More Than We Can Tell

Matthew is in my room when I wake up. He’s sitting on the futon, reading a book. Sunlight pours through the windows, filling the room with light.

Light? I squint and peer at the clock on my bedside stand. It’s after ten o’clock in the morning.

“Hey,” says Matthew. “Look who’s up.”

I go to sit up—and my wrist reminds me of everything that happened. The cast is like a brick running from fingers to elbow. The whole thing aches.

I flop back down. “We’re skipping school?” I say to Matthew.

“Kristin said you didn’t have to go.”

“You, too?”

He shrugs and glances at the closet doors. “I said I wanted to see you when you woke up.”

Mom probably loved that, but I don’t believe him for a minute. “You didn’t want to see those guys who’ve been bugging you.” I pause. “Declan would have looked out for you. I told you that.”

“Not today.” Another shrug. “His mom had the baby early this morning. He left around four.”

“A.M.? Was he here?”

Matthew nods.

I rub my eyes with my good hand, then try to sit up again. “I need a few minutes. Do you know if there’s coffee?”

He folds a page and sets the book down. “I can make some.”

There’s a text message waiting on my phone. Actually, there are three of them.

Emma: Please tell me you’re OK.

I’m going to have my mom drive over to your house to make sure you’re okay if you don’t answer this.

Apparently my mom met your mom. They exchanged numbers. Awkward. But at least I know you’re okay. Text me when you wake up.

I smile.

Rev: I’m awake.

But she must not be. No answer comes back.

I lock myself in the bathroom. I can’t remember what the doctor said about taking a shower, and I have no desire to get a new cast, so that can wait. Brushing my teeth left-handed is enough of a challenge that I skip shaving entirely.

Getting dressed takes twice as long as it should. The short-sleeved T-shirt has been washed and folded and is sitting on top of my laundry pile. I don’t even hesitate.

And I don’t bother with a sweatshirt.

Matthew is waiting in the kitchen, eating Lucky Charms out of a box. His eyes widen fractionally when he sees my bare arms, but he doesn’t say anything. He rattles the box. “Want some?”

I shake my head. “I only eat cereal at night.”

He doesn’t act like that’s odd, but he does say, “Why?”

I pull a mug down from a cabinet. A memory comes to me, but this one isn’t too terrible. “When I was five years old, a woman from church gave me a box of Froot Loops. I knew my father wouldn’t let me have them, so I hid them under my bed. I sat and ate them in the dark after he was asleep.” I pause. “I was so scared he would catch me, but the cereal was like crack. I couldn’t stop. I kept the box for months. I remember praying God would make more. He didn’t. I mean—obviously. So then I thought I was being punished. For my great cereal sins.”

Matthew stares at me. He’s not eating now.

“Sorry.” I grimace and pour some coffee. “I didn’t mean to say all that.”

He sets down the box. Gets a bowl and pours some cereal into it. Adds milk and a spoon.

Then he plunks the whole thing down on the counter in front of me. “The hell with your father. Eat some cereal.”

I stare at him, kind of shocked. Kind of touched.

Then I sit down and eat the cereal. I have to do it left-handed, so I’m clumsy, but I eat it. It’s silly, but liberating.

Matthew continues to eat his out of the box.

We’re quiet, but there’s no strain to it.

After a while, he speaks into the silence. “I told Kristin.”

There’s no question what he’s talking about. His voice is completely even. He’s picking through the pieces of marshmallow on his palm. I force myself to keep eating.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yesterday. After school. It was just me and her. I couldn’t—I kept thinking about what you said. How he could have a new kid there.” He finds a marshmallow in his palm and crushes it to dust.

“What did she say?”

“She asked me if I wanted to try to press charges.” He shudders. “I don’t—I can’t do that. After everything with Neil.” He crushes another marshmallow.

“You’re destroying the good parts,” I say.

He looks down at the colored dust in his palm. “Oh. Sorry.” He swipes his hand on his jeans. “She asked if I would mind her filing a complaint with DFS.” A pause. “I said that would be okay. I think.”

He’s not sure about that. I can hear it in his voice.

“It’ll be okay,” I say. “Mom will make sure.”

He falls into silence again. We crunch on Lucky Charms. I think about Declan, who’s at the hospital meeting his new baby brother. I think about how much our lives have changed in the last twenty-four hours.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Matthew says.

“Anything.”

That throws him, but only for a moment. “If I do something that might screw this up, would you tell me?”

I set my spoon down. The cereal has gone soggy and I’m beginning to make a mess anyway. “You won’t screw this up, Matthew. Mom and Dad aren’t like that.”

“But—just in case.”

“Okay.” I carry my bowl to the sink. “Anything else?”

“No.” He hesitates. “Maybe.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you think you could just call me Matt?”