Dreamland A Novel

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsaretheproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualevents,locales,orpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
Copyright?2022byWillowHoldings,Inc.
Allrightsreserved.
PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyRandomHouse,animprintanddivisionofPenguinRandomHouseLLC,NewYork.
RandomHouseandtheHousecolophonareregisteredtrademarksofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.
HardbackISBN?9780593449554
InternationalISBN?9780593599235
EbookISBN?9780593449561
randomhousebooks.com
BookdesignbyCarolineCunningham,adaptedforebook
Coverdesign:ElenaGiavaldi
Coverphotograph:NikkiSmith/Arcangel
ep_prh_6.0_140874742_c0_r0Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Copyright
PartI:Colby
Chapter1.
Chapter2.
Chapter3.
Chapter4.
Chapter5.
Chapter6.
PartII:Beverly
Chapter7.
Chapter8.
Chapter9.
Chapter10.
Chapter11.
Chapter12.
Chapter13.
Chapter14.
PartIII:Colby
Chapter15.
Chapter16.
Chapter17.
Chapter18.
Chapter19.
Chapter20.
Chapter21.
Chapter22.
Chapter23.
PartIV:Beverly
Chapter24.
Chapter25.
Chapter26.
Chapter27.
Chapter28.
Chapter29.
Chapter30.
Chapter31.
Chapter32.
PartV:Colby
Chapter33.
Chapter34.
Chapter35.
PartVI:Beverly
Chapter36.
Chapter37.
Chapter38.
Chapter39.
Chapter40.
Chapter41.
Chapter42.
Chapter43.
Chapter44.
PartVII:Colby
Chapter45.
Chapter46.
Chapter47.
Chapter48.
Chapter49.
Chapter50.
Chapter51.
Chapter52.
Chapter53.
Chapter54.
Chapter55.
Chapter56.
Chapter57.
Chapter58.
Chapter59.
Chapter60.
Chapter61.
Chapter62.
Chapter63.
Chapter64.
Chapter65.
Chapter66.
Chapter67.
Chapter68.
Epilogue
Dedication
Acknowledgments
ByNicholasSparks
AbouttheAuthorLetmetellyouwhoIam:MynameisColbyMills,I’mtwenty-fiveyearsold,andI’msittinginastrappyfoldoutchaironSt.PeteBeach,Florida,onabeautifulSaturdayinmid-May.Thecoolernexttomeisstockedwithbeerandwateronice,andthetemperatureisalmostperfect,withasteadybreezestrongenoughtokeepthemosquitoesatbay.BehindmeistheDonCeSarHotel,astatelyaccommodationthatremindsmeofapinkversionoftheTajMahal,andIcanhearlivemusicdriftingfromthepoolarea.Theguywho’sperformingisjustokay;hestranglesthechordseverynowandthen,butIdoubtthatanyonereallyminds.I’vepeekedintothepoolareaacoupleoftimessinceIsetuphereandnoticedthatmostoftheguestshavebeenworkingoncocktailsthroughouttheafternoon,whichmeanstheywouldprobablyenjoylisteningtojustaboutanything.
I’mnotfromhere,bytheway.BeforeIarrived,I’dneverevenheardofthisplace.WhenpeoplebackhomeaskedmewhereSt.PeteBeachwaslocated,IexplainedthatitwasabeachtownacrossthecausewayfromTampa,nearSt.PetersburgandClearwateronthewestcoastofFlorida,whichdidn’thelpmuch.Formostofthem,FloridameantamusementparksinOrlandoandbikini-cladwomenonbeachesinMiami,alongwithabunchofotherplacesnoonereallycaredabout.Tobefair,beforeIarrived,FloridatomewassimplyaweirdlyshapedstatehangingofftheeastcoastoftheUnitedStates.
AsforSt.Pete,itsbestfeatureisagorgeouswhite-sandbeach,theprettiestI’veeverseen.Theshoreisfrontedbyamixtureofhigh-endhotelsandlow-endmotels,butmostoftheneighborhoodsseemtypicallymiddle-class,populatedbyretireesandblue-collarworkers,alongwithfamiliesenjoyinginexpensivevacations.Therearetheusualfast-foodrestaurantsandstripmallsandgymsandshopssellingcheapbeachitems,butdespitethoseobvioussignsofmodernity,there’ssomethingaboutthetownthatfeelsalittlebitforgotten.
Still,IhavetoadmitthatIlikeithere.TechnicallyI’mheretowork,butreallyit’smorevacation.I’mplayingfourgigsaweekatBobbyT’sBeachBarforthreeweeks,butmysessionsonlylastafewhours,whichmeansIhavealotoftimetogoforjogsandsitinthesunandotherwisedoabsolutelynothingatall.Aguycouldgetusedtoalifelikethis.ThecrowdsatBobbyT’sarefriendly—andyes,boozy,justlikeattheDonCeSar—butthere’snothingbetterthanperformingforanappreciativeaudience.EspeciallygiventhatI’mbasicallyanobodyfromoutofstatewho’dprettymuchstoppedperformingtwomonthsbeforeIgraduatedfromhighschool.Overthepastsevenyears,I’veplayednowandthenforfriendsoranacquaintancewho’sthrowingaparty,butthat’saboutit.ThesedaysIconsidermusicahobby,albeitonethatIlove.There’snothingIenjoymorethanspendingadayplayingorwritingsongs,evenifmyreallifedoesn’tleavememuchtimeforit.
Funnythinghappened,though,inmyfirsttendayshere.Thefirstcoupleofshowswentasexpected,withacrowdthatIassumedwastypicalforBobbyT’s.Abouthalftheseatsweretaken,mostofthepeopletheretoenjoythesunset,cocktails,andconversationwhilemusicplayedinthebackground.Bymythirdshow,however,everyseatwasfilled,andIrecognizedfacesfromearliershows.BythefourthtimeIsteppedup,notonlywerealltheseatsfilledbutahandfulofpeoplewerewillingtostandinordertohearmeplay.Hardlyanyonewaswatchingthesunsetatall,andIstartedtoreceiverequestsforsomeofmyoriginalsongs.Requestsforbeach-barclassicslike“Summerof’69,”“AmericanPie,”and“BrownEyedGirl”werecommon,butmymusic?Then,lastnight,thecrowdspilledontothebeach,additionalchairswerescroungedup,andtheyadjustedthespeakerssoeveryonecouldhearme.AsIbegansettingup,IassumeditwassimplyaFriday-nightcrowd,butthebooker,Ray,assuredmethatwhatwashappeningwasn’ttypical.Infact,hesaid,itwasthelargestcrowdhe’deverseenatBobbyT’s.
Ishouldhavefeltprettygoodaboutthat,andIguessIdid,atleastalittlebit.Still,Ididn’treadtoomuchintoit.Afterall,performingfortipsyvacationersatabeachbarwithdrinkspecialsatsunsetwasafarcryfromsellingoutstadiumsaroundthecountry.Yearsago,I’lladmit,getting“discovered”hadbeenadream—Ithinkit’sadreamforeveryonewholovesperforming—butthosedreamsgraduallydissolvedinthelightofanewfoundreality.I’mnotbitteraboutit.Thelogicalsideofmeknowsthatwhatwewantandwhatwegetareusuallytwoentirelydifferentthings.Besides,intendays,I’mgoingtohavetoheadhometothesamelifeIwasleadingbeforeIcametoFlorida.
Don’tgetmewrong.Myreallifeisn’tbad.Actually,I’mprettygoodatwhatIdo,evenifthelonghourscanbeisolating.I’veneverbeenoutofthecountry,I’veneverriddenonanairplane,andI’monlyvaguelyawareofrecentnews,mainlybecausetalkingheadsborethehelloutofme.Tellmewhat’sgoingoninourcountryoraroundtheworld,talkaboutsomeissueofmajorpoliticalimportance,andIpromisetobesurprised.Thoughitwilllikelyoffendsomepeople,Idon’tevenvote,andtheonlyreasonIknowthegovernor’slastnameisbecauseIonceplayedinabarcalledCooper’sinCarteretCounty,neartheNorthCarolinacoast,aboutanhourfrommyhome.
Aboutthat…
IliveinWashington,asmalltownlocatedonthebanksofthePamlicoRiverineasternNorthCarolina,thoughmanypeoplerefertoitaseitherLittleWashingtonortheOriginalWashington,soasnottoconfusemyhometownwithournation’scapital,fivehourstothenorth.Asifanyonecouldpossiblyconfusethem.WashingtonandWashington,D.C.,areaboutasdifferentastwoplacescanpossiblybe,mainlybecausethecapitalisacitysurroundedbysuburbsandisacentralhubofpower,whilemytownistinyandrural,withasupermarketnamedPigglyWiggly.Fewerthantenthousandpeopleresidethere,andinmyteenyearsIoftenfoundmyselfwonderingwhyanyonewouldwanttolivethereatall.Formuchofmylife,IlongedtoescapeasquicklyasIcould.Now,though,I’veconcludedthatthereareworseplacesforaguytocallhome.Washingtonispeacefulanditspeoplekind,thesortwhowavetodriversfromtheirporches.There’sanicewaterfrontalongtheriverwithacoupleofdecentrestaurants,andforthosewholikethearts,thetownboaststheTurnageTheatre,wherelocalscanwatchplaysperformedbyotherlocals.ThereareschoolsandaWalmartandfast-foodrestaurants,andweatherwise,it’sideal.Itsnowsmaybeonceortwiceeverysecondorthirdyear,andthetemperatureinthesummerisalotmoremoderatethaninplaceslikeSouthCarolinaorGeorgia.Sailingontheriverisapopularpastime,andit’spossibleformetoloadthesurfboardintothebackofmytruckonawhimandcatchwavesatthebeachbeforeI’veevenfinisheddrinkingmylargeto-gocupofcoffee.Greenville—asmallishbutactualcity,withcollegesportsteamsandmovietheatersandmore-varieddining—isaquickjauntupthehighway,twenty-fiveminutesofeasydriving.
Inotherwords,Ilikeitthere.Usually,Idon’teventhinkaboutwhetherI’mmissingoutonsomethingbiggerorbetterorwhatever.AsaruleItakethingsastheycomeandtrynottoexpectorregretmuch.Itmightnotsoundallthatspecial,butitworksforme.
Isupposeitmighthavesomethingtodowithmyupbringing.WhenIwaslittle,Ilivedwithmymomandmysisterinasmallhousenotfarfromthewaterfront.Ineverknewmyfather.Mysister,Paige,issixyearsolderthanme,andthememoriesIhaveofmymomarehazy,blurredbythepassageoftime.Ihaveavaguerecollectionofpokingatatoadjumpingthroughthegrassandanotherofmymomsinginginthekitchen,butthat’saboutit.ShediedwhenIwasfive,somysisterandImovedinwithmyauntanduncleattheirfarmontheoutskirtsoftown.Myauntwasmymom’smucholdersister,andthoughthey’dneverbeenallthatclose,shewasouronlylivingfamily.Intheirminds,theydidwhatwasnecessarybecauseitwasalsotherightthingtodo.
They’regoodpeople,myauntanduncle,butbecausetheyneverhadchildren,Idoubttheyreallyknewwhattheyweresigningonfor.Workingthefarmtooknearlyalltheirtime,andPaigeandIweren’ttheeasiestkids,especiallyinthebeginning.Iwasaccident-prone—atthetime,IwasgrowinglikeaweedandstumbledatwhatseemedtobeeverythirdstepItook.Ialsocriedalot—mostlyaboutmymom,Iguess—thoughIdon’trememberthis.AsforPaige,shewaswayaheadofthecurvewhenitcametoteenagemoodiness.Shecouldscreamorsoborpitchafitwiththebestofthemandspenddayslockedinherroomwhileshecriedandrefusedtoeat.Sheandmyauntwerefireandicefromtheverybeginning,butIalwaysfeltsafewithher.Eventhoughmyauntanduncletriedtheirbest,ithadtobeoverwhelming,solittlebylittleitfelltomysistertoraiseme.Shewastheonewhopackedmyschoollunchesandwalkedmetothebus;shemademeCampbell’ssouporKraftMacaroni&CheeseontheweekendsandsatwithmewhileIwatchedcartoons.Andbecausewesharedaroom,shewastheoneItalkedtobeforeIfellasleep.Sometimes,butnotalways,shehelpedmewithmychoresinadditiontodoingherown;farmingandchoresarebasicallysynonymous.PaigewasfarandawaythepersonItrustedmostintheworld.
Shewasalsotalented.Shelovedtodrawandcouldsketchforhours,whichiswhyI’mnotallthatsurprisedthatsheeventuallybecameanartist.Thesedays,shemakesherlivingworkingwithstainedglass,handcraftingreplicaTiffanylampsthatcostseriousmoneyandarepopularwithhigh-endinteriordecorators.She’sbuiltherselfaprettygoodonlinebusinessandI’mproudofher,notonlybecauseofwhatshemeanttomegrowingupbutbecauselifehasseriouslykickedherintheteethinmorewaysthanone.There’vebeentimes,I’lladmit,whenIwonderedhowshewasabletokeepgoingatall.
Don’tgetmewrongaboutmyauntanduncle.EventhoughPaigewatchedafterme,theyalwaysdidtheimportantthings.Wehaddecentbedsandgotnewschoolclotheseveryyear.Therewasalwaysmilkintherefrigeratorandsnacksinthecupboards.Neitherofthemwasviolent,theyseldomraisedtheirvoices,andIthinktheonlytimeIeversawthemhaveaglassofwinewasonNewYear’sEveduringmyteenageyears.Butfarmingishardwork;afarm,inmanyways,islikeademanding,ever-needychild,andtheydidn’thavethetimeorenergytogotoschooleventsorbringustoafriend’sbirthdaypartyoreventossafootballbackandforthontheweekends.Therearenoweekendsonafarm;SaturdaysandSundaysarejustlikeeveryotherdayoftheweek.Abouttheonlythingwereallydidasafamilywashavedinnereverynightatsix,anditseemsIrememberallofthem,mainlybecauseeverydinnerwasexactlythesame.We’dgetcalledtothekitchen,wherewe’dhelpbringthefoodtothetable.Oncewesat,andmorefromasenseofobligationthanactualinterest,myauntwouldaskmysisterandmewhatwe’ddoneinschool.Whileweanswered,myunclewouldbuttertwopiecesofbreadtogoalongwithhismeal,nomatterwhatwewerehaving,andhe’dnodsilentlyatouranswers,nomatterwhatwesaid.Afterthat,ourmealsweremarkedonlybythesoundofutensilsclickingagainsttheplates.Sometimes,PaigeandIwouldtalk,butmyauntanduncleconcentratedonfinishingtheirmealslikeanotherchoretheyhadtocomplete.Bothofthemweregenerallyquiet,butmyuncletooksilencetoawholeotherlevel.DayswouldpasswhereIneverheardhimspeakatall.
Hedid,however,playtheguitar.Wherehelearned,Ihavenoidea,buthewasdecentontheinstrumentandhadacraggyresonantvoicethatdrewalistenerin.HefavoredsongsbyJohnnyCashorKrisKristofferson—countryfolksy,hecalledit—andonceortwiceaweek,afterdinner,he’dsitontheporchandplay.WhenIbeganshowinganinterest—IguessIwassevenoreightatthetime—hehandedovertheguitarand,withheavilycallousedhands,hehelpedmelearnthechords.Iwasn’tanaturalbyanymeans,buthewassurprisinglypatient.Evenatthatyoungage,IrealizedthatI’dfoundmypassion.WhilePaigehadherart,Ihadmusic.
Ibeganpracticingonmyown.Ialsobegansinging,mainlythekindsofsongsmyunclesang,becausetheyweretheonlyonesIknew.MyauntanduncleboughtmeanacousticguitarforChristmas,thenanelectricguitarthefollowingyear,andIpracticedonthose,too.ItaughtmyselftoplaysongsthatIheardontheradiobyear,withouteverlearninghowtoreadmusic.Bytwelve,I’dreachedthepointwhereIcouldhearasongonceandmimicitalmostperfectly.
AsIgrewolder,mychoresatthefarmnaturallyincreased,whichmeantthatIwasneverabletopracticeasmuchasIwanted.Itwasn’tenoughtofeedandwaterthechickenseverymorning;Ihadtorepairirrigationpipesorspendlonghoursinthesun,pickingwormsfromtobaccoleavesandcrushingthemwithmyfingers,whichisjustasdisgustingasitsounds.WellbeforeIhitmyteenageyears,I’dlearnedtodriveanythingwithanengine—tractors,backhoes,harvesters,seeders,younameit—andIspententireweekendsdoingjustthat.Ialsolearnedtofixorrepairanythingthatwasbroken,thoughIeventuallybegantodespiseallofit.Withchoresandmusictakingalmostallmyfreetime,somethinghadtogive,andmygradesinmiddleschoolbegandropping.Ididn’tcare.TheonlyclassIreallycaredaboutwasmusic,especiallyasmyteacherhappenedtobeanamateursongwriter.Shetookaspecialinterestinme,andwithherhelp,Iwrotemyfirstsong,whenIwastwelve.Iwashookedafterthatandbeganwritingnonstop,improvinglittlebylittle.
Bythatpoint,Paigewasworkingwithalocalartistwhospecializedinstainedglass.She’dworkedattheshoppart-timewhileshewasinhighschool,butbygraduationshewasalreadycraftingherownTiffany-inspiredlamps.Unlikeme,Paigegotprettygoodgradesallalong,butshehadnodesiretogotocollege.Instead,sheworkedonbuildingherbusinessandeventuallymetaguyandfellinlove.Sheleftthefarm,movedoutofstate,andgotmarried.Ihardlyheardfromherduringthoseyearsaftersheleft;evenaftershehadababy,IonlyglimpsedherontherareFaceTimecall,lookingtiredandholdinghercryingkid.Forthefirsttimeinmylife,itfeltasthoughnoonewasreallywatchingoutforme.
Addallthatup—myoverworkedauntanduncle,mylackofinterestinschool,mysistermovingaway,andchoresIhadcometohate—andit’snotsurprisingthatIbegantorebel.AssoonasIstartedhighschool,Ifellinwithagroupofguyswiththesametendencies,andweeggedoneanotheron.Atfirst,itwaslittlethings—throwingrocksthroughthewindowsofabandonedhouses,prankphonecallsinthemiddleofthenight,stealingtheoccasionalcandybarfromaconveniencestore—butwithinafewmonths,oneofthosefriendsstoleabottleofginfromhisdad’sliquorcabinet.Wemetbytheriverandpassedthebottlebackandforth.Ihadwaytoomuchandthrewupfortherestofthenight,andsinceI’mhonest,I’lladmitIdidn’tlearntheappropriatelesson.Insteadofwavingoffthebottlewheneveritcamemyway,Ispentcountlessweekendswithmybrainblurryattheedges.Mygradesremainedinthetank,andIbegantoskipcertainchores.I’mnotproudofwhoIwasbackthen,butIalsoknowit’simpossibletochangethepast.
Rightaftermysophomoreyearbegan,however,mylifetookanotherturn.I’ddriftedawayfrommyloserfriendsbythen,andIheardthroughthegrapevinethatalocalbandneededanewguitarist.Whynot?Ifigured.Iwasonlyfifteen,andwhenIshoweduptoaudition,Isawthebandmembers—allintheirtwenties—smotheringtheirlaughter.Iignoredthem,pluggedinmyelectricguitar,andplayedEddieVanHalen’s“Eruption”solo.Askanyoneintheknow,andthey’lltellyouit’snoteasy.Longstoryshort,Iendedupplayingmyfirstgigwiththemthefollowingweekend,afterhearingtheentiresetforthefirsttimeinthesinglerehearsalwehadbeforehand.Comparedtothem—withtheirpiercingsandtattoosandeitherlongorspikedbleachedhair—Iresembledachoirboy,sotheykeptmestationedinthebacknearthedrummer,evenduringmysolos.
Ifmusicwasn’tall-consumingbefore,itquicklybecamethatway.Istoppedcuttingmyhair,gotillegaltattoos,andeventuallythebandletmestartperformingoutfront.Atthefarm,Iprettymuchquitdoinganychoreswhatsoever.Myauntandunclewereataloss,sotheychosetoignoreme,whichkeptourconflictstoaminimum.Weevenstoppedeatingtogether.Idevotedmoretimetomusic,fantasizingaboutplayingtomassivecrowdsinsold-outvenues.
Inretrospect,Iprobablyshouldhaveknownitwouldneverworkout,sincethebandwasn’tallthatgood.Allofoursongswereinthescreamy,post-punkvein,andwhilesomepeopleenjoyedthemusic,I’mprettysuremostoftheaudiencesweplayedtoinourpartofeasternNorthCarolinaweren’tdazzled.Nonetheless,wemanagedtofindatinyniche,anduntilalmosttheendofmysenioryearinhighschool,weplayedtwentyortwenty-fiveweekendsayearindivesasfarawayasCharlotte.
Buttherewasfrictionintheband,anditgrewworseovertime.Theleadsingerinsistedweplayonlythesongshe’dwritten,andwhileitmightnotsoundlikeabigdeal,egohaskilledmorebandsthanjustaboutanything.Addinginsulttoinjury,therestofusknewthatmostofhissongsweremediocre.EventuallyheannouncedthathewasmovingtoLosAngelestomakeitonhisown,sincenoneofusappreciatedhisgenius.Assoonashestompedoff,thedrummer—attwenty-seven,hewastheoldestamongus—announcedthathewasquitting,aswell,whichwasn’tasurprise,either,sincehisgirlfriendhadbeenpushinghimtosettledownforawhile.Asheputawayhiskitandloadeditinthecar,theotherthreeofusnoddedatoneanother,knowingitwasover,andpackedup.Afterthatnight,Ineverspoketoanyofthemagain.
Strangely,Iwaslessdepressedthansimplylost.AsmuchasI’denjoyedperforming,therewastoomuchdramaandtoolittlemomentumthatmightleadthebandanywhere.Atthesametime,Ihadnoideawhattodowithmylife,soIjustwentthroughthemotions.Igraduatedhighschool—probablybecausetheteachersdidn’twanttohavetodealwithmeforanotheryear—andspentalotoftimeinmyroom,writingmusicandrecordingsongsIpostedtoSpotifyandInstagramandYouTube.Nooneseemedtocare.Littlebylittle,Ibeganpitchinginatthefarmagain,thoughitwasapparentthatmyauntandunclehadlongsincegivenuponme.Moreimportant,Istartedtotakestockofmylife,especiallyasIspentmoretimeontheproperty.Asself-absorbedasI’dbeen,evenIcouldseethatmyauntanduncleweregettingolderandthatthefarmwasstruggling.WhenI’dfirstarrivedasachild,thefarmgrewcorn,cotton,blueberries,tobacco,andweraisedthousandsofchickensforprocessing.Allthathadchangedinthepastfewyears.Badcropsandbadbusinessdecisionsandbadpricesandbadloansmeantthatagoodportionoftheoriginallandhadbeeneithersoldorleasedtoourneighbors.IwonderedhowIcouldhavemissedthechangesasthey’dbeenhappening,eventhoughIknewtheanswer.
Then,onawarmAugustmorning,myunclehadamassiveheartattackwhilewalkingtowardthetractor.Hisleftanteriordescendingarterywasblockedattheorigin;asthefolksatthehospitalexplained,thiskindofheartattackisoftenreferredtoasawidow-maker,becausetheoddsofsurvivalareincrediblyslim.Maybeitwasallthebutteredbreadheateatdinners,buthediedevenbeforetheambulancearrived.Myauntwastheonewhofoundhim,andI’veneverheardanyonescreamandwailthewayshedidthatmorning.
Paigecamehomefortheserviceandstayedforalittlewhile,havingleftherchildwithherhusbandandmother-in-law.Iworriedthatherreturnwouldcreatemorestrife,butmysisterseemedtorecognizethatsomethinghadbrokeninsidemyauntinthesamewaymysistersometimesfeltbroken.It’simpossibletoknowwhatgoesoninpeople’sprivatelives,butbecauseI’dneverseenmyauntoruncleactallthatromantictowardeachother,IguessI’dgrownupthinkingthattheyweremorelikebusinesspartnersthandeeplyinlove.Obviously,Iwaswrongaboutthat.Tomyeyes,myauntseemedalmostshrunkenintheaftermath.Shebarelyateandcarriedahandkerchieftosoakupherconstantstreamoftears.Paigelistenedtofamiliarstoriesforhours,keptupthehouse,andmadesuretheemployeesatthefarmadheredtoaschedule.Butshecouldn’tstayforever,andaftersheleft,Isuddenlyfoundmyselftryingtotakecareofthingsinthesamewaymysisterhadbeendoing.
Inadditiontomanagingthefarmandmakingsuremyauntwaseatingenough,Ibeganleafingthroughthepileofinvoicesandrecordsonmyuncle’sdesk.Evenmyrudimentarymathskillsletmeknowthewholeoperationwasamess.Thoughthetobaccocropstillmademoney,thechickens,corn,andcottonhadbecomesteadilylosingpropositions.Tostaveoffaloomingbankruptcy,myunclehadalreadyarrangedtoleasemorelandtotheneighbors.Whilethatwouldsolvetheimmediateproblem,Iknewitwouldleavethefarmwithabiggerlong-termissue.Myinitialreactionwastourgemyaunttoselltherestofthefarmoutrightsoshecouldbuyasmallhouseandretire,butshenixedthatideaimmediately.Aroundthatsametime,Ialsofoundclippingsfromvariousmagazinesandnewslettersthatmyunclehadcollected,whichdiscussedthemarketforhealthierandmore-exoticfoodoptions,alongwithnotesandrevenueprojectionshe’dalreadycompleted.Myunclemayhavebeenquietandnotmuchofabusinessmanoverall,buthe’dclearlybeenconsideringchanges.Idiscussedthosewithmyaunt,andsheeventuallyagreedthattheonlyoptionwastoputmyuncle’splansinmotion.
Wedidn’thavethemoneytodomuchrightoffthebat,butoverthelastsevenyears,withtremendouseffort,risks,challenges,financialhelpfromPaige,occasionalluckybreaks,andwaytoomanysleeplessnights,weslowlytransitionedfromraisingchickensforprocessingtospecializinginorganiccage-freeeggs,whichhaveamuchhigherprofitmargin;weofferthemtogrocerystoresthroughoutNorthandSouthCarolina.Whilewestillgrowtobacco,weusedtheremaininglandtoconcentrateonheirloomtomatoes,thekindthatarepopularinupscalerestaurantsandpriceygrocerystores,andthemarginonthosehasprovedtobesubstantial,aswell.Fouryearsago,thefarmturnedaprofitforthefirsttimeinages,andwebegantolowerourdebttoreasonablelevels.Weeventookbacksomeoftheleasesfromourneighbors,sothefarmisactuallygrowingagain,andlastyearthefarmearnedmorethanever.
LikeIsaid,I’mprettygoodatwhatIdo.
WhatIamisafarmer.Yeah,Iknow.Mycareerpathsometimesstrikesevenmeasunlikely,especiallysinceI’dspentyearsofmylifebegrudgingprettymucheverythingassociatedwiththefarm.Overtime,I’vecometoacceptthenotionthatwedon’talwaysgettochooseourpathsinlife;sometimes,theychooseus.
I’malsogladI’vebeenabletohelpmyaunt.Paigeisproudofme,andIshouldknow,sinceweseealotofeachotherthesedays.Hermarriagecametoaterribleend—prettymuchtheworstimaginable—andshemovedbacktothefarmsixyearsago.Forawhilewealllivedinthehouseliketheolddays,butitdidn’ttakelongtorealizesharingaroomwithmysister—asadults—wasn’tsomethingthateitherPaigeorIwantedtodo.Intheend,Ibuiltmyauntasmaller,moremanageablehouseacrosstheroad,atthefarcorneroftheproperty.NowmysisterandIlivetogether,whichmightsoundstrangetosomepeople,butIenjoyit,sinceshe’sstillmybestfriendintheworld.Shedoesherstained-glassthinginthebarn,Ifarm,andweeattogetherafewtimesaweek.She’sbecomeafairlydecentcook,andwhenwetakeourseatsatthetable,I’msometimesremindedofallthedinnerswehadgrowingup.
Inotherwords,mylifeisprettygoodthesedays,buthere’sthething:WhenItellpeopleI’mafarmer,mostofthemtilttheirheadsandlookatmekindoffunny.Moreoftenthannot,theyhavenoideawhattosaynext.IfItellpeoplethatmyfamilyownsafarm,however,theybrightenandsmileandstartaskingquestions.Whythedifference,I’mnotexactlysure,butit’shappenedafewtimessinceIarrivedinFlorida.Sometimesafterashow,peoplewillcomeuptomeandstartaconversation,andoncetheyrealizethatI’manobodyinmusic,thesubjecteventuallyshiftstowhatIdoforaliving.DependingonwhetherIwanttheconversationtocontinue,I’velearnedtoeithersaythatI’mafarmerorthatIownafarm.
Despiteoursuccessoverthelastfewyears,thestressofthefarmcanbewearying.Dailydecisionsoftenhavelonger-termconsequences,andeverychoiceislinkedtoanother.DoIbringthetractorinforrepairs,soIhavemoretimetofocusoncustomers,ordoIrepairitmyself,tosavethethousanddollars?DoIexpandtheofferingofheirloomtomatoes,orspecializeinjustafewandfindmoreoutlets?MotherNature,too,iscapricious,andwhileyoucanmakeadecisionthatseemscorrectatthetime,sometimesbadthingshappenanyway.Willtheheatersfunctionproperlysothechickenswillbewarmenoughintheraretimesitsnows?Willthehurricanepassusby,orwillthewindandrainruinthecrops?Everyday,I’minchargeofgrowingandraisinghealthycropsandchickens,andeveryday,somethingcomesupthataddstothechallenge.Whilethingsareconstantlygrowing,otherthingsarealwaysdecaying,andstrivingforthatperfectbalancesometimesfeelslikeanearlyimpossibletask.Icouldworktwenty-fourhoursadayandstillneversaytomyself,That’sit.There’snothingmoretobedone.
Imentionallthisonlytoexplainwhythisthree-weektriptoFloridaisthefirstrealbreakI’vehadinsevenyears.Paige,myaunt,andthegeneralmanagerinsistedthatIgo.Beforecominghere,I’dnevertakensomuchasasingleweekoff,andIcancountononehandthenumberofweekendsIforcedmyselftogetawayfromitall.Thoughtsofthefarmintruderegularly;inthefirstweek,Imusthavecalledmyaunttentimestocheckinonhowthingsweregoing.Shefinallyforbademetocallanymore.Betweenherandthegeneralmanager,theycouldhandleit,shesaid,sointhelastthreedaysIhaven’tcalledatall,evenwhentheurgehasfeltalmostoverwhelming.NorhaveIcalledPaige.ShereceivedafairlysubstantialorderrightbeforeIleft,andIalreadyknewshewouldn’tanswerwheninfuriousworkmode,allofwhichmeansthat,inadditiontovacation,I’malonewithmythoughtsforthefirsttimeinwhatseemslikeforever.
I’mprettysuremygirlfriend,Michelle,wouldhavelikedthisrelaxedandhealthy,nonworkingversionofme.Or,rather,myex-girlfriend.MichellealwayscomplainedthatIfocusedontheneedsofthefarmmorethanmyownlife.I’dknownhersincehighschool—barely,sinceshewasdatingoneofthefootballplayersandwastwoyearsolderthanme—butshe’dalwaysbeenfriendlywhenwepassedeachotherinthehallways,eventhoughshewastheprettiestgirlinschool.Shevanishedfrommylifeforafewyearsbeforeweranintoeachotheragain,atapartyaftershegraduatedfromcollege.She’dbecomeanurseandhadtakenajobatVidantMedicalCenter,butshemovedbackinwithherparentsinthehopesofsavingenoughmoneyforadownpaymentonacondominiuminGreenville.Thatinitialconversationledtoafirstdate,thenasecondone,andforthetwoyearswedated,Iconsideredmyselflucky.Shewassmartandresponsibleandhadagoodsenseofhumor,butsheworkednightsandIworkedconstantly,leavinguswithlittletimetospendwitheachother.Iwanttobelievethatwecouldhaveworkedpastthat,butIeventuallyrealizedthatwhileIlikedher,Ididn’tloveher.I’mprettysureshefeltthesameaboutme,andonceshefinallyboughthercondo,seeingeachotherbecameallbutimpossible.Therewasnomessybreakup,noangerorfightingorname-calling;rather,webothstartedtextingorcallingless,untilitreachedapointwherewehadn’tsomuchastouchedbaseinacoupleofweeks.Eventhoughwehadn’tformallyendedthings,bothofusknewitwasover.Afewmonthslatershemetsomeoneelse,andaboutayearagoIsawonherInstagrampagethatshe’djustgottenengaged.Tomakethingseasier,Istoppedfollowingheronsocialmedia,deletedhercontactfrommyphone,andIhaven’theardfromhersince.
I’vefoundmyselfthinkingabouthermorethanusualdownhere,perhapsbecausecouplesseemtobeeverywhere.They’reatmyshows,they’reholdinghandsastheywalkthebeach,they’resittingacrossfromeachotheratdinnerwhilegazingintoeachother’seyes.Therearefamilieshere,too,ofcourse,butnotasmanyasIthoughttherewouldbe.Idon’tknowtheFloridaschoolschedule,butIfigurethekidsmuststillbeintheirclassrooms.
Idid,however,noticeagroupofyoungishwomenyesterday,afewhoursbeforemyshow.Itwasearlyafternoon,andIwaswalkingnearthewater’sedgeafterlunch.Itwashotandsunny,withenoughhumiditytomaketheairfeelsticky,soI’dremovedmyshirt,usingittowipethesweatfrommyface.AsInearedtheDonCeSar,agrayobjectsurfacedanddisappearedinthewaterjustbeyondthesmallbreakers,followedquicklybyanother.Ittookmeafewsecondstorecognizethatitwasapodofdolphinslanguidlymovingparalleltotheshoreline.Istoppedtowatch,asI’dneverseenoneinthewildbefore.IwasfollowingtheirprogresswhenIheardthegirlsapproachandstopafewyardsaway.
Thefourofthemwerechatteringloudly,andIdidadoubletakewhenInoticedhowstartlinglyattractivetheyallwere.Theylookedreadyforaphotoshoot,withcolorfulswimwearandperfectteeththatflashedwhentheylaughed,makingmethinkallofthemhadspentplentyoftimeattheorthodontistasteenagers.Isuspectedtheywereyoungerthanmebyafewyears,probablycollegestudentsonbreak.
AsIturnedmyattentionbacktothedolphins,oneofthewomengaspedandpointed;fromthecornerofmyeye,Isawtherestofthemstareinthesamedirection.ThoughIwasn’ttryingtoeavesdrop,theyweren’texactlyquiet.
“Isthatashark?”oneofthemasked.
“It’sprobablyadolphin,”anotheranswered.
“ButIseeafin.”
“Dolphinshavedorsalfins,too….”
Ismiledinwardly,thinkingthatmaybeIhadn’tmissedmuchbynotgoingtocollege.Predictably,theystartedposingforselfies,tryingtocapturethedolphinsinthebackground.Afterawhiletheybeganmakingthekindsofsillyfacescommononsocialmedia:thekissyface,theecstaticwe’re-having-such-a-great-timegroupshot,andtheseriouspretend-I’m-a-supermodellook,whichMichelleusedtorefertoasthedead-fishexpression.Recallingitmademesnortundermybreath.
Oneofthegirlsmusthaveheardme,becauseshesuddenlyglancedinmydirection.Ipointedlyavoidedeyecontact,focusingonthedolphinsastheydriftedby.Whentheyeventuallyturnedtowarddeeperwater,Ifigureditwastimeformetoheadback.Iveeredaroundthewomen—threeofwhomwerestilltakingandexaminingtheirselfies—butthesameonewho’dglancedtowardmecaughtandheldmygaze.
“Nicetats,”sheofferedwhenIwasclose,andI’lladmithercommentcaughtmeoffguard.Shewasn’texactlyflirting,butsheseemedslightlyamused.ForamomentIdebatedwhethertostopandintroducemyself,butthatfeelinglastedonlyasecond.Itdidn’ttakearocketscientisttorealizeshewasoutofmyleague,soIflashedaquicksmileandmovedpast.
Whenshearchedaneyebrowatmylackofresponse,Ihadthefeelingthatshe’dknownexactlywhatIwasthinking.Shereturnedherattentiontoherfriends,andIkeptwalking,fightingtheurgetoturnaround.ThemoreItriednottolook,theharderitbecame;finally,Iallowedmyselfanotherquickpeek.
Apparently,thegirlhadbeenwaitingformetodojustthat.Shestillworethesameexpressionofamusement,andwhensheofferedaknowingsmile,Iturnedandkeptgoing,feelingaflushcreepupmyneckthathadnothingtodowiththesun.Sittinghereinmybeachchair,I’lladmitthatmythoughtshavedriftedbacktomyencounterwiththegirl.Iwasn’texactlylookingforherorherfriends,butIwasn’topposedtotheidea,either,whichiswhyI’dhauledmychairandcoolerallthewaydownthebeachinthefirstplace.Sofarnoluck,butIremindedmyselfthatI’dhadaprettygooddaynomatterwhathappened.Inthemorning,I’dgoneforarunonthebeach,theninhaledsomefishtacosatalunchspotcalledtheToastedMonkey.Afterthat,withnothingpressingonmyagenda,Ieventuallyendeduphere.IsupposeIcouldhavedonesomethingmoreproductivethanpracticallybegforskincancer.RayhadmentionedtherewassomegoodkayakingatFortDeSotoPark,andbeforeIlefthome,PaigehadremindedmetocheckouttheDalí,alocalmuseumdedicatedtotheworksofSalvadorDalí.Iguessshe’dvisitedTripadvisororwhatever,andItoldherI’daddittomyitinerary,althoughsippingacoldbeeranddoingmybestimpressionofacertifiedmanofleisurefeltfarmorecompelling,atleasttomywayofthinking.
Withthesunfinallybeginningtodriftlowerinthesky,Iliftedthelidtothecoolerandpulledoutmysecond—andlikelylast—beeroftheday.IfiguredI’dsiponitforawhile,maybeevenstaylongenoughtoenjoythesunset,thenmakemywaytoSandbarBill’s,acoolplaceupthebeachthathappenedtoservethebestcheeseburgersaround.AstowhatIwoulddoafterthat,Iwasn’tquitesure.IsupposedIcoulddosomebarhoppingindowntownSt.Petersburg,butbecauseitwasSaturdaynight,itwouldprobablybecrowded,andIwasn’tsureIwasinthemoodforthat.Whichleftwhat?Workonasong?WatchsomeNetflix,likePaigeandIsometimesdid?ReadoneofthebooksI’dbroughtwithmebuthadn’tyetstarted?IfiguredI’dplayitbyear.
Itwistedoffthecap,surprisedthatthebeachwasstillascrowdedaswhenI’darrived.HotelguestsfromtheDonCeSarreclinedinloungechairsshadedbyumbrellas;alongthebeach,dozensofvisitorslayoncolorfultowels.Atthewater’sedge,somelittlekidswerebuildingasandcastle;awomanwaswalkingadogwhosetonguelolledalmosttohispaws.Themusicfromthepoolareacontinuedbehindme,makingmewinceattheoccasionaloff-keynote.
Asithappened,Ineitherheardnorsawherapproach.AllIknewwasthatsomeonewassuddenlyhoveringaboveme,castingashadowovermyface.WhenIsquinted,Irecognizedthegirlfromthebeachyesterday,smilingdownatme,herlongdarkhairframingmyfieldofvision.
“Hi,”shesaidwithoutatraceofself-consciousness.“Didn’tIseeyouplayingatBobbyT’slastnight?”IguessIshouldexplainsomethingelse:EventhoughI’vementionedthatI’dhopedtorunintothedark-hairedbeautyatthebeach,Ididn’thaveaplanafterthat.I’mnotnervouswhenitcomestomeetingwomen,thoughIamoutofpractice.Backhome,asidefromwhenIplaytheoccasionalgigforfriends,Iseldomgoout.MyexcuseisusuallythatI’mtootired,butreally,ifyou’velivedinthesamesmalltownyourentirelife,doingprettymuchanythingonaFridayorSaturdaynightfeelsabitlikethemovieGroundhogDay.Yougotoexactlythesameplacesandseeexactlythesamepeopleanddoexactlythesamethings,andhowoftencansomeoneexperiencetheendlessdéjàvuwithoutfinallyaskingthemselves,WhyamIevenhere?
Thepointis,Iwasalittlerustyatmakingconversationwithbeautifulstrangersandfoundmyselfgapingupatthegirlwordlessly.
“Hello?Anyonehome?”sheaskedintothesilence.“Orhaveyoualreadykilledoffthecontentsofthatcooler,whichmeansIshouldprobablywalkawayrightnow?”
Therewasnomistakingtheplayfulnessinhertone,butIbarelyregisteredherteasingasItookinthesightofherwearingawhitehalfshirtalongwithfadedjeansshortsthatexposedpartofatantalizingpurplebikini.ShelookedlikeshemightbepartAsian,andherthick,wavyhairwaswindblowninamessy-casualkindofway,asifshe’dspentthedayoutdoors,justlikeme.Iliftedmybottleofbeerslightly.
“Thisisonlymysecondoftheday,”Isaid,findingmyvoice,“butwhetheryouwalkawayisuptoyou.And,yes,youmayhaveheardmeatBobbyT’slastnight,dependingonwhattimeyouwerethere.”
“Youwerealsotheguywiththetattoosonthebeachyesterday,right?Whoeavesdroppedonmeandmyfriends?”
“Iwasn’teavesdropping,”Iprotested.“Thefourofyouwereloud.”
“Youwerealsostaringatme.”
“Iwaswatchingthedolphins.”
“Didyouordidyounotpeekoveryourshoulderwhenyouwerewalkingaway?”
“Iwasstretchingmyneck.”
Shelaughed.“Whatareyoudoingoutherebehindthehotel?Tryingtoaccidentallyeavesdroponmeandmyfriendsagain?”
“Icameouttoenjoythesunset.”
“You’vebeenhereforhoursandsunsetisstillalongwayoff.”
“HowdoyouknowhowlongI’vebeenhere?”
“BecauseIsawyouwhenyoufirstwalkedby.Wewerebythepool.”
“Yousawme?”
“Youwerekindofhardtomiss,luggingallyourgearfromsomewhereupthebeach.Seemslikeyoucouldhaveploppeddownanywhere.Ifyoujustwantedtoenjoythesunset,Imean.”Herbrowneyesflashedwithmischief.
“Wouldyoulikeabeer?”Icountered.“Sinceyouobviouslycameoutheretospeakwithme?”
“Oh,nothanks.”
Ihesitated.“Youareoldenoughtodrink,though,right?Idon’twanttobethecreepytwenty-five-year-oldwhooffersalcoholtominors.”
“Yup.Justturnedtwenty-one,actually.I’vegraduatedcollegeandeverything.”
“Whereareyourfriends?”
“They’restillatthepool.”Sheshrugged.“TheywerehavingmargaritaswhenIleft.”
“Soundslikeapleasantafternoon.”
Shemotionedtowardmychair.“CanIborrowyourtowel?”
“Mytowel?”
“Please.”
Icouldhaveaskedwhy,butinstead,Isimplystood,pulleditfromthebeachchair,andhandeditover.
“Thankyou.”Shewhippeditstraight,thenspreaditonthesandbesidemychairbeforetakingaseat.Iloweredmyselfintomychair,watchingassheleanedbackonherelbows,herlong,sun-brownedlegsstretchedoutinfrontofher.Forafewseconds,neitherofussaidanything.“I’mMorganLee,bytheway,”shefinallyoffered.
“ColbyMills,”Icountered.
“Iknow,”shesaid.“Isawyourshow.”
Oh,right.“Where’shomeforyou?”
“Chicago,”sheanswered.“Morespecifically,LincolnPark.”
“Thatmeansnothingtome.I’veneverbeentoChicago.”
“LincolnParkisaneighborhoodrightnexttothelake.”
“Whatlake?”
“LakeMichigan?”shesaid,raisinganeyebrowindisbelief.“OneoftheGreatLakes?”
“Isitreallygreat?Orisitjustagoodoraveragelake?”
Shelaughedatmylamejoke,adeepandfull-throatedrumblethatwasstartlingcomingfromsuchapetiteframe.“It’sgorgeousand…huge.It’skindoflikehere,infact.”
“Aretherebeaches?”
“Actually,yes.Theydon’thavetheperfectwhitesandorpalmtrees,buttheycangetcrowdedinthesummer.Therecanevenbeprettybigwavessometimes.”
“Isthatwhereyouwenttocollege,too?”
“No.IwenttoIndianaUniversity.”
“Andletmeguess.Thistripisagraduationgiftfromyourparentsbeforeyouhavetoheadoffintotherealworld?”
“Impressive,”shesaidassheraisedaneyebrow.“Youmusthavefiguredthatoutsometimebetweenyesterdayandjustnow,whichmeansyou’vebeenthinkingaboutme.”ThoughIdidn’trespond,Ididn’thaveto.Busted,Ithought.“But,yes,you’reright,”shewenton.“IthinktheyfeltbadbecauseIhadtodealwithallthatCovidstuff,whichmadeschoolprettycrappyforawhile.Andobviouslythey’rethrilledIgraduated,sotheybookedatripformeandmyfriends.”
“I’msurprisedthefourofyoudidn’twanttogotoMiami.St.PeteBeachisabitoffthebeatenpath.”
“Ilovethisplace,”shesaidwithashrug.“MyfamilyusedtocomehereeveryyearwhenIwasgrowingup,andwealwaysstayedattheDon.”Shestaredatmewithopencuriosity.“Buthowaboutyou?Howlonghaveyoulivedhere?”
“Idon’tlivehere.I’mvisitingfromNorthCarolina.IjustcamedowntoplayatBobbyT’sforafewweeks.”
“Isthatwhatyoudo?Travelandperform?”
“No,”Isaid.“It’sthefirsttimeI’veeverdonesomethinglikethis.”
“Thenhowdidyouendupplayinghere?”
“Iplayedatapartybackhome,andinaweirdcoincidence,thebookerforBobbyT’shappenedtobevisitingafriendintownandheardmeplay.Anyway,afterwardheaskedwhetherI’dbewillingtocomedowntodoafewshows.I’dhavetopaymyowntravelandlodging,butitwasachancetovisitFloridaandthescheduleisn’ttoodemanding.”Ishrugged.“IthinkhewassurprisedwhenIsaidyes.”
“Why?”
“AfterexpensesIprobablywon’tbreakeven,butit’saniceexcusetogetaway.”
“Thecrowdseemedtolikeyou.”
“Ithinkthey’dbehappywithanyone,”Idemurred.
“AndIthinkyou’resellingyourselfshort.Alotofwomeninthecrowdwerestaringatyouwithgooglyeyes.”
“Googly?”
“YouknowwhatImean.Whenoneofthemwentuptotalktoyouafteryourset,Ithoughtshewasgoingtotrytogropeyourightthere.”
“Idoubtit,”Isaid.Inallcandor,Icouldbarelyremembertalkingtoanyoneaftertheshow.
“Sowheredidyoulearntosing?”sheasked.“Didyoutakelessonsorwereyouinabandor…?”
“IwasinabandwhenIwasinhighschool.”Igaveherabriefrundownofmyunglamorousstintwiththepost-punkcrew.
“Didtheleadsingerevermakeit?”sheasked,laughing.“InLosAngeles?”
“Ifhedid,I’mnotawareofit.”
“DidyouplayatvenueslikeBobbyT’s?”
“Never.Think…dingybarsandclubswherethepolicewerecalledafterfightsbrokeout.”
“Didyouhavegroupies?Likeyoudonow?”
Shewasteasingagain,butIhadtoadmitIlikedit.“Therewereafewgirlswhomighthavebeenconsideredregularsatourshows,buttheyweren’tinterestedinme.”
“Poorthing.”
“Theyweren’tmytype.”Ifrowned.“Cometothinkofit,I’mnotsuretheywereanyone’stype.”
Shesmiled,flashingdimplesIhadn’tnoticedbefore.“So…ifyou’renotinabandandyoudon’tperformmuch,whatisitthatyouactuallydo?”
NaturallyIsaid,“Myfamilyownsafarm.”
Sheswepthereyesoverme.“Youdon’tlooklikeafarmer.”
“That’sbecauseI’mnotwearingmyoverallsandstrawhat.”
Shegavethatrumblingbellylaughagain,andIrealizedhowmuchIlikedthesoundofit.“Whatdoyougrowonyourfarm?”AsIdescribedourseasonalcropsandwhowesoldthemto,shepulledupherlegsandwrappedherarmsaroundthem,flashingherimmaculateredtoenailpolish.“Ionlybuycage-freeorganiceggs,”sheremarked,nodding.“Ifeelbadforchickenswhospendtheirwholelifeinsideatinycage.Buttobaccocausescancer.”
“Cigarettescausecancer.AllIdoisgrowagreenleafyplant,andthenIprimeandcuretheleavesbeforesellingthem.”
“Arethosefarmingterms?”
“Primingmeanspickingtheleaves,andcuringmeansallowingthemtodry.”
“Thenwhydidn’tyoujustsaythatinstead?”
“BecauseIliketosoundprofessional.”
Sheflutteredherlong,darklashesandshotmeanindulgentsmile.“Okay,Professor…what’sanheirloomtomato?Imean,Iknowtheycomeinfunkyshapesandcolors,buthowaretheydifferentfromregulartomatoes?”
“Mostofthetomatoesyoufindinstoresarehybrids,whichmeanstheirDNAhasbeenmanipulated,usuallysotheywon’tspoilwhilebeingtransported.Thedownsideisthathybridstastekindofbland.Heirloomtomatoesaren’thybrids,soeachvarietyhasitsownuniqueflavor.”
Therewasalotmoretoit—whetherornotopenpollinationwasused,whetherseedswerepurchasedfromvendorsorharvestedindividually,thesoil’seffectonflavor,climate—butonlypeoplewhohadtogrowthemcaredaboutthosesortsofdetails.
“That’sverycool,”shesaid.“Idon’tthinkI’veevermetafarmerbefore.”
“There’sarumorwecanalmostpassforhuman.”
“Haha.”
Ismiled,feelingabuzzthathadnothingtodowiththebeer.“Whataboutyou?Howlongareyoustaying?”
“Weleaveaweekfromtomorrow.Wejustgotinyesterday.Notlongbeforeyousawusonthebeach,infact.”
“Youdidn’tthinkaboutrentingahouse?”
“Idoubttheideaevenoccurredtomyparents.Besides,IhavealotofnostalgicfeelingsfortheDon.”Shemadeawryface.“Plus,noneofusreallylikestocook.”
“Iguessyouwereonthemealplanatschool.”
“Yeah,butthisisalsosupposedtobeavacation.”
Ismiled.“Idon’tthinkIsawyouoryourfriendsattheshowlastnight.”
“Wedidn’tgetthereuntilthelastfifteenminutesorso.Itwasprettycrowded,sowestoodoutonthebeach.”
“Fridaynights,”Ioffered.“Peoplewantingtostarttheirweekend,Iguess.”Becausemybeerwasnowwarm,Idumpedthecontentsintothesand.“Wouldyoulikeabottleofwater?”
“I’dloveone.Thanks.”
Twistinginmyseat,Icheckedthecooler.Theicehadmelted,butthebottleswerestillcool.Ihandedonetoherandtookoneformyself.
Shesatupstraight,wavingherbottleatthesurf.“Hey,Ithinkthedolphinsareback!”shecried,shieldinghereyesasshescannedthewater.“Theymusthavearoutine.”
“Iguess,”Isaid.“Ormaybeit’sadifferentpod.Theocean’sprettybig,youknow.”
“Technically,Ibelievethisisagulf,notanocean.”
“What’sthedifference?”
“Ihonestlyhavenoidea,”sheadmitted,anditwasmyturntolaugh.Settlingintoacomfortablesilence,wewatchedthedolphinsridingthebreakers.Istillwasn’tsurewhyshe’dapproachedmeinthefirstplace,asshewasprettyenoughtohaveherpickofguys.Betweensipsofwater,Istoleglancesatherprofilewithitsslightlyupturnednoseandfulllips,asdelicateasalinedrawing.
Bythen,theskyhadbeguntopaleslightly.Thecrowdswerefinallybeginningtopackup,shakingtowelsandcollectingplastictoys,foldingchairs,andstuffingitemsintobeachbags.Yesterday,I’dseenMorganandherfriendsforthefirsttime;ImarveledatthefactthatIwassittingbesidehertheverynextday.Thingslikethisdidn’thappentome,butperhapsMorganwasusedtowinningoverstrangersinaninstant.Shecertainlydidn’tlackconfidence.
Thedolphinsmovedslowlydownthebeach,andfromthecornerofmyeye,IsawamelancholysmilecrossMorgan’slips.Shesighed.
“Ishouldprobablycheckinwithmyfriendsbeforetheystarttogetworried.”
Inodded.“It’sprobablytimeformetoheadback,too.”
“Whataboutallthattalkaboutwatchingthesunset?”
“I’llcatchitlater.”
