Chapter 10
Tucker
My first real date with Ava was a perfect night of introducing her to all the things she’d missed. She became a teenager like the rest of us.
I’d already fallen for her, hard, but it was even easier to love this version of her. Without the rough edges of the hospital, trying to prove herself to every doctor and social worker, she was funny and light-hearted.
She thought my corny jokes were funny. She was astonished at my dumb quarter-behind-the-ear trick. All the dorky actions that made me weird at school were perfect to her. She encouraged me to dive deeper into being me.
Even Sarah, who was infinitely cooler than the rest of us, acknowledged that I’d found the crazy-shaped puzzle piece that fit me.
The next weekend, Bill and Sarah picked us up, but then dropped us off at the ghostly playscape at Zilker Park with a midnight picnic made by Gram.
We ate on a blanket beneath the labyrinth of stairs, slides, and bridges, our knees pressed close together.
For the first time, we were entirely alone.
“I wonder if I ever played here, or on any playscape,” Ava said. The dim light of a distant street lamp glinted in her eyes as she looked at the apparatus all around us.
“I guess not all moms take their kids to play at parks.”
“I don’t have any notes about it. Maybe I was too young to write.”
I picked up her hand and ran my thumb across her palm. I wanted to always be touching her. “Most of us quit playing at parks with our moms around fifth grade.”
“How old are you in fifth?”
I forgot how some of the most common things were unknown to her. “Ten or so.”
“Ten. I should have been able to write. I have been to parks before. I would sneak out to go with friends.”
A hint of jealousy sliced through me. “How old were you then?”
“I’m not completely sure. I didn’t put a date on everything. But I’m guessing thirteen.”
“How did you meet those friends?”
“I don’t know that either. I went to school when I was really young. Kindergarten. First grade. Mom only pulled me later.”
“Do you ever ask her about it?”
“Sure, but I don’t know if I trust her answers.”
“That sucks. I hate that your mom is so hard to deal with.” I wanted to ask about her dad, but Ava never brought him up. But then, I didn’t talk much about my parents either. Some wounds didn’t need poking.
She leaned in close to me, and I kissed her. She was becoming familiar, the shape of her lips, the brush of her hair on my cheeks. She always smelled of lemon shampoo.
There was no one to interrupt us. We were as alone as we’d ever been.
I cupped the back of her neck beneath her long fall of hair. I drew her closer so that our bodies touched. She settled against me.
Everything felt natural. Her hand moved to my shoulder, and her lips parted.
I could do this forever, although my body pushed forward with an urgency I had to ignore.
I figured Ava didn’t have much experience, or if she did, she wouldn’t remember it. I definitely didn’t have a lot. I didn’t know how to set a pace, how far to go, and when to make each move. I understood the mechanics of it, but not the steps, how to get there.
Ava leaned forward so far that I fell backward on the blanket. We knocked over the basket, spilling the plastic dishes.
She laughed, moving it all aside. “I saw something like this on one of the TV shows in the hospital. They knocked things off the table while they were kissing. My mom shut it off.”
“I should log you into my Netflix account,” I said. “There’s plenty to see there.”
“On the phone?” She rolled next to me and we lay on our sides, face to face.
“Sure. We could watch something together.”
“Not during our real time,” she said, leaning in again.
She was right, as always. We could watch things when we were apart, in our separate houses, separate lives.
Her long skirt tangled in my legs as we kissed. She dressed from another era, but that didn’t matter to me. I ran my hands along her shoulder, her arm, her waist. She rolled on top of me, our bodies touching everywhere. There was no controlling my reaction to her.
If she noticed, she gave no indication, and her weight settled on top of me.
My pulse raced. I’d never been in this position with anyone.
A cold wind rushed beneath the playscape and sent her shivering. She snuggled in close, tucking her head into my neck.
I drew her tightly against me. My heart hammered hard, and I knew she could hear it. She fingered the pocket of my shirt over my chest. “We only have two months to wait.”
I wondered what she meant. To go farther? Should I stop?
She went on. “I’m going to wake up that morning, my bag already packed, and I’m just going to walk out. I don’t care about Mother’s presents or cake or anything. I’m going to go right out the door, and she won’t be able to do a thing about it.”
Her birthday. That was what she meant.
“I’ll be there. I’ll pick you up.” I wasn’t sure what I would do with her. Gram encouraged our relationship, even with Ava sneaking out. But she wouldn’t necessarily be keen on my girlfriend moving in.
It didn’t matter. We would figure it out. We had some time.
“I’ll keep dreaming about that day until it happens,” Ava said.
I kissed her forehead. “Me, too.”
My phone buzzed. It was Bill.
On our way back. I’ve already blown Sarah’s curfew.
Our time was up again.
