11.

"Ever since I met you on a cloudy Monday, I can't believe how much I love the rain."

--Chantal Kreviazuk

I arrived back in New York before sundown, got off the plane and picked up my luggage, then dragged myself out of the airport to get a taxi. I was so tired I wasn't seeing straight, and I wasn't looking forward to getting home and calling my bank to cancel all of my stolen cards. And writing to my insurance company for a new card, and reapplying for a license – the errands were piling up in my head like bricks against the back of my temples, and the headache I'd had since Helga had dropped her bombshell was threatening to completely overwhelm me.

It was rush hour by the time I was heading toward the city in a taxi with a particularly slimy backseat, and I put my head against the dirty window and shut my eyes, wishing I could disappear. I wanted to get out of the traffic, get out of the cab as soon as possible, but I didn't particularly want to get back to my apartment, where work that had piled up around my ears while I was away was waiting.

I folded my arms over my chest and tried to sleep while the taxi jerked unsteadily through the traffic, the driver muttering obscenities to himself as he erratically changed lanes. I couldn't sleep, of course, and when I closed my eyes I saw Edward sitting, dejected, on Curly's front porch, watching me go. Or Helga hunched on the staircase, telling me, crushed and cynical, to try and send birthday cards. I wanted to stuff my fingers in my ears, as if I could shut out the sound of my regrets. But were they regrets? I was happy to get away. Wasn't I?

I needed a drink, badly. I'd wanted to have one, or two, or five, on the plane, but every time I raised my hand to call for a stewardess I had gotten a vision of Helga standing furious in Troy's dark bedroom, calling me an alcoholic. I hated that her skewed conception of me could still sting, could still make me second guess myself.

When the taxi finally pulled up to my apartment building the sun had disappeared entirely. I paid the driver and climbed out, fumbled to get my suitcase inside the revolving door. Inside I nodded to the security guard who manned the marble lobby. He smiled at me.

" Did you have a good trip, Mr. --"

" Yes, fine," I answered quickly, cutting him off and hurrying past to call the elevator. I thought about all the people at work who would ask me the same question tomorrow, wondering why I had to stay an extra day for a friend's wedding. My stomach churned at the thought of coming up with some excuse – devious as I might have become, I was still a shitty liar.

When I got up to my place, when I'd locked the door and dropped my suitcase on its side in the foyer, I had to consciously instruct myself not to burst into tears. I chewed on my tongue, breathed through my mouth, walked into the kitchen. I put my hands on the bar that looked out into the rest of the apartment, bracing myself.

Okay, I really needed a drink.

I made myself a vodka tonic, and the sound of the ice cubes clinking against the glass filled me with a guilty sort of relief. I went to the living room windows: floor to ceiling numbers that looked out over the city. All the lights were on against the darkness – I looked for the Brooklyn Bridge, the road home. I raised my glass to it, scoffing.

" To the old neighborhood," I muttered to myself, staring in its direction. The place where I met Helga, the source of all my problems. Or not – maybe it was that village in South America, maybe they were to blame. I could always take the old fashioned route and blame myself for everything that had gone wrong, of course. I drank to that.

I went reluctantly to my answering machine, and saw that I had five messages. The first was from my dry cleaner. I let out my breath, relieved. The second, however, was from Julia.

" Hey, asshole," she sneered at me from the machine. " Just wanted to tell you that I'm coming over Monday to get my key back. Thanks for nothing."

Okay. I drew my breath in: I could handle that. I was prepared for her to hate me, and I couldn't blame her. The next message was from my friend Dalton at work.

" Arnold!" he shouted. " Hey, what the hell happened in California, man? People are talking – did you get married? Julie's pissed, dude! Call me!"

I groaned. The next message was from my boss, passive-aggressively suggesting that my taking an extra day off was not going to be smiled upon. The last message was Julia again:

" Arnold," she snapped. " I came over today – where the hell are you? I need my key back, you dick – you better bring it to the office tomorrow."

" Right," I muttered in response, draining my drink and going to the kitchen to make another. On the way there I dug into my pocket and found Julia's key on my ring, slid it off and placed it on the kitchen counter so I would remember it in the morning. So much for dating girls from the office; they were all going to hate me now. Not that I could imagine dating again, ever. Not that there was any point to any of it.

At some point that evening I passed out on the couch watching the news, and when I woke up it was 3 AM and there was a half-empty bag of Doritos lying next to me. I ate a few chips, staring at the muted television, then stumbled into the bedroom.

Unable to get back to sleep, I laid on my back and thought about Helga and Edward: my family, just as long-lost as the only other family I had left in the world. If my parents were even alive, which they probably weren't. Maybe I was only comforting myself with thoughts of their intentional abandonment, to stave off more disturbing images of a fiery plane crash, of devoted parents whose last thoughts were of me.

Edward would certainly think the worst of me. I'd given him every reason to. And yet I was lying there thinking of him, and couldn't imagine not having him in the back of my mind ever again.

Eventually I did have a short and fitful sleep, and I dreamed of South America. Only it wasn't a country full of mountains and jungles after all – it was a basement waiting room, and I sat there in an plastic chair beside my parents, who hadn't aged. We were uncomfortable together, the three of us, and we tried not to make eye contact under the bad florescent lighting.

" It can't be much longer now," my mother said in a sigh, just before I woke up.

I opened my eyes and sat up in bed. I didn't have to be at work for two hours, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I turned and looked out the windows behind my bed, out at the city. A city full of people who didn't sleep. I sighed and stood listlessly, went for the shower.

After dressing for work I went into my kitchen to poke around for something to eat, but all I found in the fridge was week old Chinese leftovers and various condiments. I had no bread for toast, no eggs, nothing. I decided to go down to the bakery on the corner, get something special and super-sweet, like a big piece of coffee cake dripping with icing. I had a feeling I'd be treating myself for awhile, trying to make up for the punishment of the past weekend.

But as I headed downstairs I knew I was kidding myself. Yeah, that weekend had been hard as hell, tiring and frustrating and ultimately fruitless. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I wouldn't trade piece of mind for knowing about my son, for having seen him and talked to him, even if all I could do was disappoint him. And as much as I resented her, or tried to, I had loved being around Helga again, in moments. Even when she was driving me crazy she at least made me feel alive again.

It didn't matter, of course. Maybe I was glad I did it, but that kind of emotional roller coaster was not something that I could dream of sustaining. No, Helga and I were better off in short spurts; we'd never been able to handle each other, for better or worse, for very long. And Edward – well. She would take care of him. I didn't know anything about being a father. I'd never had one; as good as my grandfather had done filling in, he was no replacement for my real father. That was why I was messed up, I told myself as I made my way into the bakery. Maybe someday, when Edward was older, we'd get together for drinks and talk the whole thing out, come to some sort of understanding. But he was just a kid, and couldn't handle any kind of explanation of the ridiculous mess of my history with Helga. Better to let me be the bad guy for now.

