“It only takes a page to say no,” Jamie told me as if I’d said this aloud. “It is only one word, after all.”
“Jamie, for God’s sake!” Cora swatted him. “Stop it.”
I looked at the envelope again. “I’m going to take it outside, ” I said. “If that’s okay.”
Jamie opened his mouth to protest, but Cora put her hand over it. “That’s fine,” she said. “Good luck.”
Then it was April. The grass had gone from that nubby, hard brown to a fresh green, and the trees were all budding, shedding pollen everywhere. A nice breeze was blowing as I walked out to the pond, the envelope dangling from my hand. I walked right up to the edge, where I could see my reflection, then tore it open.
I was just about to unfold the pages within when I saw something, out of the corner of my eye, moving quickly, so quickly I almost doubted it. I stepped closer, peering down into the murky depths, past the rocks and algae and budding irises, and there, sure enough, I saw a flash of white blurring past. There were others as well, gold and speckled and black, swimming low. But it was the white one, my fish, that I saw first. I took a deep breath and tore the letter open.
Dear Ms. Cooper, it began. We are pleased to inform you . . .
I turned around, looking back at the kitchen door where, unsurprisingly, Jamie and Cora were both standing, watching me. Jamie pushed it open, then stuck his head out. “Well?” he said.
“Good news,” I said.
“Yeah?” Beside him, Cora put her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening.
I nodded. “And the fish are back. Come see.”
Now, in mid-June, they were even more present, circling around the lilies and water grasses. Above them, in the water’s surface, I could see my reflection: my hair loose, black gown, cap in one hand. Then a breeze blew across the yard, rustling the leaves overhead and sending everything rippling. Beside me, sitting on the grass, Roscoe closed his eyes.
As always, when I saw myself, it was weird to be without my necklace. Even now, I was still very aware of its absence, the sudden empty space where for so long I’d always seen something familiar. A few days earlier, though, I’d been digging through a drawer and come across the box Nate had given me for Valentine’s Day. The next time we spoke, I mentioned this, and he told me to open it. When I did, I saw that once again he’d known what I needed, even before I did. Inside was a pair of key-shaped earrings—clearly Harriet’s work—studded with red stones. I’d been wearing them every day since.
I looked across the yard, the trees swaying overhead, to Nate’s house. I still called it that, a habit that I had yet to break, even though neither he nor his dad had lived there for a while. Mr. Cross had put it up for sale in May, just after a lawsuit was filed by several Rest Assured clients who had began to notice, and question, various discrepancies on their accounts. The last I’d heard, he was still in business, but just barely, and renting an apartment somewhere across town. The new owners of the house had small children and used the pool all the time. On warm afternoons, from my window, I could hear them laughing and splashing.
As for me, thanks to Gervais’s method, I’d made a ninety-one on my calc test—guaranteeing my own spot at the U—and soon would be walking across the green at Perkins Day, taking my diploma from Mr. Thackray, officially a high-school graduate. In the lead up to the ceremony, I’d received endless paperwork and e-mails about getting tickets for family, and all the rules and regulations about how many we were allowed to reserve. In the end, I’d taken four, for Cora and Jamie, Reggie and Harriet. Not all family, but if there was one thing I’d learned over these last few months, it was that this was a flexible definition.
At least, that was the final thesis of my English project, which I’d handed in during the last week of classes. We’d each had to get up in front of the class and do a presentation that showcased our research and findings, and for mine, I’d brought in two pictures. The first was of Jamie’s extended tribe, which I put up while I explained about the different definitions I’d gathered, and how they all related to one another. The second was more recent, from the eighteenth birthday party Cora had thrown me at the end of May. I’d told her not to make a fuss, but of course she’d ignored me, insisting that we had to do something, and that I should invite anyone I wanted to celebrate with me.
In the picture, we’re all posing by the pond, one big group. I’m in the center, with Cora on one side, Olivia on the other. You can see Jamie, slightly blurred from running back into the shot after setting the timer on the camera— he’s standing by Harriet, who is looking at me and smiling, and Reggie, who is of course looking at her. Next to them you can see Laney, smiling big, and then Gervais, the only one eating, a plate of cake in his hand. Like the first one, which I’d studied all these months, it is not a perfect picture, not even close. But in that moment, it was exactly what it was supposed to be.
It was also, like the one of Jamie’s family, already changing, even if that day we hadn’t known it yet. That came a couple of weeks later, when I was leaving for school one morning and found my sister sitting on her bed, crying.
“Cora?” I dropped my backpack, then came over to sit beside her. “What’s wrong?”
She drew in a big, shuddering breath, shaking her head, clearly unable to answer. By then, though, I didn’t need her to; I’d already seen the pregnancy-test box on the bedside table. “Oh, Cora,” I said. “It’s okay.”