One Past Midnight by Jessica Shirvington
In Wellesley I grieved too, unable to pretend I wasn’t completely broken. No one questioned me. After what Dex had done, they figured it was because of him. But Dex wasn’t even a blip on the pain radar.
The police came to see me, a male and a female officer. I told them the truth—everything I could. It wasn’t for me to decide whether what Dex did was excusable or not, so I told them how I’d planned the night, how I’d made him wait and promised him that we would be together. I told them how he’d always respected me previously, but that he’d also become increasingly possessive. I confessed that up until the moment I said no I hadn’t actually realized I was going to break up with him—but that once I did, he grabbed the champagne and disappeared. Until he came back. I told them I thought he would’ve killed me.
They took notes, nodding as I spoke.
I expected them to say I got what I deserved. I half- wondered it myself. But when they stood up, it was the man who put out his hand to shake mine. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m sorry for what happened. No matter what led up to it, there is never, ever any excuse to justify what he did to you.”
I shook his hand. “Thank you, Officer.”
I wish I could say it made me feel better. At least it hadn’t made me feel worse. I wasn’t sure what would happen to Dex. But I’d done as much as I was willing to do. A better person may have done more, or less. I don’t know.
Ethan’s funeral came and went. Everyone at the hospital who’d known him was invited, but with no living family, the service felt incomplete. My heart ached for him. Capri came with me and we sat in the back. She didn’t push for information, she was just there, withstanding my bruising grip on her hand. I had planned to be stoic.
I cried the whole time.
That night after midnight, I used my window key and walked all the way to the Public Garden. I sat under our willow tree until the sun began to rise. The funny thing about life is, even when you make the decision to live it, to be in it, that doesn’t necessarily mean it will let you. But the days went by and I kept turning up. It was hard.
Having a goal helped and getting out of the hospital was mine. I needed to get my life back in this world. I didn’t know exactly what that would mean or where it would take me, but I was determined to find out.
A few days after the funeral, Levi came to my room, looking confused.
“Do you mind if I come in?” he asked.
I put away my notebook—it had now become a journal in which I was attempting to document every moment, every conversation, every outing I’d shared with Ethan.
Levi sat in the chair and looked at me as I sat cross-legged on the bed. “Sabine . . . um, you might not have realized this, but Ethan had been quite thorough in his preparations. He’d regularly updated his will, and since his parents are no longer with us, he’d asked me to look after the proceedings. The will was read today.”
“Oh.” Had he left something for me? I didn’t know if I could bear it, but at the same time I would’ve done anything for a photo. I didn’t have a single photo.
“Sabine, it seems Ethan left some instructions for me, in regard to you.”
He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and a folded piece of paper. He handed me the sealed envelope. “Sabine” was simply written on the front.
He opened the piece of paper. “Ethan left us both a note. Mine . . . Well, at the end of it, he said . . .” He cleared his throat. “‘Please give my other letter to Sabine. I know that you have all formulated your opinions about her, but for what it’s worth, it is my professional opinion that she is of sound mind and not in any way a threat to herself or any other person. Take your time, Levi. Be sure, as I know you will be, before you let her out. But I know your instincts will tell you the same thing, and I implore you to trust in them as you always taught me to do. Furthermore, I hereby bequeath, after the donations earlier stipulated, all of my holdings, my apartment, and most importantly my car, to Sabine in full.’”
He looked at me again as I stared back at him, hot tears rolling down my cheeks. He shook his head and cleared his throat once more. “I don’t know what went on between you two. I’m sure I probably don’t want to know either, but he also wrote one last thing.” He smiled. “‘P.S. Buy her a pair of jeans.’”
It was the P.S. that made me lose it. Him too.
Dr. Levi and I bawled like babies.
That night, I read Ethan’s letter.
My Sabine,
I just left your room. You were so beautiful lying there sound asleep that I couldn’t bear to wake you. But I’m not feeling so great and there are things I promised to tell you that I fear I may not get the chance to.
I know you had once hoped that I would be the one to pass on your letters to Maddie once you were gone. But, as it turns out, I think it is going to be me who ends up leaving the letters behind.
Be mad at me. You should. But after that, try to understand that I did what I thought was best. I wanted to tell you. So many times I snuck down to your room planning on telling you everything, but I just couldn’t.
Partly it was for you—yes. You needed time and I didn’t want to influence your choices, even once I realized what was happening between us, even more so then. Falling in love with you only made those choices more complicated and I feared that you might choose to stay for me and then, after I was gone, change your mind. I couldn’t let that happen.