I ordered a large coffee and two sticky cinnamon buns, and waited at the counter after paying. Behind me, a very pregnant woman stepped up to order. When I saw her, I felt a sort of pang in my gut, thinking of Helga, how I never got to see her like this, how I thought she'd lost our baby because of me.

" Arnold?" someone said, breaking my trance. I looked around, confused. The voice sounded familiar – then I realized it was the pregnant lady who was speaking to me. I looked at her, trying to place her face. It only took a few seconds, and when it came to me I had to take two steps backward in shock.

" Ruth?" I asked, disbelieving. She grinned – the same wicked smile I remembered - amused at my surprise.

" Yeah, it's me," she said, laughing. " You're thinking I got fat, right? Well, I have a good excuse."

" I gathered," I said with a nod, looking down to her protruding belly again.

" Hard to believe, right?" she said, paying the cashier and moving over to stand beside me. " I wasn't really the type, back when you knew me."

" Yeah, I remember that distinctly," I muttered angrily, thinking of her lectures on how I should tell Helga to get rid of the baby.

" What can I say, people change," she said, smirking.

" I guess so," I said, uncomfortable.

" This is actually my second," she said, looking down and placing a hand on her stomach. " I have a two year old daughter."

" You're married, then?" I asked, presumptuous and too forward, but given my history with Ruth I figured trying to be polite would be laughable.

" Yep, for five years," she said proudly, smiling. " He's an older gent. You know me, I was too sophisticated for men my age." She winked at me and I scoffed.

" Yeah, something like that," I said.

" How about you?" she asked as we gathered up our drinks and pastries and moved toward a table. She sat down first and I joined her after hesitating for a moment. It struck me that I was actually glad to see her, despite all the past bitterness. I was glad to see that she was happy.

I opened my mouth to tell her that I wasn't married, that I was just a pathetic bachelor who drank alone while standing at the windows of his apartment and mooning over the lights from his childhood home, but then I remembered.

" Yeah, I'm still married to Helga," I told her, swallowing a lump in my throat. It was true, only technically and perhaps for not much longer, but even so.

" Really?" Ruth said, not hiding her surprise, her eyebrows shooting up. " You guys . . . worked everything out?"

" Yep," I lied.

" You had a kid together, right?" she asked cautiously.

" Yeah, Edward," I said, beaming with genuine pride. " He's great. He's ten years old."

" Wow," Ruth said, sitting back and smiling, peeling the paper from the muffin she'd ordered. " Against all odds, huh?"

" Something like that," I muttered, drinking from my coffee.

" I always felt terrible," she said, not looking at me. " Like I wrecked everything."

" You certainly tried to," I said, looking up at her. If she hadn't barged into the boarding house that morning everything I was telling her would be true – Helga and I would have made it. Against all odds.

Or would we have? Would she have invented some other drama, would I have gotten disenchanted and resentful?

" I was going through some . . . hard times," Ruth said, in way of explanation.

" So was I," I said, a little bitterly.

" I know," she said. " I'm so sorry. But everything worked out, right?"

" Right," I said quietly, staring down at my untouched cinnamon rolls.

" Arnold," she said, her tone changing. I looked up at her, and she leaned across the table. She smiled at me, different than her usual catty grin – she was beaming, her face full of unashamed adoration.

" Arnold, you saved my life that summer," she said.

" I – what?"

" I came home from Brown to kill myself," she said frankly, sitting back. " It's so hard to believe now, but back then – I was a complete mess. In college I'd gotten pregnant – I didn't even remember how, I was drinking so much at the time, having blackouts . . .,"

I thought of Edward's conception - it seemed impossible, now, that Helga and I had been through something similar.

" My parents didn't even know where I was that summer," she said, shaking her head. " They were trying to sell that old brownstone, staying in Maine until they could move out. They thought I was in Europe."

" Why are you telling me this?" I asked, embarrassed.

" Because I want you to know that it wasn't all for nothing," she said, sighing. " All that crap I put you through, making you drink with me every night until we both passed out on the floor."

" You didn't make me do anything," I muttered, though it hadn't felt that way at the time.

" But you were so innocent," she said, shaking her head. " I'd never met a boy like you. I think I wanted to corrupt you to prove something to myself, that you were all the same."

I had to look away from her, remembering how she'd changed me that summer. I couldn't believe this was the same girl who'd tried to methodically destroy me. She seemed so soft and kind, so changed herself.

" How exactly did I save you?" I asked, trying to think of anything I'd done with her beyond stumbling around her parents' brownstone and exchanging veiled insults in between bouts of ripping each others' clothes off.

" You didn't desert me," she said, the words tearing into me. " You kept coming back, and it wasn't because you needed me, or even wanted me at that point. You were worried about me. You cared. And that day I came over, the day Helga saw us and – you didn't shove me aside, you held me. It wasn't what I was expecting, and if it caused problems for you and Helga, I'm so sorry. But I wanted you to know, it wasn't for nothing."

I felt like the room was spinning. So that was what I was doing when I ruined Helga's life, causing her to ruin mine in return – I was saving Ruth? My initial reaction to this was to stand up in the middle of the quaint little bakery and scream about how unfair it all was. But looking at her, sitting across the table from me with happy tears in her eyes, I didn't feel cheated. I even felt a little redeemed.

" I'm glad," I told her, smiling. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

" You're really amazing," she said. " But I'm sure your wife tells you that all the time."

" Yeah," I said sadly. " Ruth – I've got to go."

" Oh, you've probably got work," she said, nodding to herself. " Well, I'm really glad I ran into you, anyway. Glad to know you, Arnold," she said, looking up at me as I stood to leave, wrapping up the cinnamon buns that I'd lost my appetite for during our conversation.

" You too, Ruth," I said earnestly. For all the pain she'd caused me, I was glad. I was lying to myself when I told myself it didn't mean anything to me anymore, "saving" people. I was still a sucker for it, after all.

I left the bakery and walked down the crowded sidewalk – the sun had fully risen now, and the streets were bustling with people trying to get to work. But I realized as I walked that my feet were carrying me away from my office building. I was walking toward the subway station. I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down, people hurrying around me as I paused. I pulled out one of the cinnamon buns from the bakery and ate it hungrily. I felt strangely calm. Strangely good, for the first time in awhile.

