Elizabeth Scott - Between Here and Forever

I wonder why they didn’t mention it, and then remember how icy silent and tense everything was last night. My parents weren’t talking about anything, and they probably assumed Eli had seen Tess and had fal en for her.

That thought hurts more than I want it to.

“No,” Eli says. “I just—I was out here, looking for—seeing if you were here, and I saw them through the doors and figured they had to be your parents. Plus you look like your dad.”

The buzzer sounds, signaling that we can go in and almost drowning out my startled bark of a laugh. “I look like my dad? Are you sure you were looking in the right room? Because Tess has my dad’s hair and his eyes and—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You both have this—you both have this way of looking at someone like they’re the only person in the world.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“The other night, when you and I were talking, I …” He pauses and I stop, looking at him. My heart is pounding.

“What?” I say, and I want it to come out like I don’t care, like I’m just asking a question, but my voice is hushed. Hopeful.

“I was thinking it’s exactly how you look when you’re talking to Tess,” he says.

My heart sinks—stupid, so stupid, did I think he was going to say he wanted me to look at him that way?—but I nod like I understand.

I don’t, though. First Mom says I act like Dad, and now Eli says I look like him. Or at least can make the same expression.

Does that mean Dad sees Tess like I do? Feels al the things I do? The worry/anger/love?

It’s too freaky to think about, and so I push it away, head into Tess’s room.

“Hey,” I say, plopping into my usual chair. “I’m here. And so is Eli.”

“Hey, Tess,” he says, and looks at me. I pretend I don’t feel his gaze, but I do.

“I … uh, I don’t have any sisters or brothers,” he says. “I used to have a dog, but he had to be put to sleep when I was ten because he had cancer.”

That’s sad—real y sad—and when I look at him and say, “I’m sorry,” he smiles.

He smiles and everything—even my toes—goes al trembly.

I clear my throat and look back at Tess. “So, I guess you and Eli have something else in common—he likes dogs too. Remember how you tried to talk Dad into getting you a puppy after you found out about C—wel , back when you were in high school?”

“Oh, I don’t want another dog,” Eli says. “After having to see—when Harvey died, I—” He rests his hands against the arms of the chair, fingers tapping. “I can’t get another dog.”

“But maybe one day, you might, right?” I say, pointing at Tess.

“No. I like dogs, but watching someone you love die is—” He clears his throat and looks at me. Real y looks at me, straight into my eyes and everything. I force myself to look back and only blow out the breath I’m holding when he glances at Tess.

I force myself to be happy he’s looking at her.

“When you love someone you’l do anything for them,” Eli says to her. “Right before Harvey died, I slept in the laundry room with him. He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere in the house except my room, and even then it was only during the day, but I didn’t like to think of him al alone. I wanted

… I wanted him to get better, just like Abby wants you to.”

He takes a deep breath. “Abby real y wants you to wake up. I’ve never seen anybody believe in someone like she believes in you. The nurses al talk about her. How she comes here al the time, how she reads to you. Stuff like that. Supposedly she even yel s if someone doesn’t come in fast enough when one of your … wel , when something in here starts beeping. You—you’re real y lucky, Tess.”

Tess’s eyes don’t move but I’m having to force mine not to. I’m having to force myself to not look at him, to not stare in amazement at what he’s just said.

No one has ever said Tess is lucky to have me. Not ever.

“Oh, now you have to wake up,” I tel her, hearing my voice crack a little and hoping Eli doesn’t. “You’ve got to tel him how I used to try and listen to you and Clai—your friends talking when you were stil living at home, or about the time I said the person who tried to flush their broccoli down the toilet was you.”

“You don’t like broccoli?” Eli says, and Tess doesn’t move at al .

“No, she does,” I say. “Weird, right? When you wake up, Tess, I’l make a whole bunch of it for you and bring it in. You and Eli can eat it.”

“Sorry, I can’t eat broccoli even for you,” Eli says, and I final y glance at him, knowing I should be happy he’s caught up in learning about Tess, that he’s talking to her like she’s here, like she’s going to wake up. I’m not, though. Not like I should be.

And when I look at him, he isn’t looking at Tess. He’s looking at me. He’s talking to me .

“Tess can be very persuasive,” I say, but my voice comes out faint, al flustered-sounding, and when a nurse walks in I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and squeak out, “Hi, how are you?”

“I need to check on a machine,” the nurse says, pointing at a monitor near Eli. “I think that it’s—oh, damn. We need to get a new one of these in here now, and you two need to—” She makes a sweeping motion toward the door.

“What is it?” I say, looking at Tess, trying to see if something’s changed, if she looks worse. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” the nurse says, her voice curt. “I just need to get a new machine in here, and I need you out of here to do it.”

I get up, and Eli does too.

“Did I—did I break it?” he asks, but the nurse doesn’t reply, is too busy fiddling with the display and gesturing for another nurse to join her.

For al that they sometimes drive me crazy, the nurses here real y are pretty impressive, because in just a few seconds me and Eli are maneuvered out of Tess’s room and they are clustered around her, faces calm as they move in an intricate dance involving wires and machines and IVs and Tess’s stil body.

“Wel , we can try going back in a while,” I say, heading out into the waiting room and flopping onto one of the chairs. There’s an old guy sitting in the one closest to the television, head listing to one side as he snores loudly.

I turn to ask Eli if he wants to go somewhere else and see something is wrong with him. Real y, real y wrong.

He’s sitting down too, but his hands are tapping against the chair so fast it’s like he’s—I don’t know. Trying to push his fingers into the chair, or something. And the look on his face … it’s like he’s going to run away screaming, or throw up. Or maybe both.

“Are you al right?” I say, and then remember his question to the nurse. “Hey, you know—you know you didn’t mess up that machine, right?”

He nods, but it’s stiff, jerky-looking, and then he bolts for the door. I hear what I think might be “Be back,” or “Bye,” but whatever it is comes out in a rush and is barely audible over the old guy’s snoring.

Weird. Maybe he’s sick. Or sad. He was just talking about his dog dying, and it hurt me to hear that. Should I try to find him, make sure he’s okay?

No. If I do anything, I should find Clement and tel him what’s going on. I don’t want to get al worked up over what could be wrong with Eli because he’s just a guy. He isn’t special to me in any way.

Except he is, because I’m an idiot. A ful -blown idiot who should know better—and does—but yet stil goes looking for Eli anyway.

It doesn’t take me long to find him. I head into the stairwel and he’s right there, sitting on the step in front of me.

“Hey,” I say. “Do you—do you want me to get Clement?”