For This Life Only (25 page)

Thera raised her eyebrows.

“
My
door is open,” I pointed out. “And I really do have something to show you.”

“Eli's room?” she asked quietly, hovering near the entrance.

“Yeah.”

She surveyed the room, taking it all in. Her breath caught when she noticed the sweatshirt in the plastic bag on the bed.

“I was wearing it the night of the accident, borrowed it from him when Kylie spilled beer on me,” I said. “I think my mom brought it back for him.”

Thera bit her lip.

She stepped in deeper to look at his bookcase, and I moved to the nightstand. We wouldn't have a whole lot of time up here before my mom came to check on us, I was sure.

“I knew he was a fantasy geek,” she said with fondness, running fingers lightly along the spines of his books. “We used to argue about that. Science fiction versus fantasy.”

“There's a difference?” I asked, tugging the drawer out with a grunt of effort.

She didn't answer. “What are you doing?” she asked, moving to my side as I set the drawer on the bed.

I tipped the drawer over, revealing the folder taped to the bottom of it.

She gasped. “You found it.”

“I'm sorry I didn't believe you. But I'm not sure it's . . .” I paused. “I just thought you should see it.” Though I wasn't exactly sure how she'd react. She might be angry, and she deserved to be.

After pulling the folder free, I handed it to her.

She hesitated for a second, then took it and flipped it open carefully.

I stepped back, keeping an ear out for the sound of my mom coming up the stairs. We'd have to have a hell of an excuse if she caught us in here. I strained to hear anything from the kitchen below, but my mom and my sister were being too quiet.

I watched Thera's expression as she moved through the pages, her forehead wrinkling with concentration or confusion or both.

And when she reached the last page, Eli's handwritten notes, I held my breath.

Thera would be well within her rights to start yelling. At me, at Eli, at everyone involved.

Thera's shoulders tensed, and I braced myself, as she turned the page over.

A few minutes later, she sagged into herself. “He should have told me,” she said.

I was trying to understand that too. Thinking like Eli would have, I could only come up with one answer. “I think he might have been embarrassed. People always see us . . . saw us . . . as in relation to the other. If I was the bad one, then he had to be the good one. But I think this was maybe making him question . . . everything.” Actually, there was no maybe about it. He'd said as much in the car to me that night; I just hadn't known what he was talking about.

She closed the folder and smoothed the front, like a gesture of good-bye, and then held it out to me. Her eyes were damp with tears.

“You're not angry?” I asked in disbelief, taking the folder.

“Angry that someone threatened him? Yes. That he was scared and backed off? No.”

“Why not?”

“He was my friend. He was trying to help me, which is more than anyone else did,” she said. “I appreciate that, more than he'll ever know. But it was self-preservation. I get that, probably better than anyone. Expecting someone to do the right thing at a cost to themselves . . .” She shook her head.

But they should. They were supposed to, weren't they? Wasn't that exactly what Eli had been struggling with?

“Plus, I'm not sure it would have worked even if he had gone through it,” Thera said. “It would have been his word against theirs.”

And Eli, no matter how smart and serious he was, would have been seen as just a kid, not worth taking seriously. And that was only if anyone bothered to look into the situation. So it would have been exactly as he'd feared—giving up everything and changing nothing.

“But thank you for showing me.” She smiled, wiping under her eyes. “It's nice to know I was right about him. That he really was trying.”

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “It's not right,” I said. “They shouldn't be able to do this.” The contents of the folder had shifted, and the Riverwoods letterhead logo, the Dove of Peace, now poked out at the top, like a taunt. It killed me how closely my family was involved in this mess.

“It'll be okay,” Thera said, sounding tired. “I'll probably get to finish the year here. Then I'll have to figure it out. I can maybe find us an apartment somewhere nearby, and Mom does have some phone and web clients, so the business won't close completely. I'll have to see what I can do to make some extra money.”

She was going to end up quitting school; I could see it coming right at her, the choice between building a future and maintaining her present. She'd choose the present for her mother. She would have to. And that was just
wrong
.

“There has to be something else.” I wished, suddenly, violently, for the days when I went to my parents with all of my problems—a skinned knee, the monster in the back of the closet, the need for a drink of water in the middle of the night—and every problem seemed easily solvable as soon as they were involved. But in this case, I couldn't be sure that my dad wasn't part of the problem. Eli had clearly thought that was a possibility, which was why he hadn't gone to my dad with any of it. At least, that's what I assumed. Or maybe the embarrassment that kept him from telling Thera also kept him from sharing what was going on with my dad. Either way, I doubted my dad would be the most receptive audience now. I didn't want him to be the bad guy, but the truth was, he had too much at stake with Mr. Hauer and the expansion.

Thera lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug.
“The lawyer we talked to said that the hearing might work in our favor. We can't afford to fight this in court. But he has some media contacts, and if we hire him, he'll use them to try to draw enough public attention to shame the city into a higher offer, something closer to what Riverwoods offered originally.” She rolled her eyes. “But that might be his hope for a bigger piece of the settlement talking. I've been doing some research online, trying to figure out the numbers. By the time we're done with taxes and fees, I'm not sure what'll be left.” She sounded a decade older than she should have, a full-on adult.

Public attention. Shame. Riverwoods.
The words were hot pokers, jabbing individually into my brain. I could practically feel the sear of the metal. And they were followed by the phrase that had hung over my head every time we left the house for as long as I could remember:
Someone is always watching and we have an obligation to be good examples.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit. And someone needed to do something about it. Or at least
try
.

A brief scene from my dream last night resurfaced—Eli pointing at me, mouthing the word “you.”

