A Song for Julia

she walked, looking for the waiting room, I guess. Looking for us. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes.
    I couldn’t believe it. She’d already done too much … getting her father to arrange passports, then flying us over here.
    She’d left her family on Christmas.
    To come here. To us. To me.
    I swallowed and stood up. Then she saw me. And froze. Her eyes were wide, and when she looked at me, they teared up. Then she walked to me, slowly, and slipped her arms around me, her body melting into mine. And she whispered, “How is he?”
    I sighed and shook my head. “Still out. He had bypass surgery, they don’t know when he’ll wake up.” A second later, I said, “They don’t know if he’ll wake up.”
    She seemed like she was about to say something, and then squeezed her arms around me even tighter. I buried my face in her hair, oddly hating myself for loving this moment, loving holding her, even though my dad was a few rooms away fighting for his life.
    But I knew what he would say. He’d tell me to screw worrying, and get on with it. He’d tell me that if I loved her, then I should hold that precious moment as close as I could.
    She had her face buried against my shoulder, and I could barely hear her, but I swear at that moment she said words I thought I’d never hear, words that I’d desperately wanted to hear from her.
    She whispered, “I love you, Crank.”
    My breathing changed, growing ragged, and I couldn’t let go or pull back or say anything, because I was afraid. Afraid that she hadn’t really said it, that she hadn’t really meant it, or that she meant, “I love you Crank, like I love my little sister.” But she pulled back, and she said, “There couldn’t possibly be a worse time in the world for this. But we need to talk.”
    My heart fell in my chest. This was going to be it. I knew it. She was going to tell me there was no chance for us. We separated, and I turned to my mom, and Julia said, “Hey, Margot. Sean.”
    My mom walked over, and she started to cry, and pulled Julia into a hug. Sobbing, she said, “Thank you so much. For doing this. For getting us here. For coming.”
    Julia hugged her back, and said, “There’s nothing to thank me for, okay? Jack means a lot to me. You all do.”
    Then she pulled back from my mom, keeping her hands on Mom’s shoulders, and said, “I need to borrow Crank for a little while. We’ve got … some things to talk about.”
    My mother nodded, and Julia said, “We’ll be back.”
    And then she pulled me away from the waiting room.
    We slipped into the tiny nondenominational chapel three doors down.
    It was dim in here, the only light from up near the altar. An electric piano sat near the front of the room, and a line of small, utilitarian pews were lined up in rows.
    She sat down in the first pew. I sat down next to her and turned toward her, and she grabbed my left hand. And that’s when I realized there was something different about her. She wasn’t wearing any bracelets.
    I reached in my pocket, my hand touching the friendship bracelet she’d given me. I held it in my right hand.
    Tears immediately started rolling down her face, and she said, “I can’t promise … not to pull back. Not to run away. It’s too much a part of me now.”
    “What?” I said, stupidly.
    “Just shut up and listen to me, all right?”
    I shut up. And nodded. And listened.
    “I’ve spent most of my life alone, in one way or another. But an old friend reminded me of something yesterday. He said … you make your own home. I’ve never had one. For a while, I had a big brother. And he kept me together, when I was just a little girl, all alone. And then … you know what happened. All I had was my armor. All I had was my shell, holding me together, because I couldn’t trust anyone. I couldn’t believe in anyone.”
    She sniffled and then said, “But something has happened to me. Something I never thought would happen. I want to trust you. I … I want to feel. I want to know what it’s like to love and to have a real life. I want to know what it’s like to have a home for the first time in my life.”
    She was really crying now, and I would have wiped her tears, but it would have taken a mop bucket. Instead, I pulled her close to me and let her cry on my shirt.
    “Crank … you’re my home now. You’re the person I want to come home to. You’re … I love you, Crank.” She laughed in the midst of her tears, her eyes shining,