Shesmiled,risingfromherspotandbrushingthesandfromherlegs.Ipickedupthetowelandshookitoutbeforedrapingitovermyshoulder.
“Areyougoingtobeplayingtonight?”sheasked,meetingmyeyes.
“No,butI’llbetheretomorrowatfive.”
“Enjoyyournightoff,then.”Hergazeflickeredtowardthepoolareabeforeseekingoutmyownagain.Forthefirsttime,Ihadthestrangesenseshewasnervous.“Itwasnicemeetingyou,Colby.”
“You,too.”
She’dtakenastepawaywhenshesuddenlyturnedback.“Doyouhaveplanstonight?”Shehesitated.“Imean,laterintheevening.”
“Notreally.”
Shehuggedherarmstoherchest.“We’replanningtogotoMacDinton’s.Doyouknowit?InSt.Petersburg?Ithinkit’sanIrishpub.”
“I’veneverheardofit,butthatdoesn’tmeananything.”
“Youshouldmeetusthere,”sheurged.“Sinceit’syournightoff,Imean.”
“Okay.Maybe.”Inodded,alreadyknowingI’dbethere.Sheseemedtoknowit,too,andgavemeabrilliantsmilebeforestartingbacktowardthehotel.Whenshewasafewstepsaway,Icalledafterher.
“Hey,Morgan?”
Sheturnedbutkeptwalkingslowlybackward.“Yes?”
“Whydidyoucomeouttothebeachtomeetme?”
Shetiltedherhead,amusementlightingupherface.“Whydoyouthink?”
“Idon’thavetheslightestidea.”
“Isn’titobvious?”sheshoutedoverthewind.“Iloveyourvoice,andIwantedtomeetyouinperson.”Onthewayback,IcalledinacheeseburgerordertoSandbarBill’sandgrabbedittogobeforereturningtothepublicparkingareawhereI’dleftmytruck.OnceIreachedmyrentalcondo,Ipoppeditintothemicrowavetowarmup,andithitthespot.Afterward,Ishoweredandtossedonapairofjeans,thenreachedformyphonetocheckmymessages.
Therewasnothingfrommyaunt.Recallingherscolding,IinsteadtextedPaigetoseehowshewasdoing,askinghowherlatestTiffany-replicalampswerecomingalong.Iwatchedthescreenforthedots,butwhenshedidn’trespond,Ifiguredshewasprobablyinthebarnwithherphoneondonotdisturb
Withtheskybeginningtochangecolorsbeyondtheslidingglassdoors,Ipickedupmyguitar,asmythoughtsdriftedtoMorgan.Sheinterestedme,butIknewitwasn’tjustherbeautythathadaffectedmesostrongly.Herconfidence,especiallyforsomeonesoyoung,drewmein.Buttherewaswarmth,too,andcuriosity,andafierceenergythatIcouldsenseeveninourlimitedinteraction.Sheseemedtoknowwhoshewas,likedwhoshewas,andIwouldn’thavebeensurprisedifshealreadyhadavisionofthefutureshewantedforherself.ItriedtothinkofwhetherI’devermetsomeonelikeher,butIcouldn’tcomeupwithanyone.
Forcingthosethoughtsaway,IfoundmymindlingeringoverasongthatI’dbeennoodlingwithforthelastcoupleofmonths.Therhythm—sofar—hadpromise,butI’dbeenstrugglingwiththelyrics.AsmemoriesofMorganintruded,however,Ibegantotrynewphrasesandverses,andasIadjustedtheopeningmeasures,Ifeltsomethingclick,likethefirsttumblerfallinginacombinationlock.
Idon’tknowhowitworksforanyoneelse,butsongwritingisamysteriousprocess.Sometimesasongcomessoquickly,I’mabitshocked;othertimes—likewiththisone—thefinalproducteludesmeforweeksormonths.Sometimesitneverfeelsrightatall,butI’llfindmyselfusingbitsandpiecesinanentirelynewsong.Withanysong,however,there’salwaysagermofinspiration,thatveryfirstidea.ItcanbeaphraseorasnatchofmelodyIcan’tshake,andonceIhavethat,Ibegintobuild.It’ssortoflikeI’mmakingmywaythroughadark,clutteredattic,wheremygoalistofindthelightswitchonthefarsideoftheroom.AsItrynewthings,sometimesIbumpintounseenobstaclesandhavetoretracemysteps,or—ifI’mlucky—I’lltakeastepforwardthatjustfeelsright.Ican’ttellyouwhyitfeelsright—it’sinstinctual,Iguess.Afterthat,Itrytofindthenextrightthing,andthenthenext,untilIfinallyreachthatlightswitch,andthesongisfinished.IknowI’mnotexplainingitthatwell,butsinceIdon’treallyunderstandit,I’mnotsureit’spossibletoputintowords.TheonlythingIknowwithanycertaintyisthatwhenI’mcreating,Igenerallylosealltrackoftime.
Whichisexactlywhathappened.IhadfallenintooneofthosecreativezoneswhenIrealizedthesongwasgettingcloser.Thelyricswereaboutmeetingsomeonewhosurprisesyou,andthoughIdidn’tconsideritpolishedbyanymeans,itwasdefinitelyaworkablefirstdraft.
Bythenitwashalfpastten,andIwasn’ttiredintheslightest.RememberingMorgan’sinvitation,Idressedinoneofthetwodecentbutton-upshirtsI’dbroughttoFlorida,ditchedtheflip-flopsforapairofVans,and—forceofhabit—grabbedmyguitar,aswell.
ThedrivetoSt.Petersburgtookabouttwentyminutes,andwiththehelpofmyphone,locatingMacDinton’swaseasy.Parkingwasabitmoreofachallenge,butIgotluckyaftercirclingtheblocktwiceandendedupfindingaspotashortstrollaway.Evenfromadistance,itwaseasytotellthatMacDinton’swasapopularwateringhole.Outside,knotsofpeoplestoodaroundsmoking,andIcouldhearthemusicblastinglongbeforeIreachedthedoors.
Inside,peoplewerejammedshouldertoshoulder,holdingpintsofGuinness,shotsofIrishwhiskey,andlong-stemmedcocktailglasses.Itwasprettymuchstandingroomonly,anditwasallIcoulddonottogetspilledonbywhomeverIwassqueezingpast.Despitetheclosequarters,peoplehadtoshouttohearoneanotheroverthemusic.
IeventuallyspottedMorganandherfriendsatatableneartheback.Theyweresurroundedbyseveralguys,whomIguessedtobeintheirlatetwentiesorearlythirties.Theywereyoungprofessionaltypes,wearingdesigner-labelshirtsandjeansandclunkywatches.AsIapproached,Icouldseethemcalculatingwhichgirlwasgoinghomewithwhichguy.Isuspectedtheywouldn’tbethrilledbymyappearance.Rightoncue,whenIwasafewfeetaway,twoofthemspottedmyapproachandbegantopuffupliketheroostersstruttingaroundonmyfarm.
OneofMorgan’sfriendsmusthavenoticed,becauseshesquintedupatthem,thentrackedtheirstarestome.Eyeswidening,sheleanedtowardMorgan.Morganlistenedintentlybeforesuddenlyturningtomewithawidesmile.
Sheimmediatelyjumpedupandelbowedherwaypastapairofguys,hustlingtowardme.Thatwasenoughtosilencetheentiregroupforaninstant,butIdidn’tcare,asallIcouldseewasMorgan.
GonewasthebeachylookthatI’dseenearlier;instead,herlongwavyhairwasfashionablystyled,andsheworejustenoughmakeuptoaccentherhighcheekbones.Hereyeswereframedbyatouchofblacklinerandlong,mascaraedlashes;sheworeadark,lusciousredlipstickthatemphasizedherfullmouth.Herwhitesleevelesstopwaspairedwithashortblackskirtandsoftblacksuedebootsthatreachedjustaboveherknees.Herfriends,Inoticed,wereequallystylishandgroomed.
Heythere,shemouthed,wavingwhenshewasclose.Eventhoughshewasalmostshouting,Icouldbarelyhearher.“Iwasn’tsureyouweregoingtocome.Whendidyougethere?”
“Justnow.Howaboutyou?”
“Aboutanhourago.”Sheputherhandonmyarm,sendingawarmtingleupmyshoulder.“C’mere.Iwanttointroduceyoutomyfriends.”
Backatthetable,sheintroducedmetoStacy,Holly,andMaria.AsIwavedagreetingtothemonebyone,noneofthembotheredtohidetheircuriosityandscrutiny,makingmewonderwhatMorganhadsaidaboutme.WhenMorganpulledmedowntotheseatnexttohers,thetwoguysclosestgrudginglymaderoom.Oneofthem,shoutingextraloudtobeheard,announcedthatthelasttimehewasatMacDinton’s,ahugefightbrokeoutnearthebar,andhewasoneofthepeoplewho’dbrokenitup.
Ismiled,thinkinghemightaswellhavesaidDidImentionI’mthestrong,heroictype?ButIsaidnothing.Thegirlsdidn’tseemimpressed,either;threeofthemleanedtowardoneanother,ignoringhim,whileMorganmotionedtomewithherfinger,promptingmetoleancloser.
“Whatdidyoudoafterleavingthebeach?”sheshoutedintomyear.
“Ihaddinner,tookashower.Wroteasong.ThenIcamehere.”
Herfacelitup.“Youwroteasong?”
“Morelikeworkedonasongthat’sbeenstuckinmyheadforawhile.Ifinished,butI’mnotsureit’sfullycookedyet.”
“Isthatnormalforyou?Towriteonesofast?”
“Sometimes.”
“Willyouplayitattheshowtomorrow?”
“It’snowherenearreadyforthat.”
“Anyspecificinspiration?”sheasked.
Ismiled.“It’shardtosayexactly.Surprisesinlife,meetingyou…”
“Meetingme?”sheasked,raisinganeyebrow.
“I’mnotalwayssurewhereexactlytheycomefrom.”
Shesearchedmyface.“Iwanttohearit.”
“Sure.Justletmeknowwhen.”
“Howaboutnow?”
Iraisedaneyebrow.“Now?Youwanttoleave?Whataboutyourfriends?”
Sheswiveledinherseat,glancingtowardthem;Stacy,Holly,andMariawereengrossedinconversation,ignoringtheguyswhowerestillfightingtoremainofinterest.Turningbacktome,Morganwavedahand.“They’llbefine.Howdidyougethere?DidyouUber?”
“Ihaveatruck,”Isaid,surprisedagainathowquicklyMorganseemedtotakecontrolofthesituation.
“Thenlet’sgo,”shesaid.Standing,sheswungherbagfromthebackofherseat,thenleanedtowardherfriends.“I’llseeyouallbackatthehotel,okay?We’regoingtotakeoff.”
Iwatchedtheireyesflickerbetweenus,startledOneoftheguyscrossedhisarms,clearlydisgusted.
“You’releaving?”Mariasaid.
“Don’tgo!”Hollypleaded.
“C’mon.Staywithus!”Stacyurged.
Bythewaytheireyesrakedoverme,IguessedtheywereconcernedaboutMorganleavingwitharelativestranger.
ButMorganwasalreadycirclingthetableandleaningintohugherfriendsonebyone.“I’lltextyouguys,”shesaid.“I’llbefine.”Turningtome,sheasked,“Ready?”
Withherleadingtheway,wesqueezedthroughthebartotheexit.Assoonaswesteppedoutside,thecacophonydroppedoff,leavingmyearsringing.
“Whichwaytoyourtruck?”
“Justaroundthecorner.”
Afterafewsteps,sheshotmeasidelonglook.
“MyfriendsobviouslythinkI’mcrazyfordoingthis.”
“Inoticedthat.”
“ButIwaskindoftiredofthatplace,anyway.Itwastoonoisy,andthoseguysatthetablewerealittletoointothemselves.”
“Evenso,doyouthinkleavingwithmeisagoodidea?”
“Whywouldn’titbe?”
“Youdon’treallyknowme.”
Shetossedalengthofhairoverhershoulderwithoutbreakingstep.“You’reafarmerfromNorthCarolina.Yougrowtobacco,heirloomtomatoes,andraiseorganiccage-freeeggs,andinyoursparetimeyouwritemusic.You’rehereforanotherweekandahalfandyou’llbeplayingatBobbyT’stomorrow,soprettymucheveryoneknowsexactlywhereyou’regoingtobeifyoutryanythingfunny.And,besides,IhaveMaceinmybag.”
“Seriously?”
“Likeyouimplied,agirlcan’tbetoocareful.IgrewupinChicago,remember?MyparentsmademepromisetobecautiouswheneverIwentoutatnight.”
“Yourparentssoundlikeverysmartpeople.”
“Theyare,”sheagreed.
Bythenwe’dreachedthetruck,andIutteredasilentthanksthatI’dwipeddownthedustyseatsbeforemytrip.Keepingatruckcleanonaworkingfarmwasanimpossibility.AsIunlockeditandstartedtheignition,shesurveyedtheinterior.
“Youbroughtyourguitarwithyou?LikeyouknewIwasgoingtoask?”
“Let’sgowiththat,”Isaid.“Whereto?”
“Let’sgobacktotheDon.Wecansitonthesandbehindthehotel,wherewehungoutearlier.”
“Soundsgood.”
AsIturnedontotheroad,Icaughtsightofhertexting.Unlikeme,sheusedbothhands,likeaminiaturetypist.Iwasmoreofasingle-fingertexter.“Lettingyourfriendsknowwherewe’regoing?”
“Ofcourse,”sheresponded.“Andyourlicenseplate,”sheadded.“ItookapicturebeforeIgotin.”Whenshefinished,sheloweredthephone.“Oh,bytheway,Igoogledheirloomtomatoesaftertalkingtoyoutoday.Ididn’trealizethereweresomanydifferentkinds.Howdoyouknowwhichonestogrow?”
“Research,likeanythingelse.There’saguyinRaleighwhoiskindoftheworldexpertonheirlooms,sowemetwithhimtofindoutwhattypesgrowbestinourareaandwhatflavorstoexpect.Wespoketootherfarmerswhogrewthem,tolearntheinsandouts,andthenmetwithpotentialcustomerslikesupermarketsandchefsandhotels.Intheend,westartedwiththreevarieties,andwe’veaddedtwomore.”
“Bywe,doyoumeanyouandyourparents,oryourbrother…?”
“Myaunt,”Isaid.Iwonderedhowmuchtotellher,beforefinallydecidingtojustcomeoutwithit.“She’skindoflikemymom.MymomdiedwhenIwaslittleandIneverknewmydad,somyauntanduncleraisedmysisterandme.Thenmyuncleendeduppassingaway,too.”
“OhmyGod!”Morgan’sshockwasevident.“That’sterrible!”
“Itwashard,”Iadmitted.“Thankyou.So,anyway,myauntandIrunthefarm.Notalone,mindyou.Wehaveageneralmanagerandalotofemployees.”
“Wheredoesyoursisterlivenow?”
“Paigelivesatthefarm,too—actually,westillliveinthehousewegrewupin—butshe’sanartist.”ItoldMorganabouttheTiffany-replicalamps.Fromthevisorinmytruck,IpulledoutaphotoofPaigeholdingoneofherlamps,whichIhadprintedfrommyphone.WhenIhandedittoMorgan,ourfingersbrushed.
“Wow!It’ssopretty!”Shetiltedherhead,studyingthephoto.“She’spretty,too.”
“There’salwaysawaitlistforherlamps,”Iwenton,withatraceofpride.“Asyoucanimagine,thelampstakealongtimetomake.”
“Issheolderoryoungerthanyou?”
“Sixyearsolder.She’sthirty-one.”
“Shelooksyounger.”
“Thanks.Ithink.Buthowaboutyou?Tellmeaboutyou.”
“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Anything.”Ishrugged.“Howwouldyoudescribeyourchildhood?Whatareyourparentslike?Doyouhavebrothersandsisters?What’sitliketogrowupinChicago,especiallyconsideringyouhavetocarryMacewhenyougoout?”
Sheburstoutlaughing.“LincolnParkisverysafe.It’skindofafancyarea.Bighouses,bigyards,bigleafytrees.RidiculousdecorationsforHalloweenandChristmas.Icampedoutinthebackyardforaslumberpartyonce,thoughmydaddidstayontheporchallnight.Itwasn’tuntilIwasolderthatmymomanddadboughttheMace,andithadmoretodowithmegoingofftocollegeandtofratpartiesorwhatever.”
“Didyougotoalotoffratparties?”
“Afew,”shecontinued,“butIwasprettybusymostofthetime.Ididgotoaformal,whichwasfun,eventhoughIdidn’treallyliketheguyallthatmuch.But,okay,aboutme:Inalotofways,itwasatypicalchildhood,Iguess.Schoolandsomeafter-schoolactivities,likemostpeople…”Whenshetrailedoff,IthoughtIdetectedahintofreticence.
“Andyourfamily?”
“Mydad’sasurgeon.HeemigratedfromthePhilippinesinthe1970stostudyatNorthwestern.HeendedupgoingtomedicalschoolattheUniversityofChicago,wherehemetmymom.She’saradiologist,German-IrishstockfromMinnesota.Herfamilyhadacabinonalakeupthere,wherewespentapartofeverysummer.AndIhaveasister,Heidi,who’sthreeyearsyoungerandlooksnothinglikeme,andeventhoughwecouldn’tbemoredifferent,Ithinkshe’samazing.”
Ismiled.“Yourfamilysoundsanythingbuttypical.”
“Idon’tknow,”shereplied,thenshrugged.“Alotofmyfriends’parentsweredoctorsorlawyers,soitwasn’tthatbigofadeal,andtheirfamiliescamefromallovertheworld,too.Idon’tthinkmyfamilystoodoutatall.”
WhereI’mfrom,theydefinitelywould.“Andyou’rethesamekindofoverachievingacademicasyourparents,Itakeit?”
“Whywouldyousaythat?”
“Becauseyoujustturnedtwenty-oneandyou’vealreadygraduatedfromcollege?”
Shelaughedagain.“ThathadlesstodowithgradesandSATscoresthanmydesiretogetawayfrommyparents.Trustme—mysisterisalotsmarterthanIam.”
“Whydidyouwanttogetawayfromyourparents?”Iasked.“Itsoundslikeyouhadaprettycomfortablelife.”
“Idid,andIdon’twanttosoundungrateful,becauseI’mnot,”shehedged.“Butit’scomplicated.Myparentscanbe…overprotective.”
Whenshepaused,Iglancedoverather.Inthesilence,sheseemedtobedebatinghowmuchtotellme,beforefinallygoingon.
“WhenIwasseven,Iwasdiagnosedwithaprettyseverecaseofscoliosis.Thedoctorsweren’tsurehowmyconditionwouldprogressasIgrew,soinadditiontohavingtowearabackbraceforsixteenhoursaday,Iendeduphavingabunchofsurgeriesandprocedurestofixit.Obviously,sincemyparentsaredoctors,theymadesureIsawthebestspecialists,butasyoucanimagine,theyworriedandhoveredandwouldn’tallowmetodothethingsotherkidsdid.AndeventhoughIeventuallygotbetter,it’sliketheystillseemeasthedamagedlittlegirlIoncewas.”
“Thatsoundsrough.”
“Don’tgetmewrong.IknowI’mnotbeingcompletelyfairtothem.Iknowtheycareaboutme;it’sjustthat…I’mnotlikemyparents.Ormysister,forthatmatter.SometimesitfeelslikeIwasbornintothewrongfamily.”
“Ithinkalotofpeoplefeelthatway.”
“Thatdoesn’tmeanitisn’ttrue.”
Ismiled.“Doesthatmeanyou’renotgoingtobecomeadoctor?”
“Amongotherthings,”sheadmitted.“Like…Ilovedancing,forinstance.Istartedinballetbecausethedoctorsrecommendedit,butIgothooked.Ialsolearnedtap,jazz,andhip-hop,butthemoreIgotintoit,thelessmyparentsapproved,eventhoughitwasgoodforme.LikeIwasn’tquitemeasuringuptotheirexpectations,youknow?Anyway,toansweryourquestion,bythetimeIstartedhighschool,Iwasalreadyitchingtogetoutandbecomeanadult,soIstartedtakingclassesatcommunitycollegeanddidasummersessionatIU.ItookacceleratedclassessoIwasabletograduateearly.And,yes,Iwasprettymuchoneoftheyoungestfreshmenoncampus.I’donlybeendrivingalittlemorethanayear.”
“Andyouroverprotectiveparentswereokaywithyouleavinghomethatyoung?”
“IthreatenedthatIwouldn’tgotocollegeatall.TheyknewIwasserious.”
“Youdriveahardbargain.”
“Icanbeabitheadstrong,”sheofferedwithawink.“Butwhataboutyou?”
“Whataboutme?”
“Didyougotocollege?”
“No.”
“Whynot?”
“Ineverlikedschoolallthatmuchtobeginwith,soitwasn’treallyinthecards.”
“Doyouregretnotgoing?”
“Iprobablywouldhavefailedout.”
“Notifyoutried.”
“Ilikelywouldn’thavetried.”
Shesmiled.“Iknowthatschool’snotforeveryone.Andyoustillfiguredoutwhatyouwanttodoearlyon,whichismorethanalotofpeoplecansay.”
Iconsideredwhatshe’dsaid.“Ihaveaknackforfarming,”Iconceded,“andnowthatmostofthetransitionworkisbehindus,mydaysaren’taslongastheyoncewere.Butit’snotwhatIgrewupimaginingthatI’dbedoing.”
Icouldstillfeelhereyesonme,herdelicatefeaturesintermittentlyilluminatedbypassingheadlights.
“Youlovemusic,”sheannounced.“That’swhatyoureallywantedtodo,right?”
“Ofcourse.”
“You’reyoung,Colby,”shepointedout.“Youstillhaveplentyoftime.”
Ishookmyhead.“It’snotgoingtohappen.”
“Becauseofyourfamily?”ThoughIdidn’tanswer,shemusthaveseenmyexpression,becauseIheardherexpelabreath.“Okay,Iacceptthat.Now,changinggears,sinceItoldyouaboutmyboringchildhood,whatwasyourlifelikegrowingupinNorthCarolina?”
Igaveherthehighlights,tryingtoinjectsomehumorintomydumbmiddleandhighschoolexploitsandrespondingindetailtoherquestionsaboutthefarm,aboutwhichsheseemedendlesslyfascinated.WhenIfinished,Iaskedherwhatshelikedmostaboutcollege.
“Thepeople,”shesaid,heransweralmostautomatic.“That’swhereImetStacy,Maria,andHolly.Others,too.”
“Whatdidyouendupstudying?”
“Can’tyouguess?”sheasked.“What’sthelastthingIsaidtoyouonthebeach?”
Iloveyourvoice.Butstillunsurewhatthathadtodowithherchoiceofamajor,Igaveheraquizzicallook.
“Imajoredinvocalperformance.”WhenwereachedtheDonCeSar,shedirectedmetothehotelparkinglot.Morganflashedherroomkeycardtothelot’ssecurityguard,andafterparkingIfishedmyguitarfrombehindthedriver’sseatandwestartedtowardthehotel.Enteringthroughthelower-leveldoors,wewalkedthewidecarpetedhallwaysthatziggedandzaggedpasthigh-endboutiquesandanice-cream-and-candyshop.Ifeltunderdressed,butMorgandidn’tseemtonotice.
Weexitedneartheperfectlylandscapedpoolarea.Offtotherightwasarestaurantwithadditionaloutdoorseatingnearthebeach;aheadandtotheleftweretwopoolssurroundedbydozensofloungechairsandtheever-popularbar.Therestaurant,likelyclosedbythen,stillhadtwoorthreecouplesrelaxingattheirtables,enjoyingthebalmybreezes.
“ThisisthefanciesthotelI’veeverseen,”Isaid,tryingnottogapeatmysurroundings.
“It’sbeenaroundalongtime.InthethirtiesitdrewguestsfromupanddowntheEastCoast,andduringWorldWarIIitwasleasedbythemilitarytotreatservicemenstrugglingwithPTSD.Ofcourse,theydidn’tcallitPTSDbackthen.Iguessitwentdownhillforawhileafterthat,andthennewownersboughtitandspruceditup,returningittoitsformerglory.”
“Youknowalotaboutit.”
Sheelbowedme,smirking.“There’sahistoryexhibithanginginthehallwaywejustwalkedthrough.”
Pleasantlysurprisedbythephysicalcontact,Imerelysmiled.Threadingbetweenthetwopools,wewalkedpastthebarontoawoodendecknearthelow-slungsanddunes.Aswereachedthesand,shestoppedtopulloutherphone.
“I’mgoingtoletmyfriendsknowwhereIam,”sheexplained,andafewsecondslater,herphonedinged.“They’regettingreadytoleave,sothey’llbehereinalittlewhile.”
Shesuddenlyreachedout,holdingontomyshoulder.“StaystillsoIcantakeoffmyboots,”sheinstructed,standingononefoot.“Idon’twantthemtogetruined.Butdon’tletmeforgetthem,okay?”
“I’mprettysureyou’drememberthemomentyourealizedyouwerebarefoot.”
“Probably,”shesaidwithamischievousgrin.“ButthiswayI’llalsofindoutwhetheryou’rereliable.Youready?”
“Afteryou.”
Westeppedontothesand,walkingsidebysidebutnotquitecloseenoughtotouch.Starsspannedthenighttimeskyandthemoonhoveredhighandbright.Theseastruckmeasbothpeacefulandominousatexactlythesametime.Inoticedacouplewalkingnearthewater’sedge,theirfeatureshiddeninshadow,andheardvoicesdriftingfromtablesnearthebar.Besideme,Morganalmostseemedtobegliding,herlonghairflutteringbehindherinthesalt-scentedbreeze.
Justbeyondtheglowofhotellights,therewereacoupleofloungechairsthateitherhadn’tbeenputawayorsomeonehadrecentlydraggedouttothebeach.Morgangesturedatthem.
“Theymusthavebeenexpectingus.”
Wesatacrossfromeachother,andMorganturnedtowardthewater,poisedandsereneinthemoonlight.
“Itlookssodifferentatnight,”sheremarked.“Inthedayit’sinviting,butatnight,allIcanthinkisthattherearegiantsharksjustlyinginwaitforme.”
“Nomidnightswim,then?”
“Notachance,”shesaid,beforeturningtowardme.Isawtheflashofhersmile.
“CanIaskaquestion?”Iventured,leaningforward.“Whatdidyoumeanwhenyousaidyoumajoredinvocalperformance?”
“That’swhatthemajoriscalled.”
“Youmean,like…singing?”
“Youhavetobeacceptedintotheprogram,butyes.”
“Howdoyougetaccepted?”
“Well,inadditiontothetapedand/orliveaudition,there’sakeyboardrequirement,soyouhavetoknowhowtoplaythepiano.Andthentheusual—transcripts,historyofmusicalstudiesortraining,performances,awards…allthat.”
“Arethereactualclasses,ordoyoujustgettosing?”
“Ofcoursethereareclasses—generaled,musictheory,eartraining,musichistory,justtostart—butasyoucanprobablyimagine,whatwedooutsideofclassissuperimportant,too.Therearechoirensembles,rehearsals,pianopractice,recitals,andconcerts.Theschoolhasoneofthebestoperaprogramsinthecountry.”
“Youwanttobeanoperasinger?”
“No,butwhenyouthinkaboutpeoplelikeMariahCareyorBeyoncéorAdele,theirvocalcontrol—theirprecision,range,andpower—reallysetsthemapart.Operatrainingcanhelpwithallthosethings.That’swhyIwantedtostudyit.”
“ButIthoughtyoulovedtodance.”
“Youcanloveboth,can’tyou?”sheasked.“Butanyway,singingwasmyfirstlove,nodoubt.Igrewupsingingallthetime—inthebathroom,inmybedroom,inmybackyard,wherever,likealotofgirlsdo.WhenIhadtostartwearingthebackbrace—beforeIstarteddancing—itwasn’teasyforme,andnotjustbecauseofmyparentsorthesurgeries.Iwasn’tallowedtoplaysportsorrunaroundwithfriendsfromtheneighborhood,andmymomhadtocarrymybackpacktoschool,andIneededaspecialchairintheclassroom…and…kidscanbeprettymeansometimes.SoIstartedsingingevenmore,becauseitmademefeel…normalandfree,ifthatmakesanysense.”
Whenshegrewquiet,Icouldn’thelpbutimagineayounggirlstrappedintoabackbrace,wantingtobelikeeveryoneelse,andhowhardthatmusthavebeen.SheseemedtosensewhatIwasthinking,becauseshelookedatmewithanalmostforlornexpression.
“I’msorry.Idon’tusuallysharethiskindofstuffwithpeopleI’mstillgettingtoknow.”
“I’mhonored.”
“Still,Idon’twantyoutothinkI’mhopingforsomekindofpityparty,becauseI’mnot.Everyonehaschallenges,andalotofpeoplehavethemworsethanIeverdid.”
IsuspectedshewasspeakingaboutthefactthatI’dlostmymom,andInodded.“So…singing?”
“Ohyeah,”sheoffered.“Longstoryshort,myparentseventuallyputmeinsingingandpianolessonssothatIhadafter-schoolactivitieslikemyfriendsdid.Ithinktheybelieveditwouldbeapassingphase,butjustlikedancing,themoreIpracticed,themoreimportantitbecametome.Isangthroughhighschool,andI’vehadprivatevocallessonsforyears.ItellmyselfthatmyexperienceatIUwasjusticingonthecake.Myparentsmaynotbethrilledwithmychoiceofmajor,butthenagain,Ididn’tgivethemavoteinthat,either.”
“Whywouldn’ttheybethrilled?”
“They’redoctors,”shesaid,asthoughthatwasalltheexplanationneeded.WhenIdidn’trespond,shefinallywenton.“MyparentswouldpreferthatIhavemore-traditionaldreams.”
“Soyou’reseriousaboutsinging.”
“It’swhatI’mmeanttodo,”shesaid,hereyesfixedonmine.
“What’snext,then?Sinceyou’vegraduated,Imean?”
“I’mmovingtoNashvilleinacoupleofweeks.That’sanotherreasonIwantedtograduateearly.I’monlytwenty-one,whichstillgivesmetimetobreakintothemusicworld.”
“Howareyougoingtopayyourbills?Didyoulineupajobthere?”
“Igotsomemoneyfrommygrandparentsforgraduation.And,believeitornot,myparentshaveagreedtohelpwithrent,too,soIshouldbeokayforawhile.”
“I’mkindofsurprisedthatyourparentswouldagreetothat.Basedonwhatyoutoldmeaboutthem,Imean.”
“Iam,too.Butmydadwasterrifiedaboutmelivinginaplacethatmightbedangerous,sohetalkedmymomintoit.Idon’tknowhowlongtheirhelpwilllast,butI’mdefinitelygratefulforit.Iknowhowharditistobreakintothemusicworld,andIfeelliketheonlywayI’mgoingtohaveachanceistogiveitahundredpercenteffort.Sothat’swhatIintendtodo,andI’llkeeptryinguntilitworks.It’smydream.”
Iheardthedeterminationinhertoneandcouldn’thelpbutbeimpressed,evenasIadmittedshehadthekindofsupportandopportunitiesofwhichonlyahandfulofpeoplecouldboast.“Areyourfriendsinmusic,too?Holly,Stacy,andMaria?”
“No,butwehaveadancegrouptogether.That’showwemet.WeallhadaccountsonTikTokwherewepostedvideosofourselvesdancing,sowestarteddancingasagroup,too.”
“Doesanyonewatch?”
Shetiltedherhead.“They’reincredibledancers,betterthanIam.Maria,forinstance,isadancemajor,andshejustscoredanauditionwithMarkMorris’sdancecompany.You’vealsoseenwhattheyalllooklike.Whatdoyouthink?”
“CanIseesomeofthevideos?”
“Istilldon’tknowyouwellenoughforthat.”
“Butyouletstrangersseethem.”
“It’sdifferentifIknowtheperson.Haven’tyoueverfeltthatway?Whenyousing?Thatifthere’ssomeoneyouknowintheaudience—andwanttoknowbetter—yougetnervous.It’skindoflikethat.”
“Youwanttogettoknowmebetter?”Ipersisted,teasing.
“You’remissingthepoint.”
Iheldupmyhands.“Igetit.Doyouhavealotoffollowers?”
“That’sarelativequestion,”shesaid.“What’salot?Somepeoplehaveacouplehundredmillionfollowers,andtherearelotsofothersbetweenfiftyandahundredmillion.We’venetworkedalot,butwe’renotinthatleague.”
“Howmanydoyouhave?”
“Individuallyorasagroup?”
“Both.”
“Almosttwomillionforme,andovereightmillionforourgroup.”
Iblinked,thinkingaboutthe478followersIhadonallthreeofmysocial-mediaplatformscombined.“YouhaveovereightmillionfollowersonTikTok?”
“It’scrazy,right?”
“It’shardtobelieve,”Isaid,notbotheringtohidemydisbelief.“Howdidyouevengetsomethinglikethatofftheground?”
“Alotofworkandevenmoreluck.Stacyisageniuswhenitcomestobuildingfollowers,andHollyisavideo-editinggoddess.Westartedbypostingtooneanother’saccounts.Thenweperformedroutinesatcampusevents,andalotofstudentsfollowedus.Afterthat,wefounddancegroupsatothercollegesthatweredoingthesamethingthatwewere,andwelinkedupwiththoseaccounts,aswell.Andthen,lastNovemberatabasketballgame…”Shehesitated.“YouknowbasketballisreallypopularinIndiana,right?Anyway,thegamewasbeingbroadcastnationally,andStacyhappenedtoknowoneofthecameraguys.WewerewearingT-shirtsthathadourTikTokaccountonthefront,andthenetworkwenttooneofthosecrowdshotsduringatime-out.Thecameramanzoomedinonusasweperformedoneofourroutinesonthesidelines.Andafterthatthecamerakeptreturningtousduringbreaks,tothepointthateventhenetworkannouncersmentionedourTikTokname!ThenaclipendeduponESPN,afewinfluencerstooknote,andalmostimmediatelyouraccountbeganblowingup.Thousandsofpeople,tensofthousands,hundreds…anditjustkeptsnowballingfromthere.”
“Doyoumakemoneywiththat?”Iasked,fascinated.
“Wedo,butonlyrecently.Figuringouthowtomonetizeitrequiresalotmorework,andtherearedecisionsaboutbrandsandwhetherthecompanyishonestorwhetherit’ssomethingwe’dbewillingtopromote.StacyandHollydomostofthat,too.Ididn’treallyhavetimeforthat,buttheotherthreehavestartedtomakesomemoneywithit—andbecausetheydoallthework,it’sonlyfair.Theycoulduseit,too.Stacyisgoingtomedicalschoolthisfall,andHollyhasstudentloans.Ironically,shegotajobwithESPN,ifyoucanbelievethat.Shewantstobeabroadcaster.”
“AndMaria?”
“Well,thatdependsonherauditionwithMarkMorris,buthermomisachoreographerwho’sdonesomeworkonBroadway,soMariachoreographsallofourdances.HermomactuallysentmyrecordingstosomemanagerssheknowsinNashville,sowe’llseehowthatgoes.”
Inmylimitedexperience,meetingsseldomledanywhere—eventhebandIwasinhadmeetingswithpotentialmanagers,albeitminor-leagueones—butIwasn’tabouttotellherthat.
“Soundsexciting,”Isaid.“I’msureyourpresenceonTikTokandInstagramwillhelpgettheirattention.”
“Iguess,”sheoffered.WhenIraisedaneyebrow,shecontinued.“Honestly,Ihavemixedfeelingsaboutthewholesocial-mediagameandtheconstantefforttobuildfollowers.”
“Buthavinganexistingfanbasecanonlyhelplaunchyourcareer,right?”
“Maybe,”shesaid.“Ourfansarealmostallgirlsfollowingusbecauseofourlooksandourdancemoves.AndI’lladmitthatweplayupoursexinessinthewaywemoveanddress.It’swhatsells.”
Whenshepaused,Iaskedtheobvious.“But?”
Shesighed.“Iwanttobeknownformysinging,notbecauseI’mahotgirlwhocandance,youknow?Andthenthere’sthefactthatsocialmediaisn’tnecessarilyagoodthingforteenagegirls.There’ssomucheditingthatwhatthey’reseeingisn’texactlyreal,butit’shardforpeopletoseparatethefantasy.It’snotasthoughwejustwalkoutanddancewithoutpracticingorthatwedon’tspendalotoftimeperfectingourhairandmakeupandoutfitsbeforewefilm.Sowhat’sthepointinbeingregardedasaninfluencer—or,Godforbid,arolemodel—ifit’sallkindoffake?”
Isaidnothing,impressedshe’dconsideredthosethings.I’llbehonest:Ihadn’t.Butthenagain,hardlyanyonefollowedme,sowhatdiditmatter?
“Anyway,we’llseehowitgoes,”shesaid,dismissingthesubjectwithawaveofherhand.“NowIwanttohearthesongyouwrote.”
Iopenedmycase,takingaminutetotunemyguitarandrecallallthechangesI’dmadeearlier.WhenIwasready,Ilaunchedintotheopeningstanzas,injectingadditionalenergytothechorusasIsangtoher.
Morganstaredatme,araptsmileplayingonherlips.Watchingherswayunconsciouslyintimewiththemusic,Irealizedagainhowmuchshe’dinspiredthesong.Notjustthelyricsbutthemusicitself;therewasabrightenergyandmomentumtothesong’sdrivingchorus,muchlikeher.
WhenIfinallysilencedtheguitar,sheleanedtowardme.“Thatwasbeautiful,”shebreathed.“You’reamazing.”
“Itstillneedswork,”Isaid.I’dneverbeencomfortablereceivingcompliments,butIalreadyknewitwasasongthatIwouldeventuallyaddtomyrotation,ifonlyinhonorofmymemoryofher.
“Whatwasthatoneyousanglastnight?Theoneaboutfeelinglost?”Shehummedafragmentofthetopmelody.“Couldyousingthatone,too?”
Iknewthesongshemeant;thelyricshadcometomeafteraparticularlyharddayonthefarm,anditwasfullofangstanduncertainty.Itwasalsoacrowdfavorite,somethingIcouldprobablyplayinmysleep,soIwentrightintoit.Afterthat,IrolledintoanothersongthatI’dwrittenyearsago—onewithechoesofLadyA—thenkeptgoing.Morganwouldswayortapherfootintimetothemusic,andIfoundmyselfwonderingwhethershe’dfinallyaskmetoplaysomethingthatshe’dbewillingtosing.
Butshedidn’t.Sheseemedcontenttolisten,andIfeltmyselfdrawnintothemusicinthesamewaysheseemedtobe.Eachsongcarriedwithitamemory,andwiththemoonbathingtheshoreinitsmilkyglowandabeautifulwomansittingacrossfromme,itstruckmethattherewasnobetterwaytoendtheevening.
WhenIfinallysetmyguitarofftotheside,lightapplausedrifteddownfromthehotel.Turning,Isawsixorsevenpeopleclappingandwavingfromthedeck.
Morgantiltedherhead.“Itoldyouyourvoicewasspecial.”
“Itmustbeaneasy-to-pleasecrowd.”
“Didyouwriteallthosesongsyourself?Withoutanyone?”
“Always.”
Shelookedimpressed.“I’vetriedtowritemyownmusic,andIcanputtogetherreallygoodbitsandpieces,butIusuallyhavetopartnerwithsomeoneelsetofinishit.”
“Howmanysongshaveyouwritten?Onyourown,Imean.”
“Twelveorso?ButIdidn’tstartuntilacoupleofyearsago.I’mstilllearning.”
“Twelveisstillprettygood.”
“Howmanyhaveyouwritten?”
Ididn’twanttotellherthewholetruth,butIofferedpartofit.“Morethantwelve.”
Shelaughed,knowingexactlywhatI’ddone.“Whileyouweresinging,Ikeptthinkingaboutyouinyourhighschoolbanddays.Ifindithardtoimagineyouwithlonghair.”
“Myauntanduncleweren’ttoofondofit.ThefewoccasionswhenmysistersawitonFaceTime,sheabsolutelyhatedit.Morethanonce,shethreatenedtodrivebackhomeandcutitalloffwhenIwassleeping.Andthescarythingis,Iwasafraidshewasactuallygoingtodoit.”
“Really?”
“Whenshegetssomethinginherhead,it’ssometimesimpossibletochangehermind.”
Justthen,IheardsomeonecallingMorgan’sname.Glancingup,IsawStacy,Holly,andMariasteppingoffthelowwoodendeckontothesand,makingabeelineforus.
“Ithinktheythinkthey’recomingtorescueme,”Morganwhispered.
“Doyouneedrescuing?”
“No.Buttheydon’tknowthat.”
Whentheyreachedus,Iwatchedthemquicklyassessthesituation,nodoubtstilltryingtofigureoutwhyagirlwhowasasprettyasMorganwouldhaveleftwithaguylikeme.
“Wereyoujustsingingouthere?”Hollyasked.
Morganjumpedintoanswer.“Iinsisted.HewroteanewsongandIwantedtohearit.HowdiditgoatMacDinton’s?”
Theygaveaunifiedboredshrug.“Itwasallright,”Stacysaid.“Oncethebandtookabreak,wecouldactuallyhearourselvesandthatwasnice,butthentheystartedupagain,sowefigureditwastimetocallit.It’sgettinglate.”
Therewassomethingalmostparentalinthewayshesaidit,andwhenMorgandidn’trespondrightaway,Iclearedmythroat.
“Ishouldprobablygetgoing,too.”
Istartedtoputawaymyguitar,regrettingtheendoftheevening.IfMorganandIhadmoretimealone,Imighthavetriedforakiss,butMorgan’sfriendsseemedtoreadmymindandhadnointentionofallowingusafinalmomentofprivacy.
“Thatwasfuntonight,”Morgansaid.
“Definitely,”Iagreed.
Sheturnedtowardherfriends.“Youready?”
“Don’tforgetyourboots.”
SheseemedamusedthatI’dremembered,offeringupabriefwavebeforestartingtowardthehotelwithherfriends.Iwaitedforthemtoreachthedeck,whereMorganretrievedherboots,slingingthemoverherarm.Intime,Iheardtheirvoicesfadeastheydisappearedintothehotel.
Oncetheyweregone,Iheadedinthesamedirectionbutquicklyrealizedmymistake.Thedoorwaslocked—itneededaroomkeytounlock—soIwentbacktothebeachandeventuallyfoundasmallpaththatledaroundthesideofthehotel,thenfinallytotheparkinglot.
Onthedrivebacktotheapartment,IthoughtaboutMorgan.Shewasrich,classy,intelligent,driven,popular,andobviouslygorgeous.Likeherfriends,Iwonderedwhatshecouldpossiblyseeinaguylikeme.Onthesurface,weweren’talikeintheslightest.Ourliveswereentirelydifferent,andyet,somehow,wejustseemedtoclick.Notnecessarilyinaromanticway,butspendingtimewithherhadbeeneasierthanevenmycomfortableroutineswithMichelle.
Later,whilelyinginbed,IfoundmyselfwonderingwhatPaigewouldthinkofher.Isuspectedthey’dhititoff—IwasprettysureMorgangotalongwitheveryone—butPaigealwayshaduncannyinstinctsaboutpeople.ItwasclearwhyIwasattractedtoMorgan,butIkeptcomingbacktothemysteryofwhy,despiteourvastlydifferentlives,spendingtimewithherfeltalmostlikecominghome.Whenshewasyoung—eightornine,sheguessed—BeverlyandhermomrodethebustoNewYorkCity.Mostoftheridetookplaceatnight,andBeverlysleptwithherheadinhermom’slap,wakingtothesightofbuildingsthatweretallerthananythingthatshe’dimagined.Thebusstationwasthronged—morepeoplethanBeverlyhadeverseenatonce—andthatwasjustthebeginningofatripthatremainedvividinhermemorydespitethepassageoftime.Hermomwantedthetriptobespecial,soshearrangedforThingstoDo.TheysawTheStarryNightbyVincentvanGoghattheMoMA,whichwasanImportantPaintingbyaFamousArtist,andafterwardeachofthemhadasliceofpizzaforlunch.Intheafternoon,theyvisitedtheAmericanMuseumofNaturalHistory,whereshestaredatthere-createdskeletonsofvariouscreatures,includingabluewhaleandaTyrannosaurusrexthathadteethlargerthanbananas.Shesawcraggymeteoritesanddiamondsandrubiesandtheyvisitedtheplanetarium,whereshestaredupwardatacomputer-generatedskywithlinesthatdepictedtheconstellations.Itwasjustthetwoofthem—aGirls’Trip,hermomhadcalledit—andithadtakenhermommorethanayeartosaveupthemoneytodothethingsthatrichpeopledidwhentheywenttotheBigCity.ThoughBeverlydidn’tknowit,itwouldbetheonlytriptheywouldevertaketogether.TherewouldcomeatimewhenBeverlyandhermomdidn’tspeakatall,butonthattrip,hermomtalkedpracticallynonstop,andBeverlyfoundcomfortinthewarmpalmofhermom’shandastheyleftthemuseumandwalkedtoCentralPark,whereleavesflamedinoranges,reds,andyellows.Itwasautumn,thetemperaturemorewinterthansummer,andthechillybreezemadethetipofBeverly’snoseturnred.Hermomcarriedtissuesinherhandbag,andBeverlyusedthemonebyoneuntiltheyweregone.Afterward,theyhaddinnerataplacewherethewaiterwasdressedasthoughhewereabouttogetmarried.ThewordsinthemenumadenosensetoBeverly.HermomtoldheritwasaRealRestaurant,andthoughthefoodwasallright,Beverlywishedshe’dhadanothersliceofpizzainstead.Later,togettotheirhotel,theyhadtowalkalmostanhour.Standingnearthelobbyentranceweretwoshifty-eyedmensmokingcigarettes,andoncetheywereinside,hermompaidcashfortheroomtoamaninadirtyT-shirtwhostoodbehindthecounter.Theirroomhadtwobedswithstainsonthecoversanditsmelledfunny,likeasinkthathadbackedup,buthermomremainedasexcitedaseverandsaiditwasimportanttoexperiencetheRealNewYork.Beverlywassotiredshefellasleepalmostimmediately.
TheyspentthefollowingdayatTimesSquare,whichiswheretheTouristsWent.Beverlystaredupatflashingelectricsignsandmassivebillboards.TheywatchedpeopledanceandsawsomedressedincostumeslikeMickeyMouseortheStatueofLiberty.Theatersadvertisedshows,buttheonlyoneBeverlyrecognizedwasTheLionKing.Theycouldn’tgo,becausetheticketswerepricedforRichPeople,soinsteadtheyspentmuchofthedaybrowsinginstoresthatsoldknickknacksandsouvenirs,withoutbuyinganythingexceptasinglepacketofM&M’s,whichBeverlysplitwithhermom.Theyeachhadtwoslicesofpizzaforlunchandhotdogsfromafoodcartfordinner.Ononeofthesidestreets,BeverlythoughtshesawJohnnyDepp,themoviestar,andtherewasalineofpeopletakingphotographsbesidehim.Beverlybeggedforaphotowithhim,aswell,buthermomsaidthatitwasawaxstatueandwasn’treal
Ontheirlasteveningintown,theyvisitedtheEmpireStateBuilding,andBeverly’searspoppedastheelevatorsoaredskyward.Ontheobservationdeck,thewindwasblowinghardandpeoplecrowdedtogether,butBeverlywasfinallyabletosqueezeherwaytoaspotthatofferedanunobstructedviewofthecity.Besideherwasamandressedinapiratecostume,andthoughhislipsweremoving,shecouldn’thearhim.
Farbelow,Beverlycouldseetheglowofheadlightsandtaillightsonthestreets;practicallyeverybuildingshesawwaslitfromwithin.Thoughtheskywasclear,therewerenostarsoverhead,andhermomexplainedthatcitylightswashedthemawayBeverlydidn’tunderstandwhathermommeant—howcouldstarsbewashedaway?—butshedidn’thavetimetoask,becausehermomtookherhandandledhertoanotherareaoftheobservationdeck,whereinthedistance,theycouldseetheStatueofLiberty.Hermomtoldherthatshe’dalwayswantedtoliveintheBigCity,eventhoughshe’dsaidthesamethinghalfadozentimesalready.WhenBeverlyaskedherwhyshehadn’tmovedthere,hermomsaid,“Somethingsaren’tmeanttobe”
Beverlycouldnolongerseethepirate,andshewonderedifhewasstillsayingwordsthatnooneelsecouldhear.ShethoughtaboutFranandJillian,herfriendsfromschool,andwonderedwhethertheywouldtrick-or-treattogetherforHalloween.Maybe,shethought,shecoulddressasapirate,butmorethanlikelyshewouldgoasacowgirlagain,justasshehadtheyearbefore.Hermomalreadyhadthehatandtheplaidshirtandthetoygunandholster,andBeverlyknewifsheaskedaboutdressinglikeapirateinstead,she’dbetoldthattheycouldn’taffordit.
Hermomwastalkingandtalkingandtalking,butBeverlydidn’tbothertolisten.Sometimes,whenhermomtalked,Beverlyknewthatwhateverwasbeingsaidwasn’timportant.FromanotherspotontheobservationdecktheysawtheBrooklynBridge,whichlookedsmallenoughtobeatoy.Bythentheyhadbeenonthedeckfornearlyanhour,andwhenBeverlyeventuallyturnedtowardhermom,shesawtearsonhercheeks.Beverlyknewnottoaskwhyhermomwascrying,butshefoundherselfwishingthathermomhadbeenabletoliveintheBigCity.
Allatonce,Beverlyheardscreamingandshouting,andshewasbumpedsohardshenearlyfellover.Shegrabbedforhermom’shand,andthetwoofthemweresuddenlycaughtupinthemovementofthecrowdlikefishtrappedinastrongcurrent.Tostopmeantbeingtrampled,evenBeverlyknewthat,andtheystumbledforward.Beverlycouldseenothingbutthebodiesaroundher—elbowsdarting,bagsswinging.Thescreaminggrewlouder,withmorepeoplejoiningin,everyoneontheobservationdeckmovingquicklyinthesamedirection,everyonecaughtinthesameriptide,untilBeverlyandhermomwerefinallyspitoutthebackandabletocatchtheirbalance.
“What’shappening?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Abovetheroar,Beverlycouldhearindividualcriesof“Don’t!”and“Comeback!”and“Stop!”and“Whatareyoudoing!”and“Getdown!”Shedidn’tknowwhatanyofitmeant,justthatsomethingbadwashappening.Hermomknewit,too;shewasonhertoes,tryingtoseeoverthecrowd,andthen,justassuddenly,thecrowdstoppedmoving.Forafewseconds,everythingwasstillandnoonemovedatall,anditwasthemostunnaturalthingBeverlyhadeverexperienced—untilthescreamingstartedupagain,thistimeevenlouder
“Whathappened?”Beverlyheardsomeoneshout.
“Hejumped,”anothermanshouted.
“Whojumped?”
“Theguywhowasdressedlikeapirate!”
Therewerebarriersandfences,andBeverlywonderedifshehadbeenmistakeninwhatshe’dheard.Whywouldthepiratejump?Theotherbuildingsweretoofarawaytoreach.
Shefelthermomsqueezeherhandagainandtug.
“Let’sgo,”hermomsaid.“Weneedtoleave.”
“Didthepiratejump?”
“Whatpirate?”
“TheoneIstoodnexttowhenIfirstgothere.”
“Idon’tknow,”hermomsaid.Sheledthemthroughthegiftshop,towardtheelevators,wherealinehadalreadyformed.
“Theygrabbedforhim,butnoonecouldstophim,”Beverlyheardthemanstandingnexttohersay,andwhenshesteppedintotheelevator,Beverlythoughtaboutthepirate,andthoughtaboutfalling,andshewonderedwhatitwasliketogodownanddown,lowerandlower,untiltherewasnowherelefttogo.Beverlysatupinbed,blinkinginthedarkness,knowingithadbeenlessadreamthanamemory,exceptthatthistimeshe’dbeenfalling,too,handinhandwiththepirate.Asalwayswhenthedreamresurfaced,shewoketothehammeringofherheart,withshakybreathsandhersheetdampwithsweat.
I’mnotfalling,shethought,I’mnotfalling,butevenso,thephysicalsensationwasslowtopass.Herheartcontinuedtorace,herbreathsrapid,andevenasthedreambegantofade,sheknewshewasn’therself.Theworldfeltoff-kilterandforeign.Sheforcedherselftoconcentrateonthedetailsoftheroomastheyemergedinvagueanddarkenedshadows.Shesawawindowwiththinshadesdrawn,thesoftwhiteskyofdawnseepingthrough.Shesawherclothingpiledonthefloor.Therewasalampandaglasshalffilledwithwateronthebedsidetablenexttoher.Acrosstheroomstoodachestofdrawerswithafull-lengthmirrorhangingbesideit.Littlebylittle,shebegantomakesenseofhersurroundings.
