The theory of everything, p.21
The Theory of Everything, page 21
He picks the antlers up, holds them in his open palms. He helped me mount them onto a small burl of pine.
The antler points seem to slice the air as Roy gives them to Emmett.
“Are these from the deer that…” Emmett trails off as he takes the gift from Roy. He rotates the antlers, studying their arcs, curves, points, velvety bases.
“They’re from Jamie’s deer—the one that died where she did,” I say.
“My mom told me about it.” He presses his fingertips to the antler points. He looks at me. “I know what we need to do with these.” He sounds certain, decided.
Tools clatter along another workbench as Roy slides the rack with the skin aside, revealing the pegboard behind it. He reaches up and picks something off a hook, snaps the thread that’s connecting it to the other things, brings it over. He opens my hands with his calloused fingers, and sets it into my palm. A thin, broken gold chain. And on the end of the chain, shining up from the nest of my palm, is Jamie’s part of the locket.
Jamie’s locket. I never thought I’d see it again. I thought it was gone forever. I gape at it. Then at Roy. “How did…”
“Keep something from each accident I clean. Something small.”
I breathe in sharply. “Isn’t that illegal? To keep things?”
“I’m there after the police. After the families. Anything that’s important, they take it away long before I get there.”
“But…why?”
Roy looks from me to Emmett to the peg-board. “It’s a tough job. Keeping something makes it more human. I tie the things together to remind me it’s all connected. Somehow. We’re all connected.”
We’re all connected.
I look down at the locket in my hand.
Roy says, “Noticed your gold necklace on occasion, Sarah. The chains are the same.”
“Yeah,” I manage to say before I start crying. “We each wear half. We each wore half.”
Emmett holds his hand out, like asking if he can see it. I don’t want to hand it over; I want to hold it forever. But he needs it as much as I do. I give it to him.
Emmett studies it. “It looks busted.”
Through my tears I laugh.
Emmett gives the necklace back, spooling it into my palm. Roy returns to his bucket chair. We sit, the three of us—Roy looking at the garage floor; me staring at Jamie’s locket; Emmett holding the antlers—and we let our tears go. Not all of our tears. But a lot. We cry until our sleeves are full of snot and tears. The three of us are beyond embarrassment; it’s like we’ve created a place where we can let each other just…be.
Finally, Roy stands. He rubs his hands over his face, reaches down to pat Ruby, who thumps her tail for him. “Might could do with some coffee.”
“Want me to make it?” I ask.
He smiles. “Goodness no.”
“When do you have to leave for Mr. Big’s?” I ask.
“It can wait a few more minutes.”
I nod. “I brought hot cocoa for me and Emmett.”
“I’ll get the water started,” Roy says. “You two come on in when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” Emmett says from under his hood.
“Welcome.”
Emmett and I snuffle our noses and swipe at our tears. Emmett looks at me with red eyes and ruddy cheeks. “Do you think Roy would drive us to the cemetery?”
I nod. “We need to go there?”
“I don’t know why, I feel like these belong on her grave.”
“I read about some people who lived way back, before the Roman Empire, I think. Deer were symbolic to them. They thought deer helped send the spirits of the dead on their way.”
“Really?”
“I feel it, too. Like maybe the antlers can help guard her spirit. Let it be free.”
He looks at me, surprised. “Yeah. Exactly.”
We sit quietly a while longer. Then I ask, “Want to go inside?”
“Sure. But I can’t drink the cocoa.”
“I brought the sugar-free kind.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Oh sure. I think of everything.” I grab my bag.
Emmett helps me find some rope so we can tie Ruby to Roy’s front steps. She looks pathetic, gives me big sad mournful eyes, but it’s the safest thing. She’s caused enough trouble here. But also—thanks, Rubes. For setting good things in motion that night.
Still, we don’t need her sinking her teeth into Buddy. Wouldn’t that be perfect?
In Roy’s kitchen, the fluorescent lights jar my watery eyes. The coffeemaker is burbling on the table, spitting brown liquid. Roy’s got a big, dented pot of water heating on the stove. There are three mugs and a couple of spoons on the table.
I sit on the stepladder that’s been enlisted as a third seat. Emmett sits on the plastic chair. I pull the sugar-free cocoa mix and snacks out of my backpack.
Roy pours hot water into our mugs, returns the pot to the stove. Emmett and I tear open our packets and put in our cocoa, stirring, watching the brown powder darken, sink, dissolve. Roy sits and I fill his mug with coffee. We all look wrecked. But also relieved.
There’s no talking. There’s no need.
Emmett’s spoon clinks against his mug. Roy takes a slurp of coffee.
I breathe. I feel the kaleidoscope shift.
It’s a big one, this swerve my life took.
And I might catch hell from my parents when I get home, I might never patch things up with Stenn. I’ll never have Jamie back. But for this moment at least, I’m okay.
I’ve got these friends, see. Who need me as much as I need them.
Go, Jamie. Let your spirit speed on its way.
We’re good here.
From the Author
The epitaph on Donna Showalter’s grave is from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet. It’s a beautiful book, available at almost any public library. Super highly recommended.
Norwich, New York, is my real hometown, but I’ve fictionalized it. A lot. With the exception of Ruby, none of the main characters are real; also, I’ve moved things around and invented new places. Norwichians: enjoy the parts you recognize, but don’t speculate too much about the people and places you don’t. Because I made them up. Because that’s what writers do. Which is why I love being a writer.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book wouldn’t exist without the help of many, many friends. Noah and Sam Wichman bolstered me through four years of rejection. So did the members of Adverb Fight Club: Jennifer Harrod, John Claude Bemis, and Stephen Messer—true friends and great writers all. My agent, Ginger Knowlton, has believed in me for a long time, and I thank her for that. Kathy Landwehr is not just my editor but also my friend. (And dance-off archnemesis.) Nobody puts Kathy in a corner.
The whole Peachtree crew has been dreamy to work with. Maureen Withee came through again with phenomenal art, graphic design, and typesetting. Seriously, it’s like things go from my brain straight through to Mo’s pencil. Thanks also to Jessica Alexander, Vicky Holifield, and Stephanie Fretwell-Hill for copy edits and proofreading. And there’s Melissa Bloomfield, Samantha Grefe, Emily Rivet, Farah Gehy, Lesley Rowe, and the rest of the crew who do so much for me with courtesy and professionalism. Thank you for making this process so lovely. Also a big shoutout to Margaret Quinlin for fantastic food and conversation in NYC.
Earl and Juanita Johnson are not just my enduringly supportive parentals, they are also excellent proofreaders. Lisa Wichman, too. Thanks again to the Everetts for two contract celebrations down the pub in one week; and to Michelle, Andrea, Anna, Jen, Nishi, and Salma for early reads. Maddy Sweitzer-Lamme provided a helpful Youth of Today focus group. And to all my good good friends—you know who you are: you guys are the bestest. Thanks, cheers, and up your kilts.
The Theory of Everything was written in loving memory of B. A. M., with continuing fondness for K.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All the characters in The Theory of Everything are fictional with the exception of Ruby, who was very real and somewhat feral and brought home many possums.
Copyright © 2012 by J. J. Johnson
Cover design by Maureen Withee
ISBN 978-1-5040-2678-9
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J. J. Johnson, The Theory of Everything