Without thinking too much about it, I descended the steps and boarded a train that would take me out to Brooklyn. My heart was racing a little, like it had on days when I skipped high school to go to the arcade with Gerald. As the train pulled out of the station I took out the second cinnamon bun, but before I could take a bite I noticed a man in a ratty old jacket staring at me. I looked at him – he was unshaven and looked tired, disoriented. I looked down at the bun in my hand, then stood up.

" Here," I said, handing it to him.

" Huh?" he said, looking up at me in surprise.

" Here, you can have this, if you want," I said, watching him take it, still confused. " I already had one, and I'm not that hungry."

" Thanks, man," he said quietly, staring up at me. I nodded to him and smiled, then went back to my seat.

By the time I got off the train and climbed the stairs to the familiar streets of my old neighborhood, I was humming to myself like an idiot. What was wrong with me, I had no clue. But seeing Ruth and cutting out of work had me feeling like I was walking on air. I practically skipped my way along the streets toward my childhood home.

When I reached the brownstone that used to be the Sunset Arms I stopped and looked up at the brick building, hands in my pockets. The sign that once hung over the door was gone, as was the nasty old radiator that used to hang out of the living room window. The whole place looked like it had been refurbished, along with the rest of the neighborhood. It was more upscale now, but the place still had a certain old world charm.

I had to stop myself before I climbed the fire escape to peek in at my old room, to see if they'd gutted it or kept my modifications in place. I didn't need to get arrested for trespassing on top of everything else that had happened lately. So I simply stood there, watching the place as if waiting for it to reveal some secret to me, some information that it had silently called me there to impart.

" Hey," came a voice behind me, and I whirled to see a kid sitting on a bike and staring at me with a skeptical look on his face.

" What are you doing?" he asked me, looking me up and down.

" I used to live here," I explained.

" Oh," he said, looking up at the house and back to me. " Well, this is my house now," he said.

" Shouldn't you be in school?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes.

" It's a teacher workday, duh," he said.

" Oh, man, I used to love the teacher workdays!" I said, beaming. " We would go to the empty lot and play baseball until the ice cream truck came around – hey, is that ball field still there?"

" Gerald Field?" the kid said. " Sure. My friend Anthony says it was named after his dad."

" Anthony!" I exclaimed, remembering that Gerald had moved back to Brooklyn with his wife and two kids, Anthony and Marcus. " I know that kid. God, I haven't seen him in two years. I need to call Gerald."

" You're kinda weird," the kid said after a pause.

" Hey, what about the attic room in this place?" I asked, ignoring this astute observation. " Does it still have the couch that you can control with a remote? How about the sky light?"

" It was like that when you lived here?" he asked, brightening a little.

" Yeah, I'm the one who made all those modifications," I told him, proud.

" That's my room," he said, smiling. " I changed the wallpaper, though. It used to be these really dorky clouds."

" I loved those clouds," I mused, looking up at the third floor.

" You're weird," the kid said again, laughing.

" You know I have a kid about your age," I said, apropos of nothing. He stared back at me, and I waited for him to tell me that I looked too young to be a ten year old's father.

" So?" he said instead, shrugging.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't come up with a response. Somehow it was the most profound thing anyone had said about my whole screwed up situation with Edward. He was mine. So? What did that even matter, if I was just going to let him slip away?

" I – I've got to go," I said to the kid, walking off down the sidewalk. " Take care of my old room, willya?"

" Whatever, mister," he muttered, laughing to himself.

My feet did the thinking for me, and before I knew what was happening I was standing in front of the brownstone where Helga used to live, just down the street from the elementary school. I stared up at it, at the window that used to be hers. Part of me wanted to climb up the fire escape and look inside, expecting to find her there. I felt like I'd traveled back in time. The front door of the brownstone opened, and I ducked behind a telephone poll, afraid Big Bob was going to emerge, running at me and wielding a baseball bat. But instead a red-haired man I didn't recognize locked the door behind him and headed off down the street. I let out my breath.

Now what, Arnold? I thought to myself, frozen in place, my eyes on what used to be Helga's bedroom window. Like the kid said: so? You grew up here, your parents left you, you met the girl, you made the kid, and things sort of went haywire from there.

. . . So?

I turned and headed toward the subway station. On the way there I stopped at a newsstand and bought a giant candy bar. I felt like a kid cutting class, like I was slipping away from all the wrongheaded rationalizations that had held me in place for so long. For the first time in awhile what was good and what was right were clear to me, and man had I missed my old ability to see them for what they were.

" Hey, is that you, Arnold?" someone called as I was heading down the stairs to the subway stop. I looked up to see a robust old man sitting outside of a butcher's shop.

" Mr. Green!" I said, stopping on the stairs to smile at him.

" Long time no see!" he said, grinning. " You running for president yet?"

" One step at a time," I called as I jogged down the stairs. He laughed.

" I'd vote for you!" he called after me.

" I need a ticket to Seattle, please," I told the lady behind the ticket counter at the airport. I'd been in line for thirty minutes, ready to burst with excitement. In the time it had taken me to travel between the old neighborhood and the airport I'd had two more cups of coffee, another candy bar and a whole roll of Sweet Tarts. I almost felt like I could jump into the air, flap my arms and fly to Seattle myself.

" Will that be round trip or one way?" she asked, not looking up from her computer terminal.

" One way," I said, beaming. " Yeah, I'm not coming back to New York. I'm so done with New York, you know what I mean?"

She looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.

" Sir, if you're intoxicated they won't let you fly," she muttered.

" Oh, God," I said, laughing. " You wouldn't know, but that's actually really ironic, what you just said. But I'm only highly caffienated at the moment."

" I see," she said, sighing. " Well, it'll be three hundred and thirty three dollars, then, for one way to Seattle."

" You know what?" I said, after a pause, clutching my one remaining credit card. " How much for first class? No, I don't even care. Just give me first class," I said, handing over the card. She took it from me and gave me a look.

" Alright," she muttered. " One way to Seattle, first class. Seven hundred and thirteen dollars." She punched a few buttons on her keyboard, and looked up at me. " Done," she said.

" Perfect," I said, beaming. " Thank you. You know, this is hilarious because actually I'm probably being fired on my answering machine at this very minute. But I don't even care - sometimes you can just tell things are going to work out!"

" Best of luck with that," she said dryly as I walked off.

I boarded my plane thirty minutes later, with no luggage to check. I'd never flown first class before, and the mid-afternoon flight wasn't crowded, so I got to sit by the window with an empty seat beside me. I stared out the little window and smiled, stretched my legs out. I couldn't think about what Edward and Helga's reactions would be yet, I couldn't guess what to expect. I was just excited; though I'd never been to Seattle before, I felt like I was heading home after a long, exhausting trip.