Itwasmorning.Shewasinthebedroomofthehouseshe’djustrented,andhersix-year-oldson,Tommie,wasasleepintheroomacrossthehallway.Shehadonlyrecentlyarrivedintown.Yes,Beverlythought,remindingherself.Mynewlife.I’mbeginningmynewlife,andonlythenwassheabletopushthecoversback.Shegotoutofbed,feelingathinsilkyrugbeneathherfeet,apleasantsurprise.Thebedroomdoorwasclosed,butsheknewtheshorthallwaybeyonditwouldleadtothestairsandthat,onthemainfloor,therewasalivingroomandasmallkitchenfurnishedwithanoldFormicatablesurroundedbyfourscuffedwoodenchairs.
BeverlyslippedintothejeansandT-shirtthathadbeenheapedonthefloorandwonderedhowlongshe’dbeensleeping.Shecouldn’trememberwhattimeshefinallywenttobed,otherthanthatithadbeenreally,reallylate.Butwhathadshedone?Thememoriesofthenightbeforewerenothingbutdreamsmoke,blurringattheedgesandblackinthemiddle.Shecouldn’trememberwhatshe’dhadfordinnerorevenifshe’deatenatall,butshesupposeditdidn’tmuchmatter.Startingoveralwayscarriedwithitstress,andstressmadetheminddofunnythings.
Shecreptfromherbedroom,peekedinonTommie,andsawhimjumbledunderthecovers.Shequietlymadeherwaydownthestairstothekitchen.Asshepouredherselfaglassofwaterfromthefaucet,sherememberedarecentnightwhenshe’dsnuckfromherbedroom,movingquietlyandwithoutturningonasinglelight.ShewasalreadydressedwhensherousedTommie.Hissmallbackpackwasloadedandhiddenbeneathhisbed.Shehelpedhimgetdressedandtheycreptdownthestairs.LikeTommie,shecarriedonlyabackpack,foreaseandspeed.Sheknewthatneighborsmightrememberawomanandchildhaulingrollingsuitcasesalongthesidewalkinthemiddleofthenight;sheknewthatherhusband,Gary,wouldseekoutthoseneighborsandtheywouldtellhimwhatheneededtoknowtofindher.InTommie’sbackpackwerehisfavoriteIronManactionfigureandGo,Dog.Go!,abookshestillreadtohimeverynight.She’dalsopackedtwoT-shirts,asecondpairofpants,socks,underwear,toothbrushandtoothpaste,andhairwaxforhiscowlick.Inherbackpackwerethesamesortsofitemsandotherthings,alongwithasmatteringofmakeup,abrush,sunglasses,anAcebandage,andawig.Nearthefrontwindow,shedidn’tbotherlookingfortheblackSUVwithtintedwindowsthathadbeenparkedalongherstreetforthepastthreedays.Shealreadyknewitwouldbethere,evenifparkedinadifferentspot.Instead,aftershehelpedTommiewithhisjacket,theyslippedoutthebackdoor.Shemadesurenottoletthescreendoorbangorsqueak,inchingitclosedasslowlyaspossible.Theycrossedthedampgrasstothewoodenfencethatborderedtheirlawn,andBeverlyhelpedTommieclimboverintotheneighbor’sbackyard.Throughallofthat,Tommiehadsaidnothing.Hewobbledwhenhewalkedasthoughstillpartiallyasleep.Theyexitedthroughtheneighbor’sgateandstayednearthehedgesuntilreachingthestreetthatranparalleltoherown.There,shehidbehindacarparkedonthestreetandpeeredinbothdirections.ShesawnoblackSUVwithtintedwindows.
Wherearewegoing?Tommiefinallyaskedher.
Onanadventure,she’dwhispered.
IsDaddycomingwithus?
He’sworking,she’dresponded,whichwastrue,evenifitdidn’treallyanswerhisquestion.
Itwasthemiddleofthenightandquiet,butthemoonwashalffullandthestreetswereilluminatedbylamppostsattheintersections.Sheneededdarknessandshadowstoremaininvisible,soshecutacrosslawnsanddriveways,stickingclosetothehouses.Intheraremomentswhensheheardacarcoming,sheledTommietowhatevernearbysecludedspotshecouldfind—behindbushesortrellisesandevenanoldRV.Occasionally,adogwouldbark,butthesoundalwayscamefromadistance.Theywalkedandwalked,butTommiedidn’twhine,didn’tsomuchaswhimper.Residentialstreetsgraduallygavewaytocommercialones,then,anhourandahalflater,toanindustrialarea,withwarehousesandasalvageyardandparkinglotssurroundedbychain-linkfencing.Thoughtherewasnoplacetohide,thestreetswereempty.Whentheyeventuallyreachedthebusstation,theentrancesmelledofcigarettesmokeandfriedfoodandurine.Theywentinside.Intherestroom,Beverlypinnedherhairupwithbobbypinsanddonnedthewigthatturnedherfromalong-hairedblondetoabrunettewithapixiecut.ShewrappedalongAcebandagearoundherchest,makingherbreastssmaller,pullingittighttothepointthatitwashardtobreathe.Shedonnedabaseballhat,andthoughitwasstilldark,sheputonhersunglasses.Tommiedidn’trecognizeherwhensheemerged.Shehadtoldhimtositononeofthebenchesandexplainedthatitwasimportantnottowanderoff,anditwasonlyaftersheremovedherglasseswhiledirectlyinfrontofhimthathiseyeswidenedinrecognition.Shewalkedhimtoanevenmoreisolatedbenchinthecorneroftheterminal,onethatwasoutofsightfromtheticketwindow,andtoldhimtositquietly.
Therewereonlyafewpeoplemillingaboutinthestationwhenshewenttotheticketwindowandtookherplaceinlinebehindanelderlywomaninaheavybrowncardigansweater.Whenitwasherturn,shestoodbeforeamanwithbagsunderhiseyesandalongsidepatchofstringygrayhairthathesweptoverhisbaldspot.SheaskedfortwoticketstoChicago,andasshehandedoverthemoney,shementionedcasuallythatsheandhersisterweregoingtovisittheirmother.Shedidn’twantthemanbehindthePlexiglastoknowshewastravelingwithherson,butapparentlyhedidn’tcareonewayortheother—hebarelyseemedtonoticeherashehandedherthetickets.Beverlyreturnedtoabenchkitty-cornerfromTommie,whereshecouldkeepaneyeonhimbutitwouldn’tbeobviousthattheyweretogether.Everyminuteorsoshewouldglanceathim,thentowardtheentrance,searchingbeyondtheglassfortheblackSUVwithtintedwindows,butthankfullyitneverappeared.Shealsostudiedotherfacesintheterminal,tryingtomemorizethem,seeingifanyonewaspayingattentiontoalittleboysittingallalone,justincase.Butnooneseemedtocare.
Dawnarrived,abrightlate-springglare.Intime,theengineoftheappropriatebusbegantoidlebeneathoneofthealuminumcanopiesoutback.Withherstomachinknots,shesentTommieaheadsohecouldpretendtobeboardingwithamaninabomberjacket,afatherandsontravelingtogether.Throughthewindows,shewatchedTommiefollowthemantowardseatsneartherearofthebus.Othersboarded,thenshefinallysteppedaboard,walkingpastthethin,dark-hairedbusdriver.Shetookaseatinthesecond-to-lastrow;ontheoppositeside,inthenextrowup,wasanolderwomancrocheting,movingtheneedlelikeaconductorstandinginfrontofanorchestra.Tommieremainedinhisseataheadofheruntilthebusstartedmoving,justasshe’dinstructed,andwhentheyreachedthehighway,hejoinedher.There,heleanedhisheadagainsthershoulderwhileshecontinuedtowatchthepeopleonthebus,forcingherselftorememberthemandtryingtofigureoutwhetheranyofthemhadnoticedanythingamiss.
Sheremindedherselfofhowcarefulshe’dbeen.Garywasoutoftown,doingwhateversecretthingitwashedidforthegovernment.They’dalsoleftonaSaturday,andoneachofthefourpreviousweekendsshe’dmadesurenottoleavethehouseorevenletTommieplayintheyard,establishingapatternthatwouldhopefullybuytime.Usingmoneyshe’dsecretlysavedoveraperiodofsixmonths,shesetupautomatictimersonthelights,whichwouldcomeonandthengooutintheevenings.Withanyluck,thedriverintheblackSUVwouldn’tknowtheyweregoneuntiltheschoolbusshoweduponMondaymorning.
Thebusrumbledalong,andasthehoursslowlypassed,Beverlythoughtthateveryminutemeantanothermilefartherfromthehomesheneededtoescape.TommiesleptbesideherastheyrodethroughTexasandArkansasandthenfinallyintoMissouri.Theyrolledpastfarmlandandstoppedincitiesandtowns,mostwithnamesshedidn’trecognize.Peoplegotoffandothersgoton,andthebrakeswouldsqueakandthebuswouldeventuallylurchforwardagain,towardthenextdestination.Stoppingandstarting,alldaylongandthenintothenight,theenginerumblingbeneathherseat.Bythetimethefirstdriverwasreplacedbyanewone,sherecognizednoonefromtheoriginalbusstation,buteventhenshetriedtoremembereveryfaceshesaw.Thewomanwhowascrochetinghadbeenreplacedbyayoungmanwithshorthair,carryinganolive-coloredduffelbag.Army,maybe,orMarines,andwhenhepulledaphonefromhispocket,Beverly’sheartslammedinherchest.Shepulledherbaseballcaplowerandstaredoutthewindow,wonderingiftheyoungmanworkedwithGary,wonderingifhecouldhavepossiblyfoundheralready.ShewonderedagainaboutthehiddenpowersoftheDepartmentofHomelandSecurity.ShehadliedtoGaryandTommieandneighborsandfriends,andthoughshehadn’tbeenraisedtolie,she’dhadnootherchoice.Acrosstheaisle,theyoungmanwiththeshorthairputhisphonebackintohispocketandclosedhiseyesandleanedhisheadagainstthewindow.Hehadn’tsomuchaspeekedinherdirection,andlittlebylittle,herheartbegantoslowagain.Thoughexhausted,shefounditimpossibletosleep.
InMissouri,thebusstoppedagain.Anotherstation,anothernamelessplace.BeverlysentTommieaheadofher,offthebus,theneventuallyfollowedhim.Sheledhimtotheladies’roomintheterminal,ignoringtheirritatedexpressionofaheavysetwomaninafloral-printblouse.SheusedwaterfromthefaucetandwaxtodampenTommie’scowlick,andthoughshehadlittlemoneytospare,Tommiewassixandgrowingfastandsheknewheneededtoeat.Thereweretwoapplesandtwogranolabarsinherownbackpack,butthatwasn’tenough.Intheconveniencestoreacrossthestreet,sheboughtmilkandtwohotdogsbutnothingforherowngrowlingstomach.Shedecidedshecouldhaveoneoftheapplesinanhour,eventhoughsheknewshecouldeatbothofthemandthegranolabarsandwouldlikelystillbehungry.Attheregister,becausetherewasacamera,shekeptherheadtilteddown,thebrimofthehatshieldingherface.
Theygotonthebusagain.Tommieremainedquiet,flippingthroughthepagesofhisbook.Sheknewhecouldreaditbynow;shehadreaditsooftenhehadprobablymemorizedit,aswell.Instinctively,sheknewthatTommiewasmoreintelligentthanmostchildrenhisage;hepickedthingsupquicklyandalwaysseemedtounderstandsituationsandideasfarbeyondhisyears.Whenshelookedathim,shesometimessawGary’seyes,buthissmilewashisown,andhisnoseresembledhers.Shesometimessawhimasababyandatoddlerandonhisfirstdayofkindergarten,theimagesmerginginherhead,makingTommieperpetuallyfamiliarandyetalwaysnewanddifferent.Beyondthewindow,shesawfarmlandandcowsandsilosandhighwaysignsadvertisingfast-foodrestaurantsoneortwoorthreeexitsahead.Beverlyateoneoftheapples,chewingslowly,tryingtosavorit,tomaketheflavorlast.She’dsewnmostofthemoneyshehadsavedintoahiddenpocketinherjacket.
Later,theyleftthatbusforgood.TheyweresomewhereinIllinois,butstillalongwayfromChicago.ShesentTommieaheadofher,watchingashetookaseatonthebenchintheterminal.Afteracoupleofminutes,shewenttotheladies’room,whereshehidinastall.ShehadtoldTommietowait,sohedid.Tenminutes,thenfifteen,andthentwentyminutes,untilshewasconfidentthatanyoneelsewho’dbeenonthebushadalreadydepartedthestation.Onceshewassureitwasquiet,shestoodinfrontofthecrackedanddingymirrorintherestroom.Shequicklyremovedherwigbutkeptherhairpinnedupandputthebaseballhatbackon.Nowshewasashort-hairedblonde.Thesunglasseswentintoherbackpack,andsheappliedheavymascaraandblackeyeliner.Whensheemerged,thebusstationwasdevoidofpeopleexceptTommie.Shetoldhimtostandneartherestroomwhenshewenttotheticketwindowagain.Sheboughtticketsforthenextbusthatwasleaving,notcaringwhereitwent,onlythatitwouldtakeherinsomerandomdirectionandmakeherjourneythatmuchhardertofollow.Again,shementionedshewastravelingwithhersister,andagainshesatapartfromTommie;again,theyboardedthebusatseparatetimes.
Andthen,afteranotherdayandahalfonthebus,sheandTommiesteppedoffforgood.Theyleftthestationandwalkedtowardthehighway.Neartheon-ramp,sheputoutherthumbandcaughtaridewithawomandrivingastationwagon,whoaskedthemwheretheyweregoing.Beverlyansweredthatshecoulddropthemanywhere,andthewomangazedoveratBeverlyandTommieandsawsomethinginBeverly’sfaceanddidn’taskanymorequestions.Intime,thestationwagoncametoastopinasmalltown,andTommieandBeverlygotout.Fromthere,theyhitchedanotherride—thistimefromamiddle-agedmanwhosmelledofOldSpiceandsoldcarpetsforaliving—andwhenBeverlymadeupastoryabouthercarbreakingdown,Tommieknewenoughtostaysilent.Theyeventuallyarrivedatanothersmalltown.BeverlyandTommiegrabbedtheirbackpacks,andBeverlybroughtTommietogetsomethingtoeatataroadsidediner.Beverlyaskedforacupofhotwaterandaddedketchuptoit,makingathinsoup,whileTommiehadacheeseburgerandfriesandasliceofblueberrypieandtwoglassesofmilk.
Onthenextstreetover,shespottedaninexpensivemotel,thoughsheknewshedidn’thaveenoughmoneytostaymorethanacoupleofnights.Notifsheintendedtorentaplace.Butitwouldhavetodofornow,andaftershegotTommiesettledinthedatedbutfunctionalroom,shewentbacktothedinerandaskedthewaitressifshecouldborrowhercellphonetomakeaquickcall,alongwithapenandanapkin.Thewoman—whoremindedBeverlyalittleofhermom—seemedtosensetheurgencyofBeverly’srequest.Insteadofmakingacall,Beverlypretendedtodosoandthen,withherbackturned,shesearchedlocalrealestatelistings.Thereweren’tmany,andshejotteddownaddressesandthenclearedthehistorybeforereturningthecellphone.Afterthat,sheaskedstrangersonthestreetforbasicdirectionsandfoundthedingyapartmentsfirst,buttheywerenogood.Norwastheequallydingyduplex.Norwastheonehouseshe’dbeenabletofind.Buttherewasonelistingstilltogo.
Inthemorning,afterbringingTommietothedinerforbreakfastandthenbacktothemotel,shewentoutagain.Asidefromthetwoapplesandgranolabars,shehadn’teatenforthreedays.Shewalkedslowly,buteventhenshehadtostopandresteveryfewminutes,andittookalongtimetofindthehouse.Itwasonthedistantoutskirtsoftown,infarmcountry,agrandtwo-storyplacesurroundedbymassiveliveoaks,theirlimbsstretchingineverydirectionlikegnarled,arthriticfingers.Outfront,thepatchygrasswasslightlyovergrownwithdandelionsandgoosegrassandprostrateknotweed.Adirtpathwayledtowardacoveredfrontporchsportingapairofancientrockingchairs.Thefrontdoorwascandy-applered,ridiculousagainstthedirtyandflakingwhitepaint,andthesidesofthehousewerethickwithazaleaanddaylilies,thedecayingbloomslikesplashesofcolorinaforgottenforest.Thehousewasfiftyorahundredyearsoldandisolatedenoughtokeeppryingeyesaway.
Shecuppedherhandstovariouswindowssoshecouldseeinside.Thecolorsonthefirstfloorweredizzying—orangepaintonthekitchenwalls,aburgundywallinthelivingroom.Mismatchedfurniture;wide,scuffedpineplankflooringcoveredwiththinrugsinthehallwayandlivingroom,linoleuminthekitchen.Sillspaintedsomanytimesshewonderedwhethershewouldbeabletoopenthewindows.Butshewalkedbacktotownandaskedthewaitressatthedinerifshecouldborrowherphoneagain.Shecalledtheownerofthehouseandreturnedlaterintheafternoon,soshecouldgoinside.Shemadesuretodeletethecall,justincase.Forthatvisit,shedonnedthesamedisguiseshe’dusedonthenighttheyranaway.
Asshe’dwalkedthroughthehouse,sheknewitwouldneedwork.Therewasaringoflimeinthesink,greaseonthestovetop,arefrigeratorfilledwithfoodthatcouldhavebeenthereforweeksormonths.Upstairsweretwobedrooms,twobathrooms,andalinencloset.Ontheplusside,therewerenowaterstainsintheceilings,andthetoiletsandshowersworked.Onthebackporch,therewasawasheranddryer,bothofthemrustingbutstillfunctional,aswellasawaterheaterthatlookedalmostnew.Nexttoandabovetheapplianceswereshelvesstackedwithoddsandends,alongwithcansandcansoflatexpaint,enoughtopainttheentireinterior,alldifferentcolors,atleastadozen.Onthefloorinthecornerwasadirtyplasticbucketfilledwithrollersandpaintbrushes,alongwithapan,surroundedbyragsthatlookedanythingbutnew.ItwasnothinglikethehouseshehadsharedwithGary,withitsharshmodernexteriorandhisclean,straight-linedfurnitureandorganizedcupboards,nothingeveroutofplace.Theirhomehadbeenlikesomethingfromthefuture,ascoldandemptyoffeelingasouterspace,whilethishomeradiatedafeelingoffamiliarcomfort
Evenbetter,theownerworkedwitharegularhandymanforanyrepairs,soallshehadtodowascalliftherewereproblems.Utilitieswereincluded,andthehousecamefurnished,albeitwithfurniturethatwasanythingbutnew.Thecouchwaswornbutcomfortable;therewasanewer-modeltelevisionandanancientDVDplayerinacabinet,endtables,andlampswithshadesthatdidn’tquitematch.Therewerebedsandchestsofdrawersinthebedroomsandtowelsinthebathrooms.Inthesmallpantryoffthekitchen,therewasabroomandmop,variouscleaners—mosthalfused—andotherassortedstuff.Therewerelightbulbsandtwoextensioncords,atoilet-bowlbrushandplunger,aflyswatter,aboxcontainingnailsandscrewsandasmallhammer.Therewasawrench,aswell,andtwotypesofscrewdrivers.Nexttothetools,therewashalfaboxofAAbatteriesandtwonine-volts.Adehumidifier.Ragsandsandpaperandamedium-sizedstepladder.Thereweresheetsandpillowcasesinthelinenclosetupstairs,thoughtheywouldneedtobewashed.TherewereplatesandglassesandutensilsinthekitchendrawersandpotsandpansandevensomeTupperwareinthekitchen.Itwasasthoughthepeoplewho’dlivedherehadvanishedintotheetheroneday,stealingawayinthemiddleofthenight,carryingonlywhattheycould.Knowingtheyhadtogetout,knowingitwastimetorun.Fromthelaw,fromsomethingdangerous.Takingonlywhatwouldfitinthetrunkoftheircarandabandoningeverythingelsebecausetheysimplyhadtogetaway.
JustlikeherandTommie.
Beverlyhadrunherfingeralongthecounter,hearingaflybuzzpastherandnotingdirtyfingerprintsmudgesontherefrigeratorandgreasestainshighonthekitchenwalls.Shecouldlivehere,she’dthought,andtheideahadmadeherfeelalmostdizzywithpossibility.Shecouldturnitintoarealhome,anditwouldbehersandTommie’s,justthetwoofthem.Beyondthewindows,shehadnotedthenearbybarn,whichshewastoldwasbeingusedforstorageandwasdefinitelyoff-limits.Itmatterednotatall,sinceBeverlyhadbroughtpracticallynothingwithher,letaloneanythingsheneededtostoreinabarn.HereyesdriftedtoTommie,whowassittingonatreestumpneartheroad.Shehadbroughthimwithherthistimebuthadaskedhimtowaitoutside.Hewasexaminingthebackofhisfingers,andshewonderedwhathewasthinking.Sometimesshewishedhewouldspeakmore,buthewasachildwhogenerallykepthisthoughtstohimself,asthoughhisdeepestdesirewastomovethroughtheworldquietly,attractingaslittlenoticeaspossible.Intime,perhaps,hewouldchange,andasshe’dstaredathim,sheknewshelovedhimmorethanshe’deverlovedanyone.
Nowitwasmorning,andtheywereintheirnewplace,butotherdetailsremainedblurry.Sherememberedthattheownerdidn’thavealotofquestionsoraskforreferences,whichhadbeenbothablessingandasurprise;she’dpaidcashforthedepositandthefirstmonth’srent,buthowlongagohadthatbeen?Fourdays?Five?Howeverlongitwas,she’dbeenabletoenrollTommieinschoolandmakesurethatthebuswouldpickhimup;she’dalsobeenabletogogroceryshopping,sohewouldhavemilkandcerealforbreakfastandsandwichesforhisschoollunches.Atasmallstoredowntheroad,she’dboughtonlyasmuchasshecouldcarryandhadhuntedforbargains.Forherself,sheboughtoatmealanddrybeansandtwobagsofriceandbutterandsaltandpepper,butTommieneededamore-varieddiet,soshe’dsplurgedonhalfadozenapples.Shealsoboughthamburgerandchickendrumsticks,thoughbothpackageswerealmostoutofdateandhadbeenmarkeddowntolessthanathirdofthenormalprice.She’dseparatedthehamburgerandchickenintoindividualportionsrightawaybeforeputtingallofitintothefreezer;sheremovedoneportionperdayforTommie’sdinner,whichheatewitheitherthebeansortherice.Atnight,afterwatchingtelevision,shereadhimGo,Dog.Go!andmadesurehebrushedhisteeth.Withtheweatherwarming,she’dpromisedtheywouldexplorethepropertybehindthehouse.
Shehadn’t,however,hadtheenergytodomuchmorethanthat.ShesatforhoursintherockersoutfrontandsleptalotwhenTommiewasatschoolandthehousewasquiet.Thoughherexhaustionhadremainedalmostoverwhelmingsincethey’darrived,standingintheorange-walledkitchenremindedherthattherewasworktodobeforethehousewouldseemliketheirs.Afterplacingtheemptyglassinthesink,shepulledanoldcookiejarfromthecupboard.Sheliftedthelidandfoundthemoneyrollshe’dstashedaftermovingin.Sheremovedafewbills,knowingsheneededtogotothestoreagain,sincethegrocerieswerealmostgone.Afterthat,shewantedtocleanthekitchenfromtoptobottom,startingwiththestove.Shealsohadtoemptytherefrigeratorofallthathadbeenleftbehind.Gettingridofthegod-awfulorangewallsmeantscrubbingthembeforehand,aswell,togetthemreadyforpainting.She’dalwaysdreamedofabright-yellowkitchen,somethingcheerfulandwelcoming,especiallyifsheaddedanothercoatofglossywhitepainttothecabinets.Afterthat,shecouldpickwildflowers,maybearrangetheminoneofthejellyjarsshe’dfoundinthecupboard.Closinghereyes,shefeltapleasanttwingeofanticipationassheimaginedhowitmightlookwhenshewasfinished.
Shecountedtheremainingmoneybeforehidingitagain.Thoughshe’dkeptarunningtotalinherhead,touchingandcountingthebillsmadethesummoretangiblesomehow.Itwasn’tenoughtoliveonforever,butaslongasshewasfinewithsubsistingonriceandbeansandoatmeal,shehadtime,evenifsheincludedthenextmonth’srent.Itwashard,though.Ontheprevioustriptothegrocerystore,she’dsecretlypulledtwograpesfromabunchthatshecouldn’tafford,andthenatural,sugaryflavornearlymadehermoanwithpleasure.
Still,themoneywouldrunoutsoonerratherthanlater,nomatterhowcarefulshewasorhowmuchshebudgeted.Shewouldhavetogetajob,butthatmeantpaperworkanddocuments.SocialSecuritynumber,maybeevenadriver’slicense.Someemployersmightrequireaphonenumber,aswell.Shecouldn’tpossiblyusethefirsttwo;Gary,nodoubt,hadalreadyputoutaninternetalert,whichwaswhyshehadn’tbotheredtobringheridentificationwithherinthefirstplace.Nordidshehaveaphone.Onherfirstday,she’dfoundanabandonedcellphoneinthenightstand,butitrequiredapasswordorfingerprinttoaccess,soitdidhernogoodatall—nottomentionthefactthatitwassomeoneelse’s,evenifthey’dleftitbehind.Allofwhichmeantshewasoffthegrid:exactlywhatsheneededbutasolutionthatbroughtwithitproblems.Shesupposedthatshecouldlie—simplyjotdownphonyidentificationnumbersontheapplication—butthatalsocarriedrisks.WageswerereportedtotheIRS,andtheemployerwouldeventuallylearnthetruth.WhichfurthermeantthatGarywouldlearnthetruth,too.FromhisloftyperchattheDepartmentofHomelandSecurity,Garyhadaccesstovirtuallyanyinformationhewanted.
Sheknewsheneededtofindajobthatpaidcash—babysittingorcleaninghouses,ormaybecookingmealsorreadingbooksforsomeonewhowaselderly.Shewonderediftherewasabulletinboardsomewhereintownthatwouldlistsuchopportunities,andsheremindedherselftolookforone.
Today,shethought,IwillfindtheenergytodoallthatIneedtodo.
Fromupstairs,sheheardTommie’sdoorsqueakopen.Shewatchedashepaddeddownthestepswhilerubbingthesleepfromhiseyes,dressedinoneofthetwoshirtsshe’dthrownintohisbackpack.Shewonderedhowlongitwouldbebeforetheotherkidsbegantomakefunofhimforwearingthesameclothesoverandover.Fromtherefrigerator,sheretrievedthemilk;fromthecupboard,shepulledaboxofCheerios.Therewassugarinthecupboard,leftbythosewho’dlivedherebefore,butshedidn’ttrustthatitwassafetoeat.Whoknewwhatsortofickycrittershaddecidedtobreedinthere?
ShepouredtheCheeriosintoabowlandbroughtthebowlandspoontothetable.Shekeptthesmallbottleofhishairwaxonthecounterandaddedadabtoherpalms.Shesmoothedhiscowlick,thenkissedhimonthecheek.
“Howdidyousleep,sweetie?”
Hemerelyshrugged,butshe’dexpectedthat.Hewasquietingeneral,butinthemornings,gettinghimtospeakwassometimeslikepullingteeth.Shereachedforthepeanutbutterandjellyonthecounterandthelasttwopiecesofbreadintheloaf.Shemadeasandwich,wrappeditinplastic,andplaceditintoapaperbag,alongwiththelastappleandenoughchangetoallowhimtobuymilk.ShewishedshehadenoughmoneyforCheetosorgranolabarsorNutterButters,orevenslicedturkeyorham,butitjustwasn’tpossible.Whenthelunchwasready,shesqueezedthebagintoTommie’sbackpack,thentookaseatatthetable,almostachingwithloveforhim.
“Honey?Iaskedyouaquestion.”
Hetookabite,andonlyafterswallowingdidheanswer.“Okay.”
“Justokay?”
Whenhenodded,shewaited.“Didyouhaveabaddream?”Assoonassheasked,sherealizedshecouldbespeakingaboutherself.
Heshookhishead.
“Honey?I’mtryingtotalktoyou.Didsomethinghappenlastnight?”
“Itwasloud.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”sheasked,tryingtokeepanyconcernfromhervoice.Itcouldn’thavebeenGary;therewasnowayhecouldhavefoundthemyet.
“Therewerecrickets.Likeamillionofthem.Ithinktherewerefrogs,too.”
Shesmiled.“We’reinthecountry,soyou’reprobablyright.”
Henodded.Tookanotherbite.
“Howdoyouliketheschool?Andyourteacher?”
Forthelifeofher,Beverlycouldn’tremembertheteacher’sname,butthenagain,therewasn’tmuchtimeleftintheschoolyearandshe’donlybeenattheschoollongenoughtosignhimup,soshesupposedshecouldbeforgivenforherlapse.
“Tommie?”
“She’sokay,”hesaidwithasigh.
“Haveyoumadeanyfriendsyet?”
Heateanotherspoonfulofcereal,thenfinallylookedupather.“Canwegetadog?”
He’daskedforadogbefore,yetanotherreminderthattherewassomuchmoreshewishedshecoulddoforhim.Garyhadneverallowedone,buteventhoughthatlifewasbehindthemnow,sheknewshecouldn’taffordtotakecareofadog.Andwhoknewwhenthey’dhavetorunagain?“We’llsee,”shehedged.
Henodded,knowingexactlywhatheranswermeant.
WhenTommiewasfinishedwithhiscereal,Beverlytuggedathisshirt,straighteningit,thenhelpedhimonwithhisbackpack.Stillbarefoot,sheduckedupstairstoherbedroomandputonhershoesbeforewalkingwithhersontowardthestumpneartheroad,wheretheysatandwaitedfortheschoolbus.Theairwasbecomingsoupy,andsheknewitwasgoingtobeanotherhotone.
Thebusarrivedminutesafterthey’dtakentheirseats,andasBeverlywatchedTommiesilentlyboardthebus,shenoticedtheheatwasalreadyturningthehorizonintoliquid.Thesmallgrocerystorenearestthehousewouldn’tbeopenforatleastanhour,soafterthebusvanishedinaswirlofgraveldust,Beverlywanderedbackinside,thinkingitwasfinallytimetotackletheoven.
Shewenttothebathroomandmadeaquickponytail,usingarubberbandshefoundinoneofthedrawers,thensearchedunderthekitchensinkandinthepantryforthecleanser.Shesprayedthesurfaceofthestovetopandbegantoscrub,notingtheburnsandscratches,butsomeofthespillsseemedweldedtothesurface.Withastrangesenseofsatisfaction,shewrappedthetipofabutterknifeinthedishragand,bearingdownhard,watchedthecrustyremainsslowlycurlaway.
Afterthestovetop,she’dnearlysweatedthroughhershirtfromexertion.Shesprayedcleanerintotheoven,knowingitneededtosoakforawhile,thenwentupstairstothebathroomandremovedhershirt.Shewasheditwithabitofshampoo,thenhungittodryovertheshowercurtain.Itwaspointlesstoputasinglepieceofclothinginthewasher.Afterthat,shestartedtogetready.Sheslippedintoacleanshirt,pinnedupherhair,andslidonthewig,becomingashort-hairedbrunetteagain,beforewrappingherchestintheAcebandage.Sheaddeddarkfoundation,changinghercomplexion,andapplieddarklipstick.Afterdonninghersunglassesandbaseballhat,shebarelyrecognizedherselfinthemirror.Perfect.
Sheleftthehouseandmarcheddownthegravelroadthatledtowardtown,feelingthecrunchbeneathherfeet.Shestoppedtwicetopeekoverhershoulderatthehouse,tryingtogaugewhenitcouldnolongerbeseenfromtheroad.Sincemovingin,she’dautomaticallyturnedtowardthewindowswheneversheheardavehicleapproaching,watchingtoseeifitslowed,andshewantedtoknowhowfarawayavehiclecouldpulloverandparkwithoutbeingseen.
Ittookalmostanhourtowalkthethreemilestothestore;itwouldtakelongeronthewaybackbecauseshe’dbecarryingbags,oneofwhichwouldincludeagallonofmilk.Sheknewitwasgoodexercise,justassheknewshewasalreadytoothinandthattoomuchexercisewastheoppositeofwhatsheneeded.Asshe’dglancedinthebathroommirrorwhilehanginghershirt,shewasabletocountalmosteveryrib.
Thestorewasfamily-owned,notpartofachain.ItwascalledRed’sandlookedasthoughithadbeeninbusinesssinceKennedywaspresident.Acrossthestreet,therewasagasstationthatappearedequallydated,nexttoasmallhardwarestore.Afterthat,therewasabunchofnothingforatleastanothermile,untilthemotelandthediner.Itmightbelessexpensivetoshopifsheventuredfartherintotowntothebiggerstores,butthatmeantamuchlongerwalk.
Unlikeinmajorgrocerystores,theselectionwaslimited,butthatdidn’tmatter,becauseherlistwaslimited.Intothecartshepiledapplesandmilkandbreadandanotherboxofcereal.Shefoundmorehamburgerandchicken,butthistimenothingwasmarkeddown.Despiteherworriesaboutmoney,shesplurgedoncarrotsandcauliflower,knowingthatTommieneededvegetables.Shecouldsteamthecauliflower,addmilkandbutter,andserveitlikemashedpotatoesorsimplyroastit.Witheveryitemaddedtothecart,shementallysubtractedthecashsheknewshehad.Shedidn’twanttohavetoaskthecashiertotakesomethingawaythathadalreadybeenrungup.Shedidn’twantanyunnecessaryattention.
Therewasonewomaninlineatthecheckout,andBeverlycouldalreadytellthatthecashierwasthechattysort.Nexttothecheckoutstandswasarackofmagazines;Beverlypickedoneup.Whenitwasherturn,thecashierpulledthecartforwardandbeganunloadingitems,alreadybeginningtotalk.Beverlystoodinprofile—exposingmoreofherbackthanherfronttothecashier—hergazeburiedinthemagazinetokeepthewomanfromspeakingwithher.Fromthecornerofhereye,shewatchedthecashierringingupitems.Thewoman’snametagreadpeg.Beverlysetthemagazineasideasthelastitemwasloadedandreachedforthebillsshe’dstashedinherpocket,suddenlyrememberingtherewassomethingsheneededtoknow.
“Isthereabulletinboardwithjoblistingsanywhere?Likecleaningorbabysitting?”
“There’saboardneartheexit,butIdon’thaveanyideawhat’supthere,”Pegsaidwithashrug.Sheloadedtheitemsintoplasticbags.“Didyoufindeverything?”
“Yes,”Beverlysaid.Shereachedforthefirstofthebags,loopingoneoftheplastichandlesaroundherarm.
Pegglancedup,thenseemedtopeerevencloser.
“Excuseme,butdon’tIknowyou?Youlooksortoffamiliar.”
“Idon’tthinkso,”Beverlymumbled.Shereachedfortheotherbagsandbeganwalkingtowardtheexit,feelingPeg’seyesonher,wonderingifPegwasinthestorethelasttimeshe’dshopped,feelingagrowingsenseofdread.WhyelsewouldPegthinksheseemedfamiliar?Whatelsecoulditbe?
Unless…
Foramoment,shefeltalmostasthoughshewasabouttodropthebags;questionsbegantotumbleandspinthroughhermindlikeclothesinthedryer.
WhatifPeg’shusbandworkedforlawenforcement?
WhatifPeg’shusbandhadseenabulletinaboutherandbroughtithome?
WhatifPeg’shusbandhadaskedPegtostayonthelookout?
Whatif…?
Shestoppedandclosedhereyes,tryingtoremainsteadyonherfeet,tryingtoslowhermind.
“No,”shesaidaloud,openinghereyes.Thatcouldn’thavehappened.TherewasnodoubtGaryhadalreadyinstitutedanationwidemanhunt—Kidnapperontheloose!—butwouldPeg’shusbandhavebroughthomethereport?Tohavehiswifestudyit,soshecouldwatchforrandomwantedstrangers,incasetheywanderedintothestore?Inatownlikethis?Shewasn’tevensureifPeg’shusbandwasinlawenforcement;infact,shewasn’tevencertainthatPegwasmarriedatall.
Itwasjusthermindplayingtricksagain.Theveryideaborderedontheimpossible,andbesides,eveniftheimpossiblehadhappened,Beverlyremindedherselfthatshenowlookednothinglikeanyofherrecentphotographs.Pegmusthaveseenheronherpreviousshoppingtrip,that’sall.ForallBeverlyknew,Pegsaidthesamethingtoeverystrangerwhowalkedintothestore,anopenerforachattyconversation.
Takingalongbreath,shedecidedthatPeghadn’trecognizedher.
Shedecidedshewasjustbeingparanoid.Atthebulletinboardneartheexit,thereweren’tanylistingsforthekindsofworkBeverlyneeded,whichmeantshe’dprobablyhavetoventurefartherintotown.Maybesheshouldtalktothewaitressatthedineragain;perhapssheknewofsomeonepersonallywhomightneedsomecookingorcleaningorbabysitting.Butthatmeantwalkingintheoppositedirection—withgroceries—soitwouldhavetowait.
Instead,onthewalkhome,shethoughtabouttheclothesTommieneeded,ifonlybecauseshehopeditwouldkeepherarmsfromaching.Buttheyachedanyway,andshewishedshehadacarorevenabicyclewithabasket.
Backatthehouse,Beverlyputthegroceriesawayandheadedtothebathroom.Asshehadearlier,shewashedtheshirtshe’dbeenwearingwithshampoo,sinceitwaspracticallysoakedthrough.Theheatofthedaywasalreadyatrocious,likeinvisiblesteam,stickyandthick.Shethoughtaboutputtingontheearliershirt,butitwasstilldamp,andwhatwasthepoint?Tommiewasn’thome,andknowingshehadmorecleaningtodo,shetookoffherdisguiseandunwrappedtheAcebandage.Then—thinking,Whynot?—shetookoffherjeans,aswell.Shemightaswellbecomfortable.Inherbraandpanties,shereturnedtothekitchentofinishtheoven.
She’dimaginedshe’dbewearyfromthetriptothestoreandback,butsheactuallyfelt…good.Likeshehadenergytoburn.Iescaped,shetoldherself.Tommieissafe,andnowwehaveahome,andthere’snowaythatPegrecognizedme.Therealizationsmadeheralmostgiddywithpossibility,andshelaughedaloud.Onthekitchencounterwasanoldradio,andsheturnediton,adjustingthedialuntilshefoundthemusicshewanted.Beyondthewindow,peopleworkedinthedistantfields,buttheyweresofarawayshewasn’tworriedshe’dbeseenhalfnaked.
Besides,shereasoned,it’smyhouseandIhavethingstodo.
Firstupwastogetridofalltheoldfood.Cleansers,shecouldkeep.Whowouldpoisoncleansers?Sherememberedseeingtrashbagsunderthesinkand,pullingacouplefromthebox,sheshookthemopenandsetthemneartherefrigerator.Therewasnoreasontocheckthedates;justtosseverything,exceptforwhatshe’dpurchasedrecently.Intothegarbagebagwentcheese,condiments,pickles,jelly,olives,saladdressings,andsomethingnodoubtdisgustingthathadbeenwrappedinfoilandforgotten.Evenanoldpizzaboxwithacoupleofpiecesthatcouldhavebeenusedasasubstituteforconcrete.Shedidthesamethingwiththefreezer,whichmeanttrashingeverythingexceptthechickenandhamburger.Ittookalloftenminutes,andsheluggedthenow-fulltrashbagtothehugegreengarbagecanshe’dspottedbehindthehouse,theonethatwouldbepickedupbytheroad.Sheshouldhaveaskedtheownerwhenthegarbagetruckcameby,butsheassumedthatshe’dfigureitouteventually.
Nextsheemptiedthecupboards,tossingthatgarbagebagaswell.Afterward,shestoodbeforetherefrigeratorandcupboards,openingthedoorsoneaftertheother,seeingtheiremptiness,exceptthefoodsheneededforTommieandherself,andsuddenlyfeelingevenbetter.
Iamfinallyandtrulymovingforward.
Sheturnedhereffortsbacktotheoven.Thecleanserhaddoneitswork,andthegrimecameoffeasierthansheexpected.Itdidn’tappearnewwhenshefinished—therewerestillscorchmarksonbothsides,impossibletoremove—butshesuspecteditwascleanerthanithadbeeninyears.Oncethatwasdone,shegotthebeanssoakinginwaterfromthetap.
Thesightofthebeansremindedherthatsheshouldprobablyeat—shehadn’thadanythingallday—butshedidn’twanttobreakherrhythm.Instead,shewipedthecounters,payingspecialattentiontothecorners,andscrubbedatthelimestaininthesink.
Climbingontothecountertowipedowntheuppercabinets,sheagainnoticedminorgreasestainsonthewallandceiling.Draggingoutthestepladder,shestartedinontheceiling,sprayingcleanserwithonehandandscrubbingwiththeother.Whenherarmsgottired—whichtheydidalot—sheshookthem,thenwentbacktowork.Thewallscamenext.Neithertheceilingnorthewallshadtobeperfect,ofcourse—justcleanenoughfortheprimerandpainttostick—butitstilltookalmostthreehourstofinish.
Afterward,sheputthecleansersandstepladderaway,settheragsontopofthewasher,andfinallymadeherwaytotheshower.Sheluxuriatedinthesprayofhotwaterandherownsenseofaccomplishment.
Infrontofthemirror,shedressedand,aftertowel-dryingherhair,brushedoutthetangles.Tommiewouldbehomefromschoolsoon.Shewaitedonthestumpoutfront,idlywatchingthefieldworkersinthedistance,untilsheheardthelow-throatedrumbleofthebusresonatingintheoppressiveheat.AsTommierosefromhisseatattherearofthebus,shestood.Watchinghimthroughthebuswindow,shewishedthathe’dbeeninthemidstofaconversationwithoneoftheotherkidsandwouldlingeratthedoorwhilesayinggoodbye.Buthedidn’t;hesimplysteppedoffandtrudgedtowardherasthoughhisbackpack,andlife,wereweighinghimdown.Shereachedforthebackpack,offeringaquickwavetothedriver,whowavedinreturn.
“Howwasschool?”sheaskedasthebuspulledaway.
Tommieshrugged,butthistimeshesmiled,knowingithadbeenadumbquestion.Hermomusedtoaskherthesamething,butschoolwasalwaysjust…school.
Sheranherhandthroughhishair.“Howaboutanapplewhenwegetinside?Iwenttothestoretoday.”
“DidyoubuyOreos?”
“Notthistime.”
Henodded.“ThenIguessanapplewillbeokay.”
Shesqueezedhisshoulderandthetwoofthemwalkedintothehousetogether.Tommiehadnohomework—therewasneverhomeworkinfirstgrade,thankGod—soaftershehandedhimanapple,theydidabitofexploringaroundtheproperty.Notthattherewasmuchtoseeotherthanthebarnthatwasdefinitelyoff-limits,whichlookedolderthanthehouseandwouldlikelyfalldownassoonasthenextstormhit.Still,theyeventuallyfoundameanderingcreekshadedbydogwoodtrees.Shewasn’tsurehowsheknewwhatkindoftreestheywere,justasshewasn’tsurehowsheknewtheybloomedinthespring.Sheassumedshemusthavereaditsomewhere.WhenTommietossedtheapplecoreintothewater,shehadanidea,somethingfromherownchildhood.
“Let’sseeifthereareanytadpoles,okay?Takeoffyourshoesandsocks.”
AfterTommie’sfeetwerebare,sherolleduphispantlegs,thendidherown.Theywalkedintothewater,notfar,butthebankwasshallow.
“What’satadpole?”Tommieasked.
“It’sababyfrog,”shesaid.“Beforeitgetslegs.”
Bendingover,theywalkedslowly,andBeverlyspottedthefamiliarblackwigglingcreatures.Tommiewasn’tsurehowtocatchthem,soBeverlybentlower,makingacupwithherhands.Shescoopedoneout,holdingitforhersonsohecouldsee.Forthefirsttimesincethey’dbeenatthehouse,shesawwhatseemedtobeexcitementandwonderinhisexpression.
“That’satadpole?Andit’sgoingtoturnintoafrog?”
“Soon,”shesaid.“Theygrowprettyfast.”
“Butthesearen’tthefrogsIheardlastnight,right?”
“No.Thoseweregrown-upfrogs.Butmaybeweshouldletthisguygo,sohecangetbacktothewater,okay?”
SheletthetadpolegowhileTommiehuntedforanotherone.Itdidn’ttakelongbeforehetriedtoscooponeintohishands,onlytohaveitescape.Onhisthirdefforthewasfinallyabletoshowher.Again,hisexpressionwarmedherheart,andshefeltasurgeofreliefattheideathathewouldeventuallygetusedtolivinginaplacelikethis.
“CanIbringsometoschoolforshow-and-tell?Onfieldday?”
“Fieldday?”
“Theteachersaidthatinsteadofschool,kidsstayoutsideallday.Andthere’sabigshow-and-tell.”
Beverlydimlyrememberedsuchdayswhenshe’dbeeninelementaryschool:Therewereracesandgamesandprizes,andthefiredepartmentbroughtatruck,andparentvolunteersbroughtcookiesandcupcakesandothersnacks.Sherecalledthathermomhadshownupforoneofthem,butforwhateverreasonshe’dbeenaskedtoleave,andBeverlycouldrememberhowshe’dstompedoff,shoutingateveryone.
“Whenisfieldday?”
“I’mnotsureexactly.Butit’sthisweekforsure.”
“You’llhavefun.Iusedtolovefieldday,becauseitmeantIcouldplaywithmyfriendsalldaylong.Butasforbringingthetadpoles,Isupposewecouldputtheminajar,butIdon’tknowhowlongtheycanlivethatway,especiallyifthey’reinthesunforhours.I’dhateforsomethingbadtohappentothem.”
Foralongmoment,hewasquiet.Heletthetadpolegoandscratchedathischeekwithadirtyfinger.“Imissmyoldroom.”
Whoeverhadsleptinhiscurrentbedroomobviouslywasn’tachild.Theclosetandchestofdrawerswerestillfullofclothingforanadult,andthebedwasoversized.Therewerepaintings,notposters,onthewalls.
“Iknowyoudo,”shesaid.“It’shardmovingtoanewplace.”
“Whycouldn’tIbringmoreofmytoys?”
BecauseIcouldn’tcarrythem.Becausepeopleatthebusstationwouldhaveremembered.Becauserunningmeantwehadtotravellight.
“Wejustcouldn’t.”
“WhencanIseeBradyandDerekagain?”
Theywerehisbestfriends,alsoleftbehind.Shesmiledattheirony.Whenshewaslittle,therewerekidsinherclasswithexactlythesamenames.
“We’llsee,”shesaid.“Probablynotforawhile,though.”
Henodded,thenbentlower,lookingfortadpolesagain.Barefoot,withhispantsrolled,hestruckherasathrowbacktoadifferentgeneration.Sheprayedhewouldn’taskabouthisfather,butheseemedtoknowthatitwouldn’tbeagoodidea.Therewere,afterall,stillbruisesonhisarmfromthelasttimeGaryhadgrabbedhim.
“It’sdifferenthere,”hefinallysaid.“Icanseethemoonthroughmywindowatnight.”
Becauseitwasmorethanhegenerallyvolunteered,shecouldn’thelpbutsmileagain.
“IusedtoreadyouGoodnightMoon.Whenyouwerelittle.”
Heknittedhissmallbrow.“Isthattheonewiththecowjumpingoverthemoon?”
“That’sit.”
Henoddedagain,thenwentbacktosearching.Caughtone,letitgo.Caughtanotherandthenletitgo,aswell.Watchinghim,Beverlywassuffusedwithlove,gladshehadriskedeverythinginordertokeephimsafe.
Afterall,Tommie’sfatherwas,onaveragedays,averyangry,dangerousman.
Butnow,withhiswifeandchildgone,hewaslikelyevenworse.Therestoftheafternoonwasquiet.Tommiewatchedcartoons,andBeverlyexaminedthepaintcansstackednearthewasheranddryerbeforelocatingnotonlyacanofprimerbutatleasthalfacanofyellowpaintcalledSummerDaisy,whichmightnotbetheexacttintshewouldhavechosenbutwasathousandtimesbetterthangod-awfulorange.Therewasabeigeshemightbeabletouseinthelivingroom,evenifitwasabitbland,andanalmostfullcanofglossywhiteforthekitchencupboards.Kindofmind-bogglingtofindsomuchpaint,butinagoodway,likethehousehadbeenwaitingallalongforherandTommietoclaimit.
Shetookacloserlook,too,atthepaintbrushesandrollers.Oncloserinspection,theywereobviouslyusedbutlookedcleanenoughtosuffice.Andunlessshewantedtomakeatriptothehardwarestoreandspendmoneyshedidn’thave,theywouldhavetodo.
Shebroughteverythingshethoughtshe’dneedtothekitchenbeforestartingdinner.Tonightwouldbechicken,boiledcarrots,beans.SheaddedextracarrotstoTommie’splate,butwhenhedidn’tfinishthem,shereachedover,eatingthemonebyone.ThoughTommiewantedtoturnonthetelevisionagainafterdinner,sheinsteadsuggestedagame.She’dspottedaboxofdominoesinthecabinetinthelivingroom,andthoughithadbeenalongtimesinceshe’dplayed,sheknewtherulesweresimpleenoughforTommietograsp.Hedid;heevenbeatheracoupleoftimes.Oncehebegantoyawn,shesenthimupstairsforaquickbath.Hewasoldenoughtodoitalone—he’dlatelystartedremindingheraboutthat—soshelethimbe.Sincehedidn’thavepajamas,hesleptinhisunderpantsandtheshirthe’dworntoschool.Shethoughtagainaboutkidsatschoolbeginningtoteasehimandknewshe’dhavetofindhimsomethingelsetowear,aslongasshecouldfindbargains.
Money.Sheneededmoremoney.Lifealwayscamedowntomoney,andshefeltheranxietysuddenlyrisebeforeforcingthefeelingaway.Instead,shesatwithTommieonhisbed,readGo,Dog.Go!beforetuckinghimin,andthenretreatedtotherockersonthefrontporch.Residualheatlingeredfromtheday,makingtheeveningpleasant;theairvibratedwiththesoundsoffrogsandcrickets.Ruralsounds,countrysounds.Soundssherememberedfromherownchildhood.Soundssheneverheardinthesuburbs.
Assherocked,shethoughtabouttheyearsshe’dspentwithGaryandhowthesweetandcharmingdemeanorthatshe’dfalleninlovewithchangedwithinthefirstmonthofmarriage.Sherememberedhimsneakingupbehindhertokissherneckaftershe’djustpouredaglassofwine.Whitewine,notred,andshe’dcollidedwithhimwhensheturned.Thewinesplashedontohisshirt,oneofhisnewones,andthoughshe’dapologizedimmediately,she’dlaughed,aswell,alreadyplanningtorinsetheshirtbeforedroppingitoffatthedrycleaner’sthefollowingmorning.Shewasabouttoflirtwithhim—IguessI’llhavetogetyououtofthatshirt,handsome—butevenasthethoughtwasforming,heslappedheracrosstheface,thesounddeafeningandthestingintense.
Andafterthat?
Inretrospect,sheknewsheshouldhaveleftthen.ShouldhaveknownthatGarywasachameleon,amanwhohadlearnedtohidehistruecolors.Shewasn’tna?ve;she’dseentheTVspecialsandskimmedmagazinearticlesaboutabusivemen.Butherdesiretobelieveandtrusthadoverriddenhercommonsense.That’snothim,shetoldherself.Garyapologizedashewept,andshe’dbelievedhimwhenhesaidhewassorry.She’dbelievedhimwhenhesaidhelovedher,thathe’dsimplyreacted.She’dbelievedhimwhenhesaiditwouldneverhappenagain.
Butbecauseshe’dbecomealivingcliché,herlifedescendedintoone.Ofcourse,heeventuallyslappedheragain;intime,thoseslapsturnedtopunches.Alwaysinthestomachorinthelowerback,wherethebruisescouldn’tbeseen,eventhoughtheblowswouldleavehercrumpledonthefloor,strugglingtobreathe,hervisionfadingtoatunnel.Inthosemoments,hisfacewouldturnredandtheveininhisforeheadwouldbulgeashescreamedather.Hewouldthrowplatesandcupsagainstthewallofthekitchen,leavingglassshatteredaroundher.Thatwasalwaystheendofthecycle.Theout-of-controlanger.Theshouting.Theinflictionofpain.Butalways,insteadofendingforgood,thecyclewouldbeginanew.Withapologiesandpromisesandgiftslikeflowersorearringsorlingerie,andthoughshecontinuedtohearthewarningbellsinherhead,thesoundsweredrownedoutbyaburgeoningdesiretobelievethatthistimehe’dchanged.Andfordaysandweeks,Garywouldagainbethemanshemarried.Theywouldgooutwithfriends,andpeoplewouldcommentontheirperfectmarriage;hersinglegirlfriendswouldtellherhowluckyshewastohavewalkedtheaislewithamanlikeGary.
