Believe (14 page)

At the end of the day, I saw Miriam. “Are you coming?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said. She was so confident, she'd told everyone she saw that it was going to be
huge.
They should come camera ready, wink, wink, nod nod.

She said, “You are so awesome.”

I hated that word. “Fingers crossed. See you in a bit.” I told her I wanted to change my clothes, but that was a lie. What I really needed was a little more alone time, so I could be mentally prepared to face Roxanne.

I walked out the door. There were no photographers. No reporters. For a moment, I almost felt safe. I almost thought I could walk home, just like everyone else.

And then I saw them. “Janine. Over here.” Standing on the corner were Dave and Emma. He was wearing a perfectly tailored overcoat. It was definitely cashmere, just the right choice for those in-between temperature days when it's not cold enough for your Paddington-inspired wool coat, but too chilly to wear a leather jacket. “We need to talk to you,” he said, waving me over. “Something important has happened.”

Emma, of course, looked over- and underdressed at the same time. She wore a ski jacket and a headscarf—the kind people wore if they needed to wash their hair or if they were bald. And sunglasses. Like she was a movie star who didn't want to be recognized. When I was close enough to make eye contact, she took them off. She was shivering.

“Haven't you ruined my life enough for one week?”

Without warning, he pulled me into his arms and lifted me into the air. He spun me around and around and around. Emma seemed antsy. She told him to put me down. “You're going to make her dizzy.”

He would not stop smiling. “You did it,” he said. “Your hands, your hands, your beautiful holy hands!”

“Did what?” I asked.

Emma had very wide, dark eyes. Her skin was pure white. She looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Brian,” she whispered. “The boy in the wheelchair.”

“What about him?”

“After he left your house, he began to get feeling back in his legs.” He picked me up and spun me again. “Janine, he's healed. He's not paralyzed. Because of you, he can walk.”

TWENTY-FIVE

“He can walk? That guy in the wheelchair?”

“Yes.” Dave said. “Well, right now he still needs a walker. But he says he can feel himself getting stronger every minute.”

“Don't say it's a coincidence,” Emma said. Again, she looked around, like this was national security. “I looked it up in three medical dictionaries, and they all agreed. Spinal-cord paralysis is not reversible.”

I was sure my cheeks turned bright red. “That's great.”

Emma led me to a small maroon car. “Before you held his hands, he was looking at life in a chair. Now he is getting ready to walk down the street.”

They were not joking. Dave pointed his key at the car and clicked the door open. “We'd like to take you to see him,” he said. “What do you say?”

I didn't move.

“Say yes,” Emma said, getting into the passenger seat. “He wants to thank you. He is so grateful for everything you've done.”

This had to be a trick. “Who else knows?” I peered around the back of the car, just to make sure we were really alone.

“No one,” Dave promised. “Trust me. We've been very careful. There will be no coverage.” He opened the passenger door. “When something like this happens, we control how the word gets out.”

“That's funny.” He didn't sound so pious now.

He looked at me like he knew something I didn't. “Janine, in this world … where there are so many people in desperate need …”

“Don't preach to me about this world.” I'd had my share of revelations. “I already know—you can control very little.” You can prove even less. This guy might be willing to thank me privately today, but tomorrow, no doubt, I was going to see him on TV grabbing his fifteen minutes of fame. “You can swear all you want that you won't tell, but we all know that if this kid wants to, he can sell his story and there's nothing we can do about it.”

Still, I got into the car.

Yesterday, he'd been the good-looking paralyzed guy. Now he could walk.

I was curious.

Dave's backseat was full of boxes of shiny brochures.
Find the healing power that is within you! Trust in the Lord!
His mission's logo included two imperfect hands. They were posed to welcome me.

Of course, the hands were scarred—jagged crosses over each palm. The fingers veered off to the sides. I didn't have to ask whose hands they were supposed to resemble.

“When Brian's mother first called,” Dave said, starting the car, “I was sure she was exaggerating. Or hysterical. Honestly, I thought the stress might finally have gotten to her. She's been alone for a very long time.”