The image raised goose bumps on my arms, and the first vague outlines of an idea began to form in my head. It scared the hell out of me, but at the same time, it felt right, the first thing to feel that way in a long time.

“Jacob?” My mom called from downstairs, her voice muffled and faint.

I crept to Eli's door and cracked it open. “Be right there,” I shouted.

“Are you all right?” Thera asked with a frown. “You had this really weird look on your face.”

“It's fine,” I said. “I'm fine.” I took a deep breath. “I need to get dressed, but can you give me a ride somewhere?”

WHEN I WALKED IN,
the new building was quiet but for the distant hum of the furnace, and most of the lights were off. Delores and Carol weren't here yet, and I didn't hear any typing noises from the office.

The main entrance had been unlocked, though, and my dad's Escalade was in its space, so he was here somewhere.

My gaze drifted from the hallway that led to my dad's office to the shiny wooden double doors of the auditorium in front of me. They were closed. He was probably in there, rehearsing already. He liked to run through his sermon a few times with no one around.

I hadn't been in the auditorium since before the accident. It was where they'd held Eli's funeral service.

I could easily imagine it, the room packed to the gills
with people and that lonely casket on the center stage. My family—minus me—clustered around it.

The rush of emptiness, of missing Eli, swelled again, and for one quick second, I thought about turning around and walking back out to the lot, where Thera was waiting for me.

Back at my house, I'd told my mom we needed to work on Eli's page for the yearbook at school. She didn't believe me, but with Sarah and Thera there to overhear, she was forced to keep her protests limited and vague. And I'd promised to be back in an hour.

Then once Thera and I were in the car, I told her where I really wanted to go.

“You don't have to do this,” she said.

“Yeah, I do,” I said with a certainty that was rare these days.

“Do you think it's going to change anything?” she said. “It's too late for that.”

“I don't know. It might not. But I feel like I have to try,” I said, uncomfortable with that reality.

My whole life, I'd kind of coasted along and never paid much attention to anyone or anything else. I'd avoided situations as soon as they got complicated. It felt easier. And as long as Eli was around to be the kind and conscientious one, I could get away with it. I was just playing my role, being his other half. But now, with him gone, I was
seeing things differently. Eli wasn't always the one who got it right. I wasn't always the screwup.

This situation with Thera and her mother and Riverwoods was wrong. There was no way around that, even for someone as unstudied and uncertain in their beliefs as me. Eli had tried to fix it, but he'd had too much to lose.

I didn't, not anymore. And I was awake now—that was what it felt like. I couldn't go back to sleep.

Plus, my dad should know exactly what Mr. Hauer had done and said to Eli.
No one
was allowed to mess with Eli like that. He might be dead—maybe gone forever—but he was still my brother. My twin.

I'd done my best to explain all of that to Thera. She'd watched me for a second, as if evaluating my sincerity, my motives, or both, and then started the car.

When I pulled at the handle, the auditorium door opened smoothly and silently—no squeaking hinges to shame the latecomers at Riverwoods. The room itself was hushed and dark, the only light coming from the spotlight focused on the lectern at center stage and the metal dove sculpture hanging on the wall behind it.

My dad, his hair rumpled and far from TV ready, stood at the lectern, his glasses balanced on the end of his nose and pages in his hand.

“In this passage from John, the Pharisees are questioning Jesus about his miracle, healing this man on the
Sabbath. They question Jesus in every way possible, including whether the man was actually blind to begin with.” He spoke fervently to an invisible crowd of congregants.

I made my way down the nearest aisle. This big open space didn't have the weight and solemnity of the original sanctuary, the one where Eli and I had been baptized. Decorated in dark colors and plush fabrics—all chosen with an eye toward how they would appear on the television broadcast—the auditorium lacked the brightness and life, for lack of better words, that existed in traditional church buildings.

Even still, the silence in here was familiar, a sense of waiting. Not a presence, exactly, but an immediacy and awareness that didn't exist elsewhere. Like a place and a moment in time when you were supposed to pay attention, to be here and not caught up in stats or pitching strategies for next week's game.

But unlike during my last visit to church, the urge to flee did not strike this time. Maybe I'd changed. Or maybe just having a purpose helped. “The man's family and neighbors are too frightened of the Pharisees and possible repercussions to testify otherwise. So what exactly is Jesus telling us here?”

My dad stopped, then mumbled, “Leave a pause.” He bent his head down to scrawl a note on the pages in front of him.

“We have a saying, ‘Seeing is believing,' ” he continued. “But the truth is, we will always encounter doubters, those who are put on our path to test us. Seeing is not the same thing as understanding. The blind man understood and believed, even before Jesus restored his sight. But our doubters, our detractors, will always find reasons to see but not understand.”

When I reached the gap between the first row of seats and the stage, my dad caught sight of the motion.

He lifted his hand to block the spotlight. “Jace?” He left the lectern, heading to the edge of the stage, concern creasing his forehead. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “I just need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh.” He frowned at me. “Your face looks worse than your mother said.”

So they had at least spoken. That was good. I guess.

“If this is about the
fight
you were in”—he looked at me pointedly, letting me know that my bullshit about a fall wasn't flying with him—“you'll have to wait. I need to finish here and then I have to go back to the hospital. Mr. Thompson's daughter is flying in. After that, I have to call the Underhills back.”

Crap. I forgot. Caleb's parents came here sometimes. They were members, even if they weren't regulars.

“I was defending someone else,” I said. “Doesn't that matter?”

My dad held up a hand, dismissing my words as he turned back to the lectern. “Your job is to set a good example. How many times have we told you that?”

“Yeah, but, Dad, how far does that go?” I asked. “Am I supposed to let Caleb say and do whatever he wants, no matter who gets hurt?”