Sometimessheevenbelievedthem.Astimepassed,shewouldremindherselfnottodoanythingtomakehimangry.Shewouldbetheperfectwifeandtheywouldliveintheperfecthome,preciselythewayhewantedit.She’dmakethebedwiththeduvetstraightandneat,thepillowsfluffedjustright.She’dfoldandstackhisclothesinthedrawers,organizedbycolor.She’dshinehisshoesandlineuptheitemsinthecupboards.She’dmakesurethetelevisionremotewasonthecoffeetableandangledexactlytowardthecorneroftheroom.Sheknewwhatheliked—hemadesurethatsheunderstood—andherdayswerespentdoingallthatwasimportanttohim.Butjustwhenshethoughtthattheworstwasbehindher,somethingwouldhappen.Thechickenshecookedmightbetoodry,orhe’dfindtowelsstillinthedryer,oroneofthehouseplantsonthewindowsillhadbeguntowilt,andhisfacewouldsuddenlytighten.Hischeekswouldturnred,hispupilswouldgrowsmaller,andhe’ddrinkmoreintheevenings,threeorfourglassesofwineinsteadofonlyone.Andthenthefollowingdaysandweekswereakintowalkingthroughaminefield,whereasinglemisstepwouldleadtotheinevitableexplosion,followedbypain.
Butthatwasanoldstory,right?Herstorywasthesameasthatofthousands,maybeevenmillions,ofotherwomen.NowsheunderstoodthattherewassomethingwrongwithGary,somethingthatcouldneverbefixed.AndGaryhadasickandintuitivekindofradar,onethatseemedtounderstandhowfarhecouldactuallygo.Whenshewaspregnant,hehadn’tlaidahandonher;he’dknownshewouldleavehimifhedidanythingtopossiblyhurtthebaby.NorhadhetouchedherinthefirstfewmonthsafterTommiewasborn,whenshewassleep-deprived.Itwastheonlytimeduringthemarriagewhenshe’dletherresponsibilitiesinthehouseslide.Shestillcookedhismealsanddidhislaundryandshinedhisshoesandkissedhimthewayhewanted,butsometimesthelivingroomwasclutteredwhenhecamehomefromwork,andsometimesTommiehaddroolorspillsonhisclothing.Itwasn’tuntilTommiewasfiveorsixmonthsoldthatheslappedheragain.Onthatnight,Garyhadboughtheranegligé,theboxwrappedwithaprettyredbow.She’dalwaysknownthatGarylikedtoseeherinnegligés,justashewasparticularwhenitcametosex.Healwayswantedhertowhispercertainthings,hewantedherhairandmakeupdone,hewantedhertobegforhimtotakeher,helikedhertotalkdirty.Onthatday,though,whenhecamehomewiththenegligé,shewasutterlyexhausted.Tommiehadcriedinconsolablyformuchofthepreviousnight,andithadcontinuedwhileGarywasatwork.Bythenshe’dloweredherguard;bythenshe’dconvincedherselfthattheangerandtheshoutingandthepainwerebehindher,soshetoldhimthatshewastootired.Instead,shepromisedtowearthenegligéthefollowingevening,andtheycouldmakeitaspecialnight.Whichwasn’twhatGarywanted.Hewantedherthatnight,notthefollowingnight,andallatonceshewasblinkingbacktears,hercheekonfirewithhishandprint.
Again,theapologies.Again,thegiftsintheaftermath.Again,theknowledgethatsheshouldhaveleft.Butwherewouldshehavegone?Backhome,withhertailbetweenherlegs,sootherscouldtellherthatshe’dmadeamistakebygettingmarriedtooyoung?Thatshe’dmadeamistakebyfallinginlovewiththewrongman?Evenifshecouldfacetheendlessjudgmentofothers,hewouldfindherthere.Itwouldbethefirstplacehe’dlook.Asforgoingtothepolice,Garywasthepolice,themostpowerfulpoliceintheentireworld,sowhowouldbelieveher?Morethanthat,therewasalsoTommietothinkabout.Foralongtime,GarydotedonTommie.HetalkedtohimandplayedwithhimandheldTommie’shandsasTommiebegantotoddlearoundthehouse.Sheknewhowharditwasforchildrentogrowupwithonlyasingleparent;she’dmadeavowthatshe’dneverdothattoTommie.ThatGarywouldn’tchangediapersdidn’tseemallthatimportantwhenhewaswillingtospendsomuchtimewithhisson,tothepointthatBeverlysometimesfeltneglected.
BeverlynowunderstoodthatGarywasdoingthesamethingwithTommiethathe’ddonewithher.Hepretendedtobesomeoneotherthanwhohereallywas.Hepretendedtobeanideal,lovingfather.ButTommiegrewolderandsometimesdroppedasharptoythatGarywouldstepon,ortherewouldbepuddlesonthebathroomfloorafterTommietookabath.TheangerinsideGarycouldhibernate,butitcouldn’trestforever,andasTommieaged,Garysawincreasingimperfectionsinhisson.HerecognizedelementsofBeverlyinTommie’spersonality.Hebecameagainthemanhetrulywas.Beverlyknewallaboutthesternvoiceandoccasionalshouts;whatshehadn’texpectedwerethebruisesshebegantofindonTommie’sthighsandarms.AsifGaryhadsqueezedtoohard,ormaybeevenpinchedhisson.
Shehadn’twantedtobelievethatGarycoulddosomethinglikethat.WhenBeverlydidsomethingwrong,Garywouldtellherthatshe’ddoneitonpurpose.ButTommiewasjustalittlekid,andGaryhadtounderstandthattoddlersmademistakes,right?ThatnothingTommiedidthatangeredhisfatherwasdoneonpurpose?Beverlywenttothelibrary,buttheinformationshefoundwasn’tmuchhelp.Oh,she’dreaditall.Books,articles,tipsfromlawenforcement,theoriesofpsychologistsandpsychiatrists,andtherealitywasmixed.Sometimesanabusivehusbandalsobecameabusivetohischildren,andsometimeshedidn’t.
Butthestrangebruises…
TherewasalsothefactthatTommiehadchangedfromalaughing,smiling,andoutgoingtoddlertothequiet,introspectivelittleboyshenowknew.Tommieneveradmittedanything,butBeverlystartedtoseefearinTommie’sexpressionwhenGary’scarpulledintothedrivewayafterwork.ShesawaforcedenthusiasmwhenGaryproddedhissontokicktheballaroundtheyard.ShealsorememberedhowTommiehadfallenwhenhewaslearningtorideabikeafewmonthsearlier.Thetrainingwheelsshouldhavekepthimupright,buttheyhadn’t,andTommiecriedinherarmswithskinnedkneesandelbowswhileGaryrantedabouthowuncoordinatedhissonwas.Sherememberedhow,overtime,GaryshowedlessinterestinTommie;sherememberedhowhebegantotreatTommiemorelikepropertythansimplyachildtolove.SherememberedhowGarytoldherthatshewasspoilingTommieandthathewouldgrowuptobeamama’sboy.SherecalledthatonTommie’sfirstdayofkindergarten,Garyhadn’tseemedtocareaboutanythingotherthanthefactthathiseggswereovercookedatbreakfast.
Andthestrange,unexplainablebruises…
GarymightbeTommie’sfather,butBeverlywashismother.Shehadcarriedhimanddeliveredhim.She’dbreastfedhim,andshewastheonewhohadheldhiminherarmsnightafternightuntilhefinallylearnedtosleepmorethanafewhoursatastretch.Shechangedhisdiapersandcookedhismealsandmadesurehegothisvaccinationsandbroughthimtothedoctorwhenhisfeverwassohighthatshe’dbeenworriedhemightgetbraindamage.Shehelpedhimlearntodresshimselfandgavehimbathsandlovedeveryminuteofallthosethings,revelinginTommie’sinnocenceandcontinuingdevelopment,evenasGarycontinuedhisendlesscyclesofabusewithher,alwaysinthehoursafterTommiewenttosleep.
Intheend,shetoldherself,she’dhadnochoicebuttodowhatshehad.Lawenforcementwasout;goingbackhomewasout.Anythingassociatedwithherpreviouslifewasout.Shehadtodisappear,andleavingTommiebehindwasinconceivable.Ifshewasn’taround,onwhomwouldGaryventhisanger?
Sheknew.Inhersoul,sheknewexactlywhatwouldhappentoTommie,sowhenshemadeherplantorun,itwasalwaysforbothofthem,evenifitmeantthatTommiehadtoleavehisfriendsandtoysandprettymucheverythingelsebehind,sotheycouldbeginanentirelynewlife.Despitethelatenessofthehour,Beverlywasn’ttired.Shewasbubblingwithsteady,nervousenergy—probablybecauseshe’dbeenthinkingaboutGary—soshelefttherockerandreturnedtothekitchen.Spyingthecansofyellowpaintandprimer,shefeltherspiritsliftinspiteofhermemories.Thekitchenwouldbesocheerfulwhenshewasfinished.Sheturnedontheradio,keepingthevolumelowsoTommiewouldn’twakeup,butthemusicbegantoworkitsmagic,drowningoutherpreviousthoughts.
Now,withtheworldblackbeyondthewindows,sherememberedTommie’ssmilewhilecatchingtadpolesandletherselfbelievethateverythingwasgoingtobeokay.Yes,therewerechallenges,buteveryonehadthose,andpeopleneededtolearntonotsweatthesmallstuff,right?Forthepresentshehadfoodandshelterandsafetyandanonymity,Tommiewasinschool,andshe’dfigureoutwhattodoaboutthemoney.Shewassmartandcapable,andtherewasalwayssomeonewhoneededcleaningorcookingorbabysittingorsomeonetoreadtothembecausetheireyesighthaddeclinedwithage.AndTommiewouldadapt.Evenifhehadn’tmentionedanynewfriendsyet,he’dmeetaboyoragirlinhisclasssoonenoughandthey’dplayatrecess,becausethat’swhatlittlekidsdid.Littlekidsweren’tcaughtupinwhowaswhoorwhatsomeonedidoreveniftheyworethesameclothesdayafterday.Kidsjustwantedtoplay.AndPeg?
Shelaughedaloudathowsillyshe’dbeenassheexitedthestore,laughedthattheideahadtakenrootatall.Notthatshe’dletherguarddown,ofcourse.Garywouldhavegottenthewordoutthroughgovernmentchannelsbynow,distributingasuspectreportormost-wantedlisting,butitwasn’tasthoughhecouldpersonallyspeaktoeverypoliceofficerorsheriffinthecountry.Forthetimebeing,shewasjustanameandanunfamiliarphotoonaposterhangingonthewallofthepostofficeorinsomeemailinbox,alongwithimagesofterroristsorwhitesupremacistsorbankrobbers.Inaworldwherecrimewasrampantandpeopledidawfulthingseverysingleday,itsimplywasn’tpossibleforanyoneinlawenforcementtokeepupwithindividualnamesandfacesanddescriptionsfromeverywhereinthecountry.Itwashardenoughtryingtokeepupwiththebadthingsthathappenedlocally.
Whathadshebeenthinking?
“I’mjustmakingsurewe’resafe,”shewhispered.
Shewishedagainthatshe’dbroughtmoreclothesforherandTommie.Inhercloset…No,shecorrectedherself.Itwasn’thercloset,notanymore.Inheroldcloset,shehadabeautifulpairofChristianLouboutinpumps,withgorgeousredsoles,thekindthatcelebritiesworeatfancygalasormoviepremieres.Garyhadboughtthemforherbirthday,anditwasoneofthefewgiftsshe’dreceivedwithoutviolenceprecipitatingit.She’dneverownedanotherpairlikethem.Sheprobablycouldhavesqueezedthemintoherbackpack,andmaybesheshouldhave.Itmighthavebeennicetoslipthemoneverynowandthen,justtostareatthem,likeDorothyinTheWizardofOzwiththoserubyslippers,butthenagain,notreally.Itwasn’texactlythesame,nowthatshethoughtaboutit,becausethelastthingshewantedwastoreturntothelifeshe’dlivedbefore.Thiswashernewhome,andshewasstandinginhernewkitchen.
“Andtomorrowthewallswillbeyellow,”shewhispered.
Theyneededanothercleaning,though,sograbbingthesameragshe’dusedearlier,shebeganscrubbingagain,takinghertime,makingsuretheprimerwouldstick.Cleaningandscrubbing,whilethemusicsometimesmadeherfeellikedancing.Shecouldalreadyimaginehowprettythekitchenwouldlookwhenmorningsunlightfilteredthroughthewindows.
Itwaslatebythetimeshefinished.Reallylate.Forsomepeople,itmightevenbeconsideredmorning,andbecauseBeverlywantedtomakesuresheheardTommiewhenhewokeup,shelaydownonthecouchinthelivingroom.Somehowshedozedoff,likeherbrainsimplydecidedtoshutdown,butshewasawakeevenbeforesheheardTommiecomingdownthesteps.
Gonewastherelieffromthenightbefore.Shedidn’tfeellikeshehadafterwakingfromthedreamaboutthepirateorevenwhenhermindhadbeguntumblingafterPegmentionedthatshelookedfamiliar.Rather,therewasalow-levelsenseofdread,likeanunpleasanthum,onethathintedshe’dmissedsomethingimportantinherescape.
Garywouldhavefoundheridentificationandphoneinthehouse,signalingherintenttostayoffthegrid.WithoutID,shewouldn’tbeabletoflyanywhere,soGary’sfirststopswouldbethetrainandbusstations.She’dalreadyknownthat,though,whichwerethereasonsforherprecautions.She’dalsoknowntherewereadozenbusesheadedindifferentdirectionsthatmorning,andGarywouldlearnthat,too,butsincehehadnoideawhenshe’dleft,shewouldbemoredifficulttotrace.WhatwouldGarydonext?
He’dspeakwiththeticketsellers,butwhatwouldhelearn?Noonewouldrememberamotherandson.Noonewouldrememberalong-hairedblonde.Afterthat,he’dprobablystartinterviewingthebusdrivers,butwithsomanypossibilitiesthatweekend,itwouldtaketime.Hemight,however,eventuallystumbleacrossherdriver,butwhatwouldhelearn?Again,nomotherandsontravelingtogether.Hewouldalsolearnthatthedriverhadbeenreplacedwithanotherandthatnomotherandsonhadeitherarrivedatadestinationordepartedtogether.EvenifeitherdriverhadseenherandTommiesittingtogetherbyglancingintherearviewmirror—doubtful,sinceTommiewassosmall—wouldtheseconddriverrememberexactlywhereandwhenthey’dgottenoff?Whocouldpossiblyremembersuchathing,especiallyafterthepassageoftime,withsomanystops,withsomanypeoplegettingonandoffeverystepoftheway?Itwouldbeakintorememberingarandomfaceinapassingcrowd.
Shewassafe,shedecided,becauseshe’dbeencareful.Shewassafebecauseshe’dthoughtofeverything,becauseshe’dknownexactlyhowGarywouldconducthissearch.Andyetshecouldstillfeeltheanxiety,inchingupwardinsideherlikebubblesrisingthroughwater,andwhentherealizationsuddenlycametoher,itfeltasthoughGaryhimselfhadpunchedherinthestomach.
Cameras,shethought.
OhGod.
Whatifthebusstationshadcameras?Inthemorning,IwentforarunbeneathacloudlessFloridasky.Theairwasthickwithhumidity,andbythetimeIhitthebeach,Ihadtostripoffmyshirtanduseitasamakeshiftbandannatokeepthesweatfrompouringintomyeyes.
Iraninthehard-packedsandnearthewater’sedge,passingbyBobbyT’sandastringofmotelsandhotels,includingtheDon,beforeturningaroundandmakingmywaybacktomyplace.Iwrungoutmyshirt,shorts,andsocksbeforehoppingintheshowertocooloff.Afterward,allclotheswentintothewasher,andonlyaftertwocupsofcoffeedidIfeelreadytostarttheday.
Pickingupmyguitar,IspentthenextcoupleofhourstweakingthesongI’dsungforMorgan,thinkingagainthatitwasclosebutnotexactlyrightandfeelingthattherewassomethingspecialthere,ifonlyIcouldfindit.AsIcontinuedtotinker,however,mythoughtskeptreturningtothequestionofwhetherIwouldeverseeMorganagain.
Ihadlunch,wentforawalkonthebeach,thencontinuedtryingdifferentvariationsonthesonguntilitwastimeformetoleaveforBobbyT’s.BecauseitwasSunday,Ididn’texpectmuchofacrowd,butwhenIgotthere,everytablewasalreadyfilled.Scanningtheaudience,InotedthatMorganandherfriendsweren’tthere,andIdidmybesttoignoreapangofdisappointment.
Iplayedthefirstset—amixofcrowdfavoritesandmyownsongs—thenrolledintothenextset,andthenthethird,beforeIstartedtakingrequests.Bythehalfwaypointintheshow,thecrowdhadgrown.Itwasn’tquitethesizeoftheFriday-nightcrowd,buttherewereanumberofpeoplestanding,andmorepeoplecontinuedtowanderinfromthebeach.
Withfifteenminutestogo,Morganandherfriendsshowedup.Somehow,despitethesizeofthecrowd,theywereabletofindseats.IcaughtMorgan’seye,andshegavealittlewave.WhenIhadasinglesonglefttoplay,Iclearedmythroat.
“Thisone’sgoingouttothoseheretohaveagreattimeatthebeachorpool,”IcalledoutwithaspecialsmileforMorgan,beforelaunchinginto“Margaritaville.”Thecrowdwhoopedandbegantosingalong.BeforelongIsawMorganandherfriendsjoinin,whichendedtheshowonahighnoteforme.BythetimeIfinallysetmyguitaraside,thesunhadgonedown,leavingonlyasliverofyellowatthehorizon.WhileIbeganpackingup,afewpeoplefromthecrowdapproachedthestage,offeringtheusualcomplimentsandquestions,butIkepttheconversationbriefandmadeabeelineforMorganandherfriends.
AssoonasIwasclose,IcouldseethedelightinMorgan’sexpression.Shewaswearingwhiteshortsandayellowblousewithawidescoopneckthatshowedoffhersun-kissedskin.
“Cute,”shesaid.“Iassumeyouweredirectingthatsongatmeandmyfriends?BecauseofwhatImentionedtheyweredrinkingatthepool?”
“Itseemedfitting,”Iagreed.Thedimlightingatthebarcastherfine-bonedfaceinmoodyshadow.“Howwasyourday?Whatdidyouendupdoing?”
“Notmuch.Wesleptinlate,rehearsedforanhourandahalf,andhungoutbythepool.IthinkIgottoomuchsun,though.Myskinfeelshot.”
“Whatdidyourehearse?”
“Ournewdanceroutines.Therearethreesongs,whichislongforus.We’reatthepointwhereweknowallourmoves,butittakesalotofrepetitiontomakesurewe’reperfectlyinsync.”
“Whenwillyoufilmit?”
“ThisSaturdayatthebeach.RightbehindtheDon.”
“You’llhavetoletmeknowwhattimesoIcanbethere.”
“We’llsee,”shechirped.“Whatareyoudoingnow?Doyouhaveplans?”
“Iwasthinkingofgettingsomethingtoeat.”
“Wouldyouliketocomewithus?We’regoingtoShrimpysBlues.”
“Wouldyourfriendscare?”
“Itwastheiridea,”shesaidwithagrin.“Whydoyouthinkwewerewaitingforyou?”IloadedmytruckwhiletheycalledforanUberintheparkinglot.IfiguredI’djustfollowtheircar,butMorganjoggedtowardmewhilecallingtoherfriendsoverhershoulder,“We’llmeetyouthere!
“Assumingyoudon’tmind,ofcourse,”shesaidasshereachedme.
“Notatall.”
Ihelpedherintothetruck,thengotinontheotherside.TheUberhadalreadyarrived,andherfriendsweresqueezingintothebackseatofthegenericsilvermidsizesedan.Assoonasitedgedintotraffic,Ipulledoutbehindit.
“Ihaveanotherquestionaboutyourfarm,”shesaid.
“Seriously?”
“Ifinditinteresting.”
“What’syourquestion?”
“Ifyourchickensaren’tincages,whydon’ttheyrunaway?Andhowdoyouevenfindtheeggs?Wouldn’ttheybealloverthepasture?LikeanEasteregghunt?”
“Wehavefencingaroundthepastures,butchickensaresocialcreatures,sotheylikestayingnearoneanother.Plus,theyliketheshade,whichisalsowheretheirfoodandwateris.Asfortheeggs,they’retrainedtousenestingboxes,whichdeposittheeggsinadrawersowecancollectthem.”
“Youtrainyourchickens?”
“Youhaveto.Whenanewbatchofchickenscomesin,Istaywiththem,andwheneverachickensquatstolayanegg,Iscoopitupandputitintothenestingbox.Chickensgenerallyprefertolaytheireggsindarkandquietplaces,sooncethey’reinthebox,theythink,Oh,thisisnice,andtheybeginusingitregularlyafterthat.”
“Thatissocool.”
“Iguess.It’sjustpartofthejob.”
“Doyoudootherfarmingthings?Like…doyoudriveatractor,too?”
“Ofcourse.AndIhavetoknowhowtorepairthem,too.Ialsohavetodoalotofcarpentry,plumbing,andevenelectricalwork.”
Herexpressionbrightened.“Lookatyou.You’relikeaman’sman.Itmustbenicetoknowthatifthere’severazombieapocalypse,you’llbeoneofthesurvivors.”
Ilaughed.“Ican’tsaythatI’veeverthoughtaboutitthatway.”
“Itmakesmylifeseemboringbycomparison.”
“Idon’tknowaboutthat.”
“What’syoursisterlike?Imean,Iknowshe’sanartistandyoulivetogether,buthowwouldyoudescribeher?Inthreewords?”
Ileanedbackagainsttheheadrest,notsurehowmuchIwantedtotellher,soIwentwiththebasics.“Smart,”Ibegan.“Talented.Generous.”ThoughIcouldhaveaddedthatshewasalsoasurvivor,Ididn’t.Instead,Iwenton,explaininghowPaigehadmostlyraisedme,whichwasabigpartofthereasonweweresoclose.
“Andyouraunt?”shepressed.
“Tough.Hardworking.Honest.Itwasn’teasyforheraftermyuncledied,butoncewestartedmakingchangesatthefarm,shebecameheroldselfagain.Thefarmisprettymuchherwholelifenow,butshelovesit.Latelyshe’sbeentryingtotalkmeintoexpandingintograss-fedorganicbeef,eventhoughwe’veneverraisedcattleandIdon’tknowathingaboutit.”
“Thatmightbeagoodidea.Peoplelovehavinghealthyoptionswhentheyshop.”
“Yeah,butthere’salotmoretoit.Havingenoughpastureland,forinstance,orfindingagoodprocessorandarrangingtransportation,orchoosingtherightbreedinglines,andfindingcustomers,alongwithazillionotherthings.Itmightbemorehasslethanit’sworth.”
Aheadofme,thesilvermidsizebegantoslowbeforepullingintotheparkinglotoftherestaurant.Whenitcametoastop,Iveeredarounditandfoundaspot
Inside,thehostessledustoaboothinthebackcorneroftherestaurant.Assoonaswetookourseatsandafterafewgushycomplimentsonmyshow,theinterrogationbegan.LikeMorgan,herfriendscouldn’tbelieveIwasafarmer,andtheyexpressedthesamecuriositythatMorganhadaboutmydailyactivities.Theyalsogrilledmeaboutmychildhood,myfamily,andmyyearsintheband.Betweendrinksandourmeals,Imanagedtogleanafewdetailsaboutthem,aswell.StacyhadbeenraisedinIndianapolis,hadaboyfriendnamedSteve,andwantedtobeapediatrician;HollywasfromasmalltowninKentuckyandhadgrownupplayingpracticallyeverysportavailable.MariahailedfromPittsburgh,hadaboyfriend,aswell,andnurturedadreamofworkingonDancingwiththeStars.“Realistically,though,I’llprobablyendupworkingatadancestudioandmaybeopenmyownoneday.Unlessmymomletsmechoreographwithher.”
“Willshe?”
“ShesaysIstillhavealottolearn.”Sherolledhereyes.“She’skindofahard-assthatway.”
UnlikeMorgan,MariahadnocompunctionaboutshowingmetheirTikTokpage.Shequeuedupavideoofthefourofthemdancingandhandedmeherphone.Whenitconcluded,shepulledupasecondvideo,andthenanother.
“Ithinkhegetsit,”Morganinterrupted,tryingtoreachforthephone.
“Justafewmore,”Mariaprotested,wavingheroff.Icouldseewhytheywerepopular;theirperformancesfeaturedK-pop–levelchoreographyandweresexyinafunbutnotover-the-topway.Iwasn’tsurewhatI’dbeenexpecting,butIwasdefinitelyimpressed.
Theinterrogationturnedmywayagainafterthat;likeMorgan,theyweremainlyinterestedinthechickensandtomatoesbutfrownedatthefactthatthefarmgrewtobacco.And,asI’ddoneforMorgan,ItoldthemaboutmyrebellionandthebandyearsandhowI’dactuallybecomeafarmerinthefirstplace.Morganwasclearlyresignedtoherfriends’scrutinyofme;fromtimetotimeoureyesmetandsheseemedtobesilentlyapologizing.
Theyrefusedtoletmepay;instead,wealladdedmoneytothecenterofthetable,enoughtoallowforageneroustip.Ifoundmyselfthinkingthateachwasasimpressive,inherownway,asMorgan.Withoutexception,theywereconfident,ambitious,andself-possessed.
Whenwelefttherestaurant,MorganandItrailedbehindtheothers.Studyingherinthedoorway’smutedpoolsoflight,IhadthefeelingthatifIendedupeverseeingheragain,Iwasgoingtobeintrouble.
“Ilikeyourfriends,”Iremarked.“Thanksforlettingmetagalong.”
“Thanksforbeingsuchagoodsport,”shesaid,givingmyarmaquicksqueeze.
“What’sonyouragendatomorrow?”
“Nothingdefinite.I’msurewe’llrehearseinthemorning,andwe’llprobablyspendpartofthedayatthepool,butHollyalsomentionedthatshemightwanttogoshoppingorvisittheDalí.”Then,asifsuddenlyrealizingwhoshewastalkingto,shewenton.“It’samuseuminSt.PetersburgdevotedtotheworksofSalvadorDalí.He’sasurrealistpainter.”
“Mysistermentionedsomethingaboutit,”Isaid.
Shemusthaveheardsomethinginmytone.“You’renotinterested?”
“Idon’tknowenoughaboutarttobeeitherinterestedoruninterested.”
Shelaughedthatrumbling,deeplaughagain.“Atleastyoucoptoit.Howaboutyou?”
“Ihaven’tdecided.I’llprobablygoforarun,butafterthat,whoknows?”
“Willyouwriteanothersong?”
“Ifsomethingcomestome.”
“Iwishthathappenedtome.Thatsongsjustcametome.Ihavetostrugglewithit.”
“I’dlovetohearanythingyou’vewritten.EspeciallynowthatI’veseenyoudance.”
“Yeah,”shesaid,“aboutthat.Maria’sreallyproudofourroutines.”
“Sheshouldbe.You’reallgreat.HadIknownaboutyou,Iwouldhavefollowedyouliketheothergazillionpeople.”
Justthen,aflashofheadlightsappeared,signalingthearrivalofthegirls’Uber.IsawHollyglancingatherphoneandthecar’slicenseplate,confirmingthematchastheyheadedtowardthecarevenbeforeitcametoastop.
“Ifyou’dlike,Icangiveyouaridebacktothehotel.”
“I’mgoingtoridewithmyfriends,butthanks.”Then,afterabeat,“I’mgladyouhadachancetogettoknowthem.”
“Forsure.”
Shestoodthereforasecondmore,apparentlyreluctanttoleave.“Ishouldprobablygo.”
“Probably.”
“Wemightcometoyournextshow.”
“I’dlikethat.”
“Andifyouwriteanothersong,Iwanttobethefirsttohearit.”
“Icandothat.”Ihadthesensewewerebothstalling.Thenextwordscamealmostautomatically.“Haveyoueverbeenkayaking?”
“Excuseme?”
“MyfriendRaytoldmeaboutthisplacewhereyoucanrentkayaksandpaddlethroughthemangroves.Hesaiditwasaprettycoolthingtodo.”
“Andwhyareyoutellingmethis?”
“Iwaswonderingifyou’dliketogowithme.Tomorrow,sinceyoudon’thaveanythingofficiallyplanned,Imean.”
Itwasn’tthesmoothestwaytoaskagirlout,butinthatmomentitwasallIcouldmuster.
Sheputherhandsonherhips.“Whattimeareyouthinking?”
“Nineorso?ThatwayyoucanbebackintimefortheDalíorthepoolorwhatever.”
“Canyoumakeitten?Becauseofrehearsal?”
“Sure.Howaboutwemeetinthelobby?”
Shetouchedmyarmagain,hergazemeetingmine.“Ican’twait.”IfanyonehadtoldmebeforeIcameherethatI’dgoonadatewhenIwasinSt.PeteBeach,Iwouldhavelaughed.ButasIwatchedMorganleave,Icouldn’thelpfeelingpleased,evenasIwonderedwhatIwasgettingmyselfinto.
Therewassomething…charismaticabouther.Thewordpoppedintomyheadastheydroveaway,andthemoreIthoughtaboutit,themoreaptthedescriptionbecame.WhilemuchofwhatI’dlearnedaboutheramplifiedthedifferencesbetweenus,itstruckmethatIwastheonlyonewhoseemedconcernedaboutit.Somehowthefactthatwebothlovedmusicwascommongroundenoughforher.Fornow,anyway.Oratleastenoughforafirstdate.
Butwherewasitleading?ThatwasthepartIcouldn’tfigureout.Wasitaseriousfirststep,orwerewemovingtowardasimplefling?I’msurealotofguyswouldhavebeenhappywiththelatter,andwithanyoneelse,Imighthavebeen.ButIwasdrawntoMorganinwaysthatfeltdeeperthanthat.
Ilikedher,Ithought,thensuddenlyshookmyhead,knowingthatwasn’tquiteright.
Ilikedheralot.Idon’tthinkitwasnerves,butwhateverthereason,Iwokeatdawnandcouldn’tgobacktosleep.Instead,Iwentforanearly-morningrun,thentidiedupthecondo.Aftermyshower,Iswungbythegrocerystoretoreplenishthesnacksanddrinksinmycooler.
AssumingI’dgetwet,Ithrewshortsonoverabathingsuit,grabbedaspareT-shirt,andwiggledintomyflip-flops.BythenitwashalfpastnineandIstartedforthehotel.
Thelobbyofthehotelwasasgrandastherestofthepinkpalace,bustlinginthemorningsunlight.Checkingmyphone,InotedatextfromRayinformingmethatI’dbestartingatfourtomorrowinsteadoffive,whichmeantI’dbeplayinganextrahour—nobigdeal;IrespondedthatI’dbethereontime.WhenMorganfinallyappeared,shewasdressedcasually,aturquoisebikinipeekingoutbeneathawhitehalterandfadeddenimshorts.ShehadaGuccibeachtoteslungoverhershoulderandapairofexpensivesunglassesperchedinherhair.
“Heythere,”shesaid.“SorryI’malittlelate,butIwasn’tsurewhattowear.”
“Ithinkyou’llbefine,”Iassuredher.“Doyouhaveeverything?”
Whenshenodded,Isweptmyarmtowardthedoor,andaminutelaterwewererollingdownthelong,rampeddrive.
“Howdidrehearsalgo?”
“Sameasalways.JustwhenIthinkwe’realmostthere,Marianoticessomethingelsewestillneedtoworkon.”
“Wheredoyourehearse?Ihaven’tseenyouonthebeachinthemorningswhenI’moutformyrun.”
“Weuseoneoftheconferenceroomsonthemainfloor.We’reprobablynotsupposedto,butnooneatthehotelhascomplainedyet.”
“So,you’resayingyou’rearulebreaker?”
“Sometimes,”sheoffered.“Isn’teveryone?”
“Iwouldn’thaveguessedthataboutyou.”
“There’sstillalotaboutmethatyoudon’tknow.”
“Caretoshare?”
“Onlyifyouasktherightquestions.”
“Allright.”Ipretendedtoponderthepossibilities.“Tellmeaboutyourpreviousboyfriend.”
“InevertoldyouthatIhadaboyfriend.”
“Thenconsidermeagoodguesser.”
“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Anything.Whatwashelike?Howlongdidyougoout?”
Shesighed.“Hewaspre-law,twoyearsolderthanme,andwemetduringmyfreshmanyear.ButIwasveryinvolvedwithmusicanddanceandmyclasses,andIwantedtohangwithmyfriends,too.Hehadtroubleunderstandingthat.He’dgetupsetwhenIwasn’tabletospendasmuchtimewithhimashewanted,orhe’dsuggestthatIblowoffpianopracticeorwhatever,anditbegantoirritateme.SoafteracoupleofmonthsIendedit,andthatwasthat.Howaboutyou?Tellmeaboutyourex-girlfriend.Ormaybeit’sjust…girlfriend?”Shegavemeasidelonglook.
“Definitelyanex,”Iassuredher,beforegivingherthebriefrundownonMichelle,ourincompatibleschedules,andhereventualmoveoutoftown.Whilelistening,Morganabsentlypolishedthelensesofhersunglasseswithherhalter,herexpressionserious.
“Doyouregretthatitdidn’tworkout?”
“Maybealittle,atfirst.Notsomuchanymore.”
“Ineverregrettedbreakingitoff,”shesaid.
“It’sgoodtoknowyoucandumpsomeonewithoutacareintheworld.”
“Hedeservedit.”
“Itwashisloss.”
Shesmiled.“Bytheway,myfriendsapproveofyou.Theythinkyou’renice,evenifthey’restillnotahundredpercentsureitwasagoodideaformetojoinyoutoday.”
“Theycouldhavetaggedalong.”
“It’snotthatthey’reafraidyou’regoingtodoanything,”sheexplained.“It’sjustthatI’mtheyoungest,andsometimesIthinktheyfeeltheyhavetowatchoutforme.”
“Likeyourparents?”
“Exactly.Accordingtothem,I’veledashelteredlife,whichmakesmeabitna?ve.”
“Aretheyright?”
“Probablyalittle,”sheadmittedwithalaugh.“ButIthinkmostpeopleincollegearena?ve.Itsortofgoeswiththeterritory,especiallyifyougrewupinaniceneighborhoodandhadagoodfamily.Whatdoanyofusreallyknowabouttherealworld,right?Ofcourse,ifIsaidthattomyfriends,theywouldaddthatI’malsobeingdefensive.”
Iglancedoverather.“Forwhatit’sworth,youdon’tstrikemeasna?ve,”Isaid.“YoucarryMace,afterall.”
“Ithinkthey’retalkingaboutmyemotions.”
Iwasn’tsurewhattosaytothat,soinstead,Isteeredtheconversationtoeasiertopics.Wetalkedaboutmoviesandsongsweliked,andafterIexplainedhowmyunclehadtaughtmetoplaytheguitar,shetoldmethatsheknewthewordstopracticallyeverysonginhalfadozenDisneymoviesevenbeforeshestartedschool.Shetalkedtomeaboutheryearsindanceandtheconcertsshe’dperformedandravedaboutherprivatevocalcoachinChicago.Evenincollege,she’dtraveledtoseehimeveryotherweek,despitetheothertime-consumingrequirementsofhermajor.WhenshefinallymentionedthenamesofthemanagersshewouldmeetinNashvilleandthesingerstheyrepresented—aswellastheirstrengthsandweaknesses—alongwiththevagariesofthemusicbusinessingeneral,IthoughtagainthatMorganwasalotmorethanaprettyface.TherewasasophisticationtoherthatI’dneverseeninsomeonesoyoung,andIwasstruckbytherealizationthatmyownattemptsatchasingmydreamhadpaledincomparison.Whileshe’dbeenthoughtfullybuildingherskillsonestepatatimeandlayingthegroundworkforlatersuccess,I’djustbeenhavingfun.
Strangely,Iwasn’tjealousaboutthat,norwasIjealousthatshe’dhadadvantagesandopportunitiesthatIdidn’t.Instead,Iwashappyforher,mainlybecauseIrememberedhowmuchthedreamhadoncemeanttome.Ialsosimplylikedlisteningtohertalk,andIrealizedthemoreIlearnedabouther,themoreIwantedtoknow.
WhenwereachedFortDeSotoPark,Ifollowedthesignsandparkedinagravellotnearawoodenshackthatofferedkayaksforrent.Bothofusgotoutofthetruckandheadedtowardtheattendant,whotookthecashandhandedeachofusapaddleandalifepreserver.
“Ifyouhavesuits,youmightwanttoleaveyourclothesinthetruck,”hesuggestedasheputthemoneyintheregister.“Unlessyoudon’tmindbeingwetwhenyoudrivebacktowhereveryou’regoing.”
Backatthetruck,IdidmybestnottostareasMorganstrippedtoherbikini.Isetherclothesandmineonthefrontseatandgrabbedmysunglassesandabaseballhatoutoftheglovecompartment.IwatchedasMorganplacedherphoneintoawaterproofcase,somethingIhadn’teventhoughttobring.
“Doyouneedsunscreen?”sheasked,remindingmeofsomethingelseI’dforgotten.“Ibroughtsomeifyoudidn’t.”
“Ifyouwouldn’tmind.”
Shesqueezedthetube,dispensinglotionintomyhand,whichIsmearedallovermyarmsandface.
“Doyouwantmetogetyourback?”sheasked.
Iwasn’tabouttosayno—Ilikedthethoughtofherhandsonme—soInodded,andsoonenoughIfeltthelotionbeingspreadonmyskin,asensationmoreintimatethansheprobablyassumeditwas.“Doyouneedmetogetyourback,too?”Iasked.
“IhadMariadoitearlier,butthanks.”
Whenweweredone,weputonthelifejacketsandcarriedthepaddlestowardthekayaks,whichwerealreadyatthewater’sedge.Theattendantgaveusaquicklessonabouthowtoholdthepaddles,theimportanceoflong,smoothstrokes,andhowtopaddlebackwardtohelpchangedirection.Finally,heissueddirectionstoachannelthatledthroughthemangroves.
“Willwecapsize?”Morganfrettedasshestaredoutatthewater.
“Thesekayaksareprettywide,soIwouldn’tworry,”themansaid.“HopinandI’llgiveyouashove.”
Weeachclimbedintoourownkayak,feelingitbobbleslightly.Attheman’sinstruction,IbentmykneesslightlyandwatchedMorganglidebackwardtowardmeafterherkayakwaslaunched.Weturnedandstartedpaddlingovertheglassywater.
“Ithardlywobblesatall,”Morganannounced,soundingsurprised.
“That’sbecauseyouweighfiftypounds.”
“Iweighalotmorethanthat.”
“Howmuchmore?”
“I’mdefinitelynotgoingtoanswerthatquestion.”
Ichuckled,bothofussettlingintoenjoythescenery.Therewerepuffycloudsinthedistance,buttheskywaselectricblueoverhead,turningthewaterintoabrilliantmirror.Inthefoliagewesawternsandospreys,whileturtlessunnedthemselvesonpartiallysubmergedlogs.
Besideme,Morganpaddled,effortlesslygraceful.
“So…isthiswhatyoudoonyourdatesbackinNorthCarolina?Bringgirlsouttoexperiencenature?”
“I’veneverbeenkayaking,either.”
“Thatdidn’tanswermyquestion.”
“Iliveinasmalltown.There’snotmuchtodootherthanenjoynature.Theriver,atriptothebeach,walkingtrailsthroughtheforests.It’snotliketherearealotofclubsandbarswhereIlive.”
Upahead,afishjumped,andMorganpointedwithherpaddle.
“Whatkindoffishisthat?”
“I’mguessingit’satarpon,butIcan’tbecertain.They’resupposedtobegreatfishingbecausetheyputupagoodfight.”
“Doyoufish?”
“I’vebeenafewtimes,butit’snotmything.Believeitornot,PaigeenjoysitmorethanIdo,butdon’taskmewhereshelearned.It’snotsomethingwedidalotwhenwewerekids.”
“What’sitlikelivingwithyoursister?Idon’tthinkIknowanybrothersandsisterswholivetogetherasadults.”
Again,Iwonderedhowmuchtotellher,beforerealizingitwasn’ttherighttime.“Iknowitmightseemoddtootherpeople,”Iadmitted.“Sometimesitseemsoddtome,too.Butthenagain,I’veneverlivedalone,soIguessI’mjustusedtoit.Idon’treallythinkaboutitthatmuch.”
“MysisterandIareprettyclose,too,butIdon’tknowifIwanttolivewithherinafewyears.”
“Yousaidbeforethatshe’snothinglikeyou,butwhatdoesthatmean?”
“Shecouldn’tcarelessaboutmusicorsingingordanceorpiano.She’salwaysbeenagiftedathlete,eversinceshewaslittle.Shewasanaturalateverysport—soccer,softball,juniorOlympicsintrack,andthenfinallyvolleyball,whichturnedouttobeherpassion.ShewasrecruitedbyadozendifferentcollegesandwillbestartingatStanfordinthefall.Itdoesn’thurtthatshe’salmostsixfeettallandastraight-Astudent,ofcourse.”
“Sheistall….”
“Iknow.Shegetsitfrommymom’sside.I’vealwaysbeentheruntofthelitterinmyfamily.”
“Itmustbesuchachallengeforyou,”Ioffered,withamocksadface.“IfIhadmyguitar,I’dplayyouamournfulsong.”
“Oh,shutup,”sheretorted,splashingalittlewateronmewithherpaddle,makingmeduck.
Wecontinuedoureasypaddling,enjoyingthestillness.Afterawhile,rememberingthedirections,Ikeptmyeyespeeledfortheopeningthatledtothechannelthroughthemangroves.EventuallyIspotteditandsteeredtowardit.Atthemouth,itwasnineortenfeetwide,butitnarrowedquickly,makingitdifficultforustopaddlesidebyside.
“DoyouwanttogofirstorshouldI?”
Shehesitated.“NormallyI’daskyoutogofirst,incasethere’sabearoragiantpythonorwhatever.ButImightwantyouinthebackincaseItipover.Soyoudon’tleavemebehind.”
“Iwouldn’tleaveyoubehind,”Iprotested.“Besides,Idon’tthinkthereareanybearshere.Andyou’reprobablynotheavyenoughtotipoverthekayakevenifyoutried.”
“Whichonlyleavesmeworriedaboutgiantpythons.”
“I’mprettysurethatwon’tbeanissue,either.Butjustsoyouknow,it’susuallythesecondorthirdpersoninlinethatgetsattackedbyasnake.Thefirstoneisalreadypastthesnakebythetimeitrealizeswhat’shappeningandgetsreadytostrike.”
“Thenbyallmeans,I’llleadtheway.”
Ismiled,followingafewfeetbehindher.Withinaminute,thechannelhadnarrowedevenmoreandthebranchesaboveusformedsomethingakintoatunnel.Thewaterwasassmoothasatabletop,theaircooledbytheshade.WatchingMorganpaddle,Inotedthatshemovedwiththeunbrokeneaseofthedancershewas.Inthetreesoneithersideofus,crabsscurriedonthebranches.IwaswatchingoneofthemwhenIheardhercallingouttome.
“Areyoustillthere?”
“I’mrightbehindyou.”
“Justmakingsure.”
Idon’tknowhowlongthechannelwas,butweremainedbeneaththetunneledcanopyofbranchesfortenorfifteenminutes.Occasionallyshewouldpointtosomethingshe’dseen—usuallyacraborclusterofcrabs—andcallouttocheckifIwasstillbehindher,whichstruckmeassilly,becauseitwouldhavebeennearlyimpossibletoturnaroundevenifIwantedto.Mostly,though,wepaddledinsilenceinwhatseemedtobeanotherworld,botheerieandserene.
Intime,thechannelbegantowiden,moresunlightbrokethroughthecanopy,and,withafewmorestrokes,weemergedintoalargeestuary.
“Thatwasawesome,”Morgansaid,hereyeswide.“Forafewminutesthere,itfeltlikeIwaslostintime.”
“Ihadthesamefeeling.”
“Wherearewe?”
“Ihaveabsolutelynoidea.”
“Doyouknowhowtogetback?”
“Samewaywegothere,Iguess.”
Thesunhadriseninthesky,andthesuddenlackofshademadeitfeelevenmoreintense.MorganrestedherpaddleinherlapandcontinuedtakinginthescenerywhileIdidmybestnottostareatherexposedskin,glisteningwithadelicatesheenofsweat.
Thecurrentwasweakbutenoughtoallowourkayakstodriftfartherapart.WhenIdippedmypaddleintothewatertoclosethegap,InoticedashadowinthewatermaybesixfeetbehindMorgan.Frommyangle,itlookedlikealogorarock,butstrangelyitalsoseemedtobemoving.
AfewquickstrokesandIzippedpasther.AssoonasIpeeredoverthesideofmykayakintothewater,IrealizedwhatIwasseeing.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Morganasked,rotatingherkayak.
“It’samanatee,”Irespondedinahushedvoice.
Thetopofitwasmaybeayardbelowthesurface,andIwatcheditshuge,wideflipperspaddlealmostinslowmotion.BythenMorganwasapproaching,excitementandapprehensioninherexpression.
“Aretheydangerous?”
“No,butit’sprobablyillegaltogettooclose.Idon’tknowforsure,though.”
“Iwanttosee,”shesaid,paddlinginmydirection.Ileanedoverandgrabbedherkayak,slowingituntilitstopped.Morganstaredintothewater.
“It’shuge!”shewhispered.
Ihadnoideahowbigmanateesgenerallywere,butitseemedtobeonlyalittleshorterinlengththanourkayak,maybethesizeofasmallhippo.ThoughtheysometimesappearedinNorthCarolina,sightingswererare,andI’dneverbeenthatlucky.AsIwatched,Morganfoundherphoneandstartedtotakephotos.Examiningthem,shefrowned.
“Youcan’tseeitverywell.Itlookslikeabiggrayblob.”
“ShouldIhopoutandseeifIcouldnudgeitevenclosertothesurface?”
“Canyoudothat?”
“Notachance.”
Iwatchedassherolledhereyes,thenshesuddenlygotexcited.“Ohwow!It’ssurfacing!Canyoupushmykayakabit?”
Usingmypaddle,Igaveherkayakagentleshove;sheclosedthedistancetothemanatee.EventhoughIwasfartheraway,Irealizedthatitdidindeedseemtoberising.Theamorphousshapebegantoclarify,revealingitsheadandthewide,circularflukeasitrotatedfirstinonedirection,thentheopposite.MyeyesdriftedfromittoMorgan,whowasbusytakingpicturesasImaneuveredmykayak.
“Itkeepsmovingfartheraway!”shelamented.
Iusedmyoartopushheragain.Afterafewmorephotos,sheloweredthecamera
“Doyouthinkwe’rebotheringit?”
“I’msuretheyseekayaksouthereallthetime.”Fromthecornerofmyeye,Inoticedanothershadowofftotheright.
“Ithinkwe’reabouttohavecompany.There’sanotherone.”
Itwasslightlysmallerthanthefirstone,andMorgansquintedtomakeitout.
“Doyouthinkthey’rerelated?Likeamamaandherbaby?”sheasked.
“Ihaven’ttheslightestidea.”
“Willtherebemore?Like,dotheyusuallyswiminpodsorwhateverthey’recalled?”
“Whydoyoukeepaskingmethesequestions?I’mafarmerfromNorthCarolina.Iknownothingaboutmanatees.”
Hereyesflickeredwithmirth.“WouldyoumindtakingoffyourglasseswhileI’vegotmyphoneout?Andliftingthebrimofyourhat?”
“Why?”
“Iwantaphotoofyouinthekayak.Youlookallsporty.”
Icompliedandshetookaphoto,thoughthewayherthumbwasmoving,itwasprobablyclosertoadozen.Sheimmediatelyscrolledthroughthem.“Okay,perfect.Therearesomegoodoneshere.”
Westayedwiththemanateesuntiltheystartedmigratingtowarddeeperwater.Takingthatasourcuetoheadback,Iledthewaytotheopening.
“DoyouwanttogofirstorshouldI?”
“Youleadthistime.ButlikeItoldyoubefore,don’tleavemebehind.”
“WhatkindofguydoyouthinkIam?”
“I’mstillprocessingthatquestion,butIpromisetoletyouknowtheanswerassoonasIdo.”
Igrinned,headingintothemangroves,paddlingslowlyandpeekingovermyshoulderregularlytomakesureIwasn’tgoingtoofast.Meanwhile,Morgankeptupastreamofunanswerablequestionsaboutmanatees.DidIthinkthetwomanateesweregoingtomate?Whenwasthematingseason?Didtheyspendmostoftheirtimeinplaceslikethisorintheopenocean?Inresponse,ItoldherthatI’dgoogletheanswersandgetbacktoher.Towhichshesaid,“Stopforasecond.”
Idid,rotatinginmykayak.Shehadherphoneoutandwastapping,thenbegantoscroll.“Manateescanweighuptotwelvehundredpounds,”shereadaloud,“andtheybreedyear-round,butmostareborninthespringandsummer.Theygenerallyinhabitmarshy,coastalareaslikethisandcanbefoundasfarnorthasVirginia.Theydemonstrateabilitiessimilartodolphins’,sothey’resmart.FromthepicturesontheWeb,itlookslikeapudgydolphincrossedwithaminiaturewhale.”
“Lookatyou,helpingtheuninformed.”
“GladIcouldbeofservice,”shesaid.“Leadon.”
Wecontinuedtobacktrack,andabouthalfwayweencounteredtwokayakersapproachingfromtheoppositedirection.Wemovedtotherightwhileduckingourheads,theotherkayakersveeredleftandduckedaswell,buttherewerestillonlyinchesbetweenuswhentheyfloatedpast.
Wefinallyemergedintothewiderchannelagain,thenfurtherretracedourjourney,talkingeasily,bothofusrecountingsomeofourfavoritechildhoodantics.Asweapproachedtheshore,theattendantspottedusanddirectedusin,pullingourkayaksontothehardwetdirt.Ifeltabitstiffgettingout,butMorganseemedperfectlylimberaswewalkedbacktothetruck.
Reachingintothecab,Morganpulledouthertote.
“Turnaroundanddon’tpeek,”shewarned,steppingawayandleavingawhiffofcoconutoilintheair.“Mybottomsarewet,andIwanttochangeintomyshorts.”
Ididassheaskedand,athersignal,turnedaroundandsawthatshehadalsopulledherhalteroverhertop.
“Myturn,”Isaid,andwetradedplaces;Ichangedintomydryshortsandtossedmywetsuitintothetruckbed.Morganchosetokeepherbikinibottomsontheseatbesideher,andInotedthattheyweresosmall,Icouldhavehungthemfromtherearviewmirror.
Iaskedtheattendantfordirectionstoapicnicarea,whichturnedouttobeonlyafewminutesaway.AsIdrove,IsawMorganscrollingthroughherphotos.
“I’mnotsurewhetherIlikethephotosofthemanateesbetterortheonesofyou.”
“Hmm,”Isaid,tiltingmyhead.“Isthatacomplimentoraninsult?”
“Neither.Icanalwaysgetmorepicturesofyou,butIdoubtthatI’llseeanothermanateewhileI’mhere.”
“Areyouhungry?”
“Alittle,”shesaid.“Ihadbreakfast,soit’snotlikeI’mstarving.”
“Whatdidyouhave?”
“Agreenteabeforerehearsalandagreendrinkafterward.”
Inodded,eventhoughIdidn’thavetheslightestideaofwhatagreendrinkwas.
IslowedthetruckwhenIsawthepicnictables,thenpulledintotheparkingarea.Noneofthetableswereoccupied,andIzeroedinononeintheshadeofatreeIcouldn’tnamebutassumedwassomesortofoak.Climbingout,Iretrievedthecoolerfromthebedofthetruckandstartedtowardit,Morganbesideme.Iplunkedthecooleronthetableandslidopenthelidbeforepullingoutgrapes,nuts,cheese,andcrackers,alongwithtwocrispapples.
“Iwasn’tsurewhatyoumightwant,soIpickedstuffatrandom.”
Shereachedforanapple.“Thiswillbeperfect,”shesaid.“Didyoubringanythingtodrink?”
“Icedteasandwater.”
“Didyouhappentogetateathat’ssugar-andcaffeine-free?”
“Actually,Idid.”Ihandedtheappropriatebottletoher,andsheglancedatthelabel.
“Pomegranateandhibiscus,”sheread.“Welldone.”
Takingaseat,Icrackedopenabottleofwater,thenreachedforthenutsandthecheese.Afteraquickdebate,Itooksomeofthegrapesandtheotherapple,aswell.
“Unlikeyou,Ididn’thavebreakfast.I’mstarved.”
“Eatwhatyouwant.Youbroughtitall.Ijustwishyouwouldhavebroughtcookies,too.I’dloveagoodhomemadecookie.OrevenacoupleofOreos.”
“Youeatcookies?”
“OfcourseIeatcookies.Doesn’teveryone?”
“Youdon’tlooklikeyoueatcookies.”
Sherolledhereyes.“Okay,yes,Igenerallytrytoeatnutritiousfood,butIalsohaveacrazymetabolism,soifIwantacookieortwo,I’mgoingtoenjoyit.Ifyouaskme,there’swaytoomuchpressureonwomentobethininsteadofstrongandhealthy.Iknewtoomanygirlsgrowingupwhohadeatingdisorders.”