Emma said, “We doubted her. But then we watched him stand up. We filmed him taking his first steps.”

Dave drove a little faster, away from my neighborhood and into Bethlehem. “It was all very exciting. We've been waiting a very long time for an event like this.”

Emma opened her window a crack, which created a vibration in the car, a thump, thump, thumping of airflow. She said, “He described it like hitting a wave. First he could feel his feet. Then his legs. He thought he was going crazy. Six hours later, he could wiggle his toes. Then he tried to straighten his knee. Then he called for his mom and right in front of her, stood up out of the chair.”

“Incredible.” I bet someone was already writing a script to turn his story into a ripped-from-the-headlines movie, the kind that play back-to-back late on Sunday nights.

Dave said, “Brian has always been a true believer. When we were still at your house, Emma swore she saw the light of God in that boy's eyes.”

I closed mine. Even though Brian's were cute, I didn't like thinking about eyes. Eyes reminded me of Emir and death and pain. Just the word triggered the memory. If there really was a God, Dave would stop talking about eyes. This light would stay green and we'd drive right past the white church. No stopping. No memories. No questions about Abe.

Naturally, the light turned yellow. Instead of speeding through, Dave took his time. A family walked right over the spot where Abe lay dying. I asked Emma to roll up the window. She looked at the intersection with interest. “Is that where the miracle happened?” (She might have been sweet and amazing, but she was also very predictable.)

“It was an accident, not a miracle.” This was the longest light in the town. “His doctors believe in medicine. I'm sure there is another reason for Brian's recovery.” The light needed to turn green.

“I don't agree,” Emma said. “Traditional medicine does not always have an answer. Sometimes, people have to look at alternatives. Sometimes,” she said, smiling at Dave, “they need to open up their mind to see the answers.”

Turn green. Turn green.
“That's easy to say, impossible to prove.”

“No one is doubting the validity of science,” Dave said. “But my feeling is this: when science doesn't work, it doesn't mean you're out of options. That's all.” Emma told me about a lady who had some undiagnosed fatigue disease. “Drugs didn't work, neither did therapy. Once she put her faith in God, she began to grow stronger.”

On “stronger,” the light finally changed. Dave made a quick left, then another right. This was not the way to the hospital. I asked, “Where are we going?”

Dave smiled into the rearview mirror. “To the hotel. The college rented me an executive suite. Part of the perks of being a scholar-in-residence.”

I looked at Emma. “What about you?”

“A few of us from the mission came along. I'm staying in the hotel too. So are Brian and his mom.”

That sounded wrong. “Wait a minute. Your parents let you do this? What about school?”

“My parents support my beliefs,” Emma said. “I already have a GED. What's so strange about that?”

What was so strange was everything. She was a girl—she looked no more than fourteen, but must be at least seventeen—and she was following this man, a preacher, instead of going to school, making friends, hanging out with guys. She was strange because she didn't seem to have a bad thing to say about anything. She wore ridiculously ugly clothes that didn't look new or even vaguely appropriate. For a moment, I wondered if she had done something terrible—if maybe she was hiding from the cops. Or if Dave had kidnapped her—you heard about things like that—men brainwashing girls and holding them captive for years.

I just said it. “You two aren't … you know … ,” I stumbled.

They both laughed. Dave said, “Janine. Don't be ridiculous. Emma is like a daughter to me. She's also a huge part of the mission.”

I stared at my hands. The air had made my knuckles look a little bit purple. “Could you turn up the heat? My hands are cold.”

Emma told me not to be embarrassed. “Last year, I probably would've thought the same thing.” She turned around and faced me. “Before I met Dave, I was cynical. But he changed my life. His words made so much sense. Bad things do happen. But if we have faith in God, we can help ourselves.” She blasted the heat, but the creases in my hands still looked discolored. “Miracles happen, too. They happen every single day. Successful people rarely get there by traveling in a straight line.”

Four turns later, Dave drove onto the main street toward the Hotel Bethlehem. The hotel was the tallest building on the block.