Partly the choice was selfish, and for that I am sorry. For so long now people have been trying to fix me, but where they failed, you succeeded. You’ve given me more life in the last couple of weeks than I’ve had in years. Being with you, loving you, making memories with you, fearing for you, wanting to show you the beauty of life instead of the terror—it was bittersweet, but more importantly, Sabine, it was real.
I know this is the part when I beg you to go on, live your life and be happy. But I don’t need to say those things. I know you. Your lives will be extraordinary. You certainly made mine feel that way.
Please find it in your heart to forgive me one day. I wish we’d had more time, but I want to thank you—for giving me life in my time of death.
My love for you is eternal.
Ethan
P.S. I’ve left you my car, because I know you love the freedom—and my apartment, because you need something to come back to. We joked once that I was a figment of your imagination—you’ll see my whole life in that apartment, if you want to, so you can always be sure I was there. I hope it might be a place you can call home—a place where you can be yourself.
E.
Two and a half weeks after Dex’s attack in Wellesley, I was starting to look more like myself again. Most of the bruising on my face had faded and, apart from still having to move about slowly because of my ribs, I was functioning. Physically anyway.
Miriam and Lucy had visited me often during the five days I spent in a hospital. They tried to ask me about what happened a few times, but I just told them I needed to move on. They seemed to accept that, but I also saw the change. The way they looked at me differently. And when I told Miriam I wouldn’t be able to go away with her to Cape Cod, the small sigh of relief. I understood. What had happened had changed things for all of us, and it would take them time to accept that our bubble of perfection had burst.
On my second Saturday home from the hospital, Ryan called to let Mom and me know that he was on his way. Mostly he was checking if it was still all right for him to bring his friend. I knew he was asking for my benefit, so I told him it was no problem. When I got off the phone, Mom was staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
She looked me up and down. “I just, I’ve never seen you in . . . jeans.”
I looked down at my outfit of fitted dark-blue jeans and a white tank top. It was definitely not what she was used to. I shrugged. “I’m just trying out something new.” The truth was, I was just trying, period.
“You look completely different,” Mom went on.
“I’m
With that she hugged me and headed off to play squash with Aunt Lyndal.
I hung out in my room, looking at my college material, trying to decide what I wanted to do—if Harvard was really where I wanted to go. I didn’t know.
When I heard the familiar sound of Ryan’s car horn, I dragged myself off my bed and went out to the balcony. He was opening up the trunk and waved at me. I waved back before heading down to greet him.
Ryan would never be my shitty brother again. In fact, we were becoming pretty close. And while Lucas and I didn’t exactly talk on the phone every other night, things were better there too.
Walking downstairs, I saw a guy standing in the front doorway, his back to me. Ryan’s friend, obviously.
“Hey,” I said.
He spun around. I lost my footing and slid down the last few steps, landing ungracefully on my butt and bumping my ribs in the process.
“Hey, are you okay?” He raced over to me, crouching close.
I closed my eyes, my heart racing. Too frightened to look.
That voice.
How? It couldn’t be. It must be my mind playing tricks on me. I was seeing ghosts.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, that voice again, so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time.
I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes and clenched my jaw, not sure if my emotion was dominated by fear or hope.
Slowly I opened my eyes and lifted my head.
Dark hair. Full, unmistakable lips. Deepwater-blue, beautiful eyes.
“Ethan?” I whispered.
He smiled, looking relieved. “Yeah, I’m your brother’s friend.” But then his smile faltered. He looked more closely at me, his eyes blinking. “I know you.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.
He held out his hand and mine flew to his, fitting just as I remembered. Just as I’d dreamed every night and thought I would never feel again. He helped me up, his hold firm, warm, alive.
I staggered, trying to make my legs work.
Ethan.
I couldn’t stop the tear that slid down my cheek. “It’s you,“ I whispered.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his other hand on my shoulder, supporting me. I could feel exactly where the pad of each finger pressed.
“No.” I was trembling all over, but also amazed. “But maybe one day,” I said, soaking up his touch and gazing into his gentle eyes. He was different. His hair was short and neat. He looked bigger, stronger. That made me smile. Healthier.
We stared into each other’s eyes as if drawn together by some invisible magnet that was beyond our control. He half-laughed, baffled. “Why do I feel like I want to laugh, or cry, or hug you? Something,” he said, brow furrowed. “Who are you?”
