Your Voice Is All I Hear Page 26

  “But—but it’s only been two weeks. Do you really think he’s ready?” I glanced over her shoulder toward the staircase. The last time I’d climbed those stairs, I’d taken them two at a time because Jonah was getting ready to die. How could they be sure he wouldn’t try something like that again?

  “I hope so,” she said. “He’s doing so much better than he was before. I’m not scared to have him home now. Dr. Vardi has this new approach; she calls it cognitive therapy. He’s learning how to communicate with us again! He’s even had a session with his father—and they really talked. I was in shock. Anyway, Dr. Vardi believes that Jonah will progress faster at home, with daily outpatient appointments.”

  “But what about school? Will he go back?”

  “He’s been working with a tutor so that he doesn’t fall behind. I think we’ll finish up the year at home and then reevaluate in the fall. I’ve been in contact with the administration at Fallstaff High, and they’ve been very supportive.”

  “At Fallstaff?” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice. “But what about the art school? What about what he wants for the future? He hates Fallstaff High!”

  She sighed and stepped back into the foyer. “I’m sorry, April, I know you two had big plans, but you have to understand that Jonah simply isn’t ready—”

  She hesitated for a moment and glanced over her shoulder. Her husband had just come into the living room, and she gave him a shrug that I didn’t really understand. It was like she was waiting for him to speak, to help her out. She’d never been shy in front of me before. And why did she look so guilty all of a sudden? Why did Dr. Golden shoot her a warning look, as if urging her to be quiet?

  “Rachel, I thought Jonah was going to speak to April,” he told her. “He said he wanted to explain things to her himself.”

  “I know, I know! But we were only talking about school, Aaron. That’s all. That’s what you heard when you came in.”

  He looked uncertain for a moment, and then his brow went smooth. “Oh. I see. Never mind then.”

  It was my turn to be confused. “What do you mean?” I demanded. “What was Jonah going to speak to me about?”

  “He’ll be home tomorrow,” Dr. Golden replied after an awkward pause. “You can talk things over then.”

  It was obvious that they were hiding something from me. “What’s going on?” I pleaded. “Is something wrong?”

  I would have pushed them for an answer. I’d planted myself firmly on their floral carpet and was getting ready to beg again when a little patter of footsteps behind me made me pause. Then Katie’s thin arms were around my waist, and she pulled me into the living room. “I told you April was coming back to read to me,” she declared. “I told you.”

  I don’t remember any details of the storybook that she handed to me; I can’t even remember the title. There were ogres in it and magical trees, I think. My brief conversation with the Goldens had killed my concentration for the remainder of the day. I spent the rest of the afternoon battling my doubts and trying to reason with my fears. After I left their house, I circled the block and argued with myself, struggling to make sense of what I’d heard.

  Jonah was going to have a talk with me; there was something he needed to break to me gently. Under different circumstances, I’d have assumed what every insecure girlfriend believes: he wanted to break up with me. But that was totally impossible. He still loved me; I knew he did. And he was getting better now! No, he wasn’t going to break up with me. That didn’t make sense.

  Could it be that they were moving back to Boston? Was that the reason for all the secrecy? But Dr. Golden recently mentioned that he was applying for a medical license in Maryland, and he’d just spoken to the surgical department at Johns Hopkins. Why would he bother to do that if they planned to return to Boston?

  But then why had both his parents looked so guilty?

  What if Jonah was sick, truly sick, some awful side effect of the medications maybe, and the doctors had just told the family that there was nothing they could do to save him? What if that was the reason they were discharging him so soon, to let him spend his last days at home with his loved ones? Is that why Jonah’s mom hadn’t even given the art school a moment’s consideration when I’d brought it up? Because she knew—she knew that it wouldn’t matter in the end?

  A few flips through old Internet searches brought up everything I needed to support my worries. The antipsychotic clozapine, I learned, could cause complete bone marrow failure in some, and several patients had died as a result of taking the medication. I didn’t even know if Jonah was taking that particular pill, and I didn’t consider the fact that he would have been hospitalized in the medical ward if something like that was going on with him. I knew that he was dying, I was sure that everyone had lied to me, and I was certain that when he came to see me the next day, I would be saying good-bye to him forever.

  I was at my bedroom window when Jonah walked up to my house the following afternoon. I’d been at that bedroom window for nearly two hours, pacing back and forth and checking my phone every few seconds. I’d pretended to head off to school as my mom got ready for work, but I’d doubled back after I knew she’d gone and shut myself in my room for the remainder of the day. I couldn’t have concentrated on class work anyway, so there was really no point in going.

  Still, school might have distracted me a little. By the time Jonah came around, I was close to tears, having spent the entire night preparing for the worst of news. But he looked so good that morning; when I opened the door, he smiled at me. His sweet blue eyes wrinkled at the corners, and his lips curled into the little grin I loved. His hair was freshly cut, and his clothes looked pressed and new. As he leaned down to kiss my cheek, I caught the familiar scent of aftershave and mint chocolate. He didn’t look like someone who was dying.