Dave parked the car in the garage. We walked up the stairs, past the man in the big black coat and tall hat, into the lobby. “This is nice,” I said. Lo and Sharon sometimes came here for Girls' Night Out, but I hadn't been here since Miriam's bat mitzvah reception. At the party, Miriam's mom had joked about the paranormal activity that was part of the history of the hotel. Apparently, some guests had sworn ghosts had woken them up or appeared in their mirrors. Dave hadn't seen anything like that. “It's really very nice. Much nicer than the last place we traveled to.”

We sat down in the lobby. “Brian and his mom will be here any second.”

I stared at the elevators until the door opened and out stepped a woman in a dress she was ten years too old for. The hem was too short, the neckline too low. She was trying too hard—the fabric looked way too shiny.

She looked dressed for a party.

She held the elevator door with an outstretched arm. “They're here, Brian.”

He took one step. Then another. Until he stood next to her. Yesterday, he had popped a wheelie. Today, he walked out of the elevator on his skinny, shaky, bare legs and pumped his fists.

TWENTY-SIX

He could walk.

He could really, actually, all-by-himself walk.

For the second time in one week, I wondered if I was losing my mind. I questioned who I was. For the first time, I couldn't come up with a logical explanation.

When we held hands, he was in a wheelchair. Paralyzed. Now he was standing.

This was not happening.

I did not do this.

I couldn't do this. No human could.

It defied explanation.

He walked right up to me. He said, “I don't know how to thank you.”

He was grateful.

He was humble.

Face to face, he was also very very very very good-looking. When we hugged, his knees started to buckle. “Whoa,” I said, laughing, holding him up until he had his balance.

Dave invited us to go upstairs and sit down. He pressed the elevator button.

Brian would not let go of my hand. “Don't take this personally,” he told Dave, “but I am never sitting down again.” He pointed to the outdoor patio and asked me to join him there. Then he said to the others, “Could you guys leave me and Janine alone for just a few minutes?”

Even though I wished with all my might for them to stay, they all took the elevator up. That left me and Brian and some marble stairs. We took them slowly. “I want to thank you,” he said, three or four times. It was a little bit awkward—being alone with Brian. Even though he was cute, he couldn't have had a lot of experience dating.

I kept it casual. I said, “I'm just so happy for you.” And “It's so great that you can walk.”

Brian looked at me like I was a supermodel. “Say that again.”

I laughed. His walk looked a little wobbly and weak, but he seemed to be getting stronger every second. “I'm happy for you. It's so great that you can walk.” When he smiled, I caught a glimpse of that dimple, the cute one. He was even better-looking than Dan.

“It's all thanks to your hands, and of course,” he said, half-bending one knee for one second, “God's grace.”

God's grace. My hands. I sat down at the table and frowned. That was just what I didn't want him to say. He reached under the table and held my hands. This was not where I wanted this to go, but that dimple. That smile. I shifted the conversation. “Your doctors must have been excited.”

He winked, like we had a secret. “More like they didn't believe me.” His hands felt sweaty. “Ever since I got sick, they told me there was nothing they could do. No cure. No possibility.” A waiter brought us some sodas, and for a few minutes we sipped in silence. “They told me it would be in my best interests to adjust to being in a wheelchair for life.”

Doctors had told me I'd have to adjust. They sat next to me and said I'd have to get used to having stiff fingers and tired hands. They joked about how I'd just have to find nice boys to open jars for me. They said, “That's not so bad, right? You're a pretty girl. Play the damsel in distress.”

That made me mad, too. But now I said, “They meant well. They don't know what it's like.”

Brian was still complaining about the doctors when Dave returned. He wanted us to come up to his suite. “You really can't fault your doctors,” he said in the elevator. “Adjustment can be a very sacred step. They are not the only ones who believe that acceptance is the true path to happiness.”

Acceptance was important—I'd learned that, too. I asked, “How did you get hurt in the first place?”

Now that he could stand, I had to look up to him. His shoulders were broad—probably from pushing that chair. When he flexed his elbow, I saw a prominent vein the length of his biceps. “I got this disease. It attacked my nerves. One day I was fine, the next my legs felt funny. Pretty soon, I couldn't walk.”

