Chapter 54
Chapter Fifty-Four
CHARLIE
I’ve already showered for my interview when there’s a knock at the door. Edna is standing on my front stoop, wearing her visor and tracksuit like she’s ready for one of her neighborhood walks. Except I don’t have time.
“Whatever you’re up to—I can’t. I’ve got places to go and principals to see.”
“Your interview isn’t for half an hour—you’ve got time. This won’t take long.”
I’m not sure how she knows when my interview is, but Edna looks nervous. That’s a rare emotion for her, and the feeling is contagious. Is something wrong?
I step outside.
The other Old Birds aren’t with her, but Edna rolls her eyes when I ask if they’re okay. Like I’m being an idiot instead of a concerned neighbor. I assume we’ll just stand in my yard to talk— I’ve got somewhere to be —but Edna has other plans. Before I know it, we’re power walking down the sidewalk, sweat prickling my brow, and I’m going to need to take another shower before my interview.
If I have time…
“Listen, kid.” Edna clears her throat. “I’ve got stuff I need to say—that’s why I’m here. Heartfelt stuff.”
Heartfelt stuff?
She says that word like it might kill us both, and she’s probably right. But she keeps going. “The kind of stuff I hate to say and you hate to hear—but it’s happening. And when I’m done, we’re going to pretend I never said a word. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Edna ups her pace as she gets down to business, careful not to look over at me while we walk. Her gaze fixed straight ahead like I’m not even here.
“This thing with Alice is probably my fault.”
“Edna, it isn’t your?—”
“I meddled. I could tell you liked her, so I gave you a nudge. But if I knew she still had feelings for her ex, I wouldn’t have. That’s on me.”
Jason.
How do I keep forgetting he exists? That man shows up at the worst times—even when he doesn’t technically show up at all. Edna mentions him, and it’s like he’s walking with us down the block. I try not to wince.
Edna clears her throat again. “We’ve been through a lot together, and you’ve always been my favorite Roscoe—don’t tell your brother.”
I stifle a laugh. “Can I tell my sister?” I tease, and she chuckles.
“I’ll tell her myself. If she ever comes back, I’ll paint it on a sign and stick it in my yard.”
I’m pretty sure she’s joking about me being her favorite and about the sign, but we both get a good laugh out of it anyway. Then Edna gets quiet again, and my stomach pinches.
The worst is coming, the heartfelt part that might kill us both. And if Edna has to get this quiet and brace herself for it that hard, I need to brace myself too.
“I never had any kids of my own—you know that,” she says. “Jack and I both came from such big families. We’d spent years raising our cousins and siblings, and we never regretted not raising anybody else.”
Edna hesitates. Pace quick, eyes straight ahead.
“But I’m still claiming you as half mine,” she says, her voice gruff. “I’m too proud of you not to. And I wanted you to know.”
“Edna—”
“Can it, Roscoe. Let an old bird finish.”
She ups our pace a little more, her footsteps pounding against the sidewalk like she’s trying to outpace a hungry bear. If she’s doing it to keep me quiet, to make sure I’m so out of breath I couldn’t interrupt her if I tried, it works.
“I feel bad about the girl—I know you liked her. But I just needed you to know that even if it isn’t her, even if it doesn’t work out, one day somebody will. And when you find them”—Edna forces herself to look at me, her gaze finally meeting mine—“she’s going to be one lucky girl.”
I don’t know what to say. My eyes are surprisingly damp around the edges, and I dry them on my sleeve before responding the only way I can. Saying the only thing that feels right at a time like this.
“Edna…are you hitting on me?”
She barks out a laugh and punches my arm. I duck out of the way, laughing too. Then I catch her eye and stumble through an honest thank-you.
Edna elbows me as she says you’re welcome . Letting us enjoy that heartfelt moment for only a second before she pretends it never happened. Old Birds are pretty great that way.
Especially my favorite Old Bird.
As soon as I step back inside, I hear crying upstairs. It’s coming from the guest room, and my heart sinks.
Nicki.