" Champagne, sir?" a voice asked, and I turned to see a flight attendant proffering a silver tray with four glasses of bubbling champagne on it.

" Oh," I said, watching the bubbles float to the surface of the glasses, transfixed for a moment. I thought of the last time I'd had champagne: Eugene's wedding, where all of this had begun.

" Actually," I said, narrowing my eyes a bit and looking at her. " Could I just have, like, three bottles of Yahoo soda? Please?"

" Three bottles?" she asked, straightening.

" Yeah, if that's possible," I said.

" Of course it is, sir," she said, smiling and breezing away. Soon enough she was back with three ice cold bottles of my favorite childhood drink.

" I used to know the guy who advertised these," I told her brightly as she served them to me.

" Oh?" she said. " Are you in advertising, then?"

" No, no," I said, laughing. " Actually I'm pretty much unemployed." For some reason every time I said it I just wanted to double over laughing in delight. No more picking out scientists' grammatical errors as I combed through tomes on Chemical Engineering, half asleep and dreading the new edition that would surely be released in six months' time. I had no idea what I wanted to do instead – maybe I would be a stay at home Dad. I grinned to myself at the thought.

We took off on schedule, and flew toward the West Coast, through gigantic cloud formations that looked like powder-soft mountains. I kept my eyes open the whole time, snacking on cookies and sipping soda to stave off my sugar crash. Before long, three hours had passed, and we were beginning our descent toward Seattle. The clouds changed as we drew closer – they were dark and a little ominous, and the seatbelt light flashed on as we began to fly down through them.

" This might be a bit of a bumpy landing," the flight attendant warned as she collected my empty soda bottles. She stumbled a little as the plane shook.

I buckled my seatbelt over my lap and looked back out the window. I couldn't see distinct clouds anymore, just a gray wall that blanketed the plane. The cabin shook again, making my stomach lurch. I shouldn't have eaten so many cookies.

As we came in for landing I couldn't help but think about what would happen if something went wrong, if we crashed on the tarmac, if I never made it off this plane. I thought of my parents and my heart rate increased. The lights flickered in the cabin.

If we crashed then Helga and Edward would never know that I was trying to get back to them. I thought again of my parents. Maybe they turned on their heels as soon as their plane set down in that far off place, maybe they said No, we were wrong. I could see my mother in my mind, her eyes filling, waving down the pilot before he could take off again. I saw them trying to get home, flying through clouds as black as the ones I was staring out at from my tiny window. Maybe that was when they disappeared, when they'd finally decided to do the right thing. I swallowed heavily.

When the plane completed its bumpy landing on the rainy tarmac, I realized I'd been holding my breath throughout the whole thing. I let it out in a rush, gasping for air.

I was anxious to get off the plane as it pulled into place at the airport, my foot tapping furiously, and not just because I'd drained three yahoo sodas. It struck me how fragile intentions were – they really didn't mean anything, in the long run. The only thing that mattered was where we ended up, not where we meant to go, what we meant to do, what we might have done, had things been different.

When I was finally able to leave the plane I rushed through the airport, happy that I didn't have any luggage to pick up. It was still morning in Seattle, which was throwing me for a hell of a loop, especially in combination with the fact that my sugar high was fading fast and I felt a little bit like collapsing into a heap and sleeping for days. I told myself that I'd be able to do that once I got to Helga's – hopefully. The possibility that she would instead throw me out on my ass was still very real, but I was determined to be optimistic. It had been too long since I'd had faith in anyone, and I needed to believe that she and I could still love each other more than anything, then.

It was pouring down rain when I got out of the airport. I got myself a taxi and pulled the business card that Helga had written her address on out of my pants pocket. I thanked all the forces in heaven and hell that I'd put on the same pants I'd been wearing when I left California that morning. I told the cabbie the address and we set off through the rainy streets.

Though it was morning, and though it was approaching late afternoon on my internal East coast clock, it looked like night because of the dark clouds over the city. It was extremely confusing, and I felt completely disoriented as we drove downtown. I pressed my head against the cab's window and shut my eyes. I was just starting to fall asleep when the driver spoke.

" You here on business?" he asked. I looked up groggily and saw that he was an older man, wearing a golfer's cap. His hapless grin reminded me a bit of my grandfather's.

" No, I'm – coming home, actually," I said.

" Ah, I see," the driver said, grinning to himself. " Your family will be happy to see you, eh?" he asked.

" I hope so," I muttered, and he laughed.

" Hey, whatever you did, buddy," he said, shaking his head and smiling to himself. " They'll forgive you. Trust me. That's what family's for."

He pulled up to an older apartment building then, with a jewelry shop on the lowest level. I frowned.

" We're here already?" I asked.

" Yep," the driver said. " I know all the shortcuts."

I paid him and climbed out, my hands shaking a little. I tucked them under my arms and jogged toward the building, the pouring rain soaking me before I could reach the sheltered landing. I tried to get my breath, but I realized that I'd somehow become incredibly nervous, and I felt a bit like I was going to pass out. My whole body felt shaky from my earlier onslaught of sugar and caffeine, and I could barely bring myself to ring the button by the door that said "Pataki" on it, but somehow I managed.

" Yeah?" a voice I recognized as Edward's called out over the rain.

" Edward," I shouted over the downpour. " It's Arnold. Can – can I come up?"

There was a pause, which seemed to stretch out over centuries as I waited for his answer. What the hell was I doing here? How did I get here – I felt like I'd been in a delightful coma all morning and that I was just now waking up to a harsh reality.

Edward didn't respond, but the buzzer on the door sounded, and I gratefully pulled it open and stepped inside. The lobby was cold and I hugged myself, trying to get warm. I walked up the stairs toward Helga's apartment, trying not to slip on their slick surface. When I reached her apartment I drew in a deep breath before knocking timidly.

Edward opened the door and stared up at me. I sniffed and dripped on the doorstep, suddenly speechless.

" Come in," Edward said with an exasperated sigh, holding the door open for me. I stepped inside and looked around: it was a nice, open space, not big but well appointed and cozy. There was exposed brick on the left wall, a modest kitchen with new-looking appliances, and a dining room table that looked like it might have come from the antique store downstairs. There were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a large picture window that looked out on the city. Edward shut and locked the heavy door behind me, and I shuffled into the living area, trailing water.

" What are you doing here?" Edward asked, and I turned to him.

" Can we – can we sit down over there?" I asked, pointing to the dining room table. He nodded, and went to have a seat. I pulled out a chair and sat next to him, took a deep breath.

