Edward's Eyes by Patricia MacLachlan Read Free Book Online Page A

at Edward,” I said. “For running into that tree.”
    Maeve sighed.
    â€œI am, too,” she said. “I am, too,” she repeated very softly.
    â€œEdward was special,” I said.
    Maeve looked closely at me.
    â€œOf course he was. Like you and Sola and Wren and Will and Sabine…”
    â€œNo,” I said. “He was different. He was more special.”
    Maeve looked surprised.
    â€œHere’s what I think, Jake. If Edward seemed more special, maybe it was because of you.”
    Suddenly, I thought about Edward, curled up next to me, falling asleep on the lawn. I could almost… almost smell him.
    Maeve and I sat on Edward’s bed then for a long, long time. In that quiet empty room.
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    Sola carried Sabine into my room.
    â€œI miss everything. I even miss the baseball games,” she said.
    â€œYou miss Edward,” I whispered. It was hard to say. My throat ached.
    â€œYes. And I miss the way things were,” she said.
    I reached out my hand and touched Sabine’s cheek. She moved her head and looked at me. Her eyes were steady and serious. Sabine’s eyes and Edward’s eyes were all mixed up in my mind.
    Edward’s eyes.
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    That night I dreamed about them, looking at me, that gold-flecked blue of the night sky when he was a baby. Looking at me across the yard—across the water after he dove from the boat—from the pitcher’s mound as he called out his strikes, “change up, slider, knuckleball.” I woke up from my dream and had to get out of bed and walk through the house to keep my heart from beating too fast.
    It was a sign, that dream. Trick would have said so. Edward would have said so, too.
    Two days later the letter came.
    Chapter 17
    It was late afternoon, Trick and Albert cooking a stew in the kitchen, my mother trying to save some of the flowers that had come, tossing out the ones that had gone by. Jack came in, carrying a small glass vase and holding a letter.
    â€œI found these flowers on the porch,” he said. “Someone must have left them.”
    â€œPoppies,” said Maeve, with a small smile. The first smile I had seen in days. “Beautiful red poppies, almost ready to bloom.”
    Red poppies.
    â€œWho left them?” asked Sola. “We’ve been here all day.”
    Maeve shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone.”
    Jack put the vase in the middle of the table.
    He took Maeve’s hand.
    â€œThey gave me this letter. At the hospital,” he said. “It’s for us. You’ll want to read it.”
    We all looked up at the strange, sad sound of his voice.
    Maeve read it in the kitchen, the letter trembling in her hands. Trick and Albert stopped cooking, leaning against the counter, listening. Wren and Will sat at the table. Wren reached out for Sabine. Sabine touched Wren’s hair.
    â€œDear friends,
    They won’t tell me your name, as you know. But I call you friends even though I don’t know you.
    The corneas you have donated have brought back my life. I am a baseball player…minor league right now…but my eyes were getting worse.
    You have changed my life. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope some day I can thank you in person.
    I know you must have loved the person who gave me these wonderful eyes.”
    Maeve sat down suddenly as if she couldn’t stand anymore. She dropped the letter on the table.
    â€œIt’s a nice letter,” said Jack softly.
    â€œYes,” said Maeve. “Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to feel…sad or glad.”
    â€œBoth,” said Trick. “Both,” he repeated softly.
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    A baseball player. Of all the people in the world; painters, writers, mechanics, builders, teachers, waiters, dancers, singers, librarians, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers…
    A baseball player!
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    Albert reached over to look at the letter.
    â€œHe doesn’t play