Dave said, “There are a lot of diseases that cannot be cured. Science isn't God.”

Brian seemed to like that logic. “For a long time, I blamed God. It was a terrible time.” The elevator stopped, and this time, Brian almost fell into me. “I'm not used to that,” he said.

“It's okay.” I had to admit: seeing him move was both thrilling and contagious. When he walked, I thought he looked like a baby deer.

Vulnerable.

Innocent.

Dave told Brian, “Just take your time. You don't want to wear yourself out.” He opened his suite door. “Don't you think we should give thanks?” We walked into his room. There was a kitchenette. TV and couch. A table next to the window. In the next room, I guessed, I'd find a bathroom and a bed. Brian's mom and Emma sat at the table. Even though it was a little cramped, we all sat down. Dave asked us join hands and close our eyes and pray together.

Holding Brian's hand was hard enough, but there was no way I could close my eyes. Every time I did, I got a headache; I got scared. It was hard to balance. Worse, if I kept them closed long enough, I knew what would happen. I'd go back to that day. I'd see the boy named Emir. He'd step into the aisle. And then I'd see his eyes. Then the walls would come down. I couldn't risk it. I opened my eyes.

Emma's face was so pale, so pretty. Dave's lips were permanently shaped into a smile. Brian squeezed my hand. There was that dimple. They all looked happy. Content. Grateful.

I wanted to feel that, too—without any resentment or fear or anger at all.

“Dear God,” Emma said, “thank you so much for bringing Janine to Brian. For giving her the strength to help and heal him. Dear God, whatever you ask, we are your servants. We will do whatever you need us to do. Let us pray silently.”

Their heads tipped back to face the sky. Even though their eyes were still closed, they looked like they saw something—something perfectly beautiful. They looked happy. They looked like they were strong.

I stared out the window. I saw people walking down the street. A store was having a sale. In the sky, I saw a cloud shaped like a horse's head. Then a flutter caught my eye—it was a dragonfly on the balcony railing. Dave said, “This world is a miraculous place. We are all God's grateful children.” The sun dipped behind the biggest cloud. It looked like an elephant, like a cloud I saw a long time ago.

I was four or five—a little girl with loose wavy hair and chubby, happy, unscarred hands. My dad was there, too. I saw him. He wore jeans and a loose shirt, untucked. He had big worker hands, and he leaned against the tree with his legs crossed. I almost shouted—I never had a memory come to me before—not like this—not so fast and sudden.

I didn't move. I never wanted this memory to end.

We sat under a tree, and I was drawing. He hummed while he worked on his laptop. In my memory, he tickled me. “What do you see up there, Binky?”

I pointed to one particular cloud. “Elephant baby holds balloon.” I heard myself burst into laughter.

I never remembered my dad before the explosion. Now I could see him and hear him. I couldn't wait to tell Lo. The moment was a perfectly nice memory. No fear. No death. Just me and my dad. I had a nickname. Binky. I wanted to get up and cheer.

As Dave continued to pray, I searched for more memories. More calm. I wanted that hope. I wanted it so bad. I looked at their faces and the clouds and a thousand what-ifs raced across my brain.

What if I did heal Abe and Brian? What if I could help other people? What if all this was real? What if Emma was right—what if miracles did happen? I looked down at my hands and stared at my scars. When people saw them, when they touched them, they always called them a sign of my strength. They looked at my scars and told me that I should thank God every day. That I should feel grateful.

Emma opened her eyes and looked at me. I waited for her to say something—to tell Dave I wasn't closing my eyes and praying—but she didn't. She didn't give me away when she saw my open eyes staring back.

I mouthed, “I just remembered something.”

She smiled and nodded. Put a finger to her lips. Under the table, we reached for each other. Her hand was bony, but warm. As Dave continued to pray, I thought about the clouds. I didn't know what she was thinking, but the way she was smiling, I was pretty sure it wasn't a prayer.

This was our secret.