" I'm sorry about the way I treated you yesterday," I said.

" It's okay," he said, looking nervously down at his hands.

" No, it's not okay," I said, looking around. " Where's your Mom?"

" At the store," he said.

" And she left you here by yourself?" I asked, suddenly infuriated.

" It's just around the corner," he said, looking up at me. " I'm not a baby," he added, crossing his arms over his chest.

" Why aren't you in school?" I asked.

" Mom thought I should have a day off," he muttered, " To sort things out."

" Things?" I asked.

" Like all that stuff with . . . you. And everything that happened."

" Edward," I said with a sigh, leaning forward. " I have to tell you some things."

" Fine, but can I play Legos while you talk?" he asked, not missing a beat.

" Um. Sure." I watched him get up and go to an elaborate Lego kit that was spread out all over the wooden floor. I was a little hurt, but I figured it might be easier to get the hard stuff off my chest this way, if he wasn't staring back at me expectantly.

" You know your mom and I had you when we were very young," I began, clearing my throat.

He didn't respond, only snapped Legos together, but I could tell he was listening.

" We – we made some mistakes," I said in a sigh. " We were dumb, both of us. And those mistakes – one way or another – resulted in me not being around when you grew up. But I want you to know that I really, really wish I had been. I really would have. Been here. If I could have."

He didn't look up, didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if I was getting through to him or not, if I'd ever be able to. There was no way I could absolve myself without condemning Helga.

" Look, my parents left me, too," I said, going at it from a different angle. " And for a long time I hated them for it," I added, quietly. I wondered if this would be an appropriate time to ask if he hated me, but then decided against it.

" I just don't want to be like them," I said flailing now. I felt like I had once had a plan, but now that I was sitting and staring at him I was just back to the place I'd run screaming from in California. Only I didn't want to run anymore. I wasn't sure what I wanted – maybe I wanted him to jump up and throw his arms around me, call me 'Daddy' and forgive me on the spot. Not that I deserved that. Not that I could blame him if he gave me the silent treatment for the rest of his life.

" I'm sorry," I muttered, embarrassed. " I don't know what --"

" Want to play Legos?" he asked, cutting me off. He looked up at me, waiting for an answer. I stared back at him in stunned silence for a moment.

" Sure," I said. I scooted off of the chair I'd been sitting in and sat down on the floor beside him, Indian style.

" What are you making?" I asked, picking up the instruction booklet.

" That's cheating," he said, taking the booklet from my hands and tossing it aside. " It's a submarine. See?" He picked up the box the set had come in and showed me the picture on the front.

For the next ten minutes or so the two of us worked in silence on building the submarine. I would assemble the ancillary pieces and hand them off to him, and he'd attach them to the main infrastructure. Just watching him work on the thing made me want to burst into grateful tears – the way his little hands flicked through the scattered pieces, the way he rubbed his chin when he was deep in thought. He was completely perfect.

I snapped out of my trance when I heard footsteps out in the hallway, then a key in the door. My heart skipped a few beats: Helga.

" There's Mom," Edward muttered, still focused on the Legos.

The door opened and Helga walked in, carrying two paper grocery bags. She was struggling with an umbrella and cursing to herself as she pushed the heavy door shut behind her. She looked up and opened her mouth as if to tell Edward to help her with the bags, but froze in place when she saw me sitting on the floor with a Lego submarine propeller in my hand. Edward looked up at her, too, waiting for a reaction.

Helga said nothing. She turned from us and stomped into the kitchen, dropped the bags on the counter. She paused for a moment as if getting her breath, then started taking things out of the bags and putting them in the cabinets, still silent. Edward turned back to me and gave me a "What the hell?" sort of look. All I could do was shrug and stand up, walking toward the kitchen.

I stared at Helga as she put groceries away, determined not to look at me. The snapping of Lego pieces had paused behind me, and I could feel Edward watching us. He was waiting to see how this would go; probably as nervous about the whole thing as I was, if that was even humanly possible. But I saw it in the slope of Helga's shoulders as she motored purposefully around the kitchen: she wanted to give in. Maybe that was what I had always seen in her that everyone else had missed: that she wanted to be the optimist, that she wanted to believe in people, she just couldn't let herself.

" What are you doing here?" she finally asked, tight-lipped, as she stuffed a box of pasta into a cabinet above the stove.

I walked to her, saying nothing, staring at her, waiting for her to look at me.

" Helga --"

Before I could finish, or even decide what I was going to say, she whirled to me and threw her arms around my shoulders. I pulled her to me and squeezed, felt her swallow a sob as she held onto to me, her face pressed against my neck. I let out my breath and smiled, buried my face in her hair and inhaled deeply.

We separated for the sake of Edward, and Helga fanned away her tears, getting her breath and regaining her composure.

" Well, will you be staying for dinner?" she asked, looking at me. I grinned.

" Yeah, if you'll let me," I said. She nodded to herself, then looked to Edward. He shrugged, and bit away a smile, turning back to his Legos as if all of this bored him terribly. But I could see it in the up-turned corners of his eyes, same as his mother's: it was their give away, the hint of happiness that showed when they tried to hide it.

" God, you'll freeze to death," Helga said, shaking her head at me. " And I see you've tracked water all over my apartment," she added.

" Sorry," I said, pushing my wet hair off my forehead.

" C'mon I'll give you a robe or something," she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me through the living room, into one of the bedrooms in the back. It was clearly Helga's room: larger than I might have expected, with a queen bed and a window that looked out over an alleyway. She shut the door behind us.

" Helga," I began again as she walked to me and started unbuttoning my wet shirt.

" Shh, Arnold, I don't want to hear it," she said, shaking her head. I let her pull off my shirt and ball it up, then watched her disappear into the adjoining bathroom. I stepped out of my pants while she was gone, dropped them on the floor. She returned with a towel and reached up to dry my hair, giving it a vigorous rub.

" Don't you want to know why I'm here?" I asked when she let the towel fall around my damp shoulders. I put my hands on her waist and pulled her to me.

" I know why you're here," she said, looking up into my eyes. I bent down and kissed her, breathing into her open mouth, my grip on her waist tightening. She giggled against my lips, pulling back a little and smiling up at me.

" You taste like Yahoo soda," she said, looking at me like I was crazy.

" Better than the usual vodka aftertaste, hmm?" I joked.

" Arnold," she said, her face growing serious. "I didn't mean it when I said you were a . . . I exaggerated."

" Not by much," I said, raising an eyebrow. " And I'm sorry--"

" No, no," she said, waving her hands in the air. " Let's not get started with the apologies. If we do, Edward'll be eighteen by the time we leave this room."