Onceagain,Iwasstruckbynotonlyherself-assurancebutherthoughtfulness—especiallyforsomeonenotlongoutofherteenageyears—andIthoughtaboutthosethingswhileIopenedthenutsandpeeledthewrapperfromthecheese.Morgansippedherteaandateherapplewhilewesettledintoeasyconversation.Iaskedheraboutherhobbiesandinterestsoutsideofmusic;Ialsoansweredafewmorequestionsaboutthefarm.Intime,wesettledintosilence.Otherthanthesoundofbirdcall,therewasnothing,andIrealizedthatIlikedthefactthatshedidn’tfeeltheneedtobreakthespell.
Shetookanothersipofhertea,thenIfelthereyesfocusonmewithrenewedattention.“Ihaveaquestion,butyoudon’thavetoanswer.”
“Askwhateveryou’dlike.”
“Howdidyourmomdie?I’mguessingitwascanceroranaccidentofsomesort?Sinceshewasobviouslyyoung?”
Isaidnothingrightaway.I’dknownthequestionwouldcome,becauseitalmostalwaysdid.UsuallyItriedtodeflectorgiveavagueanswer,butIrealizedIwantedMorgantoknow.
“Mymomhadalwaysbeenasadperson,evenasateenager,”Ibegan.“Accordingtomyaunt,anyway.Shethinksitwasdepression,butfromwhatI’vebeenabletopiecetogethersincethen,I’mprettysuremymomwasbipolar.Iguessitdoesn’treallymatter,though.Forwhateverreason,whenshewasfeelingparticularlylow,sheslitherwristsinthebathtub.Paigewastheonewhofoundher.”
Morgan’shandflewtohermouth.“OhmyGod.That’sawful!I’msosorry….”
Inodded,momentarilyflashingtothepast,somememoriesvivid,otherpartshazytothepointofdisappearing.“We’djustcomefromschool,andwhenwecalledforourmom,therewasnoanswer.IguessPaigewenttothebedroomtotrytofindher—Idon’treallyrememberthatpart.ButIdorememberPaigegrabbingmebythehandanddraggingmeovertotheneighbor’shouse.Afterthat,Irememberthepolicecarsandtheambulanceandalltheneighborsstandingoutside.Idon’tremembermyauntandunclecomingtogetus,butIguesstheyhadtohavebeentheretotakeustothefarm.”
“Pooryou,”shewhispered,herfacepale.“PoorPaige.Ican’timaginefindingmymomlikethat.Orevenseeingsomethinglikethat.”
“Forsure.”
Shewasquietbeforereachingformyhand.“Colby,I’msorryforaskingyouaboutit.WewerehavingsuchanicedayandIhadtoblowit.”
Ishookmyhead,comfortedbythewarmthofherhandatopmyown.“Youdidn’tblowit.LikeItoldyou,itwasalongtimeago,andIdon’tremembermuch.Andbesides,nomatterwhathappens,I’mnotgoingtoforgetthatwesawmanateeswhenwewereoutinthekayakstoday.”
“Soyouforgiveme?”
“There’snothingtoforgive,”Iinsisted.
Shestudiedmefromacrossthetable,asthoughtryingtodecidewhethershebelievedme.Finally,sheletgoofmyhandandreachedforthegrapes,pullingoffasmallbunch.“Themanateewasprettycool,”shesaid,obviouslyattemptingtochangethesubject.“Bothofthemwere.Italmostfeltlikewewereonthenaturechannel.”
Ismiled.“Whatwouldyouliketodonow?ShouldIgetyoubacktoyourfriendssoyoucanheadtotheDalíorgoshopping?”
“YouknowwhatI’dreallyliketodo?”Sheleanedforward,restingherarmsonthepicnictable.
“Noidea.”
“I’dliketowatchyouwriteasong,”shesaid.
“Justlikethat?YouthinkIcanturnitonandofflikeafaucet?”
“You’retheonewhotoldmethatthingsjustcometoyou.”
“Whatifnothinghascometomesincethelastone?”
“Thenmaybethinkabouthowyoufeltwhenyousawthemanatee.”
Isquinted,skeptical.“That’snotreallyenough.”
“Thenhowaboutthetwoofushavingapicnic?”
“I’mnotsurethat’senough,either.”
Atlast,sherosefromthetable.Shewalkedtomysideandleanedover;beforeIrealizedwhatwashappening,herlipspressedlightlyagainstmyown.Itwasn’tabigkissorevenaparticularlypassionatekiss,butitwastender,andIcouldtasteahintofappleonlipssosofttheyseemedalmostperfect.Shepulledbackwithaslightsmileonherface,knowingshe’dcaughtmeoffguard.
“Howaboutasongaboutagloriousmorningandfirstkiss,then?”
Iclearedmythroat,reelingabitfromwhathadjusthappened.“Yeah,”Isaid.“Thatmightwork.”Onthedrivebacktothecondo,Morgantextedherfriendsfuriouslybetweenoccasionalboutsofsmalltalk.
“Keepingyourfriendsup-to-date?”Iasked.
“Itoldthemwesawamanatee.Sentthempics.”
“Aretheyjealous?”
“They’reshopping,soIdoubtit.Afterthat,they’replanningtolazebythepool.”
“NoDalí?”
“Iguessnot.AndtheyalsomentionedvisitingBuschGardensinTampatomorrow.”
“Thatsoundsfun.”
“Doyouwanttojoinus?Wewerethinkingaboutheadingoutrightafterrehearsal,maybearoundtenorso?Andspendthedaythere?”
“Myshowisatfourtomorrow,soIcan’t.”
“Aww…”shesaid,soundingmoredisappointedthanI’dexpected.
Thoughwekepttheconversationlightonthedrive,mymindkeptreturningtothekissandwhat,ifanything,she’dmeantbyit.Wasshereallyjusttryingtoinspireasong?Hadshefeltbadaboutbringingupmymom?Ordidsheactuallywanttokissmebecauseshewasattractedtome?AsmuchasItried,Icouldn’tfigureitout,andMorganhadbeennohelpatall.Rightaftershe’dpulledbackfromthekiss,shepoppedagrapeintohermouthandreturnedtoherspotacrossfromme,asthoughnothinghadhappened.Shethenaskedmemyzodiacsign.WhenItoldherIwasaLeo,shenotedthatshewasaTaurus,casuallymentioningthatpeoplefromthosetwosignsfinditdifficulttogetalongwitheachother.Shesaiditwithalaugh,however,leavingmeevenmoreconfused.
Atthecondo,Ipulledintomyusualparkingspot,thengrabbedthecoolerandstartedupthewoodenstepstothesecondfloor.Morgantrailedbehindmewithherbagoverhershoulder,ourflip-flopsslappinginunison.
“Idon’tknowwhy,butIthoughtyouwererentingaplacerightonthebeach.”
“Notallofushavedoctorparentswhopayforaccommodations.”
“Thatmaybetrue,butyoualsosaiditwasyourfirstrealvacationinyears.Itmighthavebeenworthspringingforsomeplacewithasunsetview.”
“Ididn’tneedone.I’msingingonthebeach,soIgettoseeamazingsunsetsallthetime.Thisplaceismainlyforsleepingandchanginganddoingmylaundry.”
“Andwritingsongs,”sheadded.
“Onlywhenthemoodstrikes.”
AsIopenedthedoor,IwasthankfulI’dtidieditupearlierandequallythankfulI’dkepttheair-conditioningon.Itwashotandgrowingsteadilywarmer,theapproachingsummeralreadymakingitspresenceknown.
Isetthecoolerinsidethedoor,feelingnervousinawayIhadn’texpected.“CanIgetyouadrink?Waterorbeer?Ithinkthere’sanothertealeftinthecoolerifyouwantthatinstead.”
“I’lltakeatea,”shesaid.
Ipulledanotherteaout,andgrabbedabottleofwaterformyself.Iwatchedasshetwistedoffthecapwhilecheckingoutthelivingroom.
“It’snicehere.Ilikethedecor.”
ItwasstandardFloridaBeachVacationRental,withfunctional,inexpensivefurniture,pastelpillows,andgarage-sale-qualitypaintingsoffishandboatsandbeacheshangingonthewalls.
“Thanks,”Isaid.WhenIbookedit,I’dbarelyperusedthephotosbecauseIwasmainlyfocusedontheprice.
Shemotionedtothemusicequipmentandguitarheapedinthecornernearthecouch.“Sothisiswhereithappens,huh?”
“Iusuallysitonthecouch,butreallyIcanwriteanywhereaslongasIcanplaytheguitarwhileIdoit.”
Sheplacedherteaonthecoffeetable,thengingerlytookaseatonthecouch.Sheleanedback,thensatforward,shiftingaroundonthecushions.
“Whatonearthareyoudoing?”Iasked.
“I’mtryingtocatchwhateveritisyouhavethatmakeswritingsongssoeasy.”
Ishookmyhead.“You’refunny.”
“I’malotofthings,”shesaid.“ButIalsohaveaconfessiontomake.Ibroughtsomeofmyworkwithmetoday.AsongI’vebeenworkingon,Imean.Ihavemostofthelyricsandsomeofthemusic,Ithink,butIwaswonderingifyou’dlistentowhatI’vedone.I’dliketogetyourimpressions.”
“Showmewhatyou’vegot,”Isaid,feelingabithonored.Igrabbedmyguitarandtookaseatnexttoheronthecouch.Meanwhile,Morgansetherphoneonthecoffeetablebeforerummagingthroughherbag.Shepulledoutaspiralnotebook,thekindhighschoolandcollegestudentsused.Whenshesawmestaringatit,sheshrugged.
“Iliketousepenandpaper,”shesaid.“Don’tjudgeme.”
“I’mnotjudging.”Ileanedovertotheendtableandwavedmyownnotebookather.“Idothesamething.”
Shesmiledatthatbeforesettingthenotebookonherlap.“Showingthistoyoumakesmenervous.”
“Why?”
“Idon’tknow.Maybebecauseyou’resotalented?”
Atfirst,Iwasn’tsurehowtorespond.Finally:“Youdon’tneedtobenervous.Ialreadythinkyou’reamazing.”
Iwasn’tsurewherethewordshadcomefrom;theyseemedtohaveformedwithoutconsciousthought.Foramoment,notinghowshedroppedhergaze,IwishedIhadn’tsaidit,beforerealizingthatshemightactuallybeblushing.Notwantingtopush,Idrewalongbreath.
“Whatgenreofmusicareyouinterestedin?”Iasked.“Andwhatkindofsongareyouthinking?”
Iwatchedhershouldersdropalittlebeforeanswering.“RightnowI’mmostlyinterestedincountry-pop.LikeearlyTaylorSwift?Butprobablymorepopthancountry,ifthatmakesanysense.”
“Whathaveyougotsofar?”
“Ihavethetop-linemelodyandsomeofthelyricsforthechorus.ButI’mstrugglingwitheverythingelse.”
“Allsongshavetostartsomewhere.Doyouhavethemusicwrittendown?”
“Imadearecordingonmyphone.Onthepiano.”Sheopenedthenotebooktotheappropriatepage,thenhandedittomeandpointed.“Righthere,”shesaid,beforereachingforherphone.Afterabeat,shepulleduptherecording.“Thisisjustforthechorus,okay?”
“Gotit.”
Shepressedplay,andafteracoupleofseconds,pianochordsinaminorkeyrangout,makingmesitupandleanin.IassumedthatI’dhearhersingingontherecording,butshe’donlyrecordedthepianoaccompaniment.Leaningtowardme,herfingeronthepagewiththescribbledlyrics,shewhisper-sangalongwiththemelody,almostasifshewasembarrassedtobeheard.
Therewasn’tmuchtothesongatthatpoint—maybetenorfifteenseconds—butitwasindeedenoughtoremindmeofsomethingTaylorSwiftmighthavewrittenwhenshewasstartingout.Itmirroredthethoughtsofawomanwho,afterabreakup,realizesthatshe’sbetterthaneverandisflourishingonherown.Notanewidea,butonethatwouldresonatewithanaudience—particularlyfemales—sinceitspoketotheuniversaltruthofacceptingoneself.Itwasathemethatnevergrewold,especiallywhensettoahookymelodythatwouldmakeeveryonewanttosingalong.
“Whatdoyouthink?”sheasked.
“It’safantasticstart,”Isaid.“Ireallylikeit.”
“You’rejustsayingthat.”
“I’mnot,”Isaid.“Whatwereyouthinkingofafterthis?Musicorlyrics?”
“That’skindofwhereI’mstuck.I’vetriedalotofthings,butnothingseemstobeworking.It’slikebecauseI’mnotsureofthelyrics,I’mnotsureaboutthemusic,andviceversa.”
“That’scommonintheearlystages.”
“Whatdoyoudowhenithappenstoyou?”
“Istarttryingthings,withouteditingorjudgingmyself.Ithinkit’simportanttogiveeveryideathatcomestomeashot,nomatterhowweird,”Isaid.“Solet’sdothat,okay?”
Ilistenedtotherecordingagain,followingalongwiththelyrics.Ilistenedathird,thenafourthtime,absentlystrummingmyguitar.WhenIshutofftherecordingandplayedthemusiconmyguitaralone,Iletmyinstinctstakeover.Morganstayedquietasvariationsbegantosproutandoverlapinmyhead.Istrungtogetherafewnewchordstofollowthechorus,buttheydidn’tfeelright—toogeneric.Itriedagain,butthenextattemptfeltawkward.Ikeptnoodlingandexperimentingforawhile,forgettingMorgan’spresenceasIsearchedforthosecriticalfewbars.EventuallyIfoundthechordprogressionthatseemedtowork,thentrickedouttherhythmtogiveitmoresyncopationIstoppedandplayeditagainandwassuddenlysurethatthesongcouldbeverycommercial—maybeevenahitIranthroughitagainwithgreaterconfidence,catchingMorgan’seye.BeforeIcouldaskwhatshethought,sheclappedherhands,bouncingalittleinherseat.
“Wow!”sheexclaimed.“Thatwasamazing!”
“Youlikeit?”Igrinned.
“Iloveit,butwatchingyouandyourprocesswasthebestpart.Hearingyouexperimentuntilyoufoundwhatworked.”
“Ionlyjuststarted.”
“You’vebeenplayingforalmosttwentyminutes.”
Asusual,timehadstoppedformewhileIlostmyselfinthemusic.“Butyou’resureyoulikedit?”
“Lovedit.Anditevengavemesomenewideasforthelyrics.”
“Likewhat?”Iasked.
Shelaunchedintothestoryshewantedtotellandthefeelingshewantedtocapture.Sheimprovisedacoupleofcatchyphrasesthatstruckmeasdefiantyetupbeatwithadefinitehook,andIfoundmyselfwonderingwhyIhadn’tgoneinthatdirection.Wealsoplayedaroundwiththetempoandrhythm,andaswebrainstormedIcouldtellshehadfarmoreofagiftthanshegaveherselfcreditfor.Herinstinctforcommercialmusicwaswellhoned,andwhenshebrokedownthelyricsandthemelodyforthefirststanza,thefloodgatesopenedandthesongtookonamomentumofitsown.Anhourpassed,thenanother.Asweworked,Icouldfeelherexcitementgrowing.“Yes!”she’dexclaim.“Justlikethat!”Or“Canyoutrysomethinglikethis?”whilehummingabarortwo.Or“Howaboutthisforthelyrics?”Andeverynowandthen,she’dhavemesingthesongfromthebeginning.Shesatclosetome,herlegwarmagainstmyownasshescribbledlyricsinthenotebook,crossingoutrejectedwordsorphrases.Littlebylittleweworkedourwaytothefinish,fadingoutinthesameminorkeyinwhichthesongopened.Bythetimewestopped,theskybeyondtheslidingglassdoorhadturnedfrombluetowhite,shotthroughwithpinkhighlights.Whensheturnedtome,shecouldn’thideherjoy.
“Ican’tbelieveit.”
“Itwentwell,”Isaid,meaningit.
“Istillwanttohearitonemoretimefromthebeginning.Iwanttorecordthewholethinginonego,too,soIdon’tforget.”
“Youwon’tforget.”
“Youmightnot,butI’mtakingnochances.”Shesnappedaphotoofthelyrics,thenreadiedthephoneforarecording.“Okay,”sheconcluded,“let’shearitfromthetop.”
“Howaboutyousingthistime,insteadofme?It’syoursong.”
“It’soursong,”sheprotested.“Icouldn’thavedoneitwithoutyou.”
Ishookmyhead.“That’swhereyou’rewrong.Imighthaveclarifiedyourthoughts,butitwasyouridea,yourstory,and,forthemostpart,yourmusic.Thatsonghasbeeninsideyouforawhile.AllIdidwashelpyouallowittocomeout.”
Herexpressionwasskeptical.“Ithinkyou’rewrong.”
“Readthelyrics,”Iinsisted,tappingthepage.“Showmeonelinethatwasallmine.”
Sheknewthereweren’tany;Imighthaveaddedafewwordshereandthere,butthatwasmoreabouteditingthancreating,andshe’dcomeupwiththehookandtheeasilyrememberedphrases.
“Okay,butthemusicwasreallyyours.”
“Youhaditall,youjustneededhelpbreakingthelogjam.Everyphraseandkeychange,youled.”Ipressedon.“Morgan,I’veneverwrittenacountry-popsongbefore.It’snotwhatIdo.Trustme—thissongisyours,notours.Webothknowit’sasongI’dneverbeabletowrite,ifonlybecauseI’maguy.”
“ThatIdoaccept,”shesaid,laughinginagreementbeforegrowingquietagain.“Istillcan’tbelievehowfastitallcametogether,”shemurmured.“I’vebeenworkingonthatsongonandoffforweeks.I’dalmostgivenup,untiltoday.”
“Thathappenstome,too,”Iadmitted,nodding.“I’vefinallyacceptedtheideathatsongscomeonlywhenthey’rereadytocome,neverbeforethat.I’mjustgladIcouldbepartofit.”
Shesmiledbeforeplacingahandonmyknee.“Thankyou,”shesaid,hervoicehuskywith—what?Gratitude?Wonder?“Thiswas…thebestlearningexperienceI’veeverhad.”
“You’rewelcome.AndnowIwanttohearyousingit.”
“Me?”
“It’syoursong.Youshouldsingit.”
“It’sbeenalongday,”shedemurred.“Myvoicewillsoundtired.”
“Stopmakingexcuses.”
Whileshehesitated,herhandremainedonmyknee,itswarmthspreadingthroughme.
“Okay,”sherelented,clearingherthroat.Removingherhand,shereachedforthenotebook.“Justgivemealittlebittogetready.”
Iwatchedassherosefromthecouchandmovedtothecenteroftheroom.“HittherecordbuttonwhenI’mready,okay?”shedirected.
Sheclaspedherhandsinfrontofher,asthoughsteelingherself.Whenshefinallyraisedthenotebookandnodded,Ipressedrecordonherphone,thensetitonthecoffeetablebetweenus.
Atthesoundoftheopeningbars,Morganseemedtocomealive.Herlimbssuddenlyloosened;herfaceglowedasifincandescent.Beforeshereachedtheendofthefirststanza,Iwaselectrified.
Adele,Taylor,orMariahhadnothingonthevoiceemergingfromthepetiteyoungfigurebeforeme.Herrangeandcontrolwereincredible,andhersoundwashuge.Icouldn’tbelievethatdelicateframecouldproducethedeep,soulfulsoundofadivainherprime.Iwasstunned.Forcingmyselftoconcentrateontheaccompaniment,IstruggledtomakesureIdidn’tmissacue.Morgan’sperformance,ontheotherhand,appearedeffortless,asthoughshe’dbeensingingthesongforyears.Shemadeadjustmentsonthefly,riffingonthelyricsandroundingoutthechoruswithtrillsandvibratoIhadn’tanticipated.Herpresencefilledtheroom—yetasshestaredintomyeyes,Ifeltasifshewassingingjustforme.
Peoplewonderwhatittakestobeastar,andeverysuccessfulmusicianhastheirownstory.Inthatmoment,however,IknewwithoutadoubtthatIwasinthepresenceofaworld-classtalent.
“You’reincredible,”Ifinallysaidashervoicediedaway.
“You’resweet,”shedeflected.“Isaidthesamethingaboutyou,remember?”
“Thedifferenceis,I’mbeinghonest.Yourvoice…It’slikenothingI’veeverheardbefore.”
Shesethernotebookonthetable,thenmovedtowardme.Bendingover,shetippedmyfacetowardhersandkissedmesoftlyonthelips.“Thankyou.Foreverything.”
“You’regoingtobeastar,”Imurmured,believingit.
Shesmiled.“Areyouhungry?”
Thechangeinsubjectbroughtmebacktoearth.“Iam.”
“Youwouldn’thappentoknowwheretogetagoodcheeseburger,wouldyou?”
Iwatchedhersaunteraroundthecoffeetable,andthedaywe’dspenttogethercamebackinarush—thekayakexcursion,thesuninherhair,thefeelofherlipsatthepicnictable,thesightofhereyesclosingasshesang.WhenIstoodfromthecouch,mylegsfeltcuriouslyunsteady.I’mfallingforher,Isuddenlyrealized.
Ormaybe,justmaybe,Ialreadyhad.
Iclearedmythroat,almostindisbelief.“Iknowjusttheplace.”Leavingthecondo,wemoseyedinthedirectionofthebeach,waitingtocrossattheever-busyGulfBoulevard.
Theskywascontinuallychangingcolors,andtherewerestillhundredsofpeopleoutandabout,wadinginthesurfatthewater’sedgeandslowlygatheringuptheirbelongings.IwalkedbesideMorgan,studyingthewaytheraysofthesunbroughtoutred-goldhighlightsinherdark,lustroushair.Icouldn’thelpfeelingthatsomethinginmyworldhadshiftedintheshorttimeI’dknownher.I’dmoreorlessthoughtIhadmylifefiguredout;spendingtimewithMorganhadchangedallofthat.Icouldn’tsaywhyorwhenithappened,butIfeltundeniablydifferent.
“You’rethinkingaboutsomething,”Morganoffered.
“It’sbeenknowntohappen.”
Shenudgedmyshoulder,likeshehadatthehoteltheothernight.
“Tellme,”sheurged.
“I’mthinkingaboutthesong,”Ihedged.
“Me,too,”sheagreedbeforeturningtostudyme.“Doyouwanttoworkonmoresongstogether?I’veworkedwithothersongwritersbefore,butit’sneverbeenlikeitwastoday.”
Iwatchedherpickherwayforward,thebreezeflatteningherclothesagainstherwillowyfigure.“Sure,”Isaid.“I’dlikethat.ButIthinkI’dlikedoingalmostanythingifitmeantspendingtimewithyou.”
Mywordsseemedtocatchheroffguard.Staringoutoverthewater,shetookafewstepsinsilenceandIrealizedIhadnoideawhatshewasthinking.“So,”shesaidbrightly,asiftocoverherunease.“Where’sthisplacewiththecheeseburgers?”
Ipointedalittlewayupthebeachwhereathatch-coveredroofbehindtheduneswasbarelyvisible.“Rightthere.”
“Doyouthinkwe’llbeabletofindaseat?”Shewrinkledherbrow.“Sinceit’ssunsethour,Imean?Orwillitbetoocrowded?”
“YoudoknowyoutendtoaskmequestionsthatIhavenoideahowtoanswer,right?”
Shethrewherheadbackandlaughed,baringthebrownexpanseofherneck.Mymindflashedtothefeelofherlipsonmyown.
“Okay,thenlet’sgowithsomethingyoudoknow.Doyouhaveanyfunnyfarmstories?”sheasked.
“Likewhat?”
“Like…therewasthischickenonce,andhisownerchoppedoffhisheadbecausehewasgoingtoeatthechicken.Butthechickenlivedforoverayearafterward.Iguessthebrainstemwasn’taffected?But,anyway,thefarmerfeditwithaneyedroppersinceithadnohead.”
“That’snottrue,”Isaid.
“Itis!IsawthevideooncewhenIwasinNewYorkCity.ItwasatRipley’sBelieveItorNot!inTimesSquare.”
“Andyoubelievedit,obviously.”
“Youcangoogleit.Thefarmerevendidatravelingshowwiththechicken,whichwasnamedMike,bytheway.I’llshowyouwhenwe’reeating,okay?”
Ishookmyhead.“Idon’thaveanyheadless-chickenstories.Icouldtellyouabouttobaccoworms,butthey’renotfunny.”
“Gross.”
“Theydefinitelyare,”Isaid.“Sowhydon’tyoutellmesomethingIdon’tknow.Like…Iknowyouusedtocomeherewithyourfamily,andyouwenttothelakehouseinMinnesota,butdidyoutakevacationstootherplaces?”
“Whydoesthatmatter?”
“Itdoesn’t.Sincethisismyfirstvacation,I’mtryingtolivevicariouslythroughyourchildhood.SoIknowwhatImissed.”
“Youdidn’tmissmuch,”sheassuredme.
“Humorme.”
Shekickedupabitofsand,makingwhirlwindsinhertracks.“Well,”shebegan,“wetraveledalotwhenIwasakid.Onceeverycoupleofyearswe’dvisitthePhilippines,wheremypaternalgrandparentslive.WhenIwaslittle,Ihatedit.Idon’tspeakChineseorTagalog—mydad’sfamilyisethnicallyChinesebuthaslivedinthePhilippinesforgenerations—andit’ssohotthereduringthesummer!ButasIgotolder,Icametoappreciatethevisitsmore…seeingmycousins,andthefoodthatmygrandmacooked.Theyalwaysspoiledmysisterandme,sincewesawthemsoinfrequently.”Shepaused,anostalgicsmileonherface.“Myparentslovetotravel,sosometimeswetooktripstoHawaiiorCostaRica,butthebiggesttripItookwasaftermyfreshmanyearinhighschool,whenmyparentstookmysisterandmetoEurope.London,Paris,Amsterdam,andRome.”
“Thatsoundsexciting.”
“Atthetime,Iwasn’tasexcitedasyoumightthink.Mainlywetouredmuseumsandchurches,andinretrospectIcanunderstandthevalueofseeingworksbyDaVinciorMichelangelo,butbackthenIwasboredsilly.IrememberstaringattheMonaLisaandthinking,Thisisit?What’ssogreataboutit?Butmyparentsbelievedsuchculturalthingswereimportantinthemoldingofyoungminds.”
IsmiledasweveeredtowardSandbarBill’s.Thougheverytablewasfilled,weluckedout,catchingacoupleleavingtheirseatsatthebar,whichalsohappenedtoofferaviewofthesunset.
“Lookatthat,”Isaid.“Itmustbeourday.”
Shesmiled.“Nodoubtaboutit.”Weorderedicedteas,makingustheonlytwowhoweren’tdrinkingbeerorcocktails.Whenthebartenderputthemenusinfrontofus,webothorderedcheeseburgerswithoutbotheringtoexaminethem.
Aswewaited,sheshowedmethevideoofMiketheheadlesschickenonYouTube,andatmyurging,shetoldmemoreaboutherchildhood.She’dattendedprivateschoolthewholewaythrough—nosurprisethere,sinceherparentsobviouslyvaluededucation.Shedescribedthefamiliarcliquesandinsecuritiesandstudentswhosurprisedherinbothpositiveandnegativeways,andwhileourexperiencescouldn’thavebeenmoredifferent,itwasclearthat—likeme—musicwastheunderlyingthreadinallherexperiences.Musicwas,Ithought,awayforbothofustotakechargeofshapingouridentitiesandtoescapeourtraumas,andwhenIsaidasmuchtoher,herbrowfurrowedslightly.
“Doyouthinkthat’swhyPaigebecameanartist,too?”
“Maybe.”Iscratchedmychin,remembering.“Sheusedtosketchthemostamazinganimalsornaturescenes,butthenonedayshedrewmyauntanduncle,andtheyweresolifelikeitcouldhavebeenaphoto.Irememberaskingherifshewoulddrawourmom,sinceIdidn’treallyrememberwhatshelookedlike,butPaigesaidthatshedidn’trememberher,either.”ThinkingaboutPaige,Iadded,“Maybethat’sagoodthing.”
IfeltMorgan’seyesonmeasshetookasipofhertea.Sheleanedalittlecloser.“IwishyoucouldcomewithustoBuschGardenstomorrow.Itshouldbefun.”
“I’msureitwillbe.Butdutycallsandallthat.”Then,glancingoverather:“Maybewecanseeeachotherwhenyougetback?Aftermyshow?Icaneithermakeusdinnerorwecouldgoout.”
Isawtheflashofherdimples.“I’dlikethat.”
“Good,”Isaid,alreadyknowingI’dcountthehoursuntilthen.“AndI’mdefinitelygoingtomakeittoyourdanceperformanceonSaturday—ifyou’rewillingtotellmethetime,soIdon’thavetocampoutallday,Imean.”
“It’llbeatnoonormaybeafewminutesafter.”
“Iknowyouhaveagazillionfollowers,buthowmanyvideoshaveyouposted?”
“Probablyafewhundred,”shesaid.
“You’vedonethatmanydanceroutines?”
“God,no,”shesaid,withaquickshakeofherhead.“Idon’tknowhowmanywe’vedone.Butbasicallywecreateroutinestooneortwosongs,thenbreakupeachoneintotenorfifteensegments.”
“So…howareyougoingtokeepitgoing?Sinceyou’reallgoingyourseparateways?”
“We’vebeentalkingaboutthatalotlately,especiallythisweek.They’veknownforawhilethatSaturdayismylastperformancewiththegroup.Anduntilrecently,HollyandStacyalsosaidthattheywereplanningtomoveonwiththeirlives,too.Butnowthatthere’ssomemoneyinit,Ithinkthey’retryingtofindawaytokeepitgoing,atleastthroughthesummer.MaybefigureoutawaytorehearseonFaceTimeandthengettogetherinpersononweekends.They’restilltryingtofigureitout.”
“Butyou’redoneforsure?”
Shewasquiet,andIhadthesensethatshewastryingtochooseherwordscarefully.“YoualreadyknowhowIfeelaboutbeinganinfluencer,butmorethanthat,Idon’twanttomakeamistakewhenitcomestolaunchingamusiccareer.Like…Idon’twantpeopletothinkthattheonlyreasonImadeitwasbecauseIhadasocial-mediafollowing.I’veworkedtoohardforthat.Imean,Istudiedopera,forgoodness’sake.Maybeamanager—ifIgetone—willtellmewhattodo.FornowI’lljustpostwhatI’veagreedtopost,andthat’llgetmethroughthenextmonthorso,butafterthat,whoknows?We’llsee.”
“Willyoumissit?”
“Yesandno,”sheadmitted.“Ilovemyfriends,andinthebeginningtheroutinesweretonsoffun,andobviouslyitwasthrillingtowatchouraccountsblowup.Butlatelyitfeelslikeeverythinghastobeevenbetter—perfect—wheneverwefilm,soit’salotmorestressful.Atthesametime,ItrytoremindmyselfthatIlearnedalot.I’vereachedthepointwhereIthinkImightevenbeabletochoreographmyownmusicvideo.”
“Really?”
“Maybe.Butifnot,I’djustcallMaria.”
Ismiled.Thebartenderbroughtourcheeseburgers,andweduginwhilewatchingthesunsetbloomacrossthesky.“We’vebeentalkingsomuchaboutme,butwhatareyougoingtodowhenyougobackhome?”sheaskedbetweenbites.Unlikeme,she’dremovedthebunandwasusingaforkandknifetoeattheburger;shedid,however,digintothefrieswithgusto.
“SamethingIalwaysdo.Workthefarm.”
“What’sthefirstthingyoudointhemorningsonceyoustartwork?”
“Imakesuretheeggsarecollected,andthenImovetheprairieschooner.”
“What’saprairieschooner?”
Ithoughtabouthowbesttodescribeittosomeonewho’dneverseenonebefore.“RememberwhenItoldyouthatchickenslikeshade?That’swhataprairieschoonerdoes.It’slikeabig,open-sidedtentthat’smountedonskids,withnestingboxesalongoneside.But,anyway,chickensliketoeatbugs,andtheyalsopoopalot.Sowehavetomovetheprairieschoonereverydaytomakesuretheyhaveacleanandfreshenvironment.Italsohelpstofertilizethesoil.”
“Doyoumoveitwithatractor?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Iwanttoseeyoudriveatractor.”
“You’rewelcomeatthefarmanytime.”
“Thenwhat?”
“Itdependsontheseason.I’llcheckthegreenhouseorthecropsorseehowharvestingisgoingorworkwithanewbatchofchickensorturnthefieldsover,andthenthere’sthewholemanagementandpersonnelsideofthings,aswellasinteractingwithcustomers.Itgoeswithoutsayingthatsomethingisalwaysbreakingorneedsrepairing.Iwakeeverydaywithwhatfeelslikeathousandthingstodo.You’dbeamazedatwhatittakestomoveaneggortomatofromthefarmtoagrocerystore.”
“Howdoyoupullitalloff?”
“Myauntdoesalot,asdoesthegeneralmanager.I’vealsolearnedtoprioritize.”
“Idon’tthinkI’dbecutoutforalifelikethat,”shesaid,shakingherhead.“Imean,I’mresponsible,justnotthatresponsible.”
“Youdon’thavetolivethatlife.You’regoingtobefamous.”
“FromyourlipstoGod’sears.”
“Trustme,”Isaid,knowingI’dneverbeenascertainaboutanything.Oncewefinishedeating,wewandereddownthebeachtotheDon.Thebeachsiderestaurantwashalffull;Isawotherstakingintheeveningfromloungersatthepoolside.Anothercouplewasmakingtheirwayfromthehoteltothebeach;lostintheirownconversation,theywalkedpastwithoutseemingtonoticeus.Morganstoppedonthesandjuststepsfromthedeckandturnedtowardme.Staringather,IthoughtagainthatI’dneverseenanyonemorebeautiful.
“Iguessthisisit,”Isaid.
Sheseemedtostudythehotelbeforeturningbacktome.“Thankyoufortoday,”shesaid.“Foreverything.”
“Mypleasure,”Isaid.“ItwasthebestdayI’vehadhere.”
“Me,too,”shesaid,withsuchtendernessthatwhathappenednextseemedinevitable.
Iclosedthegapbetweenusandtuggedhergentlytowardme.Isawhereyeswideneversoslightly,andforaninstantIwonderedifIshouldstop.Thoughshe’dkissedmetwice,Ithinkbothofusknewthisonewouldbedifferent,thatthiskisswouldcarrywithitemotionsthatneitherofushadanticipateduntilthisverymoment.
ButIcouldnolongerhelpmyself,andtiltingmyhead,Iclosedmyeyesasourlipscametogether,softlyatfirst,andthenwithevenmorepassion.Ifeltherbodypressagainstmine,andwhenourtonguesmet,warmthsurgedlikeanundergroundcurrentthroughme.Wrappingbotharmsaroundher,Iheardhergiveadeep-throatedpurr,andherhandwounditswayupintomyhair.
Aswekissed,mymindsearchedforanswers,tryingtograspwhenandhowithadhappened.ItmighthavebeenwhilewewereinthekayaksorwhenIheardhersingorevenwhilewehaddinnertogether—butIsuddenlyunderstoodthatI’dfalleninlovewiththiswoman,awomanI’dmetonlydaysago;already,though,IfeltasifI’dknownherforever.
Whenweseparated,myfeelingsthreatenedtooverflow,butIforcedmyselftoremainquiet.WesimplystaredateachotheruntilIfinallyletoutabreath,notrealizingthatI’dbeenholdingit.
“I’llseeyoutomorrownight,Morgan,”Isaid,myvoicealmosthoarse.
“Goodnight,Colby,”sheanswered,studyingmyfaceasifcommittingittomemory,andminuteslater,asIwalkeddownthebeach,Ifoundmyselfrelivingthekiss,certainthatmylifewouldneverbethesame.Beverlycouldn’tstopthinkingaboutcamerasinthebusstations.
Howcouldshehavebeensodumb?Hadn’ttherebeenazillionmoviesandtelevisionshowswherethegovernmentusedthosecamerastocatchspiesandcriminals?Oh,sheknewelectronicsurveillancewasn’tquiteassophisticatedaswhatHollywoodportrayed,butevenlocaltelevisionnewsconfirmedthatcameraswereeverywherethesedays.Theywereinstalledonstreetcorners,intrafficlights,abovethecashregistersatsmallbusinesses.She’drememberedtheirpresencewhenshetookTommietotheconveniencestoretogethimsomethingtoeat,sowhyhadn’tsheconsideredsomethingevenmoreobvious?
Withshakinglegsandracingmind,Beverlysomehowmadeittothetable,andshewasstillsittingtherewhenTommiewanderedintothekitchen.Heploppedintohisseat,wipingthesleepfromhiseyes.Tosteadyherfrayingnerves,sheforcedherselftorise.Shepouredhimabowlofcereal,addedmilk,andbroughthisbreakfasttothetablealongwithaspoon.
Sheflashedaquicksmile,hopinghewouldn’tnoticeshewasbarelyholdingittogether,thenwenttomakehislunch.Peanutbutterandjellysandwichandanapple,alongwithchangeformilkfromthecafeteria.NoDoritosorFritosorOreosorNutterButters,sadly,butrightnowitwasallshecoulddotokeepfromglancingoutthewindow,expectingtofindGarystandingintheyard.
“Iheardsomeonelastnight,”Tommieeventuallysaid.
Hiswordsnearlymadeherjump.Shetriedtorememberthelasttimehe’dspokenfirstinthemorning,withoutherhavingtocoaxitoutofhim.Whenhiswordsfinallyregistered,shefeltanothersurgeofanxiety.
“Thatwasprobablyme,”shesaid.“Iwasuplatecleaningthekitchen.”
“Iheardsomeoneoutside.”
Waterwasdrippingfromthefaucet,theplink-plink-plinksteadyandrhythmic,clashingwithmorningbirdsong.Anoldtruckputteredalongthegravelroad,andshesawanarmwavefromthewindowbeforeitvanishedfromsight.Mistrosefromthefieldsasthoughacloudhaddroppedfromthesky.
“Therewasnooneoutside,”shesaid.“Iwouldhaveheardthem.”
“Hewasontheroof.”
Ayearago,Tommiehadbegunhavingnightmares.Shethoughtithadsomethingtodowiththetelevisionhewatched,ormaybethebookWheretheWildThingsAre.Inhisearlynightmares,hewouldawakenwithcries,claimingthathewasbeingchasedbyamonster.Sometimesthemonsterwaslikeadinosaur;othertimesitwasawildanimalorahoodedfigureofsomesort.Andalways,always,Tommiesworethatthemonsterwascallinghisname.
“Areyousureyouweren’tdreaming?”
“Iwasawake.Icouldhearthemusicfromthekitchen.”
HaditbeenGary,shetoldherself,hewouldhavealreadybeeninthekitchen.HaditbeenGary’sassociates,theywouldhavealreadyloadedTommieandherintotheblackSUVwithtintedwindows.Tryingtokeepherownworriesincheck,shefoundthehairwaxandsmootheddownTommie’scowlick,eventhoughherhandsweretremblingeversoslightly.
“I’llcheckafteryougotoschool,butitwasprobablysquirrels.”
“Itcalledmyname.”
Beverlyclosedhereyes,feelingasighofrelief.Itwasdefinitelyadream,thankGod.Butthereliefwasshort-lived,washedawaybyherearlierdreadlikeasandcastleinarisingtide.
“Iwassinginginthekitchenalongwiththeradio.That’sprobablywhatyouheard.”Hervoicesoundedstrangelytinnyanddistanttoherears.
Tommieglancedupather,lookingsuddenlyolderthanhisyearsandyoungeratthesametime.“Maybe,”hefinallysaid,andshedecidedtochangethesubject.
“Ifyouwant,youcanbringafriendoverafterschool.”
“Idon’thaveanyfriendshere.”
“Youwill,”shesaid.“I’msuretherearelotsofnicekidsinyourclass.Maybeyou’llgettoknowthembetteronfieldday.Yousaidthat’scomingup,right?”
Heshrugged,andwiththat,hegrewsilentashefinishedhiscereal.Afterward,hetippedthebowlup,drinkingthemilk.Beverlythoughtagainthatsheshouldeatassoonasshegothimofftoschool,sinceshehadn’thadmuchthedaybefore.Shefeltlikeshecouldwriteabookforpeoplewhowantedtoloseweight;she’dcallitTheToo-Broke-to-EatDiet.
SheloadedTommie’slunchintohisbackpack,thenwalkedwithhimouttothestumpbytheroad.Theytookaseat,waiting.
“Ifyouwanttocatchmoretadpoleslater,I’lltrytofindanoldjarwecoulduse,”sheoffered.“Youmightnotbeabletobringthemforshow-and-tell,butyoucouldbringthembacktothehouseforawhileifyouwant.”
Tommiestudiedtheground.“Idon’twanttodie,Mom,”hesaid.
Beverlyblinked.“Whatdidyousay?”
Heturnedtowardher,hisforeheadwrinkled.“IsaidIdon’twantthemtodie,Mom.”
“Oh,”shesaid,suddenlythinkingaboutcamerasandnightmaresandtoolittlesleepandnotenoughfood,andintherisingheatofthemorning,itwashardtokeepallherthoughtsstraight.Sheneededtodobetter.SheneededtomakesurethatTommiefeltsafe.
Theyellowbus,squeakingandgroaning,cametoastop;thedoorsquealedasitopened.Tommieroseandclimbedintothebuswithoutlookingback,withoutevensayinggoodbye.Cameras.
Thewordkeptricochetingaroundhermindlikeapachinkoball.Sheneededadistraction—anythingtosettlehernerves—butherhandsweren’tsteadyenoughtostartpaintingjustyet.Instead,shewentupstairstoTommie’sroom.Thoughhe’dhadanightmare,she’dtoldhersonthatshewouldchecktomakesure,andthat’swhatgoodmothersdid.Hiswindowwassetintoanalcove,makingitimpossibletoseeifanyonecouldevenreachtheroof.SheexaminedtheceilingandlaydowninTommie’sbed.Triedtoimaginewherethesoundsmighthavebeen,iftherewereanysounds,butpretendingtobeTommiedidn’thelp.
Shewentoutside,backingawayfromthehousetogetadequateperspective.Tommie’sroomwasontheside,andasingleglanceconfirmedthatthesteeppitchoftheroofmadeitevenmoreunlikelythatanyonecouldhavebeenwalkingaroundupthere.Butoneoftheoaktreeshadabranchthatstretchedoverpartoftheroof,makingitessentiallyasquirrelhighway.Iftherewaswind,thebranchmightevenscrapetheshingles,andshetriedtorememberwhetherthere’dbeenanywindlastnight.
Theonlythingthatwascertainwasthatnoonehadbeenontheroof;noonehadwhisperedTommie’sname.She’dknownthatalready;nonetheless,shewasgladshe’dmadeherselfsureofit.Justasshewasnowsurethatthere’dbeencamerasinthebusstations.They’dprobablybeenrequiredsince9/11,nowthatshethoughtaboutit,andGary,sheknew,hadthepowertoaccessallofthem.
Thoughhermindfeltevenmoreswimmythanithadoverthelastcoupleofdays,sheforcedherselftothink.Backinside,shetookaseatatthetableandrubbedhertemples,pressinghardwithherfingers.
GarywouldnodoubtdemandtoseefootagefromthelocalbusstationforFridaynight,Saturday,Sunday,andmaybeevenMondaymorning.Hewouldsitwithhisfaceclosetothecomputerscreen,fast-forwardingattimes,watchingcarefully,searching.Evenifhedidn’trecognizeherrightaway,hewouldundoubtedlyrecognizehisson.Itmighttakehimhoursordays,butsheknewwithcertaintythatGarywouldeventuallyfigureoutexactlywhichbusthey’dtakenontheirescapefromtown.
Andthen?Unlesstherewerecamerasonthebuses—whichshedoubted—hewouldhavenoideawhereshe’dgottenoff.Atthatpointhe’dprobablytrytospeaktothedrivers,butwouldtheseconddriverrememberwherethey’ddisembarked?Unlikely,whichmeantthatGary’snextstepwouldbetocheckthecamerasatotherbusstationsalongtheroute.Andagain,intimehewouldprobablyrecognizeTommie.Thenhe’dkeeprepeatingtheprocess,likeawolfwithhisnosetothegroundwhilehuntingprey,gettingcloserandcloser,zeroingin.Hemightevenfindavideoofherattheconveniencestore.
Butafterthat?
Thetrailwouldcometoanend,becausesheandTommiehadhitchedaridewithawomaninastationwagon.Thewomanwhoknewenoughnottoaskquestions.
Couldhefindthewoman?AndthecarpetsalesmanwhosmelledofOldSpice?
Doubtful.
Butcouldtherehavebeenothercamerasonthehighway?Liketrafficcameras?Camerasthatrecordedlicenseplates?
Possibly.
Evenifsheassumedtheabsoluteworst,theimpossibleworst—thatGary,somehow,hadtrackedhertothistown—whatthen?Hemightcheckthemotel,mightgotothediner,mightevenspeakwiththewaitress,butthetrailwouldgrowevencolderafterthat.Thewaitresshadn’tknownshewantedtofindaplacetolive,andasidefromtheownerofthehouse,nooneknewtheywereintownatall.ForallGaryknew,shehadcaughtyetanotherridewithsomeoneelse,headinginanentirelydifferentdirection.
Garymightbedoggedandintelligentandabletoleveragethepoweroffederalandstategovernmentstoapointthatwouldscareeventhebravestordinarycitizen,buthewasn’tGod.
“Iamsafe,”shesaidinhermostconvincingvoice.“Thereisnowayhecanfindme.”Still,theanxietywasslowtopass,evenwhenshewentovereverythingagain,justtomakesure.Shewasonedge,nodoubtaboutit,ormaybeitwasmorelikeasuper-hightightropewithnosafetynet,buteitherway,sheknewshewasn’tthinkingright.Shewasdwellingtoomuchoncertainideasandforgettingotherthingscompletely,andshehadtothinknormallyagain,ifnotforher,thenforTommie.Heneededherandtheywerestartingoverandtheorangewallsofthekitchenseemedtobepressingin,givingherthebeginningsofaheadache.
“Ineedtopaintthekitchen,”shewhispered.“Thatwillmakemefeelbetter.”
Risingfromthetable,sheretrievedoneofthepaintbrushes,alongwitharollerandpan.Asshehadthedaybefore,shestrippedoffhershirtandjeans,unwillingtoruinthemwithpaintspatters.Sheusedabutterknifetopryopenthecanofprimer.Paintstoreshadamachinethatshookthecans,butsincethatwasn’tanoption,shefoundawoodenspatulainoneofthedrawersandusedthattostir.Theprimerwasthickeratthebottom,likethegooinaswampbed,butshestirredandstirred,tryingtocoaxitbacktolifesoshecouldmaketheorangeonthewallsofthekitchendisappearforgood.
Whointheirrightmindwouldhavechosenthatgod-awfulcolorinthefirstplace?Howwasitpossibletoexamineallthepaintsamplesthestoreshadtooffer—alltheprettyneutralsorpastelsorspringcolors—andthink,IwantmykitchenwallstolooklikeaHalloweenjack-o’-lantern?
Theprimerseemedasreadyasiteverwouldbe,soshepouredsomeintothepan,thenpushedtherollerbackandforth,absorbingtheliquid.Sherolledtheprimerontothewalls,stripingthejack-o’-lanternandgettingasclosetothecupboardsasshecould.Afterthatsheusedthebrush,pleasedtodiscoverhoweasyitwastocutrighttothecupboardswithoutleavingsomuchasthetiniestofsmudges.
“Ishouldgetajobpaintinguglykitchens,”shesaidwithagiggle.
Leavingtheprimertodry,sherinsedthebrushandrollerandsetthemnearthewaterheateronthebackporchtodry.Shepouredtherestoftheprimerbackintothecan,rinsedthepananddrieditwithapapertowel,thenaddedglossywhitepainttoit.Sheretrievedanotherbrushandrollerandturnedherattentiontothecupboards,immersedinhertask.Whenshewasfinished,shestoodinthemiddleofthekitchen,takingitallin.
Thecupboardslookedgreat,almostlikenew.Buttheuglyorangecolorhadseepedthroughtheprimer,makingthewallsgrayanddirty.Shefeltthestirringsofaheadache.
IshouldgetTommiesomeclothes,sheremindedherself.
Notonlybecauseshedidn’twanttheotherkidstoteasehim,butbecauseshedidn’twanttheteachertonotice.Thatmightleadtoameeting,andthelastthingeithersheorTommieneededrightnowwastobenoticedbyanyone.
Checkingtheclock,shecalculatedhowmuchtimeshewouldneedtogettotown,findaplacetoshop,andgetback.Ifsheleftsoon,therewasstilltime,soafterquicklyrinsingthepaintbrushandroller,shewentupstairsandputonthewigandbaseballhatandwrappedherbreastsintheAcebandage.Sheretrievedsomemoneyfromherstashandleftthehouse,herfeetkickingupdustonthegravelroadasshewalked.Andwalked.Andwalked.Asshepassedthestorewhereshe’dboughtthegroceriesandnearedthedinerandmotel,shewonderedifthosetwobusinesseshadcameras.Andiftheydid,howlongwouldtherecordingsgenerallybekept?Acoupleofdays?Aweek?Amonth?Theywouldn’tbekeptforever,wouldthey?
Inanycase,sheneededtokeepthelowestprofilepossible.Withthatinmind,shecrossedthestreet,keepingherbaseballhatpulledlowasshepassedthediner,thencrossedthestreetagainwhenshepassedthemotel.Outofanabundanceofcaution,shestoppedandpretendedtotiehershoe.Shepeekedtowardthedinerandthenthemoteltoseeifanyonehadsteppedoutthedoortowatchher.Buttherewasnothingoutoftheordinary,andsheremindedherselftobeequallycarefulonthereturntrip.
Shebegantowalkagain,eventuallyreachingtheouterlimitsofthecommercialdistrict.Littlebylittle,businessescrowdedeithersideoftheroad,andshewishedshestillhadaphone,soshecouldfindtheaddressofthethriftstore.Instead,sheaskedstrangersforhelp.Bothwerewomen.Thefirsthadbeenfillinguphertankwithgas;thesecondonehadbeenleavingaHardee’srestaurant.Evenoutside,Beverlycouldsmellthearomaoffriedfood,andsheregrettedthatshehadn’teatenbreakfast.ThewomanoutsideofHardee’stoldherthethriftstorewastwoblocksfarther,inastripmallsetbackfromtheroad.
Beverlyfoundthestripmall,thenspottedthethriftstore,locatedatoneend.ItwascalledSecondChances,andBeverlypushedherwayinside.Shekeptherheadbowedwhenshewalkedpastthecashier,awomaninhersixtieswithdullgrayhairthatremindedBeverlyofthewallsofherkitchen.
Mostoftheitemsinthechildren’sclothingsectionwereforbabiesandtoddlers,butshefinallyfoundthesizessheneeded.Theitems,thoughused,wereclean,withouttearsorstains,andjustasshe’dhoped,thecostwasminimal.IntheendshepickedoutfourT-shirts,twopairsofshorts,jeans,andapairofsneakers.Shethoughtthatsheshouldhavebroughtherbackpackwithher,sinceitwouldhavemadecarryingeverythinghomeeasier,butshehadtocontentherselfwithaplasticbag.
Shestartedthelongwalkbacktothehouse.Thesunwashighandbright,andthedaywasstickyhot.Dizzybecauseshehadn’teaten,shehadtostopeverysooftentocatchherbreath.Shewishedshehadacar,butsheknewthatGaryhadplacedatrackerontheonesheusedtodrive.She’dseenitbeneaththerearbumpermonthsbeforeshe’dleftforgood,thelittleredlightflashingonandoff,tauntinghertogoaheadandremoveitandseewhatgooditwoulddo.
Thewigandhatmadeherheadhotanditchy,andshefelthermakeupmelting.Whenshereachedhome,shedisrobedandhoppedintheshowertocooloff,thendressedagain.Shewalkedoutsideandtookaseatonthestump,justintime.Thebusappearedlessthanaminutelater,andshecouldn’thelpfeelingabitofpridethatshe’dmadeit.Asshehadthedaybefore,sheexchangedafriendlywavewiththedriver,thinkingmaybe,justmaybe,thingsweregoingtoturnoutallright.“Iboughtyousomemoreclothestoday,”shesaid,“soyouwon’thavetokeepwearingthesamethings.”
Theywereatthetable,andTommienoddedasheatethesandwichshe’dmadehim.She’dalsopouredhimaglassofmilk,amazedathowmuchsuchasmallhumanbeingcouldeatanddrink.
“Asyoucanprobablytell,Ialsostartedpaintingthekitchen,”sheadded.
Tommielookedup,asthoughhehadn’tnoticedthechange.“Whydidyoupaintitgray?”
“That’stheprimer,”shesaid.“I’mgoingtopaintthewallsyellow.”
“Oh,”Tommiesaid.Hedidn’tseemallthatinterested,butshefiguredthatmostkidsTommie’sagedidn’tcareaboutwallpaint.
