”

“The line is ‘
do
not
go softly into that good night
.’”

“—and I’ll wait for you on the other side. And there, only there, we can always be together.”

“So much for ‘it’s a wonderful life.’”

“I know I sound like some suicidal weirdo, but I’m not. I’m being logical about this. It would be great to be alive with you in California. To take you on an actual date. To go for coffee and people-watch. To go back to our little apartment and be the big spoon to your little spoon.” He shifts like he’s physically trying to disconnect himself from the imaginary life he wanted us to have. “But my odds of winning the Big V are remarkably low, as are yours. You have an escape route, of course, in your coma. So I realize I’m asking for something huge from you, Anne. And I wouldn’t do it if I hadn’t spent these last months giving my every waking thought to it.”

“You think I should pull the plug…on myself.”

He sighs and, taking me in his arms, buries his face in my hair. “I just want you forever.”

“What if your spirit’s gone when I die, Ben? What if you don’t wait for me?”

He cups my face in his hands and brings his lips to mine, softly. I am like a starving prisoner; I ravenously consume what little he gives me and wait, hopefully, for a bit more. Which he, as always, withholds.

“I
will
wait for you. Forever,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “But please don’t ask me to throw away the time I have left with you. Especially not for the slim chance of winning the Big V.”

I let him run his hands over my hair and give me that imploring look of his, and I even let him lay me down on the bed again and spoon me just as he described doing in another life, a real life. It’s not until the movie ends and he hands me the flannel pajamas Molly brought for me that I stop letting him get away with making this fantasy whatever he wants it to be. I’ll play along, but only if I can make it mine, too.

“I’ll give you some privacy to get changed,” he says.

He’s about to shimmy under the garland to wait in the kitchen. But I take hold of his arm as he’s leaving and turn him back to me.

“No,” I say.

“Do you need something?”

I nod. And I kiss him. “Come here.” I tug him back to the other side of the bed, and there I coerce him into sitting. “Stay right here.”
I back away slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on his, which lets me see his intrigued expression pass right by confusion and turn, in a flash, to concern. “I had a great time Christmas shopping with you today, Mr. Zin.”

“What are you doing, Anne?”

I flick off all the lights except the twinkle ones. And I stand before him again. In one movement, I take my pullover off.

“I just love Christmas shopping in New York, don’t you, baby?”

He swallows. “Anne.”

“Don’t you?”

Appearing torn, he concedes. And watches my sweater fall to the floor. “FAO Schwarz. It’s…so…intense.”

“It is.” I take off my socks, then I unbutton my pants. My eyes don’t leave his, not even when I tug my jeans down and lay them over the back of a chair. His gaze flickers, like he wants to look at my exposed skin, skin he’s never seen before. “Remember how, years ago, we had that amazing Christmas Eve on Wormwood Island?”

Ben’s face pales. “Anne, come on.”

“Did you think that was gonna happen?”

His gaze washes over me, standing in my t-shirt and underwear. “Remind me what happened.”

“How could you forget, Mr. Zin?”

With that, I lift my t-shirt over my head. I’m about to straighten my hair when, with a choked voice, he asks me not to.

“God, I love your hair,” he whispers. His breath is short. “I always picture it down and wild. Covering you. A little.” He swallows again. “But not completely.”

“It was down that night in Gigi’s house. Remember?”

He nods and moves to stand, but I shake my head and wait until he sits again. He arches his eyebrow, and I might think I’d pushed things too far if his approval—his enthusiastic approval—didn’t show in other ways. I step toward him. He shifts back on the bed. I’m standing before him, and my hair is covering me when I unhook my bra; as if I do this all the time, I slip it off, letting it fall to the floor. Ben’s gaze is a lost cause. I straddle him to reclaim attention on my face.