I smiled and kissed her again. She put her arms around my neck and jumped up into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. I caught her and laughed, stumbling backward until I crashed into the wall. She kissed my eyelids and smiled at me.

" I always wanted to do that," she said. "I had this fantasy, since I was nine years old, that one day I would just stop being afraid and jump into your arms."

" Well, here you are," I said, leaning back and looking up at her. " Is it as good as you imagined?"

" Yeah, you're a pretty good kisser, football head," she said with a smirk. She kissed me again, and I wanted to drop her onto the bed and fall on top of her, but I knew that Edward was waiting outside, wondering what the hell was going on. Helga slid out of my arms, and I watched her walk across the room and retrieve a purple robe from her closet.

" I'm not wearing that," I said, chuckling at it.

" Well, you've got to wear something while your clothes take a spin in the dryer," she said, tossing it on the bed. " I don't exactly keep men's clothes on hand, and I think you're a little big for Edward's stuff."

" I'll just hang out here," I said, stepping out of my boxers and making her laugh and look away. I bounced onto her bed and slid under the covers, pulling them up to my chin. " I need a nap anyway," I told her, rolling onto my side.

" Well, just make yourself at home," she said, putting a hand on her hip and shaking her head at me.

" I do feel like I'm home," I told her earnestly. " Finally."

She smiled and came to the side of the bed, kneeling down so that her face was close to mine. She pulled a hand through my hair, pushing it carefully off of my forehead.

" I thought I'd never see you again," she said wistfully.

" Me too," I said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. " It wasn't a happy thought. So here I am."

She kissed my forehead and stood up, and I settled into place, hugging one of her pillows to me.

" You get some rest," she said. " I'm going to make Edward some lunch. Later we can all have dinner together."
" Sounds good," I said, already drifting off to sleep, more comfortable than I'd ever been in my entire life. The pillow - the whole bed - smelled like Helga, and the prospect of waking up to dinner with my family was a sweet one to fall asleep with.

I woke up hours later, rolling onto my back and slowly getting my bearings. I looked around Helga's dark bedroom, at the small window. It was still raining steadily outside, and I smiled as it splattered against the glass: it seemed almost protective, like it would hold the three of us safely inside, reminding us what it was like out there without each other.

I turned onto my side and tried to remember the dream I'd been having. It was something about the old neighborhood, something about chasing Helga down the street past the elementary school. She was a teenager in the dream – or maybe even older – but she'd been wearing that pink dress, the one she used to come to school in when we were kids. And her big pink ribbon, too.

" Helga, wait!" I'd called as she ran ahead of me, laughing. " We don't hate each other anymore!" I'd told her, panting.

She'd stopped then, and turned back to me, letting me crash into her, knocking us both to the ground.

" Really?" she'd said, looking up at me.

I couldn't remember the rest. I sat up and saw that my clothes, now dry, had been folded and were sitting on the end of the bed. I crawled across the sheets and reached for them, and dressed in the darkness. For a moment I sat on the end of the bed, a little bit afraid to go on. It couldn't really just – work out, could it? Just because I showed up on a rainy day and crawled into her bed? I listened for noise out in the apartment, and heard pots clattering, and the sound of the television. I smiled to myself. It had been so long since I'd woken to the sound of other people moving about. I used to resent it in the boarding house, all the noise, all the people, and no privacy. So I shut myself up in a clean and lonely apartment, after escaping the college dorm hell that echoed my childhood experience. And it was too quiet, but I'd held onto it for dear life, telling myself it was my reward, what I'd worked for.

I stood up and went for the door, opened it and blinked into the light of the apartment's main living area. I looked around as my eyes adjusted, saw Helga poking around in the fridge over in the kitchen, and Edward sitting at the dining room table, with books open in front of him. Across the room the TV was playing cartoons, and he was staring at it, ignoring his books though his pencil was poised over a blank sheet of paper.

" Arnold," Helga said, noticing me as I sauntered in. Edward turned and looked at me, then back to the TV. I went into the kitchen and leaned against the kitchen counter, watched Helga squeeze lime juice into a pot of what looked like chicken soup.

" How was your nap?" she asked. " Edward, get that TV off!" she shouted before I could answer.

" No, this is too boring," he muttered, looking down at his book.

" Homework is supposed to be boring, now turn it off," Helga snapped. Edward grumbled something under his breath and picked up the remote from the table, begrudgingly shutting off the TV. He put his head down on the book and made a stabbing motion toward the paper with his pencil. I laughed – he looked exactly like I had when I was ten, but he was definitely a miniature Helga in terms of attitude.

" Need some help?" I called to him.

" No, he doesn't," Helga said, stirring the soup. " He needs to do it himself."

" What are you making?" I asked her, changing the subject as Edward continued grumbling to himself, and began drawing dinosaurs in the margins of his paper.

" Chicken noodle soup," she said. " Or this weird sort of Asian variation of it. Here," she handed me a head of nappa cabbage. " Cut that up, will you?" she asked.

We made dinner together, stepping on each other's toes as we moved around the small kitchen, Helga laughing about how clueless I was when it came to cooking. Edward pretended that he wasn't watching us, but every now and then I'd catch him staring, only to shoot his eyes back down to his homework as soon as I noticed. I wondered what he thought about the whole thing.

At dinner the three of us ate together at the table, and it was a bit awkward at first, with Edward still in a surly mood over his homework.

" You know, your mom was lucky when she was your age," I said. " She had her brilliant friend Phoebe to do all her homework for her."

" Do not tell him that," Helga said, giving me a look. " She didn't – do my homework. She just . . . checked my answers."

" More like gave them to you," I said, laughing. Edward grinned.

" Phoebe?" he said, looking to Helga. " That lady with the crazy dog?"

" Yes," Helga said. " We went to visit her in Boston last year," she explained to me. " She has this Italian greyhound –"

" It peed on the couch," Edward said, giggling at the memory.

" Phoebe was like, freaking out, but trying not to get upset, you know how she is," Helga said, grinning and rolling her eyes.

" So you guys really went to school together when you were my age?" Edward asked, looking from Helga to me.

" Yep," I said. " We've known each other since we were three years old," I said, smiling in her direction.

" Weird," Edward said, shaking his head. " Were you like, boyfriend and girlfriend when you were three?" he asked, with a disgusted look on his face.

" No," I said, laughing. " No, your mother – sort of terrorized me until high school."

" Terrorized?" Edward asked, looking at Helga.

" You know, sometimes when a girl has a crush on a boy," Helga tried to explain, embarrassed. " She teases him all the time."