She’s the only Kilpatrick who didn’t want to go out for lunch and keep sightseeing. I have to leave for my interview in five minutes, but I can’t just ignore her. She’s crying too hard.
I head upstairs and knock on the door, so I can check on her before I go. It takes Nicki a long time to answer, but that doesn’t mean she pulls herself together first. She can’t.
It’s one of those cries. Nicki can barely catch her breath as she opens the door, her tearstained face beet red. “Yes?”
She says that with a casual shrug, but she isn’t fooling anyone. I nod to the open laptop in her hands. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course. Everything’s fine.” She pauses to take a shuddering breath. “Why do you ask?”
Then she crumbles, breaking into a fresh wave of sobs as she clings to her laptop. I don’t have to ask her what’s wrong again. She surrenders, no coaxing necessary.
“I can’t make it work.” She gasps out another sob. “It’s impossible.”
She gestures to the screen on her laptop. It looks like she’s trying to play a game, something called Moonglow Prairie, but the first thing I notice is how small everything is—normal sized. My grandmother in Florida has had age-related macular degeneration for years. She’s lost her vision in a pretty similar pattern to Nicki, but nothing on Gram’s computer is ever normal-sized.
“Can you zoom in on the screen?” I ask. “Have you enabled that on your computer yet?”
For some reason, that question makes her weep harder. “I asked my ex to help me figure out how to do that once”—she pauses to sob a little—“but he said he didn’t have time. He said I probably didn’t need it anyway. That I was just being dramatic.”
Uh-oh.
I’ve accidentally brought up her dreaded ex. A man so vile, he didn’t just leave her when she started losing her vision—months before she got her official diagnosis—but he wouldn’t even help her set up the accessibility options on her computer while they were still together. Where do the Kilpatrick girls find these red-flag men?
It takes a few more minutes before I’m able to decipher the whole story. Before I piece together that she’s trying to play an old favorite video game she used to do with her brother, Marcus. That there’s been some big update, one he’s been texting her about all day, and the only thing this poor woman wants to do is play that game for herself. Like old times.
“There’s even a new farm,” she weeps. “In an enchanted forest inhabited by gnomes. Gnomes .” Her voice drops to a desperate whisper. “They help you garden. With magic. ”
There’s probably more to this crying spell than a video game. Nicki is a lot like my sister, Roxie—the Roscoe with the hardest shell—and I’ve only seen her cry like this once. Uncontrollable sobs of agony that lasted for hours. It was after she’d taken care of my dad while he was in hospice, organized his entire funeral (because he made her promise she wouldn’t let our mom help), and made it through the memorial service without shedding a single tear.
Then she dropped her favorite paperback in the bathtub three days later, and it was the end of the world .
Alice told me last night her sister hasn’t gotten upset about anything that’s happened. She hasn’t shed a single tear about her eyesight or her husband. But today, the floodgates are open, as if she’s held back months of rainstorms so she could unleash a monsoon. About virtual gnomes.
“Should I call Alice?” Her phone is still MIA, but she gave me their mom’s number just in case.
Nicki panics, waving her hands. “No—please—they can’t see me like this. I’m fine. Really. Totally fine.”
She forces a smile, and it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. Then she bursts into tears again, while still trying to smile, and nope. That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.
I know how to fix this. Enable the accessibility options on her laptop, show her how to use them, and then find mods for her game to make it easier—it won’t even be hard. But it’s going to take a lot longer than the thirty seconds I’ve got before I need to leave.
Nicki tries to tell me it’s fine, but she’s crying even harder now, and I can’t tell if staying to help her is the right decision. Maybe I’m self-sabotaging. Maybe I’ve been worried about this interview all week, and I’m looking for an out.
But what if that isn’t it?
I don’t know which choice is the right one. All I know is Alice’s sister is upset. If I leave now, and it’s the wrong decision, I’ll never forgive myself.
I text Principal Sutter, message an apology to my mom, and then I glance at Nicki.
“Why don’t we go downstairs and see if we can figure this out? I might have a few ideas.”