“Doyouwanttocatchtadpolesagainafteryoufinish?”
Henoddedagain,chewing.
“Ialsocheckedtheroof,”shesaid.“It’stoosteepforanyonetowalkaroundon,butthere’sabranchthatsquirrelscouldhaveused,orthebranchmighthavescratchedtheshingles.That’sprobablywhatyouheard,or,likeIsaid,youmighthavebeendreaming.”
“Iwasawake,Mom.”
Shesmiled,knowinghealwayssaidthesamethingaftereverynightmare.“Doyouwantmoremilk?”
Whenheshookhishead,shesawtheresemblancetoGaryinthewayhishairfelloverhiseyes,andshewonderedwhenTommiewouldaskabouthim.
“WhenisDadcoming?”
Sheknewhimsowellitsometimesseemedasthoughshewaspsychic.
“He’sstillworking,”shesaid.“DoyourememberwhenItoldyouthat?Whenweleftthehouse?”
“Iremember,”hesaid,stuffingthelastofhisfoodintohischeeks,butsheknewitdidn’tfullyanswerhisquestion.Beverlybroughthisplatetothesinkandrinsedit,thendidthesamewithhisglasswhenhefinishedhismilk.Inthecupboards—notwetbutstillsticky,soshewascarefulwhenopeningthem—shefoundanoldmasonjarwithalidononeoftheuppershelves.Shehelditouttoshowhim.
“Howaboutwegocatchsometadpoles?”Theywandereddowntothecreek,butthistime,Beverlydidn’tjoinTommieinthewater.Instead,afterrollinguphispantsandtakinghisshoesandsocks,shetookaseatinthelowweedsnearthebank.Tommieheldthemasonjarasheslowlywadedinthegentlecurrent.
“Beforeyoucatchany,makesurethere’screekwaterinthejar.”
Tommiescoopedwater,fillingittothebrim.
“Letalittlebitofthewaterout.Ifit’stoofull,thetadpoleswon’tfit.”
Hedidwhatshesuggested,thenwentbacktotadpolehunting.Hetriedandfailedtocatchthefirstonebutthencaughttwo.
“HowmanycanIputin?”
Shethoughtaboutit.“I’mnotsure,butthey’rekindofsmall,somaybesevenoreight?Ifyoucancatchthatmany,Imean.”
“Icancatchthatmany,”heanswered,andshefeltawarmrushathisconfidence.Tommiewashermission,herworld,andhadbeensincethedayhewasborn.Shetriedtoimaginewhathe’dlooklikewhenhegrewolder.He’dbehandsome,shewascertainaboutthat,butotherdetailswerebeyondher.
“Howwasschool?Didyoudoanythingfuntoday?”
“Wehadarttoday.Igottodrawpictures.”
“Whatdidyoudraw?”
“Theytoldustodrawourhouse.”
Shewonderedwhichonehe’ddrawn,theiroldoneortheirnewone,theonewheretheylivedontheirownandwerefinallysafe.
“Isitinyourbackpack?”
Henodded,hisheadbowed,uninterested.Hebentlower,catchinganothertadpole
“Iwanttoseeitwhenwegetbacktothehouse,okay?Willyoushowme?”
Henoddedagain,lostinhisownlittleadventure,andBeverlyflashedonthehoursshe’dspentcoloringwithhiminthemonthsbeforeshedecidedtoleave.She’dneverbeenoneofthoseparentswhothoughtthateverythingtheirchilddidshowedhowgiftedtheywere,butTommiegotprettygoodatstayingbetweenthelines,whichshecouldn’thelpbutfindimpressive.Shealsotaughthimthebasicsofprintingsothatbythetimehe’dbegunkindergarten,hewasabletowritehisownname—andotherwords—withoutherhelp.
Sheshouldhaveboughtcoloringbooksandcrayonswhenshewenttotownearlier.Itwouldhelpwithhisadjustmenttotheirnewlife,andsheknewheneededthat.Hisdreamlastnightrevealedthatinhisownchildlikeway,hewasasstressedasshewas.Shehatedthathemissedhisfather,hatedthatheprobablydidn’tunderstandwhythey’dneededtoescapeinthefirstplace.Shewonderedhowmanyweeksormonthswouldpassbeforeherealizedthatfromnowonitwasjustthetwoofthem.
Theystayedatthesmallcreekforanotherhalfhour.Inthattime,Tommiecaughteighttadpoles.Allofthemwereinthejar,alien-likewiththeiroddwigglingbodies.Beverlyputthelidon,watchingasTommieputonhissocksandshoes.She’dtaughthimtotiehisshoestheyearbefore,thoughtheloopswerefarfromstraight.
Tommiecarriedthejarastheywanderedback,hiseyesonthetadpolesashewalkedbesideher.TheywereroundingtheramshacklebarnwhenBeverlyabsentlyglancedtowardthehouseandsawadirtyoldpickuptruckparkedinthedriveway.
Sheblinked,makingsurethathermindwasn’tplayingtricksonher,herheartsuddenlyslamminginherchestwhensheunderstoodthatwhatshewasseeingwasreal.TakingTommie’shand,shebackedup,keepingthebarnbetweenherandthehouse,herheartcontinuingtopound.
“What’swrong?”Tommieasked.“Whyarewestopping?”
“IthinkIlostmybracelet,”sheimprovised,knowingshehadn’tevenbroughtabraceletwithherwhensheandTommieescaped.“Imusthaveleftitatthecreek,solet’sgocheck,okay?”
HerlegswerewobblyassheledTommiebacktowherethey’dstarted.Inhermind’seye,shecouldstillseethepickuptruckinthedriveway.Whohadcometothehouse,andwhy?Shetriedtoslowherracingthoughts,awarethatTommiewaswatchingher.
Itwasn’tthepoliceorthesheriff,notinapickuptrucklikethat.
Itwasn’tablackSUVwithtintedwindows.
Norhadsheseenagroupofmenswarmingovertheproperty.IftheywereGary’smen,theywouldbewearingsuitsandsunglassesandhaveshort-croppedhair,sowhoelsecoulditbe?Shekepttryingtothink,butideasbecamejumbleduntilshetookalongdeepbreath,whichseemedtohelp.“Think,”shemuttered.“Think.”
“Mom?”
SheheardTommiebutdidn’trespond.Instead,shetriedtobutcouldn’trememberiftheownerofthehousehadbeendrivingatruck—shehadn’tpaidenoughattention.Butwhywouldtheownercometothehouse?Tocheckonhowshewassettlingin?Becausetherewaspaperworkshe’dforgotten?Ormaybeshe’dsentahandymanovertofixsomething—hadn’tthewomantoldhersheworkedwithahandyman,orhadBeverlyimaginedthat?
Wasthatwhoithadbeen?Thehandyman?Wouldhecomeoverevenifshehadn’tcontactedtheownertohavesomethingrepaired?Orwasitsomeoneequallyinnocuous,likeasalesmanorapersonwhoneededdirections?
Questions,questionscirclinghermind,withoutanswers.
Atthecreek,sheletgoofTommie’shand.Herpalmsweresweating.Shefeltalmostfaint,likeshewasabouttopassout.
“IwonderifIleftitwhereIwassitting,”shesaidtoTommie.“Canyoucheck?I’lllookoverhere.”
Shebentlow,tryingtostayoutofsight,andrealizedshecouldstillseetherearbumperoftheolddirtypickuptruckinthedistantdriveway,beyondthethickfoliageofthedogwoodtrees.Butshehadtofakeit,hadtopretendtosearchforherbracelet,sothatTommiewouldn’tbecomefrightened.Shehadtoactthepartlikeaperformeronstage,evenasthewordtruckbegantoflashinhermindlikeastrobelight,alongwiththeobviousquestionsThetruck,thetruck,theolddirtytruck!Whowasit?Whyhadhecome?
IfitwasoneofGary’shenchmen,hewouldn’tbecontenttosimplyknockatthedoor.Hewouldgoinsideandsearch.He’dseeasmallbackpackslungoverthekitchenchair.He’dseetheplatewithsandwichcrumbsandaglasswithmilkresidueinthesink,butwhatwouldthattellhimotherthanthatsomeonehadbeenthere?He’dhavetoventureupstairs,totheirrooms,butsincethey’dbroughtalmostnothingwiththemandtheclosetswerefilledwithotherpeople’sclothes,therewasnothinghewouldbeabletotracebacktoeitherBeverlyorTommie…
Except…
ShefrozeatthethoughtofGo,Dog.Go!,Tommie’sfavoritebook,alongwiththeIronManactionfigure.
Bothwereonthenightstand.Ifthemansomuchaspeekedintheroom—andithadtobeaman,Beverlydecided—hewouldnodoubtfindthem,butthequestionwaswhetherGarywouldhavenoticedshe’dtakenthem.
Shewonderedifthemanwasinthehousenow.WonderediftherewasmorethanonemanopeningdrawersandcheckingtherefrigeratorandhuntingforbookslikeGo,Dog.Go!andIronManactionfiguresShewonderedifheworeblackleatherglovesandifhehadagunbeneathhisjacketwhileanotherequallydangerousmankeptalookout.Shewonderedwhetherhewouldwaitforherordecidetosearchforher,andasshescannedthepasturelandsbeyondthecreek,sheknewtherewasnowheretohide.
“MaybeitfelloffwhileIwaswalking,”shesaidtoTommie.“Youkeepcheckingaroundhere,okay?I’llberightback.”
Thewordssoundedshakytoherears,butsheforcedherselftoretraceherstepstowardtheancientbarn.Shecrepttothecornerandpeeredaroundtheside,atthehouse.
Thetruckwasstillinplace,butamomentlatershesawsomeonestepdownfromtheporchandwalktowardthetruck.Itwasdefinitelyaman—shecouldtellbythewayhemoved;hewaswearingjeansandalong-sleevedshirtandworkbootsalongwithabaseballhat.Hewasalsoalone.Shewascertainhewouldsuddenlystopandturninherdirection,butinstead,hesimplypulledopenthedoorandclimbedintothetruck.Soonsheheardtheenginestart,andthenthetruckwasbackingout.Whenitreachedthegravelroad,itheadedinthedirectionoppositethetown,towardGodknewwhere.
Shewaited,thenwaitedsomemore.Butotherthanthesoundofbirdsong,therewasnothing.Intime,shecrepttowardthehouse.Shewantedtomakesurethatnoonewasstillinside,thatitwasn’tatrap.Shesteppedupontotheporchandsawdustyfootprintsleadingtothedoor,imprintedonthemat,andthenheadingbacktowardtheporchsteps.
Whensheopenedthedoor,nofootprintswerevisible;therewerenoneonthelinoleumfloorinthekitchenoronthestairs,either.Upstairs,shesawGo,Dog.Go!andIronManonthestandnexttoTommie’sbed.Inthebathroom,herclotheshungfromtheshower-curtainrod,andherwigwasnearthesink,justwhereshe’dleftit.Nothingseemedtohavebeendisturbed.
Still,sheremainedshakyasshehurriedbacktothecreek.Tommiecontinuedtokickthroughthegrassandthedirtbeforenoticingthatshe’dapproached.
“Didyoufindit?”heasked.
“No.Iguessit’sjustlost.”
Henoddedbeforepickingupthejar.“HowlongcanIkeepthem?”heasked.
Thesoundofhisvoicewassoothing,evenifshestillfeltfarfromnormal.
“We’llbringthembackafterdinner,okay?”Backatthehouse,sheopenedTommie’sbackpackandstudiedthedrawingthathe’dmade,hopingitwouldstopherfromthinkingaboutthetruckandthemanwho’dshownupoutoftheblue.Whenshesawtheimageoftheiroldhouse,withitsflatroofandlargewindows,shefeltsadbutsmiledanyway.
“Thisisgreat.You’requitetheartist.”
“CanIwatchcartoons?”
“Foralittlewhile.WhileImakedinner,allright?Doyouwantmetobringyourtadpolestositwithyou?”
“Uh-huh,”hemumbledastheywenttothelivingroom.Sheturnedonthetelevision;luckily,cartoonswereon.
“Don’tsittooclosetothescreen.It’snotgoodforyoureyes.”
Henodded,lostintheshowinjustafewseconds.
Sheputthejaronthecoffeetableandretreatedtothekitchen.Sherealizedthatshe’dforgottentodefrostthechicken—orwasitsupposedtobehamburgertonight?Becauseshekeptpicturingthemanwiththetruck,itwasallbutimpossibletoremember.
“Isitchickenorhamburgertonight?”shecalledout.
“Hamburger,”Tommiecalledback.
Oh,that’sright,shethought.They’dhadchickenthenightbefore,withbeansandcarrots,andshe’dnibbledonthecarrotsthatTommiehadn’tfinished….
Fromthefreezer,shepulledouttwoservingsofhamburger,hesitated,thenputoneofthemback.Withherstomachclenchedlikeafist,therewasnowayshe’dbeabletoeatafullmeal.Nor,sherealized,wassheevenhungry.
Shefoundaziplockbag,slidintheservingofhamburger,thenplaceditinwarmwatertothaw.Sheslicedcarrotsandcutafewfloretsfromastalkofthecauliflower.Allwentontothebakingsheet.Sheturnedontheoven,knowingitwouldtakeafewminutestoreachthedesiredtemperature,andsawthatherhandsweretrembling.
Shecouldn’tstoplookingoutthewindowtoscanthegravelroadoutfront.Weretheysafehere?Andiftheyweren’t,wherecouldtheygo?Shedidn’thaveenoughmoneyforanotherescape,forbusticketsandrentandfood,andassheputthebakingsheetintheoven,shewonderedhowmuchtimeshehadifGaryreallyhadsentthemanwiththepickuptruck.
Minutes?Hours?
Orwassheallowingherthoughtstorunawayfromheragain,justasshe’ddonewithPeg?
Shewenttothefrontdoorand,afteropeningit,staredagainatthedustyfootprintsonthematandonthesteps.Thiswasn’tlikeTommieandhisdreamthatsomeonewasontheroof,notintheslightest.Anditwasn’tlikePeg,who’dsaidsomethingsheprobablysaidtoeverysinglestrangerwhoshowedupatthestore.
Thiswasreal,nodoubtaboutit.
Fromthelivingroom,shecouldhearthecartoons;everynowandthen,Tommielaughed.Shecookedthehamburgerinafryingpan,consciousoftheknotinherstomach.Whenthevegetablesweresoft,justthewayTommielikedthem,sheputmostofthefoodontoTommie’splateandcalledhimtothetable.Theyatetheirmeallargelyinsilence,Beverlypickinglistlesslyatsomeofthecauliflower.Shefeltjumpy,poisedforsirensandflashinglightsandasuddenangrypoundingonthedoor.
Butnoonecame.
Assheputthedishesinthesink,shereflectedthatifGaryhadsenttheman,hewouldn’twasteanytimecomingforthem.Hewouldn’triskthechancethatshe’drunagain;hewouldn’trisklosingTommie.Lastyear,afterhe’dpunchedher,hewarnedherthatifsheevertriedtoleaveortakeTommiefromhim,hewouldtrackthemtotheendsoftheearthand,afterhefoundthem,shewouldneverseeTommieagain.
Butallremainedquiet.
“Howaboutweletthetadpolesgo?”shesaidtoTommie,andthetwoofthemmadethewalkbacktothecreek.Asshewatchedhersonopenthejarandreleasethem,shewascertainthattheirhousewouldbesurroundedupontheirreturn.
Still,otherthanthesoundoffrogsandcrickets,therewasnothing.Backatthehouseandtooweariedfromherdaytoplayagame,sheallowedTommietowatchcartoonsagain,untilhebegantoyawn.Shesenthimupstairstotakeabathandbrushhisteeth,andshesetouttheshirtandpantsandsneakersshe’dboughtearlierintheday.Shetriedtofigureouthowmanyhourshadpassedsinceshe’dfirstseenthemanwiththetruckattheirhouse.IfGarycouldn’tgetherepromptly,hewouldorderthelocalpoliceorsherifftodohisbidding,sowherewerethey?
ShereadTommieGo,Dog.Go!andkissedhimonhischeekandtoldhimthatshelovedhim.Then,downstairs,shesatonthecouch,waiting.Shewatchedforflickersofheadlightstoflashonthewalls,waitedforthesoundofapproachingcarengines.
Moretimepassed.Thenevenmorehours,untilitwaslongpastmidnight,andtheworldoutsideremaineddarkandstill.Butsleepwasoutofthequestion,andwhenshefinallywenttothekitchentogetaglassofwater,thewallsstillstruckherasdepressing.Andif,Godforbid,itwastheirlastdayinthehouse,thentherewasnowayshewasgoingtobestuckwithgrayandgloomywalls.
Openingthecan,shestirreduntiltheyellowpaintresembledsummerdaisies,thenpoureditintothepan.Sheusedtherollerandbrushshe’dallowedtodrynearthewaterheater,coatingthegrayishgloomonthewalls,takinghertime,andevenbeforeshefinished,sheknewshewantedtoaddasecondcoat,whichshestartedrightafterfinishingthefirst.Whileshewasatit,shedecided,thecupboardscoulduseanothercoat,aswell,andshewasstillpaintingafterthesuncameupandTommiewandereddownthestairsforbreakfast.Despitethelackofsleep,Beverlyfeltsurprisinglygood,mainlybecausenoonehadsomuchasdrivenonthegravelroadpastherhouseallnightlongandshe’dsomehowbeenabletofinishthekitchen.NorhadTommiehadanightmare;whenaskedhowhe’dslept,heshruggedandtoldheritwasfineandatehiscereal,justlikehedidmostdays
Shesawhimofftothebusandwavedathimafterhetookhisseat.Toherdelight,heraisedhishandaswell,whichmadeherthinkhewasgettingusedtohisnewlife.
Inside,thekitchenwallswereabrightandcheeryyellow,andthecupboardsseemedasthoughtheybelongedinashowroom.Itwasamazinghowmuchasinglecolorcouldchangetheentireatmosphere,andBeverlysuddenlyrememberedherideaaboutcollectingwildflowersforthejellyjar.Shewentoutsideagain,pluckingwhateverbloomsshecould,puttheminthejar,andbroughtthearrangementtothetable.Steppingback,shetookinthekitchenasawhole,feelingpleased.Itwasbeautiful,thekindofkitchenshe’dalwayswanted,andshewonderedagainwhohadbeencrazyenoughtothinkthatorangewallscouldlookhalfasgood.
Buttheburgundywallinthelivingroomhadtogo,eventhoughanapwasprobablywhatsheneededmorethananything.Sheknewshewasrunningonnervousenergystemmingfromyesterday’sscare—justassheknewshe’dlikelycollapselater—buttheburgundyfeltintolerable,likesomethingfromacreepyfuneralhome.
Sheturnedontheradiobeforegettingstarted.First,shedisconnectedallsortsofcablesattachedtothetelevision.Thecabinetagainstthewallwasheavyandshehadtoemptyitofitscontents,includingthetelevisionandDVDplayer,leavingtheitemsscatteredaroundthelivingroom.Eventhenshecouldbarelymovethedarnthing.Bythetimeshe’dmadeenoughroomtosqueezebehindit,herarmsandbackwereaching.Shereturnedtothekitchenandrinsedtherollerandthepaintbrush,shakingoutthewateronthefrontporch,replacingthemwithdryones.Therewashardlyanyprimerleft,butitwouldhavetodo.Bringingeverythingtothelivingroom,shepouredtheremainderintothepan.Sherolleditontothehideousburgundywallinlong,wideswoops,likeshewasdirectingamarchingband,andwitheverystroke,theroomlookedbetterandbetter.
Nowandthen,thedeejaycameonbetweensongs,tellingjokesorannouncingconcertsorhighlightingthelatestnews,alwaysfromsomewhereelse,placesshe’dneverbeen.Thistown,asfarasBeverlycouldtell,wasthekindofplacewherenothingexcitingeverhappenedatall,andshefelthermindfilteringbacktoherworriesaboutTommie’snightmareandPegandcamerasinthebusstationsandthemanwiththetruckwho’dcometoherhouse.Shescoldedherselfforallowingherparanoiatorununcheckedandwonderedifshewasgoingtobelookingoverhershoulderfortherestofherlife,butsheassumedsheprobablywould.
“We’resafebecauseIworry,”shewhispered.“AndIworrytokeepussafe.”
Theprimerranoutwhenthewallwashalfwayfinished,andshewonderedwhethertherewasmoreonthebackporch.Sheglancedaroundatthelivingroom,whichlookedasthoughatornadohadsweptthroughit—Tommiewouldprobablythinkshe’dgonecrazy—butunlessshewaswillingtomoveeverythingbackintoplace,thenmoveitallagaintomorrowandonemoretimeafterthewallwasfinished,thelivingroomwouldhavetoremaininthisstateforadayortwo.Besides,shecouldn’texactlyleavethewallhalf-primed.
Onthewaytotheporch,shegrabbedthecanofyellowpaint,thinkingshemightaswellputthatawaywhileshetriedtofindmoreprimer.Butasshewasplacingitontheshelf,sheaccidentallyknockedoveranothercan.Ittoppledtotheconcretefloor,soundingstrangelyempty.Shenoticedthatthelidhadpartiallyopened,andmildlycuriousastowhysomeonewouldstoreanemptypaintcan,sheliftedofftherestofit.Insidewasalargebaggiefilledwithmarijuana,alongwithapipeandalighter.
Shewasn’taprude—she’dsmokedweedinthepast—butshehadn’tlikedthewayitmadeherfeel,soitwasn’therthing.Therewasn’tawholelot—notlikethebricksshe’dseeninmovies—buttoher,itseemedtoomuchforacasualuser.Raisinghereyes,shealsonotedthenumberofotherpaintcansontheshelvesandcouldn’thelpwonderingifanyofthosecontainedmarijuana,aswell.Inthecornerwasalowstepstool.Afterputtingitinplace,shecheckedtheothercansonebyone,feelingtheliquidsloshwhensheshookthem.Shebreathedasighofrelief;thelastthingsheneededwastobefoundinahousefilledwithdrugs.Ifkidnappingdidn’tputherawayforlife,thenthedrugchargesdefinitelywould.Shebroughtthebaggietothekitchen,wonderingwhetherthepeoplewho’dlivedherebefore—nodoubtthesameoneswho’dpaintedthekitchenthegod-awfulorange—hadeitherforgottenaboutthedrugsorleftthembehindonpurposebecausetheyhadn’twantedtobecaughtwiththem.Eitherway,itexplainedwhythehousehadbeeninmove-incondition;justasshe’dassumed,theformerresidentswerelikelyontherun.Italsoexplainedwhytheownerhadn’taskedtoomanyquestionsandwasmorethanhappytotakecash.Shewasusedtotenantswithissuesshe’dratherknownothingabout.
ButTommieshouldn’tbelivinginahomewithdrugs,thatmuchBeverlyknewforsure.Shepulledacoffeemugdownfromthecupboard,mashedthebudsintotinygrains,thenfilledthebaggiewithwaterandwashedallofitdownthesinkdrain.Sheturnedonthegarbagedisposalforgoodmeasure.Asforthepipeandlighter,shesimplythrewthemintotheweedsasfarfromthehouseaspossible,knowingthatevenifTommiedideventuallyfindthepipe,hewouldn’thavetheslightestideaofwhathewasseeing.Shealsodecidedthatitwouldbeagoodideatochecktherestofthehouse,justtomakesureTommiedidn’tfindanythingheshouldn’t.
Itwasonlywhenshereturnedtothekitchentostarthersearchthatsherealizedtherewasapaperbagsittingonthecounter.Shegasped.
Tommie’slunch.
Shemusthaveforgottentoputitinhisbackpack.Theclockonthewallshoweditwasalreadyapproachinghalfpastten.Shedidn’tknowwhattimeheusuallyateatschool,butsheknewshedidn’thavemuchtime,andsheracedupstairs.Shequicklydonnedthewigandthehatandgrabbedhersunglassesbutdidn’tbotherwitheitherfoundationortheAcebandage,sinceallshewasgoingtodowasdropitoffwiththesecretary.She’dbeinandoutoftheschoolwithinaminute.
Buthowtogetthere?
Theschoolwasmilesandmilesaway,toofartowalk,whichmeantthatheronlyhopewastocatcharidewithaGoodSamaritan.Liketheoldladyinthestationwagon,orthecarpetsalesmanwhosmelledlikeOldSpice.Therewasnevermuchtrafficonthegravelroadoutfront,butmaybeshewouldgetlucky.
Seizingthelunchbag,shetrottedoutthedoorandtowardtheroad,turninginthedirectionoftown.
Shewalkedforsixorsevenminutes,glancingoverhershoulderperiodically,untilshefinallyspottedacarcomingupbehindher.Ifshesimplyheldherthumbout,shefeared,thedriverwouldignoreher;instead,shebeganwavingherarms,theuniversalcryforroadsideassistance.Asexpected,thecarslowed,comingtoastopashortdistancefromher.ThewomanbehindthewheelofthecompactsilverSUVwasinherthirties,withherblondhairpulledbackintoamessyponytail.Beverlywalkedtowardthedriver’sside,watchingasthewindowlowered
“Thankyouforstopping,”Beverlystarted.“Iknowthismightsoundcrazy,butIforgottogivemysonhislunchandmycarwon’tstart,”shebabbled,holdingupthebag.“Ireallyneedtogettotheschoolandwashopingyoucouldgivemearide.Please.It’sanemergency.”
Thewomanhesitated,momentarilyconfused,andBeverlycouldn’thelpfeelingthatsheseemedfamiliar,likesomeoneBeverlyhadseenontelevision.Itwasevidentthatthewomanhadprobablyneverpickedupastrangerbefore,andBeverlycouldalmostseehermindclickingthroughtheoptions.
“Oh,ummm…Yeah,IguessIcandothat,”thewomanfinallyoffered.“I’msortofheadedinthatdirectionanyway.You’retalkingaboutJohnSmallElementary,right?”
“That’sit.”Beverlynodded,feelingasurgeofrelief.“Thankyousomuch.Ican’ttellyouhowmuchthismeanstome.”
Beforethewomancouldchangehermind,Beverlyroundedthecarandclimbedin.ThewomanseemedtostudyBeverlyinawaythatmadeBeverlywanttomakesureherwigandhatwereonstraight.
“Whatdidyousayyournamewas?”
“Beverly.”
“I’mLeslieWatkins,”thewomansaid.“IthinkI’veseenyouattheschool.MydaughterAmeliagoesthere,too.Fourthgrade.Whatgradeisyoursonin?”
“He’sinfirstgrade,”Beverlysaid,knowingshe’donlybeentotheschoolonce,whenshe’denrolledTommie.
“WithMrs.MorrisorMrs.Campbell?”ShegaveBeverlyatentativesmile.“Ivolunteerattheschoolacoupleoftimesaweek.Iknowprettymucheveryonethere.”
Whichexplainedhowthewomanhadrecognizedher,Beverlyrealized.“I’mnotsureexactly,”shesaid.“Ishouldknow,butwejustmovedhere,andwithallthechaos…”
“Igetit,”thewomansaideasily.“Movingisalwaysstressful.Whereareyoufrom?”
“Pennsylvania,”Beverlylied.“Pittsburgh.”
“Andwhatbroughtyoutothispartoftheworld?”
AsthoughIcananswerthatquestion,Beverlythought.“Ijustwantedafreshstart,”sherespondedafterabeat.Shewishedthewomanwouldbemoreliketheelderlywomaninthestationwagonortheownerofthehouse,who’dknownenoughnottoasksomanyquestions.Frombehindher,Beverlyheardasmallvoice.
“Mama…”
Thewoman’seyesflashedtotherearviewmirror.“Almostthere,Camille.Youdoingokay,sweetie?”
Beverlystoleaquickpeekoverhershoulder,amazedshehadn’trealizedtherewasachildstrappedintothecarseatbehindher.Howcouldshehavemissedthat?
“Howoldisshe?”
“Almosttwo,”thewomanreplied,hereyesstillontherearviewmirror.“Andtodayshe’smyerrandbuddy.Right,sweetie?”
“Bud…dy,”Camillerepeated,hervoicesmallandhigh-pitched.
Beverlygaveaquickwave,rememberingTommiewhenhewasthatage,wheneverydayhe’dlearnedsomethingnew.He’dbeensuchapleasanttoddler;she’dbarelynoticedthesupposedterribletwos,evenastheywerehappening.
“She’sbeautiful,”Beverlycommented.
“Thankyou.Ithinkso,too.Mama’sprettylucky,isn’tshe,Camille?”
“Lu…cky,”Camilleechoed.
Beverlyturnedbackaround,stillrecallingimagesofTommiewhenhewaslittle,andsoonenoughtheyleftthegravelroad,turningontoanasphaltribbonthatstretchedbetweenfarmsoneithersideofher.Inherlapsheheldthebaggedlunch,wonderingagainhowshe’dforgottentoputitinTommie’sbackpackandhopingshewouldgetthereintime
“Doyouknowwhenthekidseatlunch?”
“Theyoungergradeseatateleven-fifteen,”shesaid.“Don’tworry.I’llhaveyouthereinplentyoftime.Howdoyoulikeourlittletownsofar?”
“It’squiet.”
“Thatitis.Ittookmeawhiletogetusedtoit,too.Wemovedherefiveyearsagotobeclosertomyhusband’sparents.Theylovespendingtimewiththegrandkids….”
Fromthere,Leslieprattledon,askingonlytheoccasionalquestionandspeakinglikealocaltourguide.ShetoldBeverlyaboutherfavoriterestaurantsintown,someoftheshopsworthvisitingnearthewaterfront,andthereccenter,whereBeverlycouldsignTommieupforT-balloryouthsoccerorpracticallyanythingelsehersonmightbeinterestedin.Beverlylistenedwithhalfanear;sheknewshedidn’thavethemoneytosignTommieupforanything.
Afewminuteslatertheyturnedontotheschoolproperty,andBeverlyfeltasenseofdéjàvuastheydrewnearthebuilding.Shecaughtaglimpseofthefieldsofftooneside;ontheotherwerethejunglegymandtheswings.ShewonderedifTommiehadplayedonthemyet;asalittlegirl,shelovedtoswing.Shecouldrememberbeggingherfriendstopushherhigherandhigher,soitalmostfeltasthoughshewerefalling.
Likeinthedream,theonewiththepirate,theonefromacoupleofnightsago…
BeverlyjerkedandLeslieflinchedatthemovement,concerninhereyes.Toheadoffquestions,BeverlyquicklythankedLeslieagainasthecarcametoastop.Sheturnedintheseat,throwingawavetoCamillebeforeopeningthedoorandjumpingout.ShewavedonelasttimeasLesliedroveoff.
Whensheenteredthebuilding,thefamiliarityshe’dpreviouslyexperiencedgavewaytoaslightfeelingofdisorientation.Whereshethoughtshe’dfindasecretaryatadesk,therewasnothingbutemptyspace;whereshethoughtshe’dfindthedoortotheprincipal’soffice,therewasalonghallway,andthewholeplacestruckherasmorecrampedandclaustrophobicthansheremembered.ItwasonlyaftershakingherheadthatsherealizedshewaspicturingTommie’soldschool.
“Theoneheleftbehind,”shewhispered.Hearingfootsteps,sheturnedasawomanapproached.
“Hi,”thewomancalledout.“Wereyouspeakingtome?”
“No,I’msorry.Ijustgotalittleturnedaround.”
“WhatcanIdoforyou?”
“Mysonisinfirstgrade,”shestarted,beforeexplainingwhathadhappenedandfinallyprofferingthelunchbag.
“I’dbehappytobringittohim,”thewomansaidwithasmile.“Whichteacherdoeshehave?”
Sheknewshe’dbeasked,butwhycouldn’tsheremember?ShereallyneededtohaveTommieremindheragain.“I’msorry,butI’mnotsure.He’snewhere.”
“It’snotaproblem,”thewomansaidwithawave.“Thefirst-gradeclassroomsarerightnexttoeachother.What’shisnameagain?”
Beverlytoldherasshehandedoverthebag.
Thewomanseemedtostudyherbeforecomingtoadecision.“Noworries.I’lltakecareofit.”
“Thankyou,”Beverlysaid,andafterwatchingthewomanretreatdownthehallway,Beverlylefttheschool,relieved.Sheretracedherpathtotheroadandstartedwalkingatasteadypace,feelingtheweightofthesunonherback.Vehiclesspedpastherineitherdirection,someofthemslowingbutnoneofthemstopping.Shedidn’tmind;instead,shefoundherselfthinkingaboutthewomanshe’djustseenattheschool.Itwasclearthatthewomandidn’trecognizeTommie’sname,andwhilehehadn’tbeentherelong,itwouldbenicetobelievethatTommiewasinaschoolwherethestaffkneweverychild,especiallytheoneswhowerenew,sincetheyweretheoneswhomightneedalittleextraattention.AndTommiewassoquiet,hecouldeasilyvanishintothebackground.Nowonderhewashavingtroublemakingfriends.
Maybe,shethought,sheshouldredohisroomtohelphimsettleinandbemorecomfortable.Getridofalltheclothesandpaintingsandothergrown-upstuff,soitfeltlikeakid’sroom.Nottoday,butmaybethisweekend.Theycouldmakeafunprojectofit.Itwouldbegreatifshecouldgethimsomepostersforthewalls,butsherealizedshewasn’tsurewhatTommiewouldwant.Wouldhelikeskateboardingorsurfingposters,footballorbaseball?Shesupposedshecouldaskhim,butthetruthwas,shecouldn’taffordany.
Theideaofredoinghisroommadeherremembertheroomshe’dpreparedforhiminthemonthsbeforehewasborn.She’dknownhewasgoingtobeaboy—shetoldtheultrasoundtechnician,Yes,absolutely!whenaskedifshewantedtoknowthesexofthebaby—andthefollowingweekendshe’dfoundaclassicwallpaperbordertogowiththelight-bluewallsshecouldalreadyimagine.Onthewallpaperwerescenesofaboydoingcountrythings—fishingfromadock,walkingalongsideascruffybuthappydog,dozingbeneathatree—andGaryhadmadejokesaboutit,eventhoughheagreedtopurchaseit.She’dspentdayspainting,hangingwallpaper,andassemblingtherestofthefurniture.Theygotacribandchangingtableandchestofdrawersandaglider-rockershecouldusewhenbreastfeeding,andwhenGaryhadgivenhermoneyforbabyclothes,shebrowsedinstores,wantingtobuyeverythingshetouched.Theoutfitswereprecious,thecutestclothesshe’deverseen,andshecouldimagineTommieinallofthem.
Thosewerehappytimes,someofthebest.Garywasn’tdrinkingorhittingher,andshewasabletodriveacarinsteadofhavingtowalkeverywhere.Neverinamillionyearswouldshehaveexpectedherlifetoturnoutthewayithad,andshethoughtaboutallthathadhappenedsincethemomentshewokeTommieinhisbedandtoldhimtheyweregoingonanadventure.
Lostinherthoughts,shebarelynoticedthewalkorthepassageoftime.Itwasonlywhenshereachedthegravelroadthatsherealizedhowwearysheactuallywas.Shefeltasthoughshewererunningamarathonwherethefinishlinekeptrecedingintothedistance,butshecontinuedtoputonefootinfrontoftheother.Oneithersideofherwerecrops,greenandleafyinthelate-springsun;beyondthecrops,therewasapasturedottedwithbarns,odd-lookingoutbuildings,andamassivegreenhouse.Nearoneofthebarnswereatractorandtwopickuptrucks,tinyfromhervantagepoint,andasalwaystherewasaclusterofpeopleinthefields,doingwhateveritwasfarmworkersdid.Eyeingthegreenhouse,shethoughtaboutthemarijuanashe’dfoundinthehouse.
Couldn’tmarijuanabegrowninagreenhouse?
Sure,butatonceshelaughedattheabsurdityoftryingtolinkthetwo.Forallsheknew,thegreenhousewasn’tevenbeingused,buttheideawasstickyenoughtomakeherwonderagainifthereweremoredrugsinthehouse.Sheremindedherselftomakesurethereweren’t,soonerratherthanlater.
Bythenshecouldseethehouseinthedistance,andshepassedasecondclusteroffieldworkers,thisoneclosertotheroadthantheothergroup,maybefiftyyardsaway.Theywerebentoverandexaminingtheleafyplants,theirfacesshadowedbythehatstheywerewearing.Fromthecornerofhereye,however,shenoticedoneofthemslowlystanduprightandstareinherdirection;threeothersinhisproximitydidthesame—likemeerkats,orasthoughthey’dbeenchoreographed.Pullingherbaseballcaplower,shepickedupherpace,butshecouldalmostfeeltheireyeslingeringonher,asthoughthey’dbeenwaitingforhertoreturn.Bythetimeshereachedtheporch,herheartwaspounding,andBeverlytriedtocalmhernerves.Shethoughtagainthatshewassimplybeingparanoid—ofcoursetherewerefarmworkersatfarms,andthesightofanyonewalkinginthemiddleofnowherewasanoddity.Besides,itwasn’tasthoughanyofthemhadfollowedhertothehouse;whensheglancedoverhershoulder,theywerebacktowork.Sheremindedherselfthatunlessshelearnedtokeepherthoughtsfrombouncingaroundlikemarblestossedontoagranitetable,shewasn’tgoingtobeanygoodforeitherherselforTommie.
Removingherwigandhat,sheclimbedthestairstothebathroom.Ashowerwouldhelpclearherhead,butasshestartedtostripoffhersweat-soakedclothes,shesuddenlyrememberedthemarijuana.Onimpulse,afterreadjustinghershirt,sheopenedthemirrorofthemedicinecabinet.Toher,itappearedtohouseasmallpharmacy.Therewereallsortsofprescriptionmedicines,mostwithnamesshedidn’trecognize,butoneshedid:Ambien,forsleep.Shevaguelyrememberedseeingthecommercials.AssumingthatallofthemcouldbedangerousforTommie,shetossedthebottlesintoasmallwickerbasketnearthedoor.Shesearchedthedrawersandcabinetbeneaththesinknext,andthen,grabbingthewickerbasket,shecarriedittothekitchen,whereshedumpedthecontentsintoaplasticgarbagebag.
“WhereelsewouldIhidedrugs?”shemutteredaloud,realizingshehadabsolutelynoidea,whichmeantshehadtolookalmosteverywhere.Shedidn’twanttothinkthatTommiewasthetypeofchildwho’dfindpillsorpowdersandingestthem,butwhoknewforcertain?Childrensometimesdiddumbthingssimplybecausetheydidn’tknowbetter.Andanyway,whoknewwhatotherdangerstheremightbe?Likefaultywiringorleadpaintorratpoisonorswitchblades?Orwhatiftherewereotherterriblethings,likedirtymagazinesorPolaroidswiththekindsofimageschildrenshouldneversee?Evenworse,whatiftherewereguns?Weren’talllittleboysinterestedinguns?
Shethoughtagainthatsheshouldhavedonethisthemomentthey’dmovedin,butbetterlatethannever.Shestartedwiththekitchendrawers,checkingthemonebyone,diggingthroughclutterandcookingutensilsandhalf-usedcandlesandpensandstickynotesandalltheotherkindsofjunkthataccumulatedindrawers.Becauseherthoughtsstillseemedswimmy—shereallyshouldhaveshoweredtohelpwiththat—shekepteachdraweropenaftersearchingit,soshedidn’tloseherplace.Afterthat,shecheckedthecupboardsloadedwithpotsandpansandanothersetofcupboardsfilledwithbowlsandbakingitemsandTupperware,leavingthosedoorsopen,aswell,toconfirmthatshe’dcheckedeverything.
Shepulledouteverythingfrombeneaththesink,findingallsortsofcleansers,includingtheonesshe’dpreviouslyused.Someofthemwerepoisonous,whichmeanttheyshouldbestoredsomewhereelse,maybeonthehighshelvesinthepantry,whereTommiecouldn’treachthem.Fornow,though,sheleftthemonthefloor.
Inthepantry,sheclearedtheshelves,intendingtoreorganizethemalllater,butthankfullytherewerenomoredrugsorotherterriblethings.Asforthelivingroom,she’dalreadyremovedeverythingfromthecabinet,sothereweren’ttoomanyotherplacestosearch,andittookonlyafewminutes.Thenextstepwasthehallcloset,whichwascrammedwithjackets,alongwithasmallvacuumcleaner,abackpack,andotherassortedoddsandends.Onthetopshelf,shefoundhatsandglovesandsomeumbrellas,andasshepulleditallfromtheclosetandexaminedtheitemsonebyone,shethoughtitwouldprobablybeagoodideatoboxmostofituptostoresomewhereelse—noreasontoputanyofitback.Besides,shewasonaroll,andnotwantingtodisruptherrhythmorslowdown,shemovednexttothebackporch.
Aquicksurveyrevealedthattheshelvesneededtobecompletelyreorganized.Ononeofthelowershelveswasacanofpaintthinner;asmallrustedhatchetandequallyrustedsawsatrightnexttoit.Therewasapowerdrillonthesameshelf.Staringatthem,shemarveledthatTommiehadn’talreadyhurthimself.Asinthepantryandthecloset,shepulledeverythingfromtheshelves,pilingitatherfeet.Shecheckedthepaintcansasecondtimebeforereachingforahalf-openedbagclearlymarkedwithaskullandcrossbones.Thelabelshowedthatitwasforuseonrodents,andthoughshecouldpracticallyguaranteethereweremiceinthehouse,therewasnowayonGod’sgreenearththatshe’deverspreadpoisonaround,sointothegarbageitwent.Sheusedasmallstepstooltoputthepaintthinner,hatchet,saw,anddrillonthetopshelffornow,buteverythingelsecouldwait.ShewantedtogetthroughthehousebeforeTommiegothome,soshedraggedthebaginsidewithherandwentupthestairs.
Inthehallway,shewentthroughthelinencloset,thinkingallofitshouldprobablybewashed,sosheleftitpiledonthefloor;inherbedroom,shecheckedtheclosetalongwiththechestofdrawersandthenightstand,hergarbagebagattheready.Tommie’sbathroomwasnext,untilfinallysheturnedtohisbedroom.
Itwasthere,underhisbed,inthefirstplacesheprobablyshouldhavelooked,whereshefoundtheguns.Thereweretwoofthem,neitherofthemahandgun,onelongerthantheother,andbothwithbarrelsthatwereasblackandterrifyingasdeathitself.Besidethemweretwoopenboxesofammunition.
Beverlychokedoutasob,prayingthathereyeswereplayingtricksonher,butwhenshefocusedonthegunsagain,shewasswampedwithself-loathingandburstintotears.Curlingintoaballonthefloor,sheknewshe’dfailedherson.Whatkindofmotherwasshe?HowcoulditnothaveevenoccurredtohertomakesureTommie’sroomwassafe?Inhermind’seye,shekeptseeingTommiepeekunderthebed,hiseyesbrightwithexcitementashereachedfortheguns.He’dpullthemoutandsitonthefloor,feelingtheweightandthecold,slickmetalofthebarrel.Hewouldrecognizethetriggerandknowexactlywhatitwasfor.Hemighteventraceitwithhisfinger,justtoseewhatitfeltlike,andthen…
“Thatdidn’thappen,”shecroaked,tryingtoconvinceherself,butthevisioncontinuedtounfoldlikeanightmare,drowningherwords.Shebrokedowncompletelythen,givingintotheimagesandweepinguntilshewastooexhaustedtocontinue.Shehadnoideahowlongshecried,butwhensheregainedameasureofequilibrium,sherealizedshehadtotakecareofthisrightnow,beforeTommiecamehome.
Resolutely,shereachedforthefirstoftherifles,tampingdownherfearthatitmightgooff.Shepulleditgentlybythestock,slidingitacrossthewoodenfloor,makingsurethebarrelwaspointedintheoppositedirection.Whileshestillhadhercourage,shecarefullyreachedfortheotherone,feelinglikeshewasattemptingtodefuseabomb.Thisonewasashotgun.Shehadnoideawhethereitherofthemwasloaded—shewasn’tevensurehowtocheckforsomethinglikethat—andoncetheywereonthefloorbesideher,shereachedfortheboxesofammunition.
Now,though,asshestaredattheweaponsthatcouldhavekilledherson,shewasn’tquitesurewhattodo.Shehadtohideallofitor,betteryet,getridofit.Butthatwaseasiersaidthandone.Youdon’tjusttossagunintothebushes,afterall,butshecouldn’timaginekeepingthemanywhereinthehouse,either.
Ihavetoburythem,shethought.
Shetriedtorememberifshe’dseenashovel.Shehadn’t,butsheassumedtheremightbeoneinthebarn.Theideaofgoingtherefrightenedher,though.Notonlyhadtheownertoldherthebarnwasdefinitelyoff-limits,butifthereweregunsanddrugsinthehouse,whoknewwhatelsemightbestoredoutthere?Justwhatkindofplacewasthis?
Shedidn’tknow;allsheknewforsurewasthatthegunshadtogobeforeTommiegothome.Risingtoherfeet,Beverlystumbleddownthestairs.Onceoutthedoor,sheveeredinthedirectionofthebarn.Asshecontinuedtocollectherself,sunlighthammereddown,thickeningtheairtothepointthatitseemedtoabsorballsound.Sheheardnocricketsorbirdsong;eventheleavesinthetreeswerestill.Thebarnstoodinshadow,asthoughdaringhertoproceed,daringhertolearnthetruthofwhyitwasoff-limits.
Assheapproached,shewonderedwhethershe’devenbeabletogetinside.Forallsheknew,thedoormightbechainedshutwithoneofthoseindestructiblelocks,or,despiteitsappearance,itmighthavesomesortofsecuritysystemthatincluded…
Cameras.
Thewordbroughtwithitasuddenneedforcaution,andshehaltedwhilescenesfromthelastfewdaystumbledthroughhermind.
Anownertakingcashforrentwithoutaskingtoomanyquestions…Drugsandgunsinahousewheretheprevioustenanthadleftinahurry…Amanwithatruckappearingatherdoor…Meninthefieldssurroundingherhousewhoseemedtotakeamore-than-casualinterestinwatchingher…
Allsheknewforsurewasthatshedidn’twanttolearnwhattheownermightbeuptoandthatitwastimeforherandTommietomoveon.Therewassomethingterriblywrongwiththissituation,andsheshouldhaverecognizeditearlier.Sheshouldhaveknownthewholethingwastoogoodtobetrue.Thoughshedidn’thaveenoughmoneytoleave,she’dsomehowfigureitout,evenifshehadtoholduponeofthosecardboardsignsbeggingformoneyonthesideoftheroad.Itwasn’tsafehere,notanylonger,andattheveryleastgoingsomewherenewwouldmakeitmoredifficultforGarytofindher.
Sheturned,backtrackingtothehouse,relievedbyherdecision.Nonetheless,shedidn’twantthegunsinherhouseforasingleminutelonger.Knowingshestillhadtoburythem,shewenttothekitchen,eyeingthechaos.Intheopendrawernearthestove,she’dseenalargemetalspoon—thekindusedforstirringapotofstew—andsheretrievedit.Itmighttakeawhile,butaslongasshecouldfindsoftearth,itshouldwork.
Outsidenearthehouse,shebegantosearchforaspotwherethegroundwasn’ttoohardordry.Shecouldn’tdignearthebigtrees,becausetherootsprobablysuckedupallthewater,butasshewasthinkingaboutit,shesuddenlyrememberedthecreek.Thegroundthereshouldbesofter,right?
Shequicklyheadedinthatdirection,butontheoffchancethatTommiewouldwanttohuntfortadpolesagain,sheventuredawaysbeyondthespottheyfrequented.Droppingtoherknees,shetestedtheearth,relievedtofindthatityieldedeasily,insmallbutregularscoops.Sheworkedmethodically,makingsuretheholewaslonganddeepenoughtoburybothofthegunsandtheammunition.Shedidn’tknowhowdeeptheyneededtobe,becauseshedidn’tknowanythingaboutthecreek.Diditwidenafterbigrainstorms?Didthewholeareabecomeapondduringahurricane?
Shesupposeditdidn’tmatter.SheandTommiewouldbelonggonebeforeanythinglikethathappened.
Butshewasrunningoutoftime.Tommiewouldbehomesoon,andsheneededtogetthisdone.Shehurriedbacktowardthehouse,onlytofreezemid-stride.Foralongmoment,shecouldn’tevenbreathe.
Thepickuptruckfromthedaybeforewasinherdrivewayagain.ThatnightIdidn’tfallasleepforhours.ItoldmyselfthatIcouldn’thavefalleninlove,thatrealloverequiredtimeandamultitudeofsharedexperiences.YetmyfeelingsforMorgangrewstrongerbytheminute,evenasIstruggledtounderstandhowsomethinglikethatcouldevenbepossible.
Paige,Ithought,couldprobablyhelpmemakesenseofit.Eventhoughitwaslate,Icalledhercellphone,butagaintherewasnoanswer.IsuspectedshewouldtellmethatIwassufferingfromawildinfatuation,notlove.Maybetherewassometruthinthat,butwhenIthoughtaboutmypreviousrelationshipwithMichelle,IrealizedthatI’dneverexperiencedtheoverwhelmingemotionsI’dfeltwithMorgan,evenatthebeginningofourrelationship.WithMichelle,there’dneverbeenatimewhenIfelttheneedtomakesenseofwhatwashappeningbetweenus.Norhadtheworldeverfadedawaywhenwe’dkissed.
AssumingwhatIwasfeelingwasreal,Ialsowonderedwhereourrelationshipmightleadandwhetheranythingwouldcomeofit.Mylogicalsideremindedmethatwe’dbegoingourseparatewaysinjustafewdays,andwhatwasgoingtohappenafterthat?Ididn’tknow;allIknewforsurewasthatIwantedmorethananythingtospendasmuchtimewithheraspossible.
Afterfinallydriftingoffintheearlyhoursofthemorning,IsleptinforthefirsttimesinceI’darrivedinFlorida,wakingtoamorningskythatseemedalmostominous.Already,theheatandhumiditywereoppressive—thekindthatpromisedthunderstormslater—andsureenough,acheckoftheweatheronmyphoneconfirmedit,rightwhenIwassupposedtobeperforming.AquicktextexchangewithRayletmeknowthatIshouldplantocomeinanyway.They’dbemonitoringtheweather,heassuredme,andwouldcalltheshowwhentheyneededto.
Iwentthroughmynormalmorningroutine,eventhoughnothingelsewasnormalatall.MythoughtsweredominatedbyMorgan;whenIranpasttheDon,Icouldn’thelpbutlookforher;whenIstoppedtodopull-upsonsomescaffoldingnearthebeach,Iconjuredthesmoothnessofherskin.Aftermyshower,IswungbythegrocerystoreandpicturedMorganrehearsingintheconferenceroomorscreamingwithdelightassherodetherollercoastersatBuschGardens.Puttingsomechickenbreastsinmyshoppingbasket,Iwonderedwhatshehadtoldherfriendsaboutthedaywe’dspenttogether,orifshe’dsaidanythingaboutitatall.Mainly,though,ItriedtofigureoutwhethershefeltthesameaboutmeasIdidabouther.
That’sthepartIcouldn’tworkout.Iknewtherewasmutualattraction,butdidherfeelingsformerunasdeepasmineforher?OrwasIsimplyawaytopassthetime,aflingtoaddspicetohervacationbeforeherreallifebegan?Morganwas,inmanyways,stillamysterytome,andthemoreItriedtofigureherout,themoreelusiveunderstandingseemed.Uncertainwhattheeveningwouldbring,Iboughttwocandles,matches,abottleofwine,andchocolate-coveredstrawberries,eventhoughIknewshemightwanttogooutinstead.
Backatthecondo,Iputeverythingawayandtookafewminutestostraightenuptherooms.WithnothinglefttodoandMorganonmymind,Ireachedformyguitar.
IpluckedoutthemelodyofthesongthatI’dplayedforMorganonthebeachtheothernight,stillnaggedbytheknowledgethatitwasn’tquiteright.Thelyricsneededmoredimension,aspecificitythatIhadn’tquitenailed.
CrossingoutbitsandpiecesofwhatI’dalreadywritten,IthoughtaboutthewayMorganmademefeel—notonlytheemotionssheinspiredbutalsohowdifferentlyIsawmyselfthroughhereyes.Therehadonlybeenahandfuloftimesinthepastwhenasongalmostseemedtowriteitself,butthat’swhatIstartedtoexperience.Newlyricsfelteffortlesslyresonant,anchorednowwithdetailspluckedfromourdaytogether.Meanwhile,Irampedupthedrivingenergyofthechorus,alreadyenvisioningamultilayeredrecordingthatwouldgiveitthesoundofagospelchoir.
AglanceattheclockwarnedmethatIwasalmostrunninglate.Ididn’thavetimetoscribblethenewlyricsintomynotebook,butIalreadyknewitwasn’tnecessary.ItossedonacleanT-shirt,hurriedlycollectedwhatIneededforBobbyT’s,andscrambleddownthesteps.Overhead,cloudswererollingandtwistingasthoughgatheringenergybeforeexploding.Imadeitwithonlyfiveminutestospare,notingthatthecrowdwaslessthanhalfthesizeofmypreviousshow,thougheveryseatwasstilltaken.Ididn’texpecttoseeMorganinthecrowdbutnonethelessfeltajoltofdisappointmentatherabsence.
