3. Maeve

What?

No.

Mom and Dad… the Ferris wheel… those lifeless legs hanging from the mangled gondola…The dream that was actually a memory hit me with full force, raw and painful. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that might somehow reset the clock to before that stupid county fair, and I could beg them to take me to Ruby’s Diner or throw a party at the house instead.

Dead.

No.

It can’t be.

Louise and Matthew Crawford weren’t my biological parents. My real mother died during childbirth back in England, and as far as anyone knew, my real father wasn’t in the picture at that stage. My mother had no living relatives, so I was released into the truly delightful English foster care system. I lived in an orphanage for a few years – I don’t remember it at all, except in weird flashes in my dreams sometimes, which didn’t count – before the Crawfords visited London during their missionary work, fell in love with me at first sight, and somehow found a way to obtain an international adoption. (“It was difficult,” Mom always said when I asked her, “but it was worth it for you.”) Kelly and I always suspected it was illegal, but we knew better than to bring that up.

Apparently, I loved them instantly, too, and I cried for three days when they left the orphanage, before they came back for me. This didn’t surprise me – with their hearty Wild West accents, their eyes that sparkled like the ocean, and their ridiculous eternal optimism that God would sort everything out in the end, they were pretty damn easy to love.

Even when I became a surly teenager obsessed with astronomy and denounced religion with all the subtlety and sensitivity a fourteen-year-old could muster, they never discouraged me. Once, I got sent home from school for refusing to write an essay on the scientific evidence for Noah’s flood. Instead of yelling at me, they convinced my teachers to allow me to hand in an essay about the Voyager missions instead. I remembered the day I got my scholarship for MIT – Dad had tears in his eyes as he pinned the letter to the fridge. At his Sunday sermon he managed to mention it at least three times.

How could they just be dead? How could such kind and wonderful people be gone from the world? How could their God betray them like that?

The grief crushed against me, pressing in on me from all sides. I gasped for air, squeezing Kelly tight against me as I fought against the invisible force that threatened to collapse me in upon myself, like a black hole sucking in everything around it.

“I couldn’t save them,” I whispered. The guilt ate my insides. If I’d just moved faster. If I’d stayed inside the wheel a bit longer, I might have had a chance?—

The bed creaked. Kelly threw herself against me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “You were so brave, running into the fire like that. I thought I lost you, too. And then you wouldn’t wake up,” she whimpered. “You’re all I have left.”

Kelly burrowed her head into my shoulder, her tears puddling on my t-shirt. This was all wrong. Kelly shouldn’t be crying. I was the wailer – running bawling to Mom whenever Kelly broke the rules of a game. Rules were very important to me.

But not as important as Mom and Dad, and yet now I couldn’t muster up even a single tear. I felt numb all over, worn and squashed by the force of the grief. I rested a hand on my chest, feeling my heart pounding against my palm.

“How… how long have I been out?” I asked.

“A couple of days,” Kelly sniffed. “I can’t… I don’t remember exactly. You’ve been in and out a bit.”

Oh, jeez, she’s been here, alone, since the accident, waiting for me to wake up. I hate that I abandoned her to her grief, even though I had no control over it. I hugged Kelly to me, holding her close, letting her spill her grief over me, hoping it might draw up some of my own.

But it didn’t. I remained numb.

After a time, Kelly’s sniffles died down, and my stomach growled. I realized that I must not have eaten anything for days. Kelly might not have, either. She could barely boil an egg when she was in full control of her faculties.

“We should get some food.” I threw my legs off the bed. Kelly grabbed my arm, her red-ringed eyes burning into mine.

“Don’t even think about getting up. That guy said you hit your head pretty hard, and you should be careful in case you have a concussion.”

“What guy?”

“That hot British guy you totally blanked me for. He carried you out of the flames and helped me get you home.”

“He did?” I glanced around the room. Mr. British had been in my room? If I’d had any chance with him, it would be over now that he’d seen my pink ruffled sheets and the telescope at the window and the rows of dolls sitting on top of the bureau. My eyes fell on the overflowing laundry basket. Please don’t tell me he saw my underwear, too.

And then I remembered that my parents were dead, and my sister had been on her own since she got that news, and I hated myself for even thinking about a guy right now. My cheeks burned with guilt. What is wrong with me?

I rubbed my burning cheeks. “Why am I not in a hospital?”

“He said it wasn’t a good idea. He said the ER would be full of people from the accident, and we didn’t have insurance so it would be expensive, and… he was right. I mean, I saw them carrying away people in the ambulance. He said he could help you, and I… I didn’t know what else to do…”

“It’s fine,” I hugged her again. “You did good.”

“I thought he was a doctor or something. He knew exactly what to do. He showed me how to treat your burns.” Kelly lifted one of the bandages around my arm. I looked down, but I couldn’t see any burn on my skin.