We kissed one more time, lingering and long, then picked up the scattered picnic.
Ava snuck out a few more times over the next weeks. We took walks. Ate pizza. Soaked up each other’s presence. On my eighteenth birthday, Ava, Bill, Sarah, Carlos, and I sent balls skittering into pins at a twenty-four-hour bowling alley.
It worked, but she still lived in her mother’s grip.
She wasn’t in school, had no job, no experience.
She’d been kept from learning about money, budgets, rent, and basic survival.
Even if she left when her birthday arrived, she wasn’t sure how to fill her own prescription or what to do about health insurance, which she’d never heard of before I told her.
But I wanted to save her.
With no more seizures, I got my driver’s license reinstated. I wouldn’t get behind the wheel often because of the risk, but I wanted that right.
Gram handed me the keys a month before my high school graduation. I could tell she was worried. I assured her I would hit the hazard lights and pull over if I felt the tiniest bit weird, and I would take side streets rather than the freeways, just in case.
My urgency to see Ava whenever I wanted was more important than anything. She’d be eighteen in June, and she’d need me to help her build a life away from her mother.
The night I drove over to Ava’s house by myself, I felt like the king of the world. I parked Gram’s car around the corner and waited.
Ava didn’t come out.
I texted her.
She didn’t respond.
My heart hammered.
Had she been caught? Did she lose the phone?
I got out of the car, closing the door softly. I walked along the street, tiptoeing past the flower beds and avoiding the street lamps.
My steps slowed as I passed Ava’s duplex. A shadow on the front porch shifted, and the wood floor squeaked. I froze, terrified that Ava’s mother was outside and had seen me.
But a low, wavering voice said, “The mother suspects.”
I peered at the shadow on the porch. It wasn’t Ava’s side, but the other one.
“Are you Grandma Flowers?” Ava had mentioned her many times since learning more about her from her old journal. The two had managed to smile and wave, but Ava’s mother refused to let Ava talk to the woman.
She rose from her chair, her silhouette blocking the window behind her. “Ava called me that, back when I could see her. I have lived next door to that family for coming up on three years.” She moved painfully down the steps, holding onto the rail.
I began to make her out in a long, loose dress.
When she came down the walk, the streetlight illuminated her big, kind eyes. “Let’s take a walk, you and I.”
“I’m supposed to meet Ava.”
“You won’t be seeing her tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s move along, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
When we’d put some distance between us and the duplex, she spoke again. “I’m a night owl. I’ve seen you coming for her, and you should know, the last time her mother learned a boy was near her daughter, they moved.”
My fists tightened. “She’d do that? Just move her?”
The old woman sighed. “The girl was beside herself when she arrived here, missing those friends of hers. I gave her some flowers. She didn’t know she had a gift for tending them, but I could see she’d done it before.”
We turned the corner. “What happened? Why can’t Ava see you anymore?”
“I love that girl like the moon,” she said. “We spent many long afternoons together. We read books and talked flowers. But I saw what was going on there, and I asked too many questions.”
My mouth went dry. “What is going on?”
“Her mother wants Ava protected. So she keeps her away from the whole world. Nobody comes ‘round to see her. She’s like a bird in a cage.” She shakes her head. “It’s a tough go sometimes. I’ve seen her forget a few things. And I’ve seen her forget everything. It’s like rolling the dice.”
“So not every seizure is the same?”
“No. Some of them take everything away, even her ability to read. But most only take her memories. One day we’ll be chatting about the roses, and the next she won’t know a flower from a turnip.”
“She’s been taking medicine since the hospital,” I said. “I’ve been talking to her.”
“That’s good,” she said. “No young person should be locked away from the world.”
“I’m going to get her out of there. She turns eighteen soon.”
Grandma Flowers patted my back. “You stay the course, young man. She needs someone to rely on.”
We turned and headed back.
“So she won’t get out tonight?” I asked.
“They had an awful argument, so loud even I could hear it,” she said. “Ava was insisting she hadn’t gone anywhere. Seems like she had some new song she’d been singing. Her mother controls her life. She knows when her girl has new ideas, new thoughts, new experiences.”
The idea that I’d gotten Ava in trouble just by knowing her stuck in my throat, making it impossible to swallow. We’d have to be more careful.
My phone buzzed.
Stuck. Not sure I can make it out tonight. Tomorrow?
I quickly tapped out, of course.
Grandma Flowers waited, the streetlight bright on her gray curls. “You’ll do right by her. I have faith.”
“How long should I wait?”
“Only you will know that, child. But be careful. They don’t own a lot of things. They could spirit away at any time. They did it before.”
I thanked Grandma Flowers for her advice and hurried to my car.
Ava’s eighteenth birthday couldn’t come fast enough.