" Like Maggie Richards?" Edward asked.

" Yes, like that," Helga said, clearing her throat. " I keep telling him, this girl is tormenting him because she's in love with him," she explained. " I should know."

" Well, I'm never gonna like Maggie," Edward muttered, stirring his soup.

" Don't burn any bridges just yet," I said, glancing at Helga. " They have an insidious way of getting under your skin, those hellions."

Edward looked up at me, blinked.

" I don't know what you're talking about," he said, shaking his head. " But I'm never gonna marry her. She can't make me!"

Helga and I laughed. I thought of our wedding day, in the cluttered living room of that old couple, their dinner cooking in the next room. If you'd have gone back and told ten year old Helga and I about it, I would have had a reaction similar to Edward's, and Helga just would have been damn disappointed that she didn't get a giant white wedding with all the trimmings. Or maybe not. Helga was smarter than me, back then. Maybe she just would have smiled, sat back and bided her time.

In that moment I remembered the end of the dream I'd been having before: after I told Helga that we didn't hate each other anymore, we'd both turned back into kids, Edward's age. She'd grinned up at me kind of sadly.

" Well, wake me up when we're in love," she'd said, shutting her eyes.

---

After dinner I helped Helga with the dishes in the kitchen while Edward watched TV on the living room couch. We worked quietly beside each other, listening to the muted audio from the television – he was watching some sort of sketch comedy show for kids. I kept glancing at Helga, trying to get her to look at me so I could read her face, figure out what she was thinking.

" I guess you need a place to stay tonight," she said quietly, not looking at me.

" I need to stay with you," I said, hoping I could convey exactly what 'stay' meant to me, which was more than one night in the shelter of her apartment.

" I don't know what will happen to me if I don't," I added, feeling dramatic, but it was true. I couldn't go back to New York. I'd lost my job, certainly. I was broke. But it was more than that. I'd never before realized how much of my emotional well-being I'd invested in this girl when I'd promised her, that sunny day in New Jersey, that I'd love her for the rest of my life.

" You were always going to be better off without me," she whispered. " I don't see why it's any different, now."

" Yes, you do," I said, knowing then that I'd finally learned how to read her. She was testing me. She knew. I could feel it in her, the way she was longing to trust me again; I felt it like gravity, pulling me toward her. The same force that had been there since we were small, something I could sense without knowing it, despite her efforts to push me away.

She turned to me and smiled cryptically, said nothing. I wanted to lean down to kiss her, but wasn't sure if was appropriate with Edward across the room. She dried her hands on a dishtowel and then handed it to me, and I watched her walk out of the kitchen.

Helga sat on the couch beside Edward and smoothed his hair. He yawned and took off his glasses, cleaned the lenses with the rim of his shirt. She pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her arms on her knees, staring at the TV. I felt like I could watch them forever, hiding in the background, scared to interfere.

But instead I took a deep breath and walked into the living room, sat next to Helga on the couch. None of us spoke, we just watched the TV. I couldn't pay attention to the images that flashed across the screen, and I wondered if they could, either. It was sort of a miracle we were experiencing, after all, the three of us finally together, no one yelling or lying or running away in tears. It felt so fragile; I think we must have been afraid to speak.

An hour passed like this, with the rain beating steadily on the window across the room from us. I think we all wanted to scream: "But what will happen now!" and claw at our faces in abject terror. But for the sake of each other, maybe, we just listened to the rain, stared at the television set. And at one point I leaned toward Helga, subtly, placing my shoulder against hers. She didn't move away.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye, watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her long eyelashes blinking in the light from the screen. I thought of the first time I touched her. Not some happenstance gesture when we were kids, but the first time I really moved to embrace her. It was that night in the tub at Rhonda's party, the night Edward appeared silently onto the scene. She was crying and I reached up, and she seemed to fall easily into my arms. I didn't remember much about that night, but I do remember being surprised that it seemed to make so much sense, Helga curling up against me. Or that it felt so comfortable, when maybe it shouldn't have. Or that when she'd looked up at me with teary eyes I'd wanted to kiss her. Or that I had.

Eventually Helga made Edward go to bed, and I puttered around the apartment while he dressed in his pajamas and brushed his teeth. Helga went into the bedroom to change into her own nightclothes, and I went to the door of Edward's room as he was climbing into his bed, the lights still on.

" Hey, can I come in for a sec?" I asked.

" Okay," he said, sitting in his bed and staring up at me expectantly. I walked into his room – it reminded me of my own when I was his age. It still had a childish wallpaper border – dinosaurs. He had a map of the world tacked up on the wall across from the bed, and a little shelf full of books near the door.

" You mind if I stay here?" I asked him, not specifying how long.

" I don't mind," Edward said, after a short pause. " I mean, it's kinda weird. But you're – you know. And at least you're not a jerk or anything," he said, shrugging to himself, embarrassed.

" I was a jerk yesterday," I said, reeling a little over the fact that everything that had gone down in California had happened only yesterday. It seemed like it was a year ago, at least, since I'd laid eyes on Helga and Edward.

" You weren't a jerk, really," Edward muttered. " You were just . . . sad."

I was silent for a moment, stunned.

" You know, you're the smartest kid I've ever met," I said.

" You're just saying that cause I'm yours," he said. I laughed and tried not to break down into happy tears. He was mine. He'd said so himself.

" Well, g'night," I said, moving for the door before I could get too emotional.

" Night," he called, turning out the light as I left. I shut the door behind me but left it open a crack. Out in the apartment I looked for Helga, but the lights had been turned out and she was nowhere to be found. I heard the sound of running water coming from her bedroom, so I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me.

I found her in her bathroom, at the sink, wearing a gray flannel slip and brushing her teeth. I leaned in the doorway and watched her, sad for all the nights when I might have stood behind her like that, all the moments I'd missed. She saw me watching her and rolled her eyes at me in the mirror.

" You have this obnoxiously blissed out look on your face," she said after spitting into the sink and rinsing her brush off.

" Yeah, I think that's what you used to hate about me," I said, smirking at her when she turned around. " I was kinda high on life."

" No you weren't," she said, laughing. " That was Eugene. You were just – determined."

" Then why'd I let you leave me?" I asked as she walked past me, out into the bedroom. She stopped in the middle of the room.

" You were never in a position to let me do anything," she snapped.

" You didn't want me to show up on your aunt's doorstep?" I asked, walking to her. " You didn't want me to find you still pregnant and cry with relief?"

" I don't know what I wanted," Helga said quietly, turning to me. " I was a wreck."

