The In Between

Chapter 34

Tara

Where did they take him? Where did he go?

Bits of ash are lodged beneath my fingernails. I hold my hand up to the narrow beam of light from my bedside lamp and study the thin gray scallops. Proof that he was here.

I can see Justin being pulled away. His body fading into air and then simply gone. If only there had been time to say goodbye. To make a plan.

I press my hand to my face and shut my eyes, pretending it is Justin stroking my skin.  I whisper his name, half-expecting him to answer.

I go to my closet and take the rest of my books from their hiding place. I fumble through the books for something like what I experienced. I scan through the indexes and find nothing about invisible walls between the living and the dead. 

Downstairs, I hear the front door open and my mother greeting someone—a man's voice I don't recognize. I hear two sets of footsteps approaching me on the stairs.

"Tara?" my mom's calls out, her voice shot through with panic. "Tara, are you here?"

What is she doing here in the middle of the day?!

The school must have called her. I'm busted.

"I'm upstairs, Mom, " I yell, dumping the books behind my pillows and quickly propping myself against them. I grab my trig book and put it in my lap just before my mom bursts in.

"Are you alright?" She is breathless, like she ran all the way here.

"I'm fine, Mom," I say.

"Are you hurt, did you get sick?"

"No, I told you. I'm fine. I just got a little tired and decided to come home to rest. It's no big deal."  

 I watch as her face morphs from fear to relief to anger, a mom-mutation that used to mean grounding and now means a likely trip to a therapist's office.

"Tara, do you have any idea what you've put me through? The school called to say you hadn't been to any of your afternoon classes, and no one had seen you since the morning." She shakes her head. "I'm not exactly reassured by the fact that it took them four hours to realize you were missing. But that's another issue."

"I'm not missing. I'm right here."

"Yes, I can see that. Now. I've been calling your cell and the home phone. Why didn't you answer?"

"I didn't hear it," I answer lamely. I really hadn't. My head was too full of Justin. I point to my headphones on my end table. I had been listening to one Justin song a day since I got home from the hospital on repeat. I was doling them out now—so I'd have a little bit of Justin every day for at least a year.

I know that I'm not helping my own case but it all seems so ridiculous to me, so inconsequential. Don't they understand, don't they see? Justin. Was. Here. But of course they don't know that. And saying anything of the sort would be a surefire way to get locked up for good in the loony bin.  

My mom's shoulders sag. She's disappointed in my lack of progress. I will agree to the therapist. I will agree to whatever she wants. I just need my freedom so I can see Justin.

"Mom, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I didn't mean to worry you."

Mom looks at me for a long beat, trying to see if I'm telling the truth, wanting to believe me. I don't blink. She doesn't either. It's like the staring contests I used to play with Justin when we were kids, only this time there's more at stake than a juice box. Mom blinks and looks down. I know she wants to believe me. I resist the urge to hug her, it would be a sure tip-off that something is wrong.