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Mom rolls her eyes. “You were an idiot today. Coco told me as much. I’m guessing you haven’t talked to Meredith?”
I wet my lips and look at the ground. “I haven’t.” But not for a lack of trying.
“I’m here now. Go see your friend. Let her know you’re sorry.”
“She won’t answer my texts. So, I don’t know that it matters.”
My mother is small, but she’s anything but feeble. She raised four boys on her own. She gave up her only daughter and broke her own heart in the process. She lived with kidney failure for years, until Coco came in as our savior. “It does matter,” she says, a hand on my cheek. “She is a light in your world that’s been a little dim these past few years. Don’t let that light go out simply because you were stupid for a brief moment in time.”
Stupid. Thanks, Mom. “It’s just an argument. We’ll get over it.”
“It’s a question of who she is. She trusts you. And you basically told her that she wasn’t deserving of your brother’s love.”
“I didn’t—”
“Not directly.”
“Not even indirectly.” I shake my head. I hadn’t meant that at all.
“But that may be how it translated. You may not be ready to see the truth, Levi. But even if she’sjusta friend, isn’t she a friend worth saving? Not from sickness or danger, but saving as in keeping.”
I swallow. And nod. “Yes. She is a friend worth keeping.”
“Then, go on. Apologize in person.” She reaches up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “I’ll wait here with Alice.”
The air is crisp, cooler than it has been in a week. Still, I hop on my bike, knowing I’ll need the breeze and time to think. I ride, and instead of thinking about what I should say, my mind wanders to Meredith’s list. About the simple and the complex. About the experiences she’s hoping to have to fill her life and frame her person. She’s already who she is. And I wouldn’t change her. She is everything good and precious in this world. But she’s giving herself a bright shiny frame by trying new things. And there’s something to that. Something worth learning.
I drift to number fifteen: Step into Shakespeare.
So, what Meredith doesn’t know is that the only other time I asked to see her list, I took a secret picture of it. How else am I supposed to remember everything and help her complete them all?
This is how I know that number fifteen is one that’s a little strange. She didn’t want to simply go see a play. But she wants to, and I quote, “step into Shakespeare”. I suppose she could go to Europe or the Middle East and try to put herself where he was, where Shakespeare’s writings took him. But the wind and the whooshing sound in my ears is giving me another idea.
I park my bike against the side of Bob’s house—Allen Finch’s house—and I walk around to where I know her room is. There is a window, only one window on this side—it must be her room. That’s a gift from the heavens—I can’t imagine knocking on Bob’s window this minute.
I gather up a handful of pebbles and stand three feet from her one-story window. I’m not exactly Romeo. Still, I toss one at the pane, then another.
Maybe she isn’t in her room. Or maybe like my text messages, she isn’t answering pathetic attempts at Shakespeare greetings either.
What do I have to lose? I toss the rest of the pebbles in my hand creating a loudpat, pat, pat, pat, patsong on her windowpane. I wait, and the curtain covering up Meredith’s glass slips to the side.
She’s changed into a long nightshirt—even her nightclothes are dresses. Her wavy blonde hair frames her face, and her blue eyes are wide when she peers out to see me.
“Levi?”
“Hey, Mer,” I call, loud enough to be heard through the pane. I give her a small wave.
She pushes up on the window lift until her glass is half open. “What are you doing? I have a front door.”
“You know, number fifteen.”
“Seriously? Did you memorize my entire list?”
“Yeah—” The word deflates in my mouth. Let’s go with that.
“Shakespeare?”
“Yeah, pebbles at your window.”
