When (6 page)

Belatedly, I realized that the bike was still on top of me, and I was gritting my teeth hard against the pain. “Let go of the bike, sweetie,” a male voice said. “Come
on…that’s it. Let it go.”

I unclasped my hands and the bike was lifted off of me. I was crying too hard to do much else. “Oh, dear! I should get your mother!” Mrs. Duncan said, hurrying away.

Meanwhile, the two delivery guys helped me up. One was talking low and gentle, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the shock of the crash and the pain that radiated up and down my leg. I
couldn’t seem to stop sobbing. Deep down I knew it wasn’t all about the fall.

“Wes,” one of the men said, “get the first aid kit from the truck.”

I was handed off, and the guy named Wes disappeared into the cab. “Here, honey,” the first guy said. “Let’s sit you down on this, okay?” I saw him motion toward
Mrs. Duncan’s new sofa, which had ended up in the middle of the street.

I took a few shuddering breaths and limped over to the couch, where the guy helping me eased me carefully onto the plastic covering before he bent down to inspect my leg. “Can I roll this
up?” he asked, pointing to the cuff of my jeans.

I swallowed a sob and nodded. He rolled up the pant leg, and I hissed as it brushed against my raw skin. He whistled and shook his head, his body partially hiding the wound from my sight.

“Is it…is it bad?” I blubbered.

He lifted his chin. “Yeah,” he said gravely, and then the corners of his mouth quirked and with a wink he added, “But I don’t think it’s fatal.” All of the
sudden, even though I was having a total meltdown, I laughed. Then I was half-laughing and half-crying, and I couldn’t seem to settle on one over the other.

Mrs. Duncan returned, wringing her gnarled hands. “Your mother’s not feeling so well, herself,” she said, her eyes avoiding mine. Her meaning was clear. All the laughter died
in my throat.

The other delivery guy came back then with a small white box, and he was sifting through it with a frown on his face. “I don’t think any of these bandages are big enough.”

Mrs. Duncan hooked one of her fingers onto the box to pull it toward her. “Oh, that won’t do!” she said. “Come along inside, Wesley. I’ve got everything we need to
patch her up, but you’ll have to move those chairs out of the way so I can get to the powder room.”

After they’d headed inside Mrs. Duncan’s house, the guy who was helping me got up and went to the back of his truck. He took out a couple of orange cones and put them in the street
behind and in front of the truck so that anyone who drove by wouldn’t get too close. Then he came back to me and pulled out a bandanna from his back pocket. He used it to dab at my bleeding
leg. “What else hurts?” he asked me.

Everything hurt—I jumped every time he touched my skin with the cloth. Still, I held up my elbow. I couldn’t really see it, but I knew it’d gotten scraped up, too.

“Yikes,” he said. “When you go down, you really go down, girl.”

I wiped at my cheeks. He seemed really nice. But after glancing up to look at him, I took note of his deathdate, and my chest tightened. Dropping my gaze I said, “I’m okay.
Thanks.”

“Do any bones hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Really sorry about that, Maddie,” he said kindly. “If your bike’s wrecked, we’ll pay to have it fixed.”

I glanced at my ride. It looked a little scratched up, but otherwise it seemed fine. “I think it’s okay.”

The delivery guy put the bandanna in my hand. “Here,” he said. “You can probably do a better job of that than me.”

“Thanks.” I continued to avoid his gaze.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Puzzled, I looked up again. He had a big, square head, with short-cropped gray hair and deep-set eyes. Now that he mentioned it, he did look kind of familiar. I squinted at him but
couldn’t place how I knew him.

He stuck out his hand, and I put my good palm in his. He shook it gently and said, “Rick Kane. I came to see you about a year ago.”

Vaguely, I remembered someone who looked a little like him coming to see me the previous September. It’d been right around the anniversary of my dad’s death, which is always a tough
time at my house—so I couldn’t quite remember the exact details—but his deathdate stood out for me now, which was why I was trying to avoid his gaze.

“It’s okay,” he said, as if reading my mind. “It’s still the same, right? I’ve only got about five weeks left.”

I nodded. “I’m really sorry.”

He smiled in a way that seemed sad but still genuine. “Don’t be, kiddo. We all gotta go sometime.”

I looked back at my lap, wishing Mrs. Duncan and the other guy would come back out.

“You know,” he said, “you’ve really helped me.”

I squeezed the bandanna. The heel of my palm was scraped up, too.

