For This Life Only by Stacey Kade
“There. That should help,” she said.
I opened my eyes and she handed me the ice bag in the towel for my nose. “But be careful not to get the bandages wet. Cover them with a bigger bandage when you get home.”
Home. I looked down at myself. I wasn’t actively bleeding anymore, but I was kind of a mess. Part two of the problem.
Thera looked me up and down speculatively. “If we clean the worst spots on your jeans and coat and if you zip your coat up over your shirt—”
“—I might be able to get to my room to change without sending Sarah into a panic,” I said with a nod. “As long as she doesn’t see my face first.”
“I can loan you one of my hoodies.” Thera shrugged. “Might be a little short on you, but it’ll work for that purpose. They’re men’s anyway.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
She smiled back. “You’re welcome.”
“Thera, why don’t you take his coat to the laundry room? You might need to soak some of those spots.”
I straightened up, slightly alarmed. I was keeping my pants, no matter how professional and clinical they were about this.
Thera snorted, guessing the direction of my thoughts. “We have more than one stain stick.”
But she made no immediate move to leave the room. Instead, she and her mother had one of those quick, silent conversations, before Thera shook her head and disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen.
She returned in a few seconds with a bright orange plastic tube and handed it to me, after I shrugged painfully out of my coat.
Thera took it, and with one last warning look at her mother that I didn’t understand, she left the room again.
“Was the fight about Thera?” Mary asked quietly as I tugged at the cap on the tube.
I hesitated, not sure of the dynamic here and whether I should answer.
“I know she has a hard time still sometimes,” Mary continued. “But she won’t talk about it, not with me.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. “Last year was horrible for her. I really thought I might lose her.”
“The fight wasn’t about Thera,” I said quickly, not sure what to do with that information or Mary’s emotional reaction. Thera seemed like the last person who would consider hurting herself. “Not like that. It was more about me and my friends. My former friends, I guess.” I focused on applying the stain stick to the largest of the bloodstains on the legs of my jeans. “Some of them don’t like how things have changed with me. After the accident. After—”
“After Eli,” Mary supplied.
“Yeah,” I said. “They were blaming Thera for the changes, and I made sure they knew that it wasn’t her fault.”
“If the other guy looks anything like you do, I suspect you made your point,” Mary said wryly.
“Good,” I said with grim satisfaction.
“Thank you for being kind to her.”
I glanced up, surprised. “It’s not about that. I mean, I’m not . . . being kind. She’s . . .” My face went hot. “I like her,” I mumbled. This was not the type of thing you talk about with parents. Particularly not the parent of the girl whose tongue was in your mouth not that long ago.
“I’ve always found her rather likable myself,” Mary said, her eyes sparkling with humor now instead of tears.
“Yeah,” I said, uncomfortable. I scrubbed harder at the splotch, starting to see some difference beyond making a wet patch on my jeans.
“Give me your hand,” Mary said.
I froze. “What?”
She held up the tube of antibacterial cream from the first-aid kit. “You should get those knuckles cleaned up.”
“Oh.” Relief washed over me.
“Did you think I was going to read your palm?” she asked, amused.
“No, I . . .”
“I’m not a palmist. Contrary to the sign in the window,” she said. It seemed like years ago, instead of a couple of days, that I’d felt it beckoning me across the street.
“I got a good deal on it. eBay,” she said with a grin that made her look a lot younger. I could see even more of Thera in her at that moment.
I put the stain stick down on the table and scooted to the edge of my seat, holding my hand out to her, a bit wary.
Mary took it, her fingers soft and light on the edges of my hand, and rested my palm on the table in front of her. “I’m glad you came with Thera today,” she said, pulling out a couple of Band-Aids from the kit. “I wanted a chance to convey my sympathies in person.” She smiled tentatively. “I don’t think I’ve spoken to you since you and Eli were little boys chasing each other in the churchyard with sticks and making laser sounds.”
I had no memory of ever speaking to her, but she was right about the sticks. “We weren’t allowed to have toy guns or swords. Lightsabers even,” I said, more to myself than to her.
She opened the antibacterial cream and began dabbing it gently over the worst of my split skin.
“Elijah was a good friend to Thera,” Mary said. “I know she misses him terribly.”
I blinked back unshed tears. Both for the loss of my brother and for the idea that he’d felt he had to hide his friendship with Thera from me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I miss him too.”
Mary unwrapped one of the bandages and peeled the backing off. “You know, your grandfather used to come over here.”
“He did?”
She nodded at the wooden cross on the wall. “Gave me that.”
No wonder it looked so familiar. He used to carve in his spare time. We had one of his crosses in the dining room at my house.
“He was trying to save us, I think. But I never had the heart to tell him that I’m Catholic, born and raised.” She winked at me.
Huh. My formerly Lutheran grandfather probably would have looked on that as almost equally suspect.
She was quiet for a long moment, sticking the edges of the bandage carefully over my knuckle. “You know what I do here?” she asked. “My responsibility?”