“Wow,” Kelly rubbed my arm. “This was all red and blistered the other day. He must be a really good doctor.”

“Where is he now?”

Kelly shrugged. “He just tied off that last bandage and left. I didn’t ask where he was going. I was a little distracted, you know?”

And then she was crying again – big, heaving sobs that shuddered through her entire body. I wrapped her in my arms, pressing my cheek to hers and feeling her tears slide over my skin as if they were my own.

They’re gone. They’ll never come in at night to say a goodnight prayer with me. They’ll never wake us up at stupid-o”clock on a Sunday morning for pre-Church chocolate-chip pancakes. They’ll never see me graduate MIT, or win a Nobel Prize, or walk on Mars.

So, why can’t I cry?

My stomach rumbled again. “I’m guessing we don’t have any food in the house?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Kelly swiped at her leaking eyes. “An endless stream of well-wishers have paraded through the door, each one loaded down with casseroles in all the flavors of the rainbow. Of course, most of them came for the gory details about the accident. It’s the talk of the neighbourhood, but I can’t… oh, Maeve, it was so terrible.”

“I know.”

Kelly sniffed, wiping her nose. “Anyway, you’re awake now. I need so much help. There’s all this paperwork to go over, and Pastor Tim and Daddy’s lawyer keep bugging me. I don’t understand what any of them want?—”

“Of course I’ll help.”

“Oh,” Kelly drew a couple of envelopes off the nightstand and plopped them in my lap. “You got some mail. One of them’s from MIT.”

I stared at the college crest on the first envelope. The symbol of my future, the first step toward getting into the NASA space program. Ever since I’d got my acceptance and scholarship, I’d been unable to think about college without excited butterflies in my stomach. A giddy smile would spread over my lips.

But now, I felt nothing – the same crushing, harrowing numbness.

It meant nothing without them.

I could see from Kelly’s face that she desperately wanted a distraction. “Let’s see what they say, then,” I said, unsure if it was a good idea to remind Kelly that in forty-one days time (forty? Thirty-nine? I needed to figure that out, stat) I’d be leaving her for Massachusetts and theoretical physics. I slit open the envelope and pulled out a single page.

Dear Ms. Crawford,

Recently you received a letter stating you received the Neil Armstrong Astronomy Scholarship, which would pay tuition fees and a full stipend to complete an advanced degree in Physics or Engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

I regret to inform you that this letter was sent in error. Unfortunately, you were not successful in your application and you will not be receiving the scholarship.

This does not impact your position at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and your place is still being held. I apologize for any inconvenience caused.

Sincerely,

Professor Pauline Breuntas

Head of Physics

I stared at the page until the letters stopped spelling words – they became crude scratches on the page, weird looped hieroglyphs that held some long forgotten meaning.

My scholarship was gone. Without that money, I couldn’t afford to go to MIT. Because of the “complications” around my adoption, I couldn’t apply for a loan or financial aid.

If I took every penny in my savings account, I wouldn’t even have enough for one semester.

With one single piece of paper, the last remaining good thing in my life had been taken from me. The dream of being an astronaut I’d had since I was seven shrank before my eyes. But I couldn’t conjure up even a single ounce of feeling. Not anger, not sorrow.

Nothing.

Because it all meant nothing.

“Maeve, what is it?” Kelly asked. I didn’t want to read the words out loud, didn’t want to speak them into being. I handed her the letter, watching her already stricken face crumple as the impact of the news hit her.

“No,” she whispered, her fingers curling around the paper, crumpling it in her rage. “It’s got to be some mistake. They can’t just takeyour scholarship away. You earned that. I won’t let them.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll go back to community college. I’ll apply again next year. Maybe I’ll get a private loan.”

But even as I said the words, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. This was the last year I was eligible for the full ride scholarship.

“No way. You’re not waiting, and the loan…” Kelly didn’t need to say that it would be hard to get that much money without our parents alive to cosign for it. “I know! We’ll sell the house. It’s ours now, right? We’ll sell it and we’ll use the money for your fees?—”

I shook my head as I remembered something I’d been told. “Actually, no, we can’t. This house belongs to the church. Mom and Dad were gifted it to live in only while he was pastor. Now that he’s not… they’re going to ask us to move out.”

“What?” Kelly screeched.

I nodded, staring at the second letter in my lap. The logo in the corner read “Emily Lawson, Solicitor” with an address in the United Kingdom. On any other day, I might find that curious. But now, it didn’t seem important. And I couldn’t handle any more bad news at the moment. My chest was already being squeezed in a vise.

Who cares that I just lost the best thing that ever happened to me? Who cares that without the scholarship I’d have to give up my place? Who gave a shit that Kelly and I would lose our home?

My parents were dead dead dead, and nothing would ever bring them back. And I could have saved them, I should have saved them, and I didn’t.