  But then he smiled again, a sorry, heavy smile; his eyes filled up, and something inside me broke. I was afraid to speak because any moment he would tell me why he was crying in front of me, and I just couldn’t bear to hear it. I didn’t want to know; I wanted to hold on to that last moment of ignorance, because it was the only thing I had left. Those final seconds were all that stood between me and Jonah’s tears, and in that space, I could believe that he was crying because he’d missed me and was simply happy to see me again.

  “April, I’m sorry—”

  “I already know,” I blurted out. I was afraid to let him say it.

  He stepped back and cleared his throat; I could see the confusion in his eyes. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

  “I spoke to your parents yesterday…”

  “My parents?”

  “Yes.”

  He led me into the living room and sat down heavily on the sofa. “What did they say?” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, but nothing else. Something seemed wrong to me; his irritated frown didn’t fit with the dark picture I’d painted.

  “They didn’t really say anything,” I said. “They just seemed upset.”

  “Well, that’s because I’m upset. And they know how much I care about you.”

  I was completely lost. “What’s going on? Are you—are you guys moving away?” There was no need to tell him what I’d been suspecting, I decided quickly. It seemed pretty stupid to me now, and I knew he’d tease me and call me the “crazy” one in the relationship if I told him what I’d been worried about.

  But he didn’t look like he wanted to tease me. His eyes were sad and guilty, just as his parents’ had been when they’d spoken to me. He kept fiddling with his shirt sleeve, picking at a loose thread with nervous energy until it snapped against his fingers. “No, we’re not moving anywhere,” he said after a pause. “I think it would be easier if we were.”

  “What would be easier?”

  He hesitated briefly. “It would be easier if we were moving away, because then you’d understan
d what I have to tell you now.”

  “Oh, Jonah, nothing could be harder than what we’ve already gone through!”

  Why did he drop his face before me, his shoulders bowed, his eyes all red and crumpled as if he was ashamed to look at me?

  “I’ll understand, whatever it is, and I’ll be there for you no matter what,” I added weakly.

  He nodded briefly and smiled to himself, as if I’d just spoken his thoughts out loud. “No matter what?” he echoed. “You’ve said that to me before, do you remember? That’s kind of been your motto, hasn’t it, throughout our whole relationship?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’ve stood by me, even when you should have left, even though no one would have blamed you for leaving me. You’ve waited and waited for me, and for months, I’ve rewarded you with nothing. I’ve felt you waiting. Even when I was completely out of it, I knew that you were hurting for me, and I still couldn’t bring myself to do the right thing. And now I see that whatever happens, no matter how awful I make you feel, you’ll never go. No matter what. Not as long as you believe that I still need you.”

  “Okay then, what do you want? Do you want me to leave you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t. Because honestly, I don’t think you can. And even if you did, I don’t believe that you’d ever forgive yourself. You’d feel as if you’d wronged me somehow, that you were abandoning me while I was sick. So I realize now that it’s time for me to do what I should have done months ago, when I first suspected that there was something wrong with me. No, don’t interrupt me, April. Just listen to me, please. I should have set you free back then, back when I still could, when my mind was clear. But I was going under so fast, I thought that you were the only solid thing I could hold on to. So that’s what I did. I held on to you through everything. Even during the worst of times, I thought that if I still had you, then I wasn’t really lost. And so I wouldn’t let you go.”

  “But I didn’t want you to!”

  “I know you didn’t, and that’s how I justified my weakness. Every time you visited me in the hospital, I told myself that you wanted to be there with me, that we were in this together, that it was the two of us against the world. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop feeling guilty for what I was doing to you, and as the weeks turned into months, I could hardly look you in the eyes anymore, I was so ashamed.”

  “You had nothing to be ashamed about! It wasn’t your fault that you got sick.”

  “No, but it was my fault when I slowly began to use my girlfriend—when I turned her into my nurse. It was my fault when I painted that portrait of you, holding that bird—do you remember?”

  I nodded silently.

  “I knew what I was doing then. I suspected what was coming soon, and I didn’t have the strength to tell you; I was too afraid. So I let you shelter me, just as I knew you would. But I couldn’t get rid of that guilty weight. It killed me to see your patience; it made me hate myself even more. And then the voices started in on me. They’re part of me, Dr. Vardi says, and so they know exactly where I’m the most vulnerable. So they began to hit me in my weak spot. They began to talk about you—constantly.”

  I’d remained mostly quiet until then. I’d guessed what he wanted to tell me, and I’d decided to patiently hear him out—and then show him how wrong he was about us. But his comment about the voices distracted me; I couldn’t help myself. “What did they say about me?” I blurted out—and then wished I hadn’t. There was no answer that would make me happy.

  “They told me that I was making you miserable, that I was a selfish bastard,” he said in a low voice. “They told me that I was killing you.”

  “Jonah—”

  “They said that if I cared about your happiness, I would end it all and let you live your life.”

  “But you’ve told me that before. I know that’s why you tried to hurt yourself. And you admitted that you were wrong.”