" Are we gonna get past this?" I asked, though I knew I should just shut up. But it was there, like a bright light glaring between us, and we wouldn't be able to sleep while it still burned.

Helga was quiet for a moment. I was terrified of what she might say. But she only reached for me, smoothed my hair the way she'd done with Edward's on the couch.

" You did come," she said softly.

" What?"

" You did come and find me, you did fight for me - you showed up here, tonight," she said, her eyes watering a little. " It just took you ten years, that's all. So yeah. Yeah, Arnold, I think we can get past it."

I scooped her up in my arms then, and she let me lift her off the ground, leaned into my kiss. We stumbled against the bed and fell onto it, laughing. I laid next to her, rolled onto my side, and stared at her for a moment.

" I wanted to come and find you, always," I told her, honestly. " I don't know what took me so long."

" It doesn't matter," she whispered, scooting closer to me. " When you showed up here tonight, after everything we said to each other, did to each other – you proved to me that you were the person I thought you were. I just wasn't willing to let you make any mistakes, before. It was stupid of me. I've certainly made my share of them."

" You think Edward will ever forgive me?" I asked, cradling her to me in the darkness.

" Arnold, he already has," Helga said, chuckling against my chest. " Believe me, if he didn't want you around, you'd know it. He's like me, in that way," she said, grinning up at me.

" I think he's smarter than both of us, then," I said, sighing.

" Oh yeah," she said. " He is."

We laid still together for awhile, listening to the rain beat against the walls of the apartment. Helga had her head tucked between my chest and shoulder, and I was running my fingers absently through her hair.

" What made you change your mind, anyway?" she asked.

" Hmm?"

" Today," she said, lifting her head to look at me. " What made you decide to get on the plane?"

I thought of Ruth in the coffee shop, but I decided it wouldn't be an opportune moment to bring that up.

" I went to the old neighborhood," I said. " I wandered around a little bit, and ended up in front of your old house. I don't know – I just – wished I could go back in time, climb that fire escape and find you inside again."

" Would you still have asked me to marry you?" she asked, smiling.

" That was the next morning," I said, poking her side. " At the pool. Get your facts straight."

" I know, but -"

" Yes, I still would have married you," I said, kissing her forehead. " I would have done everything exactly the same. Except -"

I started to say that I would have made sure my grandfather hadn't let Ruth into the Sunset Arms that morning when Helga found me comforting her. But Ruth had told me that my sympathy in that moment, the fact that I'd held out my arms when she crumbled to the floor, had saved her life.

" You know, I wouldn't change anything," I said. " I like where I am, just now, just like this."

Helga opened her mouth as if to protest, but then stopped herself. Instead she bent to kiss me.

" Me too," she whispered against my lips.

" Does it ever stop raining here?" I asked, looking to the window as she kissed my cheeks lightly.

" It's Seattle," she muttered absently, moving on to kiss my nose, my eyelids.

" I think it suits us," I said, and she paused and looked down at me. " We met in the rain."

" I fell in love with you in the rain," she added. " When you gave me your umbrella."

" You know the last two times you said that to me we immediately –" I began, sitting up on my elbows and grinning.

" I know," she said, cutting me off and smiling.

" I wonder how many other guys get lucky on a regular basis because of a move they made on a girl when they were three years old," I said, laughing. Helga punched my arm and crawled on top of me.

" I wonder how many other couples who've been married for over ten years have only had sex five times," she said, one-upping me as always.

" We ought to do something about that, really," I said, making a serious face. It gave way to a grin and I flipped her over, landing on top of her. She laughed and put her hand over her mouth to keep from being too loud.

" I did say the magic words," she reminded me, between hiccups of laughter.

We stayed up for a long time that night, after we'd brought our ten-year tally up to a more respectable seven. We were both exhausted, but I was unwilling to shut my eyes. I was afraid, I think, that I would wake up in my apartment in New York, that it all would end up being a happy dream.

" Tell me what it'll be like in the morning," I said, my eyes drooping shut. I was lying on my stomach, Helga curled up next to me with her forehead pressed to mine, one arm thrown lazily over my back.

" Hmm?" she mumbled, half asleep herself. I moved my shoulder, jostling her a little, and she moaned and swatted me.

" I don't want to sleep," I admitted.

" Well, it's my bed and I make the rules," she said, settling back into place beside me. " And I say we sleep now, football head."

" I'm afraid this is a dream," I said, hoping I was making some sense in my semi-conscious state of mind.

" Not a dream," she sighed, reaching over to pinch me.

" Ow!"

" There," she said, kissing the place where she'd pinched.

" Tell me anyway," I said. " Tell me what it'll be like when I wake up here, with you."

" Fine," Helga said, pulling me in closer to her. " I'll wake up first. I'll go in and tell Edward to get up – he won't. I'll go into the kitchen and get the Eggos going. I'll make two for you – unless you want three?" she asked, looking up at me.

" Two's fine," I said, grinning and cozying up to her like she was telling me a bedtime story.

" Then I'll try to get Edward up again, and he won't get up, so I'll turn his radio on, and he'll yell at me," Helga said, sighing. " But eventually he'll get up, and we'll eat Eggos together at the table. I'll drive him to school. You can come with us if you want. Then I have some errands to run, and a class to teach at noon. After that maybe we could have lunch together." She yawned.

" Sounds perfect," I said, kissing the bridge of her nose as she drifted off to sleep.

" It's not," she muttered. " Perfect."

" Close enough," I said.

She fell asleep before I did, and I stayed up for awhile with the rain. I kept thinking about my parents; I wanted to find them now only to show them what they'd lost when they left me. I finally felt ready to let go of my orphan's need for the fantasy that they were alive and waiting to be rescued, pining for me, along with my caricature of the malicious world travelers who had abandoned me because parenting wasn't exciting enough.

Whatever they were, I felt myself casting off from them, pushing away like a rafter sailing down a jungle river. I could picture them left behind on the shore, stilted and confused, frozen in time. I didn't need the fantasy or the fears anymore: I had something better. I had found my family at last. They were not lost in South America after all, but had always been just within my reach, in the form of a pouty little girl with ribbons in her hair. Just a girl walking by in the rain, looking for her own family, which she found under the shelter of my umbrella.

A/N: I'm finally finished! I can't believe I started this story four years ago, and I'm just finishing it now. It took a long time, but I'm glad I stuck with it. Thank you so much to all of you who encouraged me to continue, especially to Andrea, who also helped me edit the last chapter.

I will do a short epilogue to this story, which will show what everyone (including Curly and Rhonda!) is up to one year later. So, stay tuned for that, and thank you so much for reading, and waiting!