Iplayedmyshow,fillingtheextrahourmostlywithrequests,whilethecloudscontinuedtogrowevendarker.Halfwaythrough,thebreezepickedupandstartedtoblowsteadily.ForthefirsttimesinceI’dbeenperformingatBobbyT’s,somepeoplebegantorisefromtheirseatsandheadfortheexits.Ididn’tblamethem—inthedistanceIcouldseedarkthunderheadsformingonthehorizon,andastheyapproached,IexpectedRaytocuttheshowshortatanymoment.
Shaftsofsunlightoccasionallybrokethroughtheroilingclouds,creatingprismsofcolorandaglorioussunset.Beyondtheaudience,thebeachhademptied,andasmorepeoplecontinuedtoleave,IwonderedwhetherMorganwouldevenshowup.Nonetheless,justasthelastraysofsunwerevanishing,Morganfinallyarrived.She’dcomeinfromthebeachandwasdressedinaflatteringyellowsundress;overhershoulderwastheGuccitoteIrecognizedfromthedaybefore.Backlitbytheshiftinglight,sheappearedlikeanotherworldlyvision.Sheofferedasmallwave,andIinstinctivelyfoundmyselflaunchingintothesongthatI’dbeenworkingon,theoneIsuddenlyknewIneverwouldhavefinishedwithoutmeetingher.
Evenfromadistance,Icouldseedelightedrecognitiononherfaceasthefirstnotesfilledtheroom.ThoughItypicallysangtotheaudienceasawhole,Icouldn’thelpfocusingmostofmyattentiononher,especiallyasIsangthenewlyrics.Whenthesongended,theaudiencewasquietbeforesuddenlyexplodingintoalonger-than-usualwaveofapplause,interruptedonlybyabrightlongstreakoflightningthatsplittheskyoverthewater.Secondslater,adeepgrowlofthunderrolleddownthebeachlikeaslow-movingtumbleweed.
Theapplausediedoutasmostoftheremainingcrowdrosefromtheirseats.IcouldalreadyseeRaywalkingtowardmeandmakingaslashinggesturebelowhischin.IimmediatelysetmyguitarasideasRaysteppeduptothemicrophone,announcingthattheshowwasfinished.BythenIwaswendingmywaytowardMorgan.
“Youmadeit,”Isaid,unabletohidemydelight.Peoplestreamedpastusontothebeachwithaneyeonthesky;othershustledintheoppositedirection,towardtheparkinglot.“Iwasn’tsureyouwould.”
“Youplayedthesong,”shesaidsoftly.Sheplacedahandonmyarm,hereyesglittering.“Butitwasdifferentthistime.”
Standingbeforeher,Iwasabouttoexplainwhy,butIwasstruckbythethoughtthatshealreadyknew.Overthewater,lightningcuttheskyagain,followedbythunder,whichcamemorequicklythanithadonlyafewminutesearlier.Thewindhadacooleredgenow,butallIcouldthinkaboutwasthewarmthofherhandonmyskin.
Searchingforsomethingtosay,Iasked,“HowwasBuschGardens?”
Shenoddedtowardthesky,anamusedsmileonherface.“Doyoureallywanttotalkaboutthatnow?Don’tyouthinkweshouldleavealongwitheveryoneelse?”
Ireluctantlywithdrewmyarm.“Letmeloadup,okay?”
Morganfollowedmepastthenow-emptytables.Rayandotheremployeeshadalreadyclearedawaymostoftheequipment,andasIreachedformyguitarcase,Ifeltthefirstdropofrain.Imovedquickly,butevenbeforewestartedfortheparkingarea,thatfirstdropturnedintoasprinkle,followedbyanalmostimmediatedownpour.IopenedthedoorforMorganasthecloudsunleashedthedelugethathadbeenbuildingallday.
Iroundedthetruckatarunandhoppedupintothecab,myshirtandpantsalreadydrenched.Evenwiththewindshieldwipersonhigh,Imightaswellhavebeeninacarwash.Inavigatedalmostblindlythroughtheparkinglot.OnGulfBoulevard,anumberofcarshadpulledoverwiththeirhazardlightsblinking,whileotherssimplyinchedalong.Lightningflickeredoverheadlikestrobelights.
“IthinkIneedsomedryclothesifwe’regoingout.”
“We’renotgoingoutinthis,”shesaid.“Let’sjustgotoyourplace,okay?”
FiguringthatIwasalreadywetandhavingdriventhroughhurricanesinNorthCarolina,Irolleddownmywindowandleanedmyheadout,tryingtospottheupcomingturn.Rainpeltedmyfaceandblewintothetruck,buteventuallyIwasabletoturnoffGulfBoulevardontoaquietsidestreet.
Myfacestunginthedrivinggustsofrain;lightningflashedagain,thistimealmostdirectlyoverhead,thundercrackinglikeagunshot.Allatonce,powerwentoffononesideofthestreetasfarasIcouldsee,knockingoutthelights.Iguessedthatmycondo,directlyahead,musthavebeenaffected,too.
Theroadwasalreadybeginningtofloodwhenwefinallyreachedthecondo.Iwassoaked,withwaterfromtheloweredwindowpoolinginmylap.Shroudedindarkness,theentirecomplexappearedstrangelydeserted.
Knowingitwaspointlesstotrytoavoidtherain,Morganscrambledandrantothestairs.Ijumpedout,aswell,keyinhand.
Inside,theonlylightvisiblewasthesteadyflickeroflightningbeyondtheslidingglassdoor.Despitethestorm,theairwasalreadybecomingstuffy.Morgancametoastopinthelivingroom,andIsteppedaroundher,leavingsmallpuddlesasIwalked.Inthekitchencabinet,IfoundthecandlesandmatchesI’dpurchasedearlier,thankfultohavethemonhand.
Oncethecandleswerelit,thelivingroomwascastinshadows.Iplacedbothofthemonthecoffeetable,thenpulledopentheslidingglassdoortoletinsomeair.Thewindwasblowinghardacrossthesmallporch,therainmovingalmosthorizontally.
Inthedimyellowlight,InotedasmudgeofmascaraonMorgan’scheek,theslightesthintofimperfectiononsomeonewhoseemedalmostflawlessineveryway.Herwetsundressclungtoherskin,outlininghercurves,andthedampnesswascausingherlonghairtoreturntoitsnaturalriotofwaves.Itriednottostare,wonderingagainhowshecouldhavecometopreoccupymesofullyinsuchashortperiodoftime.IhadbarelythoughtaboutthefarmormyauntorPaige,andeventhemusicthatIlovedwasfocusedentirelyonher.IwassuddenlysurethatIwouldneverloveanotherinthiswayagain.
Morganwasfrozeninplace.Thecandlelightpooledinhereyes,calmandknowing,asthoughsheunderstoodexactlywhatIwasfeelingandthinking.Butsheremainedcloakedinmystery,evenasIapproachedher.
Ileanedinandkissedherthen,wantingtobelievethatshecouldfeelthecracklingintensitypassingthroughme.WhenIgentlymovedtopullhercloser,Ifeltherhandtouchmychest.
“Colby…”shewhispered.
Islowedthenandsimplywrappedmyarmsaroundher.Iheldherforalongtime,revelinginthefeelofherbodyagainstmyown,untilshefinallybegantorelax.WhenIfeltherarmstwinearoundmyneck,Iclosedmyeyes,wantingthemomenttolastforever.
Intime,sheloosenedherembraceandtookasmallstepbackward.
“I’mgoingtochangeintosomethingdry,”shemurmured.“Ibroughtextraclothes,justincase.”
Iswallowed,barelyabletospeak.“Okay,”Imanaged.
Pickinguponeofthecandles,sheretreatedtothebathroomoffthehallway.WhenIheardthedoorclickshut,IrealizedIwasaloneinthelivingroom,unabletoimaginewhatmighthappennext.Fromthelinencloset,Igrabbedatowelandheadedtothebedroom,candleinhand.AsIstrippedoffmywetclothes,Itriednottodwellonthefactthatafewfeetaway,outofsight,Morganhadslippedoutofherownclothes,aswell.Idriedoff,thenpulledonapairofjeansandmyotherbutton-upshirt.Irolledthesleevesuptomyelbowsand,peekinginthemirroroverthedresser,didwhatIcouldwithmyhair.Pickingupthecandle,Imademywaybacktothekitchen.
Withthepowerout,thestovewasuseless,butthechocolate-coveredstrawberriesandwinewouldstillbecoolintherefrigerator,alongwithsomeofthecheeseleftoverfromthepicnic.Afterretrievingit,Islicedthecheeseandarrangeditonaplate,alongwithcrackersandthestrawberries.Ihadtofishthroughthedrawerstofindawineopenerbutfinallyfoundoneandopenedthebottle,aswell.Takingapairofglassesfromthecupboard,Ibroughteverythingtothecoffeetable.Nervous,Ipouredmyselfaglassofwineandtookasip.IwonderedwhetherMorganwouldwantany.
Beyondthewindows,therainresembleddiamondsliversintheunendingflashesoflightning.ShadowypalmfrondsdancedinthewindlikepuppetfigureswhileIsettledontothecouch.Absentlyrotatingthewineglassinmylap,IthoughtofhowMorganhadsoundedwhenshe’dwhisperedmynameandwonderedwhatwasgoingthroughhermindrightnow.SheknewnowhowIfeltabouther,buthadsheknownwhenshearrivedattheshow?Hadsheknownlastnight?Ididn’tknow,andthoughpartofmewasnervousatthethoughtthatmyfeelingsmightnotbereciprocated,IalsounderstoodtherewasnothingIcoulddotochangethewayIfeltabouther.
Iwondered,too,ifIcouldhavefalleninlovehadInotcomehere,tothissmalltowninFlorida.NotonlywithMorganbutwithanyone.Ihadn’tfalleninlovewithMichelle,butdeepdownIknewthatourconflictingscheduleswereonlypartofthereason.Ithadmoretodowiththefarmandtheall-encompassingnatureofthework.Becausetherewasalwayssomethingtodo,I’dsomehowlosttheabilitytosimplyrelaxandenjoylifeortomaketimeforsomeonespecial.Asanexcuseithadbeenagoodone,sosubtleastorendermeunawareitwashappening,butasItookanothersipofwine,IunderstoodthatIhadtomakechangesunlessIwantedtoenduplikemyuncle.Ineededtoallowmyselfabreaknowandthen—towritesongsorgoonwalksorsimplysitanddonothingatall.Ineededtocatchupwitholdfriendsandopenmyselftonewpossibilitiesandpeople,andthetimeI’dspenthereonlyunderscoredthatimportance.
Therewas,afterall,moretolifethanwork,andIrealizedInolongerwantedtobethepersonI’drecentlybecome.Iwantedtoembracethosethingsthatwereimportanttomeandworrylessaboutthethingsthatwerebeyondmycontrol.NotsometimeinthefuturebutstartingassoonasIgotbackhome.NomatterwhathappenedwithMorganandme,IknewIwouldreinventmyselfasthepersonIwantedtobe.I’ddoneitbefore,Iremindedmyself,andtherewasnoreasonIcouldn’tdoitagain.
Risingfromthecouch,Iwalkedtowardtheslidingglassdoors.Backhome,Iknew,astormlikethiswouldmakemeworryaboutthecropsorthechickensortheroofofthegreenhouse,buthereandnowIfoundthespectacleinspiringinanalmostforeignway.
Fate,itseemed,hadconspiredtomakethiseveningunlikeanyotherI’dspenthere,andwhiletherewassomethingperhapsromanticaboutthatnotion,IsuspectedIwasreadingtoomuchintoit.Paige,Iknew,wouldagreewiththat,butasIcontinuedtotakeinthethunderstorm,IknewitwassomethingInonethelesswantedtobelieve.
Still,IwishedthatIcouldhavespokenwithPaige,ifonlytoaskifwhatwashappeningtomewasnormal.Didlovecarrywithitthepowertomakeapersonquestioneverything?Didlovemakeapersonwanttobecomesomeonenew?WhenIthoughtaboutPaigeandherexperience,Iwasn’tquitesure.She’dbeeninloveonce,butsheseldomspokeaboutit,otherthantotellmethatloveandpainweretwosidesofthesamecoin.Iunderstoodwhyshe’dsaidit,butIsometimescaughtherreadingromancenovels,soIdoubtedshewasthatjaded.IsuspectedshewouldunderstandwhatIwasgoingthroughnow.Irememberedthatonceshe’dmetherhusband-to-be,shesuddenlywasn’taroundmuchintheevenings,andintheraretimesshewas,sheseemedbuzzyandlighthearted.Atthetime,Iwassowrappedupinmyownworld,Ididn’tthinkmuchaboutit,otherthantobehappythatsheandmyauntweregettingalong.Itwasn’tuntilsheannouncedoverdinnerthatshewasleavingthefarmthatIrealizedhowseriousthingshadbecomewithherboyfriend.Aphonecallfollowednotlongaftershemovedaway,announcingthatshe’dbeenmarriedbyajusticeofthepeace.Thewholethingstruckmeasdizzyinglyfast—I’dmettheguyjustonce,andonlyforafewminutes,whenhepickedupPaigeforadate.OnedayshewasthePaigeI’dalwaysknown,andthenextIquestionedwhetherI’dbeenlivingwithastrangermyentirelife.Now,however,Ihadaninklingofwhatshewasfeelingbackthen;Iwasstartingtograspthatlovefolloweditsowntimelineandmadeevenradicalchangesalmostinevitable.
IwishedI’dbroughtinmyguitarfromthetruck.Playingsomething—anything—wouldhavehelpedmesortthroughitall,butgiventhestorm,Idecidedtoleaveitwhereitwas.Instead,IfoundmyphoneandpulledupaplaylistofthesongsIhadwritten,theonesIthoughtweremybest.Isetthephoneonthecoffeetableandhadanotherdrinkofwine,thenreturnedtotheglassdoors,relivingthememoriesthathadinspiredeachofthesongsandwonderingwhatwouldhavehappenedhadmyunclenotpassedaway.Iwasn’tsurethatIwouldhavestayedonthefarm,butwouldIhaveattemptedtomakemusicacareer,inthesamewayMorganwastryingtodo?Atthetimeitdidn’tseempossible—andmaybeitwasn’t—butIcouldn’tshakeanewfoundsenseofdisappointmentthatI’dnevergivenitatry.Morgan’sambitionhadignitedsomethinglongdormantinme—evenasIacceptedtheideathatshewasfarmoretalentedthanI.
Iheardanoisebehindmeandstolealookovermyshoulder.Morganhadreturnedtothelivingroomwiththecandlecuppedinherhands.Sheworeadifferentsundress,withalowscoopedneck,andIcouldn’thelpbutstareather.Herhair,likemine,wasstillslightlydamp,thethickwavesglintinginthecandlelight.Thesmudgeofmascaraonhercheekhadvanished,butIsawthatshe’dappliedalittlemakeupthataccentedherdarkeyesandgaveherlipsadeep,glossysheen;herarmsandlegsglowedlikesatin.Ifeltmybreathcatchinmythroat.
Shepausedafewfeetfromme,asifbaskinginmygaze.
“You’re…beautiful,”Isaid,myvoicealmosthoarse.
Herlipspartedassheexhaled,andIsuddenlysawinherunguardedexpressionthatherfeelingsmirroredmyown.Openandhungry,herexpressiontoldmeeverythingIneededtoknow:Likeme,shehadfalleninlovewithastranger,upendingbothofourlives.Movingtothecoffeetable,shewordlesslysethercandlenexttomine.ShesurveyedwhatI’dsetout,thentookamomenttofocusonthemusicdriftingfrommyphone.
“You?”sheasked.
“Me,”Isaid.
“Idon’tthinkI’veheardthisone.”
Iswallowed.“It’snotoneIusuallyplayatmyshows.”
Myvoicesoundedstrangelydistant,andIwatchedasshesatonthecouch.AsImovedtotakeaseatnexttoher,hersundressliftedslightly,revealingaflashofhersmooththigh,asightthatstruckmeasintenselyerotic.Imotionedtowardthewine.“Wouldyoulikeaglass?”
“I’mfine,”sheanswered.“Butthankyou.”
“Iwasn’tsureifyou’dbehungry.”
“Ihadsomethingtoeatrightafterwegotback.ButImighthaveastrawberryinaminute.Theylookdelicious.”
“Iboughtthem.Ididn’tmakethem.”
“I’mstillimpressed.”
IknewIwastalkingaroundtheedgesofthings,butitseemedtobeallIcoulddo.Withmythroatgoingdryagain,Itookanothersipofwine.Inthesilence,IhadthesuddensensethatshewasjustasnervousasIwas,whichIfoundoddlycomforting.
“Thechangesyoumadetothesongwerebeautiful,”sheoffered.
Soareyou,Iwantedtosay,butdidn’t.“Youweremyinspiration,”Isaid,tryingtosoundcasualbutknowingthatIfailed.
“Iwondered….”shewhispered,allowingherhairtofalloverherface.Then:“Ithoughtaboutyouallday.Missingyou.”
IreachedouttotakeherhandandfeltMorgan’sfingersinterlockwithmine.“I’mgladyou’reherenow.”
Isensedtheexpectanttensioninherhandassheheldmine,andIthoughtagainaboutkissingher.Hereyeswerehalfclosed,hermouthpartlyopen,butjustasIleanedtowardher,aphonebegantoring,faintbutinsistent.Whensherealizeditwasn’tmyphone,sheletgoofmyhandandrosefromthecouch.Afterdisappearingintothehallway,shepeekedout,ringingphoneinhand.Sheseemeduncharacteristicallyflustered.
“It’smymom,”sheexplained,hertonesheepish.“She’scalledacoupleoftimesandIhaven’tgottenbacktoher.”
“Youshouldprobablyanswer,then.”
Shereluctantlyhittheappropriatebuttonandputthephonetoherear.
“Hey,Mom,”Morgansaid.“What’sup?…Yeah,sorry.IknowIhaven’tcalled,butwe’vebeenhavingafantastictime….Nothingmuch.What’sthat?…Isheokay?”
Turningtome,shemouthedsomethinglikeOurdoggotsick.
“Whatdidthevetsay?…Okay…Yeah…That’sgoodtoknow.How’sHeididoingwithit?…Uh-huh…Uh-huh…”
Shesaidnothingforawhile,then:“Well,let’ssee.Werehearseinthemornings,thenusuallyhangoutatthebeachorthepool.We’vebeengoingtohearsomelivemusicandcheckingoutdowntownSt.Pete….Yeah,they’rehavingagreattime.It’sHollyandStacy’sfirsttriptoFlorida,soit’sbeenfunshowingthemaround….”
Iremainedsilentonthecouch,notwantingtodistracther.
“Uh-huh…No,wehaven’tbeenthereyet.Maybeinadayortwo.WewenttoBuschGardens,though.OverinTampa?…Yeah,itwasfun.Thelineswereshort,sowewereabletoridejustabouteverything….No,nottonight.We’regoingtoorderroomserviceandwatchamovie.Itwasasuperlongday,”shesaid,makingaguiltyfaceatme.
Istifledasmile.
“Yeah,they’rehere.Wegotsomephotosfromthebeachrightafterwearrived.Oh,andIalsosawtwomanatees….Atoneoftheparks,butIcan’trememberthename….Werentedkayaksandwentthroughthemangroves,andtheywererighttherewhenweturnedaround….No,actually,theydidn’tgo.IwentwithsomeoneImethere….”
Myearscouldn’thelpbutperkup.
“Yes,Mom.He’snice….He’safarmerfromNorthCarolina….No,I’mnotkidding….Colby….Twenty-five….WeheardhimsingingatBobbyT’s.He’shereonsortofaworkingvacation….”
Sheturnedherbacktome,loweringhervoice.“No,hedidn’tgotocollege,butwhydoesthatmatter?…Mom…Mom…Itwasjustkayaking.Don’tmakeabigdealaboutit.YouseemtoforgetthatI’manadultnow….”
Icouldhearahintoffrustrationcreepingintohertone.Onmyplaylist,onesongendedandanotherbegan.Iwatchedassheranahandthroughherhair,tuggingattheroots.
“Ihaven’thadtimetocheckthatyet.I’llcalltheapartmentmanagerassoonasIgethome,okay?I’msureit’snotabigdealgettingutilitiesturnedon.Icanfigureitout….Ihaven’thadtimeforthat,either….HowmanytimeshaveItoldyouthatI’mnotinterestedinajobteachingmusic?…Yeah…Uh-huh…Iknow…Sorry,I’mtiredandIshouldprobablygo.They’remotioningtomethattheywanttostartthemovie….TellDaddyandHeidithatIlovethem….Loveyou,too.”
Shehitdisconnectandsimplystaredatthephone.Risingfromthecouch,Iwalkedovertoherandplacedahandonthesmallofherback,caressingthesmoothskinbeneaththefabric.
“Areyouallright?”
“Yeah,I’mfine.Butsometimessheinterrogatesme—it’snotalwaysaconversation,youknow?”
“I’msureshewasjustcheckingtoseeifyouwerehavingagoodtime.”
“AndmakingsureI’mnotgettingintotrouble.”Shesighed.“ButIdon’tknowwhyhermindevengoesthere.Especiallywhencomparedtoothercollegekids.It’slikeshecan’tacceptthefactthatI’manadultandamoldenoughtomakemyowndecisions.”
“Parentsworry.”Ishrugged.“It’sintheirDNA.”
Abriefbutuncertainsmileflashedacrossherlips.“It’ssomucheasierspeakingwithDadsometimes.Imean,he’snervousaboutmegoingtoNashville,andI’msurehe’dpreferthatIgetajobteaching,too,butatleastheunderstandswhyIwanttogo,andhe’salwaysbeenmybiggestfan.Mymom,though—shealwaysremindsmeabouthowtoughthemusicbusinessis,howthousandsofpeoplehavethesamedreamIdobutnevermakeit….”
Whenshetrailedoff,Iusedafingertobrushthehairfromhereyes.“Theywanttoprotectyoufromdisappointment.”
“Iknow,andI’msorry.Iprobablyshouldn’thaveanswered.It’swhyIdidn’tanswerthefirsttwotimesshecalled.ShekeepstalkingaboutthisopeningatoneoftheprivateschoolsinChicago,anditdoesn’tmatterhowmanytimesItellherthatI’mnotinterested.It’sjust…hardsometimes.”
Sheturnedtofaceme,leaningin.Iwrappedbotharmsaroundher.
“Ofcourseitis.”
Onmyplaylist,anothersongbegan.MorganputherarmsaroundmyneckandIheldherclose,thinkinghownaturallyherbodyseemedtofitwithmine.Unconsciously,Ishiftedmyweightfromonefoottotheother,ourbodiesswayingintime.
“Irememberyousingingthissong,”shemurmured,“thefirstnightIheardyouplay.Iwasspellbound.”
Outside,thewindcontinuedtohowl,andtheraincontinuedtoblow.Thecandlesbathedtheroominagoldenglow.IcaughtthescentofMorgan’sperfume,somethingmuskyandalluring.
Morganpressedintome,andwhensheliftedhergazetomeetmine,Itracedtheoutlineofhercheekbonewithafinger.Ourfacesdrewcloser,ourbreathingslightlyraggedbutinnearlyperfectharmony.
Ikissedherthen,hungryandnervous,andwhenourtonguescametogether,Ifeltajoltrunthroughme,electrifyingeverynerve.Oneofherhandstraileddownmybackandaroundmyside,hertouchsolightitalmostseemedasthoughitwasn’thappening.Herfingerseventuallyfoundthebottomofmyshirt,andafteraquicktugonit,herfingernailsskimmedacrossmyskin,thesensationmakingitalmostimpossibletobreathe.Slowly,shetracedthemusclesofmyabdomenandchest,evenashertonguecontinuedtoflickeragainstmyown.Herbreathsbecameshallow;hereyeswerehalfclosed,andIcouldonlystare,inthralltohersensuality.Onebyonesheundidthebuttonsofmyshirt,untilitfellopen.Pullingtheshirtovermyshoulders,shelockedmyarmsinplace,holdingthemthereforamoment,asthoughteasingme,beforefinallyallowingmyshirttofallfreetothefloor.Sheleanedinandkissedmychest,hermouthtrailingupwardtomyneck.Herheatedbreathonmyskinsetmybodytotrembling,andIreachedforthestraponherdress.Shebitmynecksoftlybeforeraisinghermouthtomineagain.Islidonestrapdown,followedbytheother,thenreachedforthehemofherdress.Liftingthehemwithmyfinger,Itracedtheinsideofherthigh.Iheardhergaspandfeltherhandgripthebackofmyhead.Shebegankissingmewithevenmorepassionthen,andIfoundmyselfslippingawaytotheplaceIsuddenlyknewIwasalwaysmeanttogo.Slowlyloweringthetopofherdress,Isliditdownherbodyandseparatedfromherthen,revelinginherbeauty.Whenthedresshitthefloor,Icuppedmyhandsaroundhersmallwaist,helpingherstepoutofit,knowingIwantedhermorethanI’deverwantedanything.Withoutanotherword,Ipickedupasinglecandleandledhertothebedroom.Afterward,welaybesideeachotherwithoutspeakingforalongtime,herbodywarmagainstmyown,untilfinallysherolledtohersideandwefellasleepspooninginthetangleofsheets.
Wakinginthegraytwilightofdawn,Ikissedhertenderly,unabletoholdthewordsinsideanylonger.
“Iloveyou,Morgan,”Imurmuredintoherear.
Morganmerelysmiledbeforeopeninghereyesandstaringintomyown.
“Oh,Colby,”shesaid,reachinguptotouchmymouth.“Iloveyou,too.”Themaninthetruckhadreturned.
Shetriedtoslowherbreathingassheduckedbehindthebarn.Whatwouldhavehappenedhadhearrivedtenminutesearlier,whileshewasinthehouse?Wouldhehaveseenherthroughthewindows?Wouldhehaveopenedherdoor?Andwhatifshe’dactuallyenteredthebarnandbeendiscoveredintheplacesheshouldn’thavebeen?
Theburstofadrenalinemadeherstomachflip.Sheleanedagainsttheplanksidingandclosedhereyes,thankingGodshehadn’tbeenthatstupid,thatshe’ddecidedtoavoidthebarnbeforeitwastoolate.
IneedtocalmdownsoIcanthink,shetoldherself,closinghereyes.Shehopedhehadn’tseenher,hopedhewouldbelieveshewasn’thome,sohewouldleavelikehehadthelasttime.Shehopedhewouldleavebeforetheschoolbusarrived….
OhGod…
Tommie…
Peeringaroundthecorneragain,shesawthemanstandingontheporch,lookingfirstonewayandthentheother.Amomentlater,hedescendedthestepsandstartedtowardthebarn.Beverlyflattenedherselfagainsttheplanking,stayingperfectlystill.Shefoughttheurgetowatchhisapproach.
Sheheardthebarndoorssqueakopen.Inhermind’seye,sheimaginedhimscanningtheinterior,makingsurethatnothinghadbeendisturbed.Shewonderedifhe’ddonethesamethingthedaybefore,whensheandTommieweredownatthecreek,orwhetherhewasincommunicationwiththefarmworkers,monitoringherroutines.
Tommie…
Pleaseletthebusbelatetoday.Sheclenchedherfists,waiting,untilsheheardthebarndoorsqueakagain,followedbythesoundofitbangingshut.Sheremainedinplace,hopinghewouldn’tcirclethebarn,wonderingwhathewoulddoifhefoundher.Sheconsideredmakingadashforthecreek,butjustasshepsychedherselfuptodoso,sheheardthetruckdoorslam,followedbytheenginecrankingtolife.Finally,sheheardthecrunchofthegravelasthetruckbackedoutandvanisheddowntheroad.
Beverlystoodthereforwhatfeltlikeeons,herbreathseventuallybeginningtoslow,beforegatheringthecouragetopeekaroundthebarnagain.Thetruckwasgone,andasfarasshecouldtell,noonewaslyinginwait.Therewasnomovement,butshelingered,justtobesure,andthenshestartedrunningtowardthehouse.Sheburstthroughthedoor,leavingitopen,thentoreupthestairs.
InTommie’sroom,thegunswererightwhereshe’dleftthem.Itwasn’tpossibletocarryboththegunsandtheboxesofammunitioninjustherhands,so,thinkingquickly,shereachedforTommie’spillow.Removingthepillowcase,sheshovedtheboxesofammunitioninside,thencarefullyliftedbothgunsfromthefloorbytheirstocks,keepingthebarrelspointedtowardthegroundasshescoopedupthepillowcase.
Nowwasn’tthetimetorush,evenifthebuswasrightoutfront.Shelefttheroom,walkingslowly.Shegingerlydescendedthesteps,thankfulthatshehadn’tbotheredtoshutthefrontdooronherwayin.Carefulnottostumble,shebacktrackedtothecreek,totheholethatshe’dalreadydug.
Sheputonegunin,thentheother,thendumpedtheammunitionfromthepillowcase.Usingherhandstospeedthingsup,sherefilledthehole.Oncethatwasdone,shepatteditdown,thenstompedonit,buttherewasonlysomuchshecoulddo.Itwouldbeobvioustoanyonewhocamethiswaythatsomethinghadbeenburied,butsherealizedshedidn’tcare.
Shewasgoingtogetthehelloutofherebeforeanyonefoundout.Backinside,Beverlyscrubbedherhandsatthesinkuntilherskinfeltraw,butthesoilhadleftabrownishtintonherpalms,likewoodstain.Eyeingthechaosonthemainfloor,shefiguredshe’dhavetocleanitallbeforetheyescaped,notbecauseshecaredabouttheownerbutbecausethemaninthetruckcouldcomeback,andanorderlyhousemightmakeitappearthattheywerestilllivingthere,whichwouldbuythemsometime….
Andfornow?She’dhavetothawandcookthehamburgerandchickenandrice,andshe’dhavetosoakthebeansandcookthem,too,butwithoutacoolershedoubtedthefoodwouldlastmorethanadayontheroad.Afterthat,itwouldbesandwichesandapplesandcarrotslicesforGodknewhowlong.Shehadtopackclothes,too,beforesneakingawayatnight.Noonewouldseethem,butthatalsomeanttheremightbenoonetogivethemaride,andtherealizationofallshehadtodomadesomethingcollapseinside,feargivingwaytoanotherfloodoftears.
Howwasitpossibleforsomethinglikethistohappen?Toleaveonedangeroussituationonlytoendupinanotherequallydangeroussituation?Ifshelivedahundredlifetimes—athousand—theoddswerealmostinconceivable.
Shecouldn’tunderstanditandrecognizedthatshedidn’thavetheenergytotry.Instead,swipingathertears,shetookadeepbreathandleftthehouse,descendingtheporchstepsandheadingtowardtheroad.Shetookaseatonthestump,adrenalinefadingfast.Howlonghaditbeensinceshesleptmorethanafewhoursatastretch?Toolong,thatmuchwascertain,andnowshewaspayingtheprice.Witheveryexhale,likeadeflatingballoon,thefranticenergyofmomentsearlierwasreplacedbyablanketofalmostoverwhelmingexhaustion.Inthesilence,herlimbsseemedtobefallingasleep,andthoughshetriedtoconcentrateontheweedandthegunsandthesecretsinthebarnandthemaninthetruck,shefeltstrangelydisconnectedfromthosethings,asthoughshewerewatchingherselffromadistance.Fromsomewheredeepinside,sheunderstoodthatshehadtoleave,buttheurgencyhadbecomearecedingtide.Itwasflowingoutandawayfromher,growingever-moredistantwhiletherestofworldblurredattheedges.Shecouldfeelherselfbeginningtoswayasshetriedtostaybalanced,herbodyalreadyrebelling.Sheneededtorest,tosleep.Morethananything,shewantedtoclosehereyesanddriftaway,ifonlyforafewminutes.Whatwouldbetheharm?Evenifthemaninthetrucksuddenlyreappeared,shedidn’thavetheenergytohide….
“No,”shesaidaloud.Knowingsheneededtofocus,sheforcedherselftostand.Shetriedtosummonthefearshe’djustexperienced,butitremaineddullandlistless,aphantommorethanreality.
“Stayawake,”shetoldherself,shakingherhead.
Shebegantopacethen,backandforth,likeatigerinacageatthezoo.Withinminutessheheardthebus,alowgrowlinthedistance.Theimagestartedasashimmeryliquidmirage,graduallysolidifyingasitdrewnear.Thebrakessqueaked,andthenthebusslowedandcametoahalt.Therewasasofthisswhenthedoorsswungopen.
Throughthewindows,shesawTommieseatedneartherearofthebusandwatchedasheroseandmadehiswayforwardwithhisbackpackslungoverhisshoulder.Herloveforhimprovidedasinglemomentofclarity,likethesun’srayspassingthroughacloud.Allatonce,shefeltlikeherselfagain,andjustbeforehersonjumpeddowntotheroad,heturnedandwavedtosomeonebehindhim.Despiteherexhaustion,Beverlybrokeintoawidesmile.
Hefinallymadeafriend,shethought.Whenhewasclose,shereachedforhisbackpack,andtheystartedtowardthehouse.Hewashomeandhewassafeandhe’dmadeafriend,butwitheverystep,theclarityfaded.Shewantedtoaskhowschoolwas,wantedtoaskwhohe’dbeentalkingtojustthen,butthewordswouldn’tseemtocome.Sheremindedherselfthattheyshouldleavebeforethemaninthetruckreturned,remindedherselfthattheyhadtoescapebeforeitwastoolate,butthefearassociatedwithithadfoggedoveragainlikebreathonamirror.Shefoughttokeephereyesopen.Tommiekickedatasmallrockonthepath,sendingitskittering.
“Areyougoingtocometotheschooltomorrow?”
Thesoundofhisvoicestartledher,anditwasdifficulttoprocesswhathe’dasked.Finally:“WhywouldIcometotheschool?”
“It’sfieldday,remember?Ameliasaidit’sreallyfunandsomeofthemomsbringcupcakesandcookies.Youcouldcome,too.”
Shecouldn’tplacethenameandwonderedwhereshe’dheardit.
“We’llsee,”shesaid,hearingthewordsemergeasamumble.Whensheopenedthedoor,Tommiecametoastop,takingintheutterdisarray.Sheshouldhavewarnedhim,butitfeltliketoomucheffort
“It’snothing.”
Sheshuffledtothekitchenandgrabbedanapple,thenledTommietothelivingroom.Usingthelastofherenergy,shepluggedinthetelevisionandreattachedthecable,watchingasthescreenblinkedbeforecartoonscameon.ItwasScooby-Doo,somethingsheusedtowatchasachild,andTommiesettledonthefloor,alreadytransfixed.Shevaguelyheardhimtakehisfirstbiteasshelayonthecouch,hereyesalreadybeginningtoclose.Absently,sheusedherfoottopushastackofDVDstothefloor,soshecouldstretchoutfurther.Theyhittherugwithaplasticclatter.Onthetelevision,Scoobyandthegangwerebeingchasedinasupposedlyhauntedamusementpark.Evenashermindslowlyshutdown,sherealizedshehadseenthisepisode.
“Mommy’sreallytired,soI’mgoingtotakeaquicknap,okay?”
Therewassomuchtodobeforesheleft,shethoughtagain,butinthenextinstant,shefeltasthoughshewerefalling,andthatwastheverylastthingsherememberedbeforeeverythingshutdownandshewasfastasleep.Itwasdarkwhenshebegantostir,theflickersofthetelevisionmakinghersquintandthenblinkbeforefinallyopeninghereyes.Theworldbeyondthewindowswasblack,theroomilluminatedbymovinglight.
“Cartoons,”shemuttered.
“Mom?”
ThesoundofTommie’svoicerousedher,andmoreoftheroomcameintofocus.Thecabinetstoodatacockeyedangle,andtherewerebooksandknickknackspiledthroughouttheroom.WhenTommieturnedtowardher,shecouldseethewhitesofhiseyes,eventhoughtherestofhimremainedshadowy,likeaghost.
“HowlonghaveIbeensleeping?”shecroaked.
“Alongtime,”hesaid.“Itriedtowakeyou,butitdidn’twork.”
“Sorry.”Shepressedhereyelids,thenpulledherhairawayfromherface,tryingtosummonenoughbloodflowtoactuallysitup.Allshewantedtodowasclosehereyes,butwhenshedid,sheheardTommieagain.
“I’mhungry.”
Hisvoicepromptedhertofocus,andtakingadeepbreath,shewasabletoshiftherlegsoffthecouchandsitup.Fightingtheurgetoliebackdown,sheclaspedherhands,hermindandbodystillresistinghercommandtorise.Onthetelevision,SpongeBobwastalkingtoastarfish;therewasanapplecoreontherugalreadyturningbrown,alongwithasecondone.Shethoughttopickthemup—oratleasttellTommietorunthemtothegarbage—butrealizedshedidn’tcare.Shefeltlikeshecouldsleepforathousandyears,buthersonneededtoeat.Usingthearmrest,shepushedherselfupwardbuthadtostandinplacewhenshewasstruckbyawaveofdizziness.Whenitfinallypassed,sheshuffledtothekitchen.
Shunningtheoverheadlight,sheturnedontheoneabovethestove.Eventhathurthereyes,andasshemadeherwaytothesink,shenearlystumbledintothepileinfrontofitbeforecatchingherself.Shesquintedattheclock,tryingtocalculatehowlongshe’dbeenasleep.Withhermindstillswimmy,shecouldn’trememberwhattimethebushaddroppedTommieoff.Itwaseitheraquarteruntilfouroraquarterpastfour,buteitherway,itmustnowbecominguponTommie’sbedtime.
Heneedstoeat.Shefeltdisconnectedfromherbodyasshepulledoutapotandfilleditwithwarmwatertothawacoupleofchickendrumsticks.Somehow,shemaintainedenoughmusclecontroltochopcauliflowerandcarrots,thentossedthemonabakingsheet,whichwentintotheoven.Closinghereyes,sheleanedagainsttherefrigerator,herbodyshuttingdownuntilshesuddenlyrememberedwhathadhappenedearlier.Thoughtheimagesofthedrugsandgunsandthemaninthetruckweredreamlike,theywereenoughtomakeherflinch.
“Tommie?”shecalledout,tryingtokeephervoicesteady.
“Huh?”
“DidanyonecomebywhileIwassleeping?”
“No.”
“Didyouseeatruckpullupinthedriveway?”
“No.”
Sheglancedoutthewindow,tryingtounderstandwhythemanhadn’tcomeback,butherthoughtsremainedgummy,everythingsortoftanglingtogether.Continuingtoleanagainsttherefrigerator,sheshuthereyesagain.Thewarningsignalsshe’dperceivedearlierfeltfaraway,liketheyrelatedtosomeoneelse,butshehadenoughsensetoremovetherestofthechickenandhamburgerfromthefreezersoitwouldthaw,aswell.
Afterthat,sheforcedherselftobethemothersheknewshewas.Thoughhermovementswereslowandrobotic,shecookedthedrumsticksinthecast-ironfryingpan,hermindblankwhileshestruggledtokeephereyesopen.Afterloadingthefoodontotwoplates,shecalledforTommieandheardthetelevisiongooffbeforehejoinedheratthetable.Exhaustionsmotheredherappetite,soshemovedmostofthecontentsofherplateontoTommie’s.Sheyawnedonceandthenrepeatedly,andwhenTommiefinished,shesenthimupstairstotakeabath.Shedidn’tbothertoclearthedishes.Instead,shesteppedoutontothefrontporch.
Inthesilvermoonlight,shecouldseethebarn,darkandominous,butthefearfelthallucinatory.Fromupstairs,shecouldhearTommietalkingtohimselfashesplashedinthetub.Sheremindedherselfthattheyhadtoescape,buttherewassomuchtodobeforehandtomakethatpossibleandshecouldn’tsummontheenergynecessarytostart.Draggingherfeet,shelefttheporchandwentupstairs.Herlegswereheavyandfeltuncoordinated,almostasthoughshewassleepwalking.
Inthebathroom,Tommiehadalreadygottenoutandwrappedhimselfinatowel.Hiswethairsproutedinalldirections,andwhenheturned,shesawtheinfantandtoddlerheoncehadbeen,andsomethingachedinside.
“Didyouremembertoshampooyourhair?”
“I’mnotababyanymore.”
Herthoughtscontinuedtodriftoftheirownvolition,slowingfurtherasshefollowedhimtohisroom.Foraninstant,thewallswerelightbluewithwallpaperbordersthatshowedold-fashionedscenesfromthecountry,thentheroomchangedbacktoreality.Shefoundhimacleanshirtandunderwear,thinkinghowmuchshelovedhimashecrawledintobed.Sheusedherfingerstostraightenhishairbeforekissinghimonthecheek.
Zombie-like,shereturnedtothedarkenedmainfloor.Onlythelightabovethestovecontinuedtoprovideenoughofaglowtokeepherfromstumblingontheclutter.
Ihavetogetready,shethought,eyeingthechickenandhamburger.Butshewasoperatingonautopilotnow,nolongerinconsciouscontrolofherbody,andsheleftthekitchen,headingtothelivingroom.Asshelaydownonthecouch,hermindblank,hereyeswerealreadyclosingagain.
Foraninstant,sheimaginedapiratefallingfromtheEmpireStateBuilding,andthenallatonce,shewasasleep.Shedidn’twakeuntilsheheardTommiecomingdownstairs,hereyesblinkingopen.Grayishlightwasstreamingthroughthewindows.AsBeverlybegantostretch,allthathadhappenedinthelastfewdayscamerushingback,theweightofitsooppressiveshefeltlikecrying.
Sherecalledthathermomusedtocryalotinthemornings,memoriesofherredeyesandthewayshe’dwrapherarmsaroundherownwaistasthoughtryingtoholdherselftogetherstillvivid.Beverlyneverknewwhattodoattimeslikethat,neverknewhowtomakehermomfeelbetter.Instead,shewouldkeepherdistance.She’dmakeherownbreakfastandgetherselfofftoschoolandthen,whiletheteacherdronedon,spendtherestofthedayatherdeskwonderingwhatshe’ddonetomakehermomsoupset.
Iamnotmymother,Beverlyremindedherself.Instead,focusingonTommie,shesatup,strugglingtokeepthetearsatbayandsomehowsucceeding.BythenTommiehadreachedthekitchen.Beverlywenttojoinhim,recognizingthatthey’dsomehowmadeitsafelythroughanothernight.Thatshouldhavemadeherfeelbetter,butitdidn’t;inthebackofhermind,shefeltanewfoundsenseofdread,asthoughtheworstwasyettocome.
“DidImissthebus?”Tommieasked,obviouslyunawareofhowshewasfeeling.“Idon’twanttobelate.”
That’sright,sheremembered.It’sfieldday.Beverlyeyedtheclock.“You’llbefine.Let’sgetyousomebreakfast,though.”
Hermuscleswerestiffasshemovedtothecupboards.ShemadeTommieabowlofcerealandbroughtittothetable,thenflattenedhiscowlickusingthewaxonthecounter.Sheploppedintothechairacrossfromhim,watchingashestartedtoeat,hermindtryingtoshrugofftheeffectsofsleepbutwanderingfromthepasttothefuture.Staringatherson,shecouldn’thelpfeelingthatTommiedeservedsomuchbetter.Sheshouldhaveprovidedhimwithanormalhomeandanormallife,butnowshewasabouttouproothimagain,becauseshe’dmademistakesthatagoodmotherwouldn’thavemade.Shewonderedwhethertowarnhimnoworsimplywakehiminthemiddleofthenight,asshehadthelasttime.Shewonderedwheretheywouldeventuallyendupandwhethershe’dfindworkandhowlongitwouldbeuntiltheirlivesfeltremotelynormalagain.She’dtriedtodoeverythingright,butsomehowithadallgonewrong.
Itwasn’tfair.Noonedeservedalifelikeshewasgivingherson,andhereyeswelledwithtears.Sheturnedaway,notwantingTommietoseethem.
“Doyoulikeithere?”sheasked,hermindcontinuingtowander.“SometimesIthinkitwouldbenicetolivenearthebeach.Doyourememberwhenwewenttothebeach?Whenyouwerelittle?”
He’dbeenyoungthen,stillatoddler,andshe’dputsomuchsunscreenonhimthatthesandstucktohimlikeglue.Theybuiltsandcastlesandsplashedatthewater’sedgeandtossedgrapesfortheseagulls,whichmadeTommiescreamwithlaughterasthebirdsflockedfromonespottothenext.Garyhaddecidedtogogolfinginstead,andsherecalledthinkingeventhenthatTommiewasallshe’deverneed.
“Thatwasawonderfulday,”shereminisced,knowingshewastalkingtoherselfmorethantohim.“Wehadsomuchfun—maybeweshouldtrytodothatagain.Findaplaceclosetothebeach,wherewecouldplayinthesandorwatchthesungodownoverthewater.SometimesIthinkIcouldjustsitandlistentothewavesforhours.Wouldn’tthatbeperfect?”
Tommielookedather.“AmeliasaidthatIcouldsitnexttoheronthebustoday.”
Athiscomment,Beverlyknewhersonhadmissedthehint,andhermelancholydeepenedassherosefromthetable.Afterswipingathertears,shemadehimasandwich,addinganappletohislunch,makingsuretoputitinhisbackpack.Yesterdayfeltalmostlikealifetimeago.
Bythen,Tommiewasjustaboutfinished.Hedranktheremainingmilkfromthebowl,leavingamilkmustache.Shewipedhislips.“YouknowIloveyou,right?”
WhenTommienodded,shethoughtagainthatsheshouldtellhimthetruth,butthewordswouldn’tcome.Instead,shedroppedtooneknee,feelingwobblyandhatingherselfforallshewasabouttoputhimthrough.
“Letmedouble-knotyourshoessotheydon’tcomeuntiedwhenyou’rerunningaround.”
Whenshefinished,sheloopedthebackpackoverhisshouldersandtheyleftthehouse,theirtimingperfect.Bythetimetheyreachedtheroad,thebuswasalreadyslowingtoastop.ShekissedTommieonthecheek,thenwalkedwithhimtowardthedoorsofthebusjustastheyswungopen.Shewatchedhimascendthestepsandofferedaquickfinalwave,butwithhisbacktoher,Tommiedidn’tseemtonotice.
Assheturnedandheadedbacktowardthehouse,shesawitasshehadthefirsttime,whenshethoughtthatshecouldmakeitahome.Sherememberedwalkingthroughandthinkingthatpaintingthekitchenwallsyellowwouldbeperfect.She’dallowedherselftobelievethateverythingwasgoingtoturnoutokay,butasshecontinuedtostare,shesawitnowforthetrapthatitwas,itssolepurposetodangleadreaminfrontofher,onlytocrushit.
Dwellingontheunfairnessofitallandthemistakesshe’dmade,sheenumeratedherfailuresasamother.Andthistime,whenthetearsstartedanew,shebarelymadeittothecouch,knowingshecouldn’tstopthem.Bythetimeshefinishedweeping,shewasweariedandspent.Wipingherfacewiththebottomofhershirt,shenoticednumerousbrownsmudgesonthefabricandrealizedthatshewaslookingatdirt.
FromthediggingwhenIhidtheguns.Herfacemusthavebeenfilthy—nosurprisesinceshehadn’tshowered—andshewonderedwhyTommiehadn’tsaidanythingaboutit.Hehadtohavenoticed,andshesuspectedthathewasreactingjustasshehadasachild,whenshedidn’tunderstandwhatwasgoingonwithhermom.Inthosemoments,itwasbettertopretendthateverythingwasfine,evenwhenfrightened.ItwasnowonderthatTommiehadn’tspokenatdinnerandbarelyglancedatheroverbreakfast.He’dbeenafraidforherandofher,andtherealizationmadeherthroattightenagain.Itwasanothermistake,oneinalonglineofmistakesshe’dmaderecently.
Thecryinghadsappedherenergy,andrisingfromthecouchwasstrangelydifficult.Shelurchedtothekitchenandturnedonthefaucet.Cuppingherhandstowashherface,shecouldfeelflecksofdirtatherhairlineandinherears,eveninhereyelashes.Amirrorwouldhelp,butgoingupstairstothebathroomtocheckwouldtaketoomucheffort.
Sheeyedthefoodshe’dtakenfromthefreezerthenightbefore,thenremovedtheplasticwrapandsetitallonaplate,thinkingitwouldbeonelessthingshehadtodolater.Shefoundalargepotinoneoftheopendrawers.Addingwater,shebegansoakingthebeans.Noneofitwouldbereadytocookforacoupleofhours.Sheconsideredstartingthesandwiches,butasshereachedfortheloafofbread,sheflashedtoanimageofTommieashesatbetweenherandtheoldwomaninthestationwagon,whenhe’dstaredatherwithnothingbutloveandtrustinhiseyes,anditbrokeherheart.
Theknowledgemadeherache,andherthoughtsbegantoscatteragain.SherememberedTommieasaninfant,whensherockedhimlateatnight;shereflectedonthequietwayhenowseemedtomovethroughtheworld.Shedecidedtomakethesandwicheslater,andthoughshedidn’tunderstandherreason,shedidn’tbothertoquestionit.Shewonderedagainwhointheirrightmindwouldeverchooseorangewallsforakitchen.
Herthoughtscontinuedtopinball,lightinguponememoryaftertheother,andsheknewtheonlywaytoshutthemdownwastogobacktosleep.Instead,shepulledthecarrotsfromthefridgeandsetthemonthecounterbeforerummagingthroughthedrawers,tryingtofindthepeeler.Shecouldn’tfindit,soshesettledforabutcherknife,herhandstrembling.Shelongedforsleepagainandunderstoodthatithadbeentheonlytimeinthelastfewdayswhenshefeltsafeandhadn’tbeenburdenedbyworries.
Hermovementsgrewmoreuncoordinateduntilherhandsuddenlyslippedandthebladecutdeepintoherforefinger,bringingherbacktothepresent.Sheyelped—screamed,really—watchingasabeadofbloodappeared,andthenthelonggashturnedcompletelyred.Bloodsplatteredtothecounterandontohershirt.Shepinchedthegashwithherfreehand,momentarilymesmerized,beforethestingroseinfullfury,morphingintosearingpain.Whensheletherfingergo,bloodflowedontothecounter.Withheruninjuredhand,sheturnedonthefaucet,watchedthefaded-pinkwaterflowdownthedrain,thenshutitoff.Sheusedthebottomoftheshirttowrapherfinger,thinkingthatifsheweresomeoneelsewholivedadifferentlife,she’dhopinthecaranddrivetotheurgentcaretogetstitches.
Butthatwasn’therlife,notanymore,andhereyesfilledwithtears.Onestepatatime,shetoldherself.Sheneededgauzeandtapebutdoubtedtherewasanyinthehouse.TheremightbeBand-Aidsinoneofthebathrooms,shereasoned,headingupthestairstothebathroomTommieused.Intheseconddrawerdown,shegotlucky.
ShepulledoutaBand-Aid,butsheneededbothhandstoopenit,andbloodsplatteredontothecounter.Thewrapping,stickyandwetwithblood,madetheadhesiveworthless.ShetriedagainwithanotherBand-Aidandgotthesameresult.Shetriedagainandagain,failingeachtime,bloodywrappersandBand-Aidsdroppingtothefloor.Finally,shegottwooftheBand-Aidsready,rinsedthebloodfromherhandandfinger,anddrieditusinghershirt,squeezingtightly.Sheappliedthefirstone,followedquicklybythesecondone.Thatgaveherthetimesheneededtoapplymore,anditseemedtodothetrick.Herfingerthrobbedwithitsownheartbeatasshewentdownstairs.
Thelivingroomandthehallwayandthekitchenwerewrecks,andthethoughtofhavingtocleanitallandmakethefoodandpackandescapeandsomehowfindawaytostartanewlifewassimplytoomuch.Hermindshutdownlikeanoverloadedcircuit,leavingnothingbutsadnessinitswake.
Exhausted,shewenttothecouchandmadeherselfcomfortable.Closinghereyes,herworriesandfearsfadedawaycompletelytheinstantshefellasleep.Despitesleepingforhours,shewokefeelingasthoughshe’dbeendrugged.Sheforcedherselfupright,hermindworkinginslowmotion,theroomgraduallysettlingintofocus.
“Whatamess,”sheremarkedtonooneinparticular,amazedagainbytheclutterspreadthroughouttheroom,thecabinetatacockeyedangle,thewallhalfprimed.Sherosefromthecouchandshuffledtothekitchentogetaglassofwater.Asshedrank,shefeltthethrobbinginherfinger,thedeepbruisingache.Whenshelookedatherhand,shesawthatthebloodhadsoakedthroughtheBand-Aids,stainingthembrown.Itwasgross,butshewasn’tabouttoundertakeanattempttoreplacethem,anymorethanshewantedtocleanthelivingroomorthekitchenortherestofthehouse.Ormakesandwichesorslicecarrots,forthatmatter.Shehadnodesiretodoanyofit,atleastuntilshefeltabitmorelikeherself.
Instead,shewenttothefrontporch.Sheturnedfromsidetoside,notingtheever-presentfarmworkersinthefields,buttheywerefartherfromthehousethantheyhadbeenthedaybefore,workingonanothersectionofthecropunderagrayishcloudysky.Therewasabreeze,too,fairlysteady,andshewonderedifthatmeantitwasgoingtorain.