  “I was only partly wrong, actually. I should have ended it between us, but not like that.”

  “No, you were completely wrong—”

  “I should have broken up with you then. I know it—we both know it. I’m truly sorry that it’s taken me so long to do the right thing. But I have to do it while I’m thinking clearly, or I might not have the strength later, especially if I get sick again. April, I have to break up with you now. That’s—that’s what I came over here to tell you.”

  At least he’d finally said it, the words that had been hanging between us. I could argue with him now, as I had meant to from the beginning. But somehow, I couldn’t find the energy to fight; I felt completely numb.

  “I don’t want to hear this,” I told him finally. “I don’t want to hear that you’re breaking up with me because you’re trying to save me.”

  “I’m not,” he responded sadly. “I’m breaking up with you to save myself.”

  There was no way that I could argue with that. I felt an angry knot forming in my throat. I wanted to shake him, to scream at him, but I had no idea what to say. He looked absolutely miserable. I’d never seen Jonah so pale before; even his lips were white. The only color in his face was the red rim around his eyes.

  “I know how awful that sounds,” he continued. “I’m not blaming you, April. You’ve meant everything to me. But I can’t keep using you like this, even if you agree to it. I can’t get well if I’m always feeling guilty about us, if I feel that I’m wronging you every time I have a setback. And I’ve learned enough about this illness to know that there are going to be a lot of setbacks, that this is just the beginning of my recovery, and that it might literally take years—if I ever get better at all.”

  “But you’re getting better every day,” I insisted. “Most patients don’t even admit that they have a problem until after years of therapy.”

  “I know. But I need to be sure of myself before I can ask anyone to be with me. A few days of clarity are not enough. I don’t trust myself yet. And I remember enough of what I’ve been through, what I’ve done, to be really scared about my future.”

  “Jonah, I’ve waited this long already, a few more months won’t make a difference.”

  “But I can’t promise you anything, that’s what I’m saying. I can’t promise a few months or even a few years. I don’t want you to be tied to me while they raise and lower my doses, while I slip in and out of psychotic phases, while I analyze my voices and mess around with sanity. I can’t stand the idea of doing that to you. I want you to start the next year fresh, in a new school, with new friends—maybe even a new boy…”

  “I don’t want to hear that!”

  “Okay, okay,” he breathed. “Just friends then. You’ll make new friends. Maybe you’ll actually have time for them, without me hanging around your neck. Tell me honestly—haven’t you neglected everything else about your life while you’ve been taking care of me?”

  “Not at all!” I protested. “I got into the art school, didn’t I? I couldn’t have done that without you!”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I nudged you in the right direction. Months ago. The rest you did on your own.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you? I’m better when I know that you’re behind me.”

  “Really?” he asked me. “Was I behind you when you gave that talk to our history class? April, I didn’t even know about it. My mom heard about your presentation from the principal. Apparently everyone was talking about what you said.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Even Cora.”

  “What?”

  “Cora apologized to me afterward. She wanted me to tell you she was sorry.”

  He was speechless for a moment, his expression alternating between shock and pride. “Unbelievable. You actually got her to apologize! No blackmail, no tricks. Just by being you. And yet you still think you need me?”

  I took his hand. �
�Maybe you’re right. But I liked it when you needed me.”

  He took a deep breath and looked away. “I still do. Which is why I have to go now. I think you see that.”

  I did see it. Although I knew I’d fight him in my mind for months to come, I understood him when he said it. He needed time, and I needed space to breathe a little on my own, without him.

  There was only one thing, one pale, weak feeling that was left now, one last emotion that I was sure would never go away.

  “I love you,” I told him miserably and put my face into my hands because I didn’t want to watch him leave.

  He was getting ready to go; he was sitting so close to me that I could feel the tension in his body, the sharp, shallow breathing of someone in pain. It’s over now, I told myself. In a moment, I’ll hear the door slam and he’ll be gone.

  And then his arms were around me, and I was folded up against his chest, my face pressed over his heart. I felt his cheek brush against my forehead, and then he bent his head down and kissed me hard. Everything he’d said, my grief, his tearstained face and unhappy eyes, disappeared now beneath his kiss. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pressed my lips to his. He’s taking it all back, I told myself. He’s changed his mind, we’ll work through everything somehow, he’ll never let me go…

  And then he did. As I leaned into him, he suddenly pulled back; I felt his arms loosen around me. “I’m really sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I couldn’t answer him; I could barely breathe.

  He rose quickly from the sofa and stepped away from me. “I love you, April.”

  Then he was gone, the door shutting softly behind him, the retreating sound of footsteps blending with the rumble of traffic in the street. I didn’t move for minutes after he’d left, frozen in place while I listened for his step, a knock, anything to break the awful silence he’d left behind. It wasn’t real to me. I couldn’t accept it; I couldn’t grasp the thought that there was nothing to look forward to the next day, nothing to wait for or believe in. He had to be coming back. This couldn’t be how our story ended.