The Variables

Cass waltzed in with the same energy and flair as before, this time holding a leather-bound journal and a small package of chocolates. She tossed the book to the foot of the bed where Ethan was resting, and then pulled up the empty chair from under the Manhattan skyline print and dragged it to his side. She plopped down, crossed her legs, and leaned back, balancing the chocolates on her knee.

“I returned,” she said. “Five visits now. And per your unspoken request, I’ve brought you a journal. You’re welcome.” She fidgeted with the edge of a black-tiered skirt; a long string dangled from a fraying edge and she yanked it free and then wrapped the string around her finger, tightening it across her skin. “Every time I come back, you look surprised. Are you surprised?”

Ethan smiled. He shook his head. He wondered how his voice would sound if he spoke to her. Would it be rough and gravelly; would it be weak? Could your voice atrophy from underuse? He had tried to speak a few times in the isolation of his room. Tried to open his mouth and form the words he wanted to say, but it wasn’t that he was willfully quiet; he could not find his voice amidst the turmoil of his heart.

Each time Cass floated into his tiny room, he wanted to tell her that he looked forward to her random visits. She never presumed he would talk, and it was refreshing to know that her expectations were low. When his mom visited, she yelled at him and fretted, getting more agitated that he refused to listen to his physical therapist or try to leave the room. His last visit had gone predictably awful when she divulged that Cass’s a

“Chocolates?” Cass asked and opened up the package. “Stolen chocolates. Contraband. They taste better.”

He put his hand out and waited until she placed an unwrapped morsel in his palm. Popping it into his mouth, he tried to savor, but his excitement got the best of him and he started to chew the chunk until it melted away on his tongue.

“I can’t be long today. I have to pack. It’s not much, of course, but moving day is soon and I want to be prepared.” She said this with a mouth of chocolate. Ethan watched the way she moved the small piece around her mouth as she spoke. “You’ll be moving with your family. I happen to be privy to your housing arrangement and you’re living with your parents for a bit. No more hospital stays for you on Kymberlin. You should—and I apologize for interfering—try out the leg more.”

He shook his head and looked at it sitting up against the wall. He’d given it a shot. When he walked around the strap gave him rashes and blisters against his thigh; it wasn’t worth it.

“You’re a stubborn one,” she said with a smile.

He shrugged.

“Your sister doesn’t know we are meeting.”

Ethan turned and looked straight at her.

“Should I tell her?”

He shrugged slowly and tried to look confused. How does one convey without words that they genuinely don’t know the right thing to do? Cass helped him feel better because she told him stories of Haiti and long torrid tales of ex-boyfriends gone wrong. She flounced around the room, arranging flowers and spending time with him as if she enjoyed every second. And when they spoke of Teddy, she would touch him, slightly, on the wrist, and tell him that she would do everything she could to help him get Teddy back. Maybe the talking about saving Teddy was an excuse to spend time together—he had thought of that, of course. But it was this tidy conspiratorial relationship that kept him from the edge of a deep cavernous abyss.

Cass had never done anything to wrong him. She had never tried to pretend that this place was something it wasn’t. She had allowed him all his eye-rolls and disturbed faces and frustrated sighs without judgment.

Sometimes, she made him feel whole again.

And not in a way that felt like a betrayal to anyone.

“Lucy is my friend. And I’m not a person who enjoys keeping secrets,” she said. “I’ll honor your privacy if that’s what you wish...but you should know...Lucy will feel sad when she finds out that you and I...” she trailed off and then smiled. “Became friends. Is that what this is? Are we friends?”

Ethan looked right at her and nodded.

“A strange friendship this is,” she laughed. “The architect’s daughter and the mute.”

He wanted to ask her if those were the best ways to define themselves, but of course he couldn’t. Even though his chest hurt from wanting to say something, anything, back to her, he physically didn’t know how to form the sounds.

She laughed and hit at his good leg playfully.

“No, that’s not right. Let’s see...the social butterfly and the tentative newcomer.” She clasped her hands together. “Better?” It was as if she read his mind.

He nodded.

“Or the dark-ski

Five visits.

Each time a bit more intimate, friendlier, more familiar. And while his brain had sometimes drifted to her in idle moments, he never thought of her in a romantic way with any sort of conviction or regularity. Cass promised him Teddy—he was the tie that bound them together. As her visits ended, she would write him small notes to confirm that they were united in reuniting him with the boy. While the task seemed larger than their capabilities, Cass remained undaunted.

“I have to go soon, just a small trip today. But I wanted to tell you I saw Teddy yesterday with Blair.”

He stiffened.

“She cares for him...she is trying. You should know that.”

He looked at the Manhattan picture. She shifted in her seat. He felt something inside of him, something firm, slipping away.

“She’s beautiful. Blair,” Cass said to him. “You could love her you know. Easily. That would solve it. She’s older than you, but that’s not an issue. If you loved her, she would let you. She’s hungry for it. And then that’s solved. A perfect family.”

He narrowed his eyes. Tightened his jaw. It felt like a game. He reached out and motioned for Cass’s hand. She gave it to him. Her skin was warm. Taking his pointer finger, he just traced two letters into her palm. One word. No.

“Well, it was worth a suggestion. I’m skilled in the art of love. If you change your mind, I could help you.”

Still holding her hand he traced another word into her skin. Stop.

“I don’t know how to get him back,” she admitted in near whisper. “But I want to. For you. I want to give everyone what they hope for most in life. That’s not so bad, is it? Until people realize that sometimes I fail—”

Stop. He wrote it again. Then he pe

He let her hand go and smiled.

“Au revoir,” Cass replied. She leaned down and kissed his cheek with a friendly peck. “Packing, you know.”

Ethan pointed toward the journal and then gave her an A-Okay sign. She smiled and placed her hand over her heart.

“Always happy to be a blessing.” And she stood and smoothed down her skirt. “Well, Ethan King. Until next time.” She glided across the floor, opened the door with a flourish, and disappeared outside. Ethan looked at the journal and sat up enough so he could reach it. When he opened up the first page, she had left him a note.

“To my friend: Ethan. I always leave our visits excited for the next time. But you’ll be out of this room and into the real world (as close as you can get) soon enough. I know we can conquer this together. I want to help you find your voice. What are we waiting for? Just need to give you something worthwhile to say, right? See you soon, Cassandra.”