Inexplicably, my pulse accelerated, either with dread or anticipation. I couldn’t tell which. “Yes. I mean, a little, I guess.”
“Sometimes the ones who’ve passed visit me,” she said as she removed another bandage from its packaging. “They can see me, like a light in the darkness.”
The darkness. For a second it was difficult to breathe, remembering the thick, smothering blackness I’d experienced.
“It’s dark for them?” I managed, sounding choked.
“Temporarily, before they move on to their final place, yes, it seems to be.” Mary lined up the second bandage over my hand.
“So you can’t just talk to anyone who’s . . . passed?” I asked.
“Only if they want to be reached, but the easiest ones are those who are newly passed and have a strong desire to communicate. A message.” Mary looked up at me, her dark eyes telling me what I needed to ask, my role in this play.
“Everything okay in there?” Thera’s voice drifted through the closed swinging door, but neither of us responded.
I wasn’t sure if I believed Mary, but my insides were shaking suddenly, like we’d taken this conversation onto a pitted and potholed road. I had to follow through. I had to know.
“Did you hear from Eli?” The words escaped in a rush, and I flinched at hearing them aloud.
But Mary didn’t so much as pause. “Thera has my notebook, so I don’t have exact wording. But he wanted you to know he was okay. He knew you were blaming yourself, and he didn’t want you to do that. It was an accident, and that’s all. It was not your fault.”
The shaking in me increased, only this time it felt like relief, the rush of collapsing adrenaline. “Really?” In spite of my doubts, hearing those words, that Eli didn’t blame me, worked on me. I couldn’t stop tears from welling in my eyes.
Mary nodded, squeezing my fingertips gently.
I wanted to sag back in my chair, but I was still balanced on the edge, my
“But he did have a message for you,” she said.
My wariness returned, and I straightened in my chair. “What’s that?”
“He wants you to finish what he started.” Her forehead crinkled in concentration, as if trying to recall the exact wording. “He showed me a folder or papers or something. It wasn’t clear.”
“Showed you?” I asked. “How would he show you? I don’t understand—”
“Mom! Stop it!” Thera stood in the doorway, my dripping coat in her hand and a stricken expression on her face.
But Mary tightened her fingers over mine. “I think he wants you to help us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
* * *
THERA CHARGED INTO THE room, my coat clutched in her fist. “I told you, he doesn’t know anything about it. Leave him alone!”
“Help you how?” I asked Mary.
But Mary’s attention was focused on her daughter. “Thera, you know I have an obligation to the—”
“Oh, screw the universe and your messages!” Thera shouted at her, her breathing ragged.
“Thera, what’s wrong?” I asked, pulling my hand away from Mary’s.
“Thera, sweetie,” Mary said patiently. “I’m sorry but—”
“You’re not sorry, you’re never sorry.” Thera’s voice was shrill.
I stood and went to Thera. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I pulled her close, but she was stiff and unyielding. “Whatever it is—”
“I tried to stop her, I didn’t want her to say anything to you,” Thera said. “That’s why I took her notebook.”
“His brother wants him to know. He deserves to know,” Mary said.
“Deserves to know what?” I had the feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer when I finally got it.
“Can we just go?” Thera pleaded. “We’ll just leave now and forget it.” She pushed my coat at me.
I took a step back from her. “Why can’t you just tell me?” Dread was gathering in the pit of my stomach.
“Thera,” Mary prompted, but her daughter ignored her.
Please? Thera mouthed at me.
I shook my head. Thera’s shoulders slumped and she moved away from me, folding her arms across her middle.
“The message from Eli is real,” Mary began. “Before the accident, he was trying to—”
“I’ll do it,” Thera said, glaring at her mother. She put my coat carefully on the back of a chair, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. “What I told you was true,” she said finally. “Eli was my tutor and he did come over here, so I wouldn’t have to spend any more time away from my mom.”
I could hear the “but” hanging in the air between us.
“Even then, I guess he already knew about the first offer from Riverwoods for our house. Probably from your dad, or maybe from the work you guys were doing at the church. I mean, you guys own everything else on the block already anyway.” I blinked, processing that information slowly, too slowly.
The expansion? That’s what this was about? I tried to formulate a thought or a coherent question. “What does that have to do with—”
Then, it clicked. The coffeehouse, parking structure, bookstore, and whatever else depicted on those detailed drawings—they all had to go somewhere.
Apparently, right where I was standing.
How had I missed that?
Honestly, it had never occurred to me to look at the drawings that closely. I’d assumed that they would be building down by the auditorium instead.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea they were pressuring you guys to sell again.” I frowned. “Wait. Are you saying Eli had something to do with—”
She shook her head. “Eli never brought it up, but after we told Riverwoods no, he was here when we got the first notice from the city council that they would be taking our land for ‘public good.’ ”
“They can’t do that,” I said automatically. But the image of that sign about the public hearing, newly posted in her yard, immediately flipped to the front of my mind.