I smiled, remembering a conversation I’d once had with my Ethan. “That’s a complicated question.” I squeezed his hand. “But I will tell you. If you truly want to know. Another time.”
“Why am I so sure I know you?” he asked, dazed.
Over the lump in my throat, I said the words that Ethan had once said to me. The words I now realized were the ones that made me fall in love with him. Because some things are so real you can feel them to your core. It doesn’t matter where you go, they go with you. Anywhere.”
He chuckled, squeezing my hand back. “I have no idea what that means.”
“You will.”
He was still staring at me when Ryan came stumbling through the door with a couple of bags.
“Thanks, buddy, great help,” he said, looking at Ethan. “I see you two have met.” Then he noticed just how close we were standing and his expression changed to suspicion. “Ethan, back off. And Sabine, be nice. Ethan here just got out of the hospital himself last week.”
My eyes went wide. “Why? Are you sick?” Oh God, please not again.
His gentle smile returned. “No, I just fainted. A bit of a medical mystery, really. They ran a bunch of tests and I’m fine. They figure I must have eaten something bad or caught an odd bug.” He watched me, looking fascinated by my concern and then pleased with my relief.
“Come on, Ethan. I’ll show you to the pool house.” Ryan started walking toward the back doors. When he turned back and saw Ethan still staring at me, he let out an exasperated sigh. “Dude, you’re macking on my sister.” I thought Ryan might go into his newfound protective big-brother mode, so I looked at him pointedly and smiled.
Smiles had been so rare lately.
Ryan slumped against the wall, still holding the bags. “Down boy! She’ll be here all weekend.” He rolled his eyes.
Ethan smiled at me and followed Ryan to the pool house, looking back every few steps as if to check that I was real. I understood completely. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
It turns out my Ethan had been absolutely right. You never know what’s just around the corner. Of course, Dr. Levi would have another explanation altogether. Not that I cared.
I walked out the front of the house and tilted my head to the clear blue sky, a small breeze finding its way to me. “I’m ready, Ethan. You were right. I was lost. But you found me, between the lives.”
I didn’t know if this Wellesley version was like my Ethan. Nothing would ever take away the memory of Roxbury’s Ethan. I’d always love him and I had every other day to walk in my Roxbury life and honor that. I didn’t know if this Ethan would love me like I’d once been loved, or if I could one day love him too. But I knew, unequivocally, I would do whatever it took to find out.
It has been a privilege to work with the people who have helped bring One Past Midnight to readers. It takes a small army to produce the final product and I have been so lucky to work with such an enthusiastic, passionate, and talented team.
As always, I must start with my agent, Selwa Anthony, whose friendship, guidance, and upport are invaluable.
Thanks goes out to the entire team at Bloomsbury Children’s Books, with special thanks to my editor, Emily Easton, for first selecting One Past Midnight to be represented on the Bloomsbury list, and whom I am thrilled to be working with. Sincere gratitude also goes to assistant editor Jenna Pocius, as well as Laura Whitaker, Ilana Worrell, Melissa Kavonic, Donna Mark, Bridget Hartzler, and Lizzie Mason.
Thank you to the team at HarperCollins Australia, where the journey of this story began. Many thanks to publisher Tegan Morrison, CEO James Kellow, Christina Cappelluto, Matt Stanton, and Tim Miller. I’d also like to give a shout-out to Elizabeth O’Donnell, Amy Fox, Janelle Garside, and Gemma Fahy.
To my family, who endured early drafts and dared to be honest, I love you all, and your honesty! To my husband, Matt, who goes beyond constantly, I do not deserve you but I’m never giving you back! And to our girls, Sienna and Winter, whose hearts grow bigger and minds grow stronger every day.
Finally, to all the readers and bloggers out there who have supported my books: your enthusiasm and support are continually humbling. This story means so much to me, and I’m delighted to have this opportunity to share it with you.
Copyright © 2013 by Jessica Shirvington
All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in Australia in 2013 by HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty Limited
Published in the United States of America in July 2014 by
Bloomsbury Children’s Books
www.bloomsbury.com
Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shirvington, Jessica.
One past midni
pages cm
Summary: Each night, eighteen-year-old Sabine transitions between a life of privilege and security but no intimacy to one of economic struggle but loving relationships, and the difficulty of this strange situation causes her to consider suicide, at least in one physical reality.
ISBN 978-0-80273-703-8 (e-book)
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Identity—Fiction. 3. Love—Fiction. 4. Family life—Fiction. 5. Science fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.S55845One 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013046828
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Jessica Shirvington, One Past Midnight