“I mean, at first I was a wreck. You tell a guy he’s only got about a year left to live, and it’ll pretty much tear him up inside. But then I got over it, and I realized I had
a whole year to get ready. Most people, they have no idea when they wake up in the morning that it’ll be their last day, but I know the exact date, and because of that, I’ve been taking
care of things.”

I lifted my chin. “Yeah?”

He nodded and he seemed so at peace about it. “I’ve taken out extra life insurance,” he said. “To get the insurance they had to put me through a physical, and it turns
out I’ve got a few issues. I think that’s how it’ll happen. My heart will give out or it’ll be a stroke or something like that.”

“Can’t you go to a doctor?” I asked. I wanted so badly for that date on his forehead to change.

“I did, Maddie. My own doc ran a bunch of tests, but nothing obvious jumped off the page at him. My cholesterol is a little elevated, and my blood pressure’s not great, but
it’s not bad enough yet to go on the meds. I even got a second head-to-toe physical, and nothing shows up that could be the culprit. Whatever’s going to happen to me, I think
it’ll be a surprise, and it’ll be quick. Which, when I think about it, isn’t a bad way to go, you know?”

I nodded, shocked by how well he seemed to be taking it. But then, I’d seen this reaction from some of my clients with terminal diseases. They simply accepted it and got busy getting their
affairs in order.

“Anyway,” he continued, “with all the added life insurance, my family will never have to worry about money again, and both my kids are gonna get to go to college. I also make
sure to tell my sons and my wife how much I love them every day. We’ve never been closer. And I’ve been checking things off my bucket list, too. You know, the stuff you always say you
want to do but never get to because there’s always tomorrow? My whole life I put off doing what I really wanted to do because I was worried about providing for my family and keeping my job.
These days if I want to take a day off to do something fun, I do. I don’t sweat the small stuff. Not anymore. You freed me, Maddie. I feel more alive right now than I ever have. You gave me
that.”

I was so moved that I didn’t know what to say.

“Here we are!” I heard Mrs. Duncan call from her walkway. She and the other guy were loaded down with gauze, ointments, bandages, and medical tape. My kindly neighbor got right to
work, and in no time I was patched up and feeling a little better.

Then Rick got me to my feet, and while his partner put my bike into the garage, he helped me up the drive. “Thanks,” I told him once we’d reached the storm door. “For
everything.”

He offered me a big grin. “You gonna be okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It just stings a little right now.”

“Take some Advil,” he advised. “And no more speed racer on that bike of yours, you hear?” He chuckled and I smiled. Then he and the other guy got back to Mrs.
Duncan’s delivery, and I limped my way inside.

I found Ma passed out on the couch. I checked the time. It was early for her to be so out of it. I could feel a knot beginning to form in my stomach. She was reacting to the visit from the feds.
I didn’t like it.

I hobbled over to her and tugged the afghan off the back of the couch, spreading it out over her the best I could. I felt stiff and sore all over, and the scrapes on my leg, elbow, and palm were
starting to throb, so I limped up the stairs, and once in my room, eased out of the tight jeans and sweater I was wearing and into the lightest pair of sweats I owned. As I got redressed, I thought
again about what Rick had said—that I’d helped him. Telling him his deathdate hadn’t changed his numbers, but at least I’d helped him and his family by giving him the news.
His wife and kids were going to be sad to lose their dad—I knew that pain well—but his family would also be provided for. A bit like Ma and me had been provided for by the settlement
from the lawsuit.

I would’ve rather had my dad, but at least most of our bills were covered for the time being. That meant a whole lot, when I thought about it.

Moving to my desk I pulled out my deathdates notebook and began to thumb through the pages. I found Rick’s entry and the deathdate next to his name: 12-6-2014. I sighed sadly, then looked
at all the other names and dates I’d written on the many pages of the notebook.

I always put a capitol
C
next to my clients, and as I scrolled through the names of the people I’d read for, I wondered if maybe some of them might be doing the same thing as Rick.
Maybe some of them were also taking out extra life insurance, and telling their kids and their spouses every day that they loved them. Maybe reading for these people was a good thing after all?

And then I went to Aiden’s page and ran my forefinger across his name. I could picture his face, those deep blue eyes, the curve of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.

I’d have a chance to see him in only a week, and I felt my pulse quicken. I hadn’t seen him since the previous spring. I wondered if he’d gotten any taller, if his shoulders
had gotten broader, if seeing him would still take my breath away.