“They can,” Thera said with weary certainty. “It’s called eminent domain.”
The term sounded familiar, and it took me a second to figure out why: the papers she’d had in the library the other day. She’d been doing research on it.
“They say they need our land to expand the road,” Thera said. “But that also happens to leave plenty of room for a parking garage built and maintained by the city.” Her mouth thinned into a bitter-looking line.
And on the weekends, Riverwoods members would have the parking they were always complaining about, right next to all the new buildings they would have donated money for. Now I could see it. Crap.
“We can’t leave here,” Mary said. “We don’t have anywhere else to go. This house was my parents’. It’s paid for. The money they’re offering is not enough for us to buy anything else.”
And Mary, who was clearly not well and never left the house, would be forced to move.
“Eli was trying to help us,” Thera said. “He thought he had a way to stop the expansion.” She frowned. “He’d found something he thought would make it all go away.”
I stared at her, as if she’d just announced that Eli had decided to shave his head and join a cult. “He would never do that. Riverwoods was his life.” But more than that, he would never go against my dad. Eli was the “good” one.
“He can, he did,” Thera said.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, an unsettled, panicky feeling rising in me. Eli might have tried to help in some way—finding them another place to live or organizing a fund-raiser because he and Leah lived for that crap—but Eli and my dad were the same. Riverwoods always came first.
She flinched, but refused to acknowledge my words. “That last night, he was supposed to bring me whatever he’d found, so we could take it to a lawyer and try to stop the process before it got started. But—”
“He came here for that?” I knew he’d been lying about where he was that night.
Thera nodded. “A couple of hours before the accident.” She paused. “I was with him when he got your call asking for a ride.”
Suddenly that weird conversation—our last—in the Jeep made sense, Eli talking about right and wrong and hurting people.
My head felt loose and disconnected, like it was bobbing above my shoulders on a string. Thera actually might not be lying. But Eli had never said a word to me about any of it, unless you counted a random, hypothetical conversation. I didn’t.
How was that possible? Something so huge and he’d never mentioned it to me? The idea made me feel like I was falling again, being tossed and tumbled in the Jeep, before being thrown free.
I’d told him everything—okay, more than anyone else. I didn’t think we kept secrets of this size. It made him into someone I didn’t know, literally a stranger with my face. And now he was gone, making it impossible to push for answers or explanations.
“If that’s true, then what’s all this about ‘finishing what he started and helping us’?” I asked, waving my hand in Mary’s direction. “You got what you wanted.”
“He changed his mind,” Thera said softly. “He came to tell me in person that he had to hold on to whatever he’d found. He couldn’t give it to me. I was hoping he’d change his mind—”
“But then he died,” I said.
“Yeah.” She dropped into the nearest chair and rested her head in her hands, her fingers tangling in her hair.
“I’m so sorry, Jace,” Mary said. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if Eli hadn’t come through so clearly to me.”
Thera sighed. “Mom.”
But I wasn’t really listening. Because in that moment, a horribly simple idea dawned on me, one that sent a wave of devastation through me. “Is that what all of this was about?”
Thera looked up. “What?”
I cleared my throat. “You, me, the quarry, everything. Was it really
“No. Of course not!” Thera shot to her feet.
But she’d hesitated just a fraction of a second before answering. That was an answer, in and of itself. I mean, how could she not have considered it? So many people thought of Eli and me as interchangeable. Make me care, make me trust her, and then ask me for a tiny favor. Or better yet, one day I’d invite her over when my parents weren’t home, and she’d have the chance to look for whatever she thought Eli had.
It was only logical.
I waited silently.
After a moment, Thera shifted her weight from foot to foot, her gaze dropping to the floor. “At the very beginning, okay, yes, I thought about it. I wondered if Eli had told you, if you might know, but when it was clear that you didn’t, I let it go. And then I got to know you.” Her expression softened. “You weren’t what I thought. You were like me, trying to figure stuff out. And what happened between us was real.” She raised her chin defiantly, daring me to contradict her.
“Then why not tell me about all of this?” That was the part that really stuck with me, like a knife between my shoulder blades.
She threw her hands up in frustration. “Because you were so lost! You could barely handle Eli being gone. What do you think would have happened if I’d told you?”
To be fair, she sort of had a point. And yet, it didn’t change a damn thing. I’d spent the last two months trying to pull myself out of a dark hole of guilt and grief and confusion, and I’d finally found a few footholds this week because of her. But now it was like none of that mattered. I couldn’t trust her, so the footholds were gone and I was back at the bottom of that pit again.
“I gotta go.” I grabbed my coat off the chair and turned away from her, shoving my arms through the sleeves.
“Jacob,” Mary began as I walked out of the room.
“Wait, Jace, please.” Thera followed me to the front door. “Your coat is wet. You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be fine.” I yanked at the front door, but it wouldn’t budge.
Thera moved to stand in front of me. “You can’t walk home from here, it’s too far.” She touched my arm, and I jerked away. “Let me get my keys and I’ll—”