Page 138 of From Nowhere

When I was thirteen, I got a remote-controlled airplane for Christmas. Brandon wanted to try it the following spring, and he crashed it. So my dad made him buy me another one. It took all his money and a two-hundred-dollar loan from my parents. My brother swore I’d eventually crash it too.

I didn’t.

I was a natural. Dad said it was my delicate touch. Sometimes, the wind would get a hold of it as I tried to land it, and he’d say,Gentle, Mare. Don’t panic. If you panic, you’ll crash. If you stay calm, you’ll find a suitable place to land it. Easy. Stay calm. That’s it.You’ve got this.

Sometimes, that suitable place was a tree. Once, it was a pond. And more times than I could count, I landed it in a cornfield. Sure, there were a few scratches and the occasional repairs needed, but I never nose-dived the eight-hundred-dollar toy into the driveway, as Brandon had done.

Gentle, Mare.

Don’t panic.

Easy. Stay calm.

You’ve got this.

Over my years of crop-dusting and fighting fires, I’ve repeatedly replayed my dad’s words in my head, but now I hear his voice, and it’s not in my head. I don’t know where it’s coming from.

“My sweet girl, you’re it. You’re all we have left. I know you’ve been hell bent on chasing Brandon, but now is not the time. This is not your time. I won’t give you my blessing to leave us. Do you hear me?”

“Aaron, let her be. Let’s get dinner,” my mom says.

This is weird. Is it a dream? If so, why can’t I see them?

“We’ll be right back,” Dad says.

I try to speak, but I can’t. Why can’t I talk?

“Hey, Maren. I have someone who wants to talk to you.”

Jamie? Is that you?

“Maren, it’s me, Lola. You should wake up for Bandit. He misses you. And you should come home and see your house. It’ssobeautiful. My dad and I have been working hard, and it’s almost finished. Dad hung a wood swing on your front porch and a wind chime I picked out. It has butterflies. Tomorrow, we’re going to replace some old boards on the tree house. I can’t wait for you to see everything. So you just need to open your eyes. I know it’s scary. I was scared after my accident, but it’s okay. You’ve got this.”

You’ve got this . . .

“Dad, say something,” Lola says.

“Hey, beautiful. The swing was supposed to be a surprise.” Ozzy chuckles. “But Lola’s right, you need to open your eyes. The world is an infinitely better place with you in it.” He sounds different. Nervous? Scared?

Don’t they know I’m trying to open my eyes? I don’t understand why I can’t see or speak, but I can hear.

“Oh, Lola wanted me to tell you that we’re making a carrot cake with pineapple, of course. But since we’re in Missoula, we need you to come home to eat it. Okay? It’s time to open your eyes and come—” Ozzy’s voice cracks.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Lola whispers.

Ozzy clears his throat. “Come home. I love you.”

Why am I not home?

Everything fades like I’m falling asleep, but when I wake up, I’m not really awake. I come in and out of this peculiar state without awareness of time or space. I feel people touching me, but I can’t move. It’s frustrating. I get angry, but then everything fades. It always fades.

“Get the doctor,” my mom yells. “The shades. Get the shades, Aaron. It’s too bright in here for her eyes. Maren, can you hear me?” She squeezes my hand. “Sweetie,” she cries.

She’s messing with me and being too loud. I can’t talk, and when I move, more people touch me, people I don’t recognize, shining light in my eyes andmessing with me!

“Maren, I need you to calm down. Try to relax.”

Who’s that? Why? What’s happening?

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