My smile widened. Of course it would. With a sigh I closed the notebook and tucked it away. Then I limped down the stairs and realized that I still had to go to the store to get some candy for
the trick-or-treaters, but how I was going to manage that, I had no idea. In desperation, I texted Stubby—he called me immediately. “What happened?” he asked. I’d only told
him in the text that I’d crashed on my bike.

I gave him the quick version of what’d happened, and he offered to come over right away with a bunch of Hershey’s minis from his mom’s stash. “We always have
extra,” he said.

While I waited for Stubs, I fixed two grilled cheese sandwiches and some tomato soup. As I was ladling the soup into bowls, Stubby walked in.

“Your timing is perfect,” I told him.

He shrugged out of his coat, and I saw that he was only wearing a white T-shirt and jeans underneath. Then I realized he also had his hair slicked back. “James Dean?” I guessed.
Stubs loves old movies.

My best friend grinned and nodded at me. “Can I borrow a pack of your mom’s cigarettes?” he asked, his gaze traveling to the carton on the counter.

“Why?” I asked sharply. I lived with a smoker, and it was a disgusting habit. I didn’t want Stubs to start up.

He rolled his eyes, then he took up one of Ma’s half-empty packs, got out a cigarette, dangled it at the corner of his mouth, then rolled the pack up into his shirtsleeve. “Dean used
to roll the pack up like this,” he explained. “Makes me look cool, right?”

I offered him a skeptical frown. “Don’t you think meeting kids at the door with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth might tick off some parents?”

Stubs smiled sheepishly and removed the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Good point.” Then he reached for his backpack and pulled out the candy he’d promised me, like a
hunter bringing home a trophy. “Where do you want it?”

“Can you dump it in this and put it on the front porch?” I asked him, handing him our big salad bowl.

Stubs eyed the bowl doubtfully. “You sure, Mads? Usually the first kids at the door take all the candy and run for it.”

I bent over to lift up the cuff of my sweats to demonstrate exactly why I wouldn’t be getting up and down to answer the door every five minutes. “Yikes,” Stubs said, dumping
the candy in the bowl. “Got it covered.” When he came back to the table, he sat down with me and said, “I can’t stay long. Mom wants me to hand out candy while she takes Sam
and Grace trick-or-treating.”

“Okay.” I felt a little disappointed that Stubs couldn’t stay longer and keep me company. I hadn’t been able to shake my melancholy.

While we sipped at our soup he asked, “Anything new about Tevon?”

“No,” I told him. “At least there wasn’t a car parked in front of my house today when I got home from school. Not that I noticed much after I crashed.”

Stubs offered me a sympathetic frown before brightening. “You gotta heal quick, Mads. Next Friday is the Jupiter game.”

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Oh, I’ll be there,” I said. “No way am I missing it.”

Stubby nodded. I could tell he was looking forward to going to the game, too. “Cheerleaders,” he said with a loopy grin, and that got me to laugh.

A lot of the kids at school assume Stubs and I are a couple, but the truth is, we’re more like brother and sister than anything else

“You gonna say hi to Aiden this year?” he asked me slyly. “Or are you gonna sit there and pretend you’re not seriously crushing on him?”

I pushed him on the shoulder. “Don’t rush me,” I said. “I’m working up to it.”

It was Stubby’s turn to laugh. “Working up to it? It’s been two years, Mads. At this rate you’ll graduate before you even smile at the guy.”

I rolled my eyes before reaching over to dunk the rest of his sandwich in his soup. He shook his head, but he was chuckling. “Women!” he said.

We hung out for a while more before Dad’s clock chimed six times and Stubs got up, taking his bowl and his plate to the sink. “Gotta go!” he said. “Thanks for dinner.
Hope your leg feels better!” With that he banged out the back door with barely a wave good-bye.

After finishing my own meal, I got up and limped over to the sink to rinse out my dishes. The TV was still on in the living room, but I couldn’t make out much more than white noise. As I
turned off the faucet, however, I thought I heard a familiar name. Moving to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, I saw that the news was on, and there was a reporter standing in
front of a large stately home that had to be in Parkwick. I could tell right away she was talking about Tevon Tibbolt. “…the body of the thirteen-year-old was discovered on the banks
of the Waliki River, about six miles from his residence here in Parkwick, where Tevon was last seen walking home from the bus stop on Wednesday afternoon. Tevon is the son of prominent hedge fund
manager Ryan Tibbolt and his wife, socialite Patricia Tibbolt. We have few details other than the boy’s body has been positively identified, and police and the FBI have ruled the death a
homicide….”