Eventhoughrainwouldcomplicatetheirescape,shecouldn’treallysummontheenergytocareallthatmuch;instead,shefoundherselflostinamemoryofhermom.Hermomwouldgetsupertired,too,sometimestothepointwhereshe’dspendtwoorthreedaysinbed.Beverlycouldremembergoingtothesideofhermom’sbedandshakingher,askinghertowakeupbecauseBeverlyhadn’teaten.Sometimeshermomwouldrouseanddragherselftothekitchentowarmupchickennoodlesoupbeforeretreating;othertimes,therewasnothingBeverlycoulddotowakeher.
Ashardasthosedayswere,though,theywerenothingcomparedtothedaysthathermomcriedandcried,nomatterwhatBeverlytriedtodotohelp.Beverlyrememberedbeingscaredwheneverthathappened.Momsweren’tsupposedtocry.Butitwasn’tjustthetearsorthesobbing,chokingsoundsthatbotheredher.Itwasthewayhermomlooked,withherdirtyclothesandhairpokingoutinalldirectionsandthehauntedexpressiononherface.Sheevenmoveddifferently,likeeverystepshetookwaspainfulsomehow.
Norcouldhermomeverexplainwhatmadehersosadinthefirstplace.Itdidn’tmatterifBeverlycleanedherroomordidn’t,orwhethersheplayedquietlyormadenoise;thebluedaysalwayscame.That’swhathermomalwayscalledthem.Bluedays.Whenshegotolderandunderstoodwhatfeelingbluemeant,Beverlyassumedthatshemeantthatfiguratively;later,shebegantothinkthathermomalsomeantitliterally.Becausethat’showBeverlywasfeelingrightnow,sherealized—shefeltasthoughshewereslowlybeingenvelopedinadensebluefog.Itwasn’taprettyblue,either,liketheskyorthecolorshe’dpaintedTommie’sbabyroom.Thiswasamidnightblue,sodarkanddeepitseemedtobeturningblackattheedges,unwelcomingandcoldandheavyenoughtorendercaringaboutanythingalmostimpossible.
“Iamnotmymother,”sherepeated,buteventhen,shewonderedwhetheritwastrue.Shewanderedinside,tryingtoshaketheideathatnomatterwhatshedidtogetready,she’dsomehowmakeamistakethatwouldcatchuptohersoonerratherthanlater.
Fromthecupboardinthekitchen,shepulleddownthecookiejarandreachedforthesmallwadofbills.Thumbingthroughit,shecounted,thendouble-checkedthetotal,andagainshefeltthepressurebuildbehindhereyes,knowingitwasn’tenough.Notevenclosetoenough,andsheconjuredtheimageofherholdingupacardboardsignandbeggingformoney,simplytofeedherson.
Whatwasthepointineventryinganylonger?Andwhycouldn’ttheownerofthehouse—thishouse—havebeennormal?Justanolderwomanwhoneededextramoney,insteadofawomanwhowantedtouseBeverlyforwhateverunlawfulthingshewasdoing?Inthesilence,itwaseasytoimaginethemaninthetruckandtheownersittingaroundabatteredkitchentable,withcashandgunsanddrugsspreadinfrontofthem.
Thethoughtmadeherstomachturnanddeepenedthedark-bluefog.Shezonedoutforawhilebeforefinallyzeroinginonthecounter.Shesawtheknifeandthecarrotsmarkedwithsplashesofblood,whichmadeherthinkaboutherfinger,throbbingwithitsownheartbeat.Strangehowitdidthat,likeithaditsownlittleecosystem,unconnectedtotherestofher.Reluctantlyreachingfortheknife,shewashedthebloodfromthecarrotshe’dbeenworkingon,thendecidedtherewasnowayshe’dletTommieeatit,evenifshepeeledituntilitwasnolargerthanapencil.Shetosseditinthesinkandreachedforanothercarrot,tryingtoconcentrate,makingsureshedidn’tslip.Whenshewasfinished,shereachedforthenextcarrotbutdecideditwouldbebettertogetthechickengoingatthesametime.
Themeatwasontheplatewhereshe’dleftit,thawedandreadytogo.Shesearchedforthecast-ironfryingpaninthedrawer,notfindingit,thenrealizingthatitwasstillonthestovefromlastnight.Turningontheburner,shetossedinthedrumsticks,crowdingthepan,andreturnedtothecarrots.Butasshereachedfortheknife,sheimaginedTommiesoakedtotheskininthepouringrain,inthedark,whilepassingcarssentmorewatersplashingintheirdirection.HowlongwouldTommielastbeforehebegantoshiverorgotsick?Theimagewasheartbreaking.Consumedbyit,shewanderedaimlesslyfromthekitchen.Shedidn’tthinkaboutwhatshewasdoingorwhereshewasgoing;itwasasthoughshewerebeingpulledbyaninvisiblestring,herthoughtsfadingawaytonothing.
ShewentupthestepsandstoodatthethresholdofTommie’sroom.Therehadbeengunsunderthebed,andsheunderstoodthatTommiemusthavefoundthembuthadn’tbotheredtotellher.Therealizationmadehermindgoblankagain;itwastoohorribletocontemplate.Instead,whentheroomcameintofocus,shesawGo,Dog.Go!andIronManonthenightstand,andsheremindedherselfnottoforgetthem,buteventhatregisteredonlydimly.Shewonderedwhyshehadcometohisroominthefirstplace,anditwasonlywhenshesmelledsomethingburningthatshesuddenlyrememberedthechicken.
Thekitchenwasfilledwithsmoke,fueledbyevenmoresmokerisingfromthepan.TheodorofburnedandcharredfoodmadeBeverlyrushtowardthestove,instinctivelyreachingforthehandle.Itwaswhite-hotagonyasherskinaudiblysizzled.Beverlyscreamedanddroppedit,thepancrashingbacktothestovetop.Tearingthroughoneoftheopendrawers,shesentdishragsflyingwhilereachingforanovenmitt.Slippingitontothehandwiththecutfingerandtryingtoignorethepain,sheremovedthepanfromtheheat.Inanotherlife—onewhereshedidn’thavetoaccountforeverymorseloffood—shewouldhavesimplyrunthepanunderthefaucettostopthesmokeandthendumpedtheremainsintothegarbage,butinsteadshesetthepanbackonanunusedburner.Fromthecupboards,shereachedforaplate,hopingshecouldsomehowsalvagethechicken.Shetriedtofindasetoftongstograbthedrumsticks,butitwastangledwithotherutensils,andwhenshetuggeditfromthedrawer,spatulasjoinedthedishragsonthefloor.Withsmokestillpouringfromthepan,shehadtopeelawaythedrumsticks,eachwithonesideblackandtheotherraw,andplaceallofitonaplate.Onlywhenshe’dremovedallthefooddidshebringthepantothefaucettodousethesmoke,thesurfacesizzlingaswaterhitit.
Itwasthenthatshefeltagaintheagonyofherburnedhand,thepaincominginsudden,relentlesswaves.Blisterswerealreadyformingonherpalmandfingers.Shemovedherhandunderthefaucet,butthecoldwaterhittingherskinamplifiedthepain,andshejerkeditaway.Despitethesmoke,shecouldstillsmellthestenchoftheburnedchicken,theodoralmostsickening.TherewasnowaythatTommiecouldeatanyofit,whichmeanttheyhadevenlessfoodtosustainthemwhiletheyescaped.Withoneburnedhandandtheotherwithagashinherfinger,howwoulditevenbepossibletogetanythingdone?Itwasyetanotherfailureinalonglineoffailuresthatmadeherwonderhowshe’deverallowedherselftobelieveshewasfittobeamother.Beverlyspentthenexthoursdoingnothing.Shebarelyremembereddriftingtothefrontporch,numbtoeverythingbutthedensebluefogthatseemedtopoisoneverythought.Herhandandfingerthrobbed,but,lostinagrowingsenseofmelancholy,shebarelyfelteitherofthosethings.
IneedtoseeTommiewasallshecouldthink.
Onlythenwouldthingsbedifferent;onlythenwouldthebluefoggoaway.Dimly,shewasawarethathe’dbecomeherlifeline,andsheneededtoseehisseriouslittlefaceashesteppedoffthebus.Shewantedtosmoothhiscowlickandtellhimthatshelovedhim.Rising,shepeekedthroughthewindowtowardtheclockonthewallandknewthebushadtobecomingsoon.Shelefttheporchandwalkedtowardtheroad,uninterestedinblackSUVsormeninpickuptrucksorfarmworkerswhomightbewatchingher.Therewasonlyoneimportantthing.
Shetookaseatonthestump,painfromtheburnforcingitswaytotheforefrontofherconsciousness.Itoccurredtoherthatsheshouldperhapswrapherhandortrytofindsomemedicinalcream,butthethoughtofmissingTommie’sarrivalfilledherwithanxiety.
Thecloudshadcontinuedtothicken,graythunderheadsforming.Leavesinthetreesmurmuredwiththechangingweather.Onafencepostacrosstheroad,acardinalseemedtobewatchingher.
Beverlystareduptheroad,waiting.Thepainroseandsankandroseagain,makingherwince.Sheopenedherhand,allowingthebreezetocaressit,butthatmadeitfeelevenworse,soshecloseditagain.Thecardinalflewaway,growingsmallerinthedistance.Beverlycouldfeelthedark-bluefogallaroundher,wrappingherinitstendrils.
Thebusdidn’tappear,andshecontinuedtowait,thenwaitedsomemore.Eventually,farmworkersloadedintothebedsofpickuptrucks,andthetrucksleftthefieldsandturnedontotheroad,vanishingfromsight.Thesoundofdistantthunderrolledacrossthefields.Buttherewasstillnobus.
Shereturnedtotheporchtocheckthetimethroughthefrontwindows.Thebuswaseitherhalfanhouroranhourlate,butshecouldn’trememberwhich.Shewalkedbacktothestump,curiosityslowlygivingwaytoirritationandthentoconcernasmoretimepassed.Whenfearfinallytookroot,thebluefogbegantoclear,thoughitrevealednoanswers,onlymorequestions.
Wherewasthebus?
Wherewasherson?
Beverlyfeltshortofbreathassherealizedtheobvious.Shewalked,thenran,towardthehouseandburstthroughthedoor.Shetriednottothinktheworstbutcouldn’thelpherself;sheneededtofigureoutwhattodo.Didthebusbreakdown,ordidTommiemissthebus?Washestillattheschool?She’dhavetowalkorhopefullycatcharide.Shesuddenlywishedtherewasaneighbornearby,asweetoldladywhobroughtoverapietowelcomethemwhentheyfirstarrived,butnoonehadcome….
Ifthebushadbrokendown,shehadtoknow.IfTommiewasstillattheschool,shehadtogogethim.Shetrippedonapileofdetritusfromthecupboardsandwentsprawling,herkneecomingdownhardonthelinoleumfloor,butshebarelyfeltitasshescrambleduprightagain.Shethoughtaboutthedisguisesheneededtowear,eventhoughputtingitonwouldtaketimeshedidn’thave.
Shelimpedupthestepstoherroomandfrozeinthedoorway.Herroomwastrashed,clothesstrewnalloverthefloor,closetdoorsopen,eventhebedlinensonthefloor.Sheblinked,tryingtomakesenseofit.
Hadshedonethis?Yesterday?Whenshewassearchingthehouse?Shecouldremembercleaningoutunderthesinkandthepantryandtheclosetandthebackporch,butbythetimeshewentupstairs,she’dbeeninsuchafrenzythathermemorieswerefuzzy.She’dclearedoutthelinencloset,buthadshedonethis,aswell?Shesupposeditwaspossible,butshedidn’trecall,andifshehadn’t…
Herthroatconstrictedassherememberedthemanwiththetruck.
Hadhecomeintothehousewhileshewasdiggingatthecreek?
Shereachedforthedoorjambtoholdherselfsteady.Shedidn’twanttobelieveit,didn’twanttothinkithadtakenherthatlongtodig,didn’twanttoimaginethatsomeonehadtornthroughthehouseinherabsenceanddonethis,didn’twanttoconsiderwhatmighthavehappenedhadshebeeninsidewhenthemanburstthroughthedoor…
No,shethought,fearsharpeningherfocus.Shecouldn’tgothere,couldn’tallowherselftogodowntherabbithole.Rightnow,Tommiewastheonlythingthatmattered.
Steelingherself,shemovedintoherbedroom,takinginthedestruction.Herwigwasjustwhereshe’dleftitinthebathroom,alongwithherbaseballhat.Inthemirror,shenoticedthebloodonhershirtandsheslippedoutofit,exchangingitfortheonethathungovertheshower-curtainrod.Whenshelookedmorecloselyatherreflection,shebarelyrecognizedthegaunt,hauntedwomanstaringbackather.Buttherewasnotimeformakeup.Thepaininherhandandfingermadepinningupherhairalmostimpossible,andshewincedasshediditanyway.Afterdonningthewig,sheputonthehatandlookedforhershoesnearthebed,whichwaswheresheusuallyleftthem,butshecouldn’tseethemanywhere.Withsomanyclothesonthefloorshehadtokickthroughthepiles,withoutanyluck.Shelookedunderthebed,buttheyweren’tthere,either,andshesuddenlyrememberedshe’dsleptonthecouch.Shemusthavetakenthemoffdownstairs.
Shehadbeguntomovetowardthedoorwhenshehappenedtoglancebackatthenow-emptiedcloset,theimageslowlycomingintofocus.Amomentlater,shefeltherlegsbuckle.Almostfaint,shedroppedtoherknees,staringwitharisingsenseofhorrorattheChristianLouboutinred-soledpumpsthatGaryhadoncegivenherforherbirthday,theonesshe’dleftbehind.Theywerehershoes,noquestion;sherecognizedtheboxtheysatinandthetinyscuffmarkononeofthetoesfromthefirstnightshe’dworntheshoestodinner.Nordidshewonderhoworwhytheywereinthehouse.
Garybroughtthem.
He’dknownthatsheandTommiewouldrunagain;hemusthaveknowneverythingallalong.Itdidn’tmatterthattherewerecamerasinthebusstation;heprobablyhadn’tplasteredherimagealloverwantedpostersanddistributedthemtolawenforcementaroundthecountry.Hedidn’tneedto;heknewshewouldtravellight,sohesewedGPStrackersintotheirbackpacks.Andwhereverhe’dbeen,maybeeventheiroldhouse,hesimplysatbackandwatchedtheirprogressonhisphoneorcomputerforthenextfewdays.Heknewshe’dhitchedridesinstrangers’cars,knewshe’dstayedatthemotelandgonetothediner,maybeeventrackedherasshe’dvisitedthehousetheveryfirsttime.Heprobablypulledituponsomesortofsatelliteorstreetmapandthenusedhisconnectionstoidentifytheowner.
Removingherwigandleavingitinthebathroom,shestaggereddownthestairs,dizzywithherownstupidity.Beyondthewindows,lightningflashed,andaboomofthunderfollowed.Rainbegantofall,makingthehousevibrateasthoughatrainwererunningpastit,butinthegripofherthoughts,Beverlynoticednoneofit.
Garyhadcontactedtheownerofthehouse,ofcourse.Morethanlikely,he’ddonesoonthephoneevenbeforetheowneragreedtoshowthehousetoBeverly.Helikelyofferedsomebogusstoryabouttheopportunitytohelpthegovernmentwithaninvestigation,perhapsevenofferedhermoneyandtoldherwhatheneededhertodo.Whichexplainedwhythewomanhadn’taskedBeverlytheordinaryquestionsoraskedforidentificationorevenreferences.Itexplainedwhythewomanhadbeensowillingtotakecash.
Therestwaseasy.He’dsentmentocheckonher,drivingbeat-uppickuptruckstoblendin.Andafterthat?Theintroductionofabitofpsychologicalwarfare:Thefirsttimethemaninthetruckcame,heleftthegunsanddrugsinthehouse.He’dbeencarefultoremovehisboots,though,whichexplainedwhytherewerenofootprintsinside.Garyknewherandhadanticipatedexactlyhowshewouldreact;heknewshewouldpanicifshefoundprints.Thesecondtimethemancame,he’dtrashedherroominafurtherattempttokeepheroff-balanceandterrorizeher.Atthesametime,Garystationedmeninthefieldstowatchher,sotheyknewexactlywhensheintendedtorun.
Beverlystaggeredtothecouch,hermindbeginningtoslowasthepiecescontinuedtocometogether.Whileshe’dpickedupgroceriesorpaintedthekitchen,GaryhadobviouslygonetoJohnSmallElementarySchoolandmadehisarrangementsthere.He’dexplainedtotheprincipalandtheteacherandthebusdriverthatBeverlyhadkidnappedtheirson.Nodoubt,hefurtherstressedthefactthatBeverlywasdangerousandthatbothgunsanddrugsweresuspectedtobeinthehouse;hemightevenhaveshownthemphotographsasproof.HewouldunderscorehisconcernforTommie’ssafety.Inawaythatsoundedbothofficialandreasonable,hewouldtellthemthatitwasbesttosimplyrescueTommiewhenhewasatschool,whentherewouldbenoriskofTommiebeinghurt.
Andnow?Soonthepoliceorsheriffwouldbesummoned,andshe’dbearrested.Theywere,infact,probablyontheirwaytothehouseasshesatonthecouch,butthethoughtofspendingtherestofherlifeinprisonwasnothingcomparedtotheideathatshe’dneverseehersonagain.
Tommieisgone,avoicechantedinherheadasthebluefogoverwhelmedher.Tommieisgone.Therewasnowaytofixit,nowayout.Therewasnofutureforher,nomatterwhat,andashermindgrewblankandfuzzy,shewasleftonlywithemotionsthatwereasdarkasthefog,andfurtherpiecesfellintoplace.TommiewasgoneandshewouldgotoprisonandGarywouldtakehisangeroutonhisson,andhersweetyoungboywouldeventuallygrowupandbecomeaviolent,dangerousman.
Outside,flashesoflightningcontinuedtosplitthesky,andthunderboomedabovethesoundofpouringrain.Thehousegrewdim,moreoppressive,butitmeantabsolutelynothing.Lifemeantnothing,andthefuturewasblackerthantheworldoutside,nomatterwhatshedid.Everyroadshe’dimaginedhadcometoadeadend,andtherewasnothingbutoblivion.
Tommie.
Sherealizedthatshe’dneverwatchhimplaysoccerorfootballorhitahomerunwhilesheclappedinthestands;she’dneverseehimdressedupbeforehomecomingsorproms.She’dneverwatchhimdevelopacrushforthefirsttimeorbaskinexcitementearlyonChristmasmorning.She’dneverseehimdriveacarorbecomeayoungmanorgraduatefromhighschoolandcollege,andshe’dneverhearhislaughteragain.
Allthosechanceshadturnedtodustandashes,butevencryingseemedpointless.Doinganythingwaspointless,andforalongtimeshecouldn’tsummonthewilltomove.Herbreathslowedwhilethebluefogthickened,bringinganguishandlossandunlimitedsorrow,asthoughhersoulwasbeinginkedwithpoison.Thepastwasahorrorshowandthefuturepromisednothingbutpain,butthepresentwasevenworse,suffocatinginitsintensity.
Deliberately,sherosefromthecouch.Asifinatrance,sheslowlyclimbedthestairs,herhandandkneeandfingerthrobbinginpain,butshedeservedallofit,becauseshe’dfailedherson.
OnthefloorinTommie’sroomwastheplasticgarbagebag,theoneshe’ddraggedaroundthehousewhilesearchingfordrugs.Beverlyturnedonthelampandsatontheedgeofthebed.Buriedinitwerethepillbottlesshe’dfoundinthebathroom,andshebegandiggingthroughthesandyrodentkiller,searchingforwhatsheneeded.
Shepulledthepillbottlesoutonebyoneandreadthelabels,droppingtothefloortheonesshedidn’trecognize.IntimeshefoundtheAmbien,thevialmorethanhalffull.Droppingthebag,shelefttheroomandwentdownstairs.
Inthekitchen,sheignoredthesmellofburnedchickenandthehamburgerthatwasnowspoiling.Sheignoredthemessandlookedpastthebloodonthecounter.Instead,shefilledaglassofwaterfromthefaucet.Glancingoutthewindow,sheknewthatGarywouldbeheresoon,alongwithahostoflawenforcement.Butshedidn’tcareanymoreaboutbeingarrested;shedidn’tcareaboutanything,fortherewasnothinglefttocareaboutandtherewasnowayout.
Wanderingbackupstairs,shewenttoTommie’sroomandsatonthesideofhisbed.Shedumpedthepillsfromthebottleintoherhand,thentossedthemintohermouth,washingallofthemdownwithwater.Shelayback,thinkingthatTommie’sscentalreadyseemedtohavevanishedcompletely.Butitwouldbeoversoon,thesensationoffinalityringingsoloudthatitmutedeverythingshe’dbeenfeelingoverthelastfewhours.
Closinghereyes,Beverlyfeltmomentaryrelief.
Thenshefeltnothingatall.I’dhopedMorganandIcouldlingeroverbreakfast,butshetoldmethatshecouldn’tbecauseofrehearsal.Instead,shekissedme,thenhoppedintotheshower,andaftershethrewonhersundress,IdroveherbacktotheDon.
Afamilywithchildrenwasstandinginthehotellobby,andIsawMorgan’sgazeflickertothembeforeshegavemeachastekissthatleftmelongingformore.She’dinvitedmetocomebythepoollatertohangoutwithherandherfriends,andthoughIwantedheralltomyself,Iacceptedthatitwastheirlastweektogether,aswell.
Ididashorterrunthanusual,stoppingtopickupbreakfasttacosfromastand.Iatethemintheparkinglotwhilestillsweating,mymindonMorgan.She’dbeenquietonthedrivetothehotel,seeminglydazed,whichIappreciatedbecauseIfeltthesameway.Itwasn’tpossibletofallinlovesoquickly,butsomehowwehad,andIthinksheneededsometimetosortthroughit.Ialsosuspectedshewasn’tlookingforwardtothediscussionthatwouldinevitablyarisewithherfriends.Ifshebarelyunderstoodwhathadhappened,thensheprobablyassumedthatherfriendswouldn’tunderstandit,either.
Asforme,IwasalsothinkingaboutthefactthatMorganandIhadonlyafewmoredaystogether,andIcouldn’thelpbutwonderifshe’dspendthenextcoupleofhourscomingtohersensesandrealizethatshe’dbeenmistakenaboutherfeelingsallalong.
Sometimeafterwe’dfallenasleep,thepowerhadcomeon,soafterIgotbackandshowered,Itooksometimetocleanupthecondo.Attheappointedhour,IdrovetotheDonandmademywaytothepooldeck.Morganandherfriendswerealreadythere,cladincolorfulbikinisandsoakingupthesun.Thesmalltablebetweenthechairswaslitteredwithtubesofsunscreenandalargebottleofwater,alongwithleftovercupsofgreendrinks.Thoughtfully,therewasanemptychaiselonguesavedbesideMorgan,toppedwithacoupleoffoldedtowels.
Hollywasthefirsttoseeme,andsheofferedaquickhello;theothers—evenMorgan—wavednonchalantly,asthoughunawarethatMorganhadn’treturnedtothehotelthenightbefore.IthoughtaboutkissingMorganbutoptednotto,incaseitembarrassedher,anddidmybesttoplayitcool,eventhoughthesightofMorganinherbikinitriggeredtantalizingflashbacks.Forafewminutes,noonesaidanything;forallintentsandpurposes,wecouldhavebeenstrangerswhohappenedtobeseatedbesideoneanother.MaybeIwaswrong,Ithought;perhapsMorganandherfriendshadn’tdiscussedthesituationatall.ThenMariaclearedherthroat.
“So,Colby…howdidyournightgo?”sheasked.
Assoonassheasked,theyallstartedcackling.Withtheicefinallybroken,IturnedtowardMorgan.
“Anyregrets?”Isaidundermybreath.
Morgangavemeasunnysmile.“Noneatall.”Thankfully,noneofthempressedeitherMorganormeaboutthenightbefore,thoughbytheiravoidanceofthesubject,IwasreasonablysurethatMorganhadspilledthebeansaboutprettymucheverything.Instead,thefiveofusspentthedaychattingandoccasionallyjumpingintothepooltocooloff.Weorderedsnacksfromthepoolbar,andafterwardMorganandIwentforawalkonthebeach.Iheldherhand,thinkinghowitseemedtofitperfectlyinmyown.
Bylateafternoon,everyonewasreadytocallitquits.Morganannouncedsheneededanap,andafterhaulingourusedtowelstothebin,Islippedbackintomyshirtandflip-flops.Bythen,Morganhadalreadyputonhercover-up.
“Wouldyouliketohavedinnerlater?”Iasked.
“Whatareyouthinking?”
“Howaboutapicniconthebeach?”
Shetookmyfaceinherhandsandkissedmegently.“Thatsoundsperfect.”Wearrangedtomeetbehindthehotelathalfpastseven,butlikeMorgan,Ialsoneededanap.Ifellasleepassoonasmyheadhitthepillow.Surprisinglyrefreshedwhenthealarmwentoff,IshoweredanddressedbeforeorderingtwoGreeksaladsfromarestaurantdowntheblock,onewithaddedsalmonandtheotherwithgrilledshrimp.OnthewaybacktotheDon,Ialsoboughtabagofice,alongwithmoreicedteasandbottledwater.
Stakingoutaspotnexttothedunetothesideofthehotel,IspreadoutasheetthatI’dsnaggedfromthecondo.IhadjustopenedabottleofwaterwhenIcaughtsightofMorganapproaching.Rising,ImetherwithahugandgothersettledonacollapsiblebeachchairI’dbroughtalong.
“Whatdidyoubring?”sheasked.“I’mstarved.”
Ipulledthesaladsfromthecooler,andafterwefinished,weusedtheduneasabackrest,snugglinginitsshade.IputmyarmaroundMorgan,andshecurledintomeastheskybeganitsslowandmiraculoustransformation.Bluefadedtoyellow;pinkhighlightscutlongswathstowardthewaterastheskyturnedorangeandthenfinallyred.Asifoncue,themoonstartedtorisejustasthesunwassetting.
“Iwantyoutodosomethingformetomorrow,”Ifinallysaid.
Sherotatedtowardme.“Anything.”
ItoldherwhatIwanted,andthoughshedidn’tanswer,shedidn’trejectmyidea,either,whichItookasapositivesign.
Afterward,wewentbacktomycondo,alreadykissingandundressingonourwaytothebedroom.Wemadelovewithtendernessandrenewedurgency,andafterward,Morgantwinedherlimbsaroundme,herheadrestingonmychest.Whenshefinallydriftedofftosleep,Igentlyuntangledmyselfandrosefromthebed.Wrappedinatowel,Iwenttothelivingroom,whichwasbathedinsilverymoonlightstreamingthroughtheslidingglassdoors.
AsIstaredatthemoonrisingabovethetrees,IthoughtabouthowmuchIlovedMorganandmarveledathowdifferentmyownlifeseemedwhenviewedthroughthelensofthesenewfeelings.Naturally,mythoughtsturnedtothefactthatyetanotherdayhadpassedandthatMorganwouldbeleavingsoon,andIwonderedagainwhatwasgoingtobecomeofus,dreadingtheideathatadecisionwascoming,onethatmightbreakmyheart.
Backinthebedroom,IpressedmybodyagainstMorgan’s.Eveninsleep,shesensedmypresenceandresponded,herbodycurlingintomine.Ibreathedinherscent,feelingcomplete,andthoughittookawhiletofallasleep,IknewthatafterIfinallydriftedoff,Iwouldnodoubtdreamofher.Whenwewoke,MorganpersuadedmetojoinherandherfriendsonavisittotheDalíMuseum,anhouraftertheyfinishedrehearsal.
Weheldhandsaswetouredtheexhibits,whichI’lladmitIfoundmoreinterestingthanIexpected.Mariaseemedquiteknowledgeableabouttheartistandtooktimetoexplainwhyonepaintingoranotherwasparticularlyimportant,andwhilemostofwhatIsawwasn’texactlymystyle,therewerefourorfivethatIkeptreturningtotostudy.Theywerestrangebutdefinitelythought-provoking.
AfterwardwewenttoClearwaterBeach,sinkingourbarefeetintothepowderywhitesandandfloatinginthewarmgulfwaters.Ihadtoleaveearlyinordertogettomyshowontime,andIremindedheragainofmyrequest,butasusualshedeflected.Lingeringoveralongkiss,IwhisperedthatIlovedher,notcaringintheslightestwhatherfriendsmightsayafterIwasgone.
TheThursday-eveningcrowddwarfedTuesday’s—nosurprisesincetheweatherwasidyllic—andmorepeoplecontinuedtostreaminasIrolledthroughmyfirstandsecondsets.Soontherewasbarelyenoughroomtostand.Again,Iwassurprisedbythenumberofrequestsformyoriginalsongs—clearlypeoplewerefamiliarizingthemselveswithmyrecordingsonline—andonlytoohappytomixthingsupontheevening’splaylist.Overall,itwasthebooziestcrowdsincethepreviousweekend,andRayandthestaffstruggledtokeepupwiththedrinkorders.
WhenMorganandherfriendsshowedupwithabouttwentyminutesleftinthefinalset,headsturnedattheposseofstunningyoungwomen.Iimmediatelylaunchedintothesongthathadbeeninspiredbyher,followedbysomesing-alongstandardstojuicethecrowd.ThoughIwasstilluncertainabouthowshewouldreact,Iclearedmythroatandtappedthemicrophone,gettingeveryone’sattention,beforeturningmygazetoMorgan.
“Iheardanextraordinarysingertheotherdayandaskedifshe’dbewillingtoperformasongforyoutonight.Shehasyettogivemeananswer,butifyou’dliketohearwhatIheard,letMorganLeeknowhowmuchyouwanthertocomeupandjoinmerightnow.”
Thecrowdwhoopedandhollered,justasI’dexpected;afterregisteringherembarrassment,Iheldoutmyhandtoher,urgingherforward,whileHolly,Stacy,andMariacheeredandexcitablynudgedherinmydirection.Despiteherhesitation,itseemedshewaslessbotheredthansimplynervous.Assheeventuallybeganmakingherwaytowardme,thecrowd’senthusiasmbuilttoaroar.Herfriendsfollowed,alreadygrabbingfortheirphonesandmovingclosertothelowstage,nodoubtsotheycouldfilm.IhelpedMorganontotheplatform,steppingbackasshefinallyreachedforthemicrophone.Imovedmystooltotheside,thenretrievedamusicstandfromthebackcorner.Morganpulledupherphotos,zeroinginontheonewiththelyricsthatshe’dtakenwhileatthecondo.
“GivemeaminutetomakesureIknowallthewords,okay?”shewhispered,herhandoverthemike.
“Ofcourse,”Isaid.“Takeyourtime.”
Iwatchedasshewentthroughthewords,anditwasimmediatelycleartomethatalongreviewwouldn’tbenecessary.“Fornow,whydon’tIplaythroughtheopeningstanzaandthechorus,andI’lljustrepeatituntilyousignalthatyou’reready,okay?”
Shenodded,hereyesstillonthescreenasshecontinuedtomouththewords.Somehow,hernervousnessonlyseemedtoheightentheaudience’santicipation.
Istartedthesong’sopeningstanza,watchingformycue.AsIcametotheendofthechorus,Isawhernodatme,herbodyswayingeversoslightlyassheraisedhereyestowardthecrowd.Icircledback,repeatingtheopening,andassoonasshehittheveryfirstnotes,Iwasn’ttheonlyonewhowasmesmerized.Silencereignedasherthroatyvoicefilledthebar,peopleparalyzedbyitsclarityandpower.Butasshebegantodance,herstepstakingherfromoneendofthestagetotheother,theyerupted,cheeringandclappingintime.ThiswasaMorganI’dneverseenbefore—notraceoftheself-consciousgirlstandinginmylivingroom.Herfriendswerefilmingwithintenseconcentration,butIcouldtellthatitwasalltheycoulddotokeepfromjumpingupanddown.
Thesongwasinfectious,inspiringshoutsandwhistlesbythesecondrefrain,andthemorethecrowdgotintoit,themoreMorganresponded.
Therewasanoperaticqualitytohervoice,andasshelaunchedintoapowerfulvibratotowardtheendofthesong,theaudiencerosetotheirfeetasone.Whenshelandedthefinalhighnotewithtotalconfidence,theapplausewasexplosive.Shewasasensation,andeveryonethereknewit.
Peopleimmediatelycalledforanencore,butMorgandeclinedwithashakeofherheadassheplacedthemicrophonebackintothestand.Shesteppedofftheplatform,onlytobeswarmedbyherfriends,whowerealmostgiddywithexcitement.
BecauseIstillhadafewminuteslefttoplay—andknowingitwouldbefoolishtofollowMorganwithanythingI’dwritten—Ipickedaperennialcrowdfavorite,“AmericanPie.”AssoonasIembarkedontheopeningchords,theattentionofthecrowdswungbacktome,andsooneveryonewassingingalong,justasIknewtheywould.Meanwhile,thegirlsretreatedtotheiroriginalspotintheback,flushedandbuzzing.
WhenIfinished,Ispottedthenextactwaitinginthewings.Isetmyguitarofftothesidetomakeroomforthemtosetup,thenpushedthroughthecrowdtoreachMorganandherfriends.BythetimeIreachedthemandtookMorgan’shand,sheseemedstrangelysubdued.
“You’reincredible,”Isaid.“Everyonelovedyou.”
Shekissedmesoftly.
“Istillthinkyou’rebetter.”Afteracelebratorydinner,weallwentdancingataclubinSt.Petersburg.Itwasn’tthesizeofaweekendcrowdbutnotbadforaThursdaynight,andthefiveofusdancedinacircletothehigh-energytechnobeats.Or,rather,theydancedwhileImainlyshiftedmyweightfromonefoottotheotheranddidmybestnottocallattentiontomyself.
Itendedupbeingalatenight,withMorganridingbacktothecondowithmewhiletheothershoppedinanUber.Ontheway,sheconfessedthatHollyandStacywerealreadypressinghertopostthevideosthey’dmadeofhersinging.
“Whatdoyouthink?”sheasked,uncertain.“Doyouthinkitwouldbeamistake?”
“Howcoulditbeamistake?”
“Idon’tknow….Doyouthinkit’sgoodenough?Whatif,like,someA&Rexeccomesacrossthevideo?It’snotexactlystudioquality,andmythroathasbeenkindascratchylately.Ididn’thaveachancetowarmupandIdidn’tevenknowallthewordsperfectly—”
“Morgan.”Itookonehandoffthesteeringwheelandlaiditfirmlyoverhers.“Stop.”
Whensheturnedtowardme,Iwenton.“Youwerefantastic,”Isaid.“Ifanyoneseesthatvideo,they’llseethatyouhavesuperstarwrittenalloveryou.”
Morgancoveredherfacewithherhandsinembarrassment,butIcouldseethesmilepeekingoutbetweenherfingers.
Thefollowingmorning,IdroveherbacktotheDon.Theconversationinthetruckwasmuted,andthoughwemadeplanstomeetbythepoolinafewhours,shewasquieterthanusual,herexpressionpreoccupied.
Ididn’taskthereason,ifonlybecauseIalreadyknew.
Ourtimetogetherwasquicklycomingtoanend.BecauseI’dbeworkingthefollowingevening,IwantedourFridaynighttobememorable.Doingsomequickresearchontheinternet,Iwasabletoarrangeforaprivatecatamaranrideatsunset.IwincedatthecostbuttriedtoremindmyselfIonlylivedonce.
Ialsoplannedtomakeherdinnerafterward,whichrequiredyetanothertriptothegrocerystore,asIwasn’tsureItrustedthatthechickenI’dboughtbeforethepoweroutagewouldstillbesafetoeat.Ialsohadtofigureoutarecipethatsoundedgoodbutwasalsosupremelyeasy.Intheend,Ididn’tmakeittotheDonuntilhalfpasteleven.
Thistimethegroupoffriendswasonthebeach,andagain,achairformehadthoughtfullybeenplacedbesideMorgan’s.ThoughpartofmeconsideredinvitingonlyMorganonthecatamaran,bythenI’dcometolikeherfriendsandfiguredthey’denjoyit,too.TheirexcitementattheprospectwasevengreaterthanIexpected,however—theykeptmentioninghowmuchtheywerelookingforwardtoit,whichearnedsomegratefulexpressionsfromMorgan,aswell.
SheandIwanderedoffforlunchtogetheralone.Afterward,wewalkedthebeachandwadedinthesurftocooloff,anditwaseasytoimaginealifewithherinthefuture,ifonlyIhadthecouragetomakeitpossible.
Inlateafternoon,theyregroupedintheirroomstogetready;Ididthesameatthecondo,thenmetthemattheDonforthedrivetothedocks.ThoughIshouldhaveexpectedit,Morgan’sfriendshadtheirphonesoutandweretakingselfiesassoonaswesteppedonboard,promptingtheoccasionaleyerollfromMorgan.Itwasn’tahugevessel—Ifiguredthatitwascomfortableforuptosevenoreightguests—butthegirlsswoonedoverthefruitandcheeseandcomplimentarychampagne.Surprisingme,evenMorganhadsome,andweallclinkedglassesincelebration.
Weleftthedockandcruisedalongthewaterfront;twice,wespotteddolphinstrailingalongsidethecatamaran.Thespectacularsunsetsomehowseemedcloserwhenoutonthewater,asthoughwewereactuallysailingintoit.Withthewindinourfaces,Morganleanedintome,andIheldherasweskimmedoverthegentlewaters.Herfriendskepttryingtogetustoposeforphotographs,too,butafteracouple,Morganshooedthemaway,tryingherbesttopreservethemomentforjustthetwoofus.
Oncewewerebackonshore,thegirlssuggestedthatweheadintodowntownSt.Pete.ThoughIofferedtogowithMorganincaseshewantedtojointhem,sheshookherheadandsaidshe’dratherreturntothecondowithme.
Inthesmallkitchen,MorganwatchedwhileIpreheatedtheovenandpoppedacoupleofbakingpotatoesin;laterIretrievedthemarinatingchickenbreastsfromtherefrigerator,placingthemonabakingsheet.Iputthemintheovenalongwithanotherfoiledbakingsheetbearingasparaguscoatedwitholiveoilandsalt.
“I’mimpressed,”shesaid,raisinganeyebrow.
“Don’tbe.Igoogleditthismorning.”
WhenIreachedforthetomatotostartslicingitforthesalad,Morganwrappedherarmsaroundmywaistfrombehindandkissedmebehindmyear.“IsthereanythingIcandotohelp?”
“Youcanslicethecucumbers,”Isaid,reluctanttohavehermoveaway.
Shewenthuntinginthedrawersforaknife,thenrinsedthecucumberunderthefaucetbeforereturningtomyside.Shewassmilingslightly,asthoughponderinganinsidejoke.
“What’ssofunny?”
“This,”shesaid.“Cookingamealwithyou.Itfeelssodomestic,butIkindoflikeit.”
“Betterthanroomservice?”
“Iwouldn’tgothatfar.”
Ilaughed.“Didyouhelpyourmominthekitchenwhenyouweregrowingup?”
“Notreally.Thekitchenwasmymom’splacetorelax.She’dhaveaglassofwineandturnontheradioanddoherthing.Myjob—andmysister’s—wastocleanupafterward.Mymomhatedthecleanup.Ididn’tlikeit,either,butwhatcouldIdo?”
Thetimeronmyphonedinged,andIremovedthepotatoesandbakingsheetsfromtheoven.Surprisingnoonemorethanme,thechickencameoutliketherecipesaiditshould.Afterloadingourplates,Ibroughtthemtothetablealongwiththesaladandabottleofstore-boughtdressing.AssoonasMorgansat,shesurveyedthetable.
“Thisisn’tquiteright,”shesaid.
Sheroseanddidaquickcircuitofthebedroomandlivingroom,returningwiththecandlesandthematches.Afterlightingthecandles,sheturnedoutthekitchenlights.
“Better,don’tyouthink?”shesaidassheresumedherseat.
Thesightofherfaceinthecandlelighttriggeredamemoryofhowshelookedthenightwe’dfirstmadelove,andallIcoulddowasnod.
Morgangenuinelyseemedtolovethechicken,eatingtwohelpingsinadditiontohalfabakedpotatoandgenerousservingsofsaladandasparagus.Afterclearingtheplates,Morgansurprisedmebyaskingiftherewasanywineleftoverfromtheothernight.Morganbroughtthecandlestothecoffeetable,andItookaseatbesideheronthecouch,glassesinhand.Shewasscrollingthroughthephotosfromthecatamaran.Ileanedovertostudythem,aswell.
AsprettyasMorganwasinperson,IguessIshouldn’thavebeensurprisedbyhowphotogenicshewas.
“Canyoutextmethose?”
“HowaboutIAirDropthem?”
“What’sthat?”
Sherolledhereyes.“Turnonyourphoneandhitacceptwhenitcomesup.”
Ididwhatshesaid,andalmostinstantaneously,thephotoswereonmyphone.
“DoyoureallynotknowwhatAirDropis?”Morganlaughed.
“Ifyoureallyunderstoodmyregularlife,youwouldn’thavebotheredtoaskthatquestion.”
Shesmiledbeforegrowingquiet.Staringintoherglass,shetookadeepbreath.Iknewwhatwascoming.ItwasaconversationIwasn’tsureIwasreadyfor,theonethathadnoanswers.
“What’sgoingtohappentous?”sheasked,hervoicesubdued.
“Idon’tknow,”Ianswered.
“Whatdoyouwant?”sheasked,hereyesstillfixedonherwine.“Don’tyouwantustobetogether?”
“OfcourseIdo.”
“Whatdoesthatmean,though?Haveyoueventhoughtaboutit?”
“It’sallI’vebeenthinkingabout,”Iconfessed.Itriedtoseeherface.
Shefinallyraisedhereyes,astrangefireburninginthem.“YouknowwhatI’mthinking?”
“Ihavenoidea.”
Sheputdownherwineglassandtookmyhandsinhers.“IthinkyoushouldcometoNashvillewithme.”
Ifeltmybreathcatch.Then:“Nashville?”
“Youcanworkontyingthingsupatthefarm,takewhatevertimeyouneed…andthenmeetmethere.Wecanbetogether,writesongstogether,chaseourdreamstogether—it’sourchance.Ifthingsworkout,thenyoucanhiremorepeopleatthefarmormakeitlargerorraisethatgrass-fedbeeflikeyourauntsuggested.Theonlydifferenceisthatyouwouldn’thavetobetheoneactuallydoingit.”
Ifeltmyheadbegintospin.“Morgan…”
“Justwait,”shesaid,hervoicebrimmingwithurgency.“Hearmeout,okay?YouandI…Imean…Ineverthoughtitwaspossibletofallinlovewithsomeoneinjustafewshortdays.I’mnotromanticinthat,like,hoping-to-find-Prince-Charmingkindofway.ButyouandI…Idon’tknow.Fromthemomentwemet,itwaslike…wefitsomehow….”
Clickedlikeatumblerfallinginacombinationlock,Icouldn’thelpbutthink.
“ItwasalmostlikeIknewandtrustedyoufromtheverybeginning.Thathasn’teverhappenedtome,andthenthewaywemademusictogether…”Whenshepaused,herexpressionwasfullofhopeandwonder.“I’veneverfeltsoinsyncwithanyone.”Sheturnedhergazeonme.“Youdon’twanttolosethat,doyou?Youdon’twanttoloseme,doyou?”
“No.Iwantyou,andIwantustobetogether,too.”
“Thencomewithme.GotoNashvillewhenyoucan.”
“Butthefarm.Mysister…”
“Yousaidyourselfthatthefarmiseasiernow,andyousaidyouhaveageneralmanager.AndifyoursisterwantstocometoNashville,bringher.Shecanprobablyrunherbusinessfromanywhere,right?”
IthoughtofPaige,thoughtofallthethingsaboutmysisterthatIhadyettoadmit.“Youdon’tunderstand….”
“Whatistheretounderstand?She’sanadult.Buthere’stheotherthing.”Shetookalongbreathbeforegoingon.“Youhaveanamazingvoice.You’reanamazingsongwriter.Youhaveagiftthatothersonlydreamabout.Youshouldn’tletthatgotowaste.”
“I’mnotyou,”Idemurred,feelingsuddenlytrapped,needinganotherexcuse.Anyexcuse.“Youdidn’tseeyourselfuponthatstage.”
Herexpressionwasalmostwistful.“Thethingis,youdon’tseeyourself,either.Youdon’tseewhatIsee.Orwhattheaudiencesees.Andyoualsounderstandthatmusicissomethingpowerful,somethingthatpeopleallovertheworldcanshare,right?It’slikealanguage,awaytoconnectthat’sbiggerthanyouormeoranyone.Doyoueverthinkabouthowmuchjoyyoucouldbringpeople?You’retoogoodtostayonthefarm.”
Dizzy,Icouldthinkofnothingtosay,otherthantheobvious.“Idon’twanttoloseyou.”
“Thendon’t,”sheurged.“Didyoumeanitwhenyousaidthatyoulovedme?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Thenbeforeyousayno,evenifyoudon’twanttogotoNashvillebecauseIthinkyoushouldorbecausewecouldbetogether,thenmaybethinkaboutdoingitforyourself.”Shedrewupherlegs,kneelingonthecouchasshefacedme.“Willyoudothat?Atleastthinkaboutit?”
Asshe’dspoken,itwaseasyformetoimagineallofit.Writingsongstogether,discoveringanewcitytogether,buildingalifewitheachother.Enjoyinglife,withouttheworriesandstressesthatdefinedmyworldnow.Andshewasrightaboutmyauntandthemanagersbeingcapableofkeepingthingsgoing.Nowthatwe’dbuiltarhythmandroutine,thingswereeasier,but…
But…
Paige.
Itookalongbreath,somanythoughtsandimpulsesracingthroughme.
“Yeah,”Ifinallysaid,“I’llthinkaboutit.”Wedidn’tspeakaboutitagainthatnight,andIfoundmyselfconfusedandpreoccupied.ThoughI’dexpectedhertoaskhowtokeepalong-distancerelationshipgoing,IwasblindsidedbyhersuggestionthatIfollowhertoNashville.
Aswelaytogetheronthecouch,Iadmittedthatmydreamsofalifeinmusicstillflickeredsomewhereinsideme.Ialsocouldn’tbeartheideaoflosingMorgan,andwhenshebegantokissmyneck,wewordlesslymigratedfromthecouchtothebedroom,whereourlongingforeachotherwasexpressedwithoutexplanationordoubt.
InthemorningIdroppedMorganoffattheDon.Insteadofgoingforarun,Ishoweredandspentthenextcoupleofhourswalkingthebeach,mullingeverythingshe’dsaidthenightbefore.Gradually,Imademywaybacktoherhotel.AsIapproached,Inoticedthebeachwasunusuallycrowded,despitetheearlyhour.IthoughtnothingofituntilIrealizedthatithadtodowiththegirls’recordingsession.
Theremusthavebeenseveralhundredpeoplebehindthehotel,mostlyteenagegirls.PullingupTikTok,Irealizedthatallfourofthem—andtheirgroupaccount—hadpostedmultipletimesinthelastfewdays,offeringpreviewsoftheirrehearsals,alongwithbehind-the-scenesfootageofthemputtingonmakeuporgoofingaroundinthehotelroom.Allofitwasaccompaniedbycalloutsannouncingwhenandwheretheywouldperformtheirnextroutineandinvitingpeopletoattend.
Still,Iwasamazedbythelevelofgenuinefandom.WhileI’dknowntheywerepopular,forwhateverreasonithadn’tregisteredthathundredsofpeoplewouldactuallytaketimeoutoftheirdaytoattendoneoftheirrecordingsinperson.
ItextedMorgantoletherknowIhadarrived,continuingtomarvelatthesizeofthecrowd.Afterafewminutessheresponded,askingifIwouldbeabletohelpthemfilm,towhichIreadilyagreed.
Nooncameandwent,buttherewasstillnosignofthegirls.Thecrowd,however,kepttricklingin,dozensmoremakingtheirwaydownthebeach.Iscoutedthearea,tryingtofigureoutthebestvantagepointfromwhichtorecordtheperformance,beforerealizingthatIhadnoideawheretoevenstart.
Ieventuallyheardabuzzrisefromthecrowdnearestthehotel.Despitebeingtallerthanmostoftheyoungerfans,Iwasabletocatchonlyglimpsesofthegirls’hairastheymilledaroundonthedecknearthesand,probablytryingtofigureoutwheretotakeuppositions.Hundredsofphoneswavedintheair,everyonejockeyingtogetphotos.
Thefourofthemstayedonthedeckforseveralminutes,takingselfieswiththefansandsigningautographs,whileItriedtoedgecloser.Finallyrealizingthatitwasimpossible,Iwentaroundtothefrontofthehotelandwalkedthroughtheinteriortoreachthepoolarea.Assoonasthegirlsspottedme,Isawreliefontheirfaces.
“Thisiscrazy!”MorganexclaimedwhenIwasclose.“Noneofusimagineditwouldbelikethis.Weweren’tsureifanyonewouldshowup,letalonethismanypeople.”
“Wecan’tfigureouthowtoclearenoughspaceonthebeachforus,either,”Stacyfretted.
“Whydon’tyoujustperformonthedeck?”
“Idon’tthinkthehotelwillbehappyaboutthat….”Maria’sbrowswereknittedwithworry.
“You’reguests,”Ipointedout,“soyou’reallowedtobehereonthedeck.Andit’sonlythreesongs,right?It’llbeoverbeforeanyoneatthehotelevenknowswhat’sgoingon.”
Thefourofthemconferredbriefly,thendecidedthatmyideawasthemostworkablesolution.HollyandStacysettheirtotesofftothesideandreturnedwithtwocomplexcameras,alongwithtripodsthattheymountedjustoffthedeck.MariaandMorganputtwooftheirphonesontripods,aswell.Meanwhile,Hollyhandedmeathirdcameraasshesetaboomboxinplace.
“Yourjobwillbetopushthecrowdbackjustabitandtogetsomefootageoftheaudience,okay?ForBroll,sowecanedititinlater.AndturnonthemusicwhenIgiveyouthesignal.”
“Gotit,”Isaid,takingthecamera.
Asthegirlsdouble-checkedtheiroutfitsandmakeup,occasionallystretchingtoloosenup,Iusheredthecrowdafewstepsbackfromthedeck.Ialsoaskedthepeopleinfronttosit,sothatpeopleinthebackwouldbeabletosee,andtomysurprisethefirstfewrowsloweredthemselvestothesand.Meanwhile,Hollytoldmewheretostandandgavemeinstructionsonthekindofshotsshewanted—basicallyamixtureofwide-angleshotsandclose-upsofthefans.Imovedclosertotheboombox,whilethegirlstooktheirpositions.
Thecrowdquietedalmostimmediately.Ipressedplay,startledbythevolumeoftheboom-boxspeakers.Atleastthegirlscouldbesurethateveryoneheardthemusic.Ibeganfilmingthecrowd,observingMorganandherfriendsfromthecornerofmyeye.Naturally,thegirlswereperfectlyinsyncastheylaunchedintotheirintricatelychoreographedroutine.Aspolishedandpoisedastheyallwere,IfeltthatIcouldhavebeenwatchingtheSuperBowlhalftimeshow.
Thecrowdwentcrazy,andIcapturedlotsofvideoofgirlstryingtomimicthemovestheylikedorlosingthemselvesinthemusic,inventingmovesoftheirown.Inall,Morganandherfriendsdancedformorethantenminutes.
Whentheyfinished,thecrowdclappedandcheered,someoftheteenagerscallingoutindividualgirls’names.“Morgan,overhere!”“Stacy,weloveyou!”IshotvideoofMorganandherfriendsteachingsomeoftheirfansvariousmoveswhileonthedeck,but,consciousoftheotherhotelguests’blockedaccesstothebeach,thegirlssoonwrappedthingsup,askingmetocollecttheequipment.Idid,grabbingtheboomboxlast.Withaquickwaveandathank-youandaflurryofblownkisses,Morganandherfriendsretreatedthroughthepoolarea,withmetrailingbehindlikeanoverloadedpackhorse.
Itwasmidafternoonbythetimeweventuredoutagaintothepoolarea.Snaggingchairsonthefarside,Iroundedupsometowels.Whenthewaitresscameby,thegirlsorderedapitcherofstrawberrymargaritas,alongwithfiveglasses.Apparently,itwastimetocelebrate.
ItwasthenthatIheardmyphonevibratingonthesmalltablebesidetheloungechairs.Recognizingthenameofmygeneralmanager,Iputthephonetomyear.
NotthirtysecondslaterIwalkedawayfromthegirls,theblooddrainingfrommyface.
Inlessthanaminute,Ifeltalmostsick,andbythetimeIhungup,Ifeltasthoughmyworldhadcomecrashingdown.Iquicklydialedmysister,buttherewasnoanswer.ThegirlsmusthaveseenmyexpressionwhenIfinallyreturnedtothechairs,becauseMorganjumpedupimmediatelyandgