Read Online Believe by Sarah Aronson - Free Book Online Page B

her to put it in perspective.
    Sometimes the best thing a friend could do was say nothing. Even I knew that.
    The road was closed. Bright lights illuminated the damage. Trucks blocked the road. They beeped loud warnings. When we didn’t pull a U-turn, a man in a hard hat jogged toward us, waving us away. He looked annoyed.
    â€œWe’re closing down the block,” he said. “You need to go another way. We’re fixing these lines.”
    One huge bough lay strewn across the road. Its branches looked like broken fingers, splintered and disjointed at unnatural angles. At the break, the trunk’s white middle was exposed.
    Miriam asked, “Is it dead?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” the man said. “At least not yet. We’ll just have to wait and see.” Miriam nodded her head and stared at the broken tree. He said, “That old tree has survived a lot of storms. It was due for something like this.”
    The tree looked lopsided, deformed, like it could topple over at any moment. He should have been able to tell us definitively. Was the thing dead? Or was everything going to be okay?
    Without this tree, the land was not special. It could be any piece of land on any street in any town. If the tree died, there’d be no reason not to sell the land and there’d be nothing anyone could do to stop that. For the second time, I felt bad for the tree. It didn’t ask for this. It was just trying to be a tree.
    I started to say something to Miriam, but she didn’t have time for an existential discussion about trees and life and responsibility. She started calling the other people who cared about the farm. I redialed Lo, and this time she picked up. The first thing she said was, “Thank God you’re okay.” She sounded like she’d just run ten miles. The second thing: “When I got your message, I thought I was losing my mind.”
    I gave her the extended version—what happened, and where I was now. “It looks like he’s going to completely recover.”
    She started to lecture me, but then stopped, like she didn’t know whether to be mad or sad or furious or relieved. I said, “Can you come and get me? I’m confused. Something big happened. I need to figure out what to do next.”

TWELVE
    On the way home, Lo picked up a big bag of individually wrapped chocolates, Diet Cokes, and baskets of strawberries and blueberries, even though all they had were the fancy organic kind. And they were out of season. White in the middle. Taste-free.
    She chopped the strawberries with more force than necessary, then doused them with sugar. “You are not a faith healer, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Not really, but hearing her say it made me momentarily less sure.
    I went straight for the chocolates. I unwrapped two, crinkled up the foil, and stuffed them in my dry mouth. Sharon picked out the blueberries, one by one, feeling them first to make sure they were firm. For some reason, when she was stressed out, she preferred fruit.
    While we ate, I told them every single thing that happened, every detail, every sound, every second. I told them I heard my mother and that Abe woke up after I touched him. And even then, they didn’t waffle, not one iota.
    I was not a faith healer.
    I had nothing to do with Abe getting better.
    I should have come home.
    â€œThe accident was all over the news. Your message was too vague.”
    When only shriveled blueberries were left, Sharon started on the strawberries. “Tell us what you heard your mother say.” She reached out to hold my hand. There was red juice under her nails.
    I took a long breath. This was a little bit sad, a little bit embarrassing. “The same words she said when we were buried alive. You might think I’m crazy, but it wasn’t that bad. Hearing her voice made me feel like Abe was going to be okay, even though he looked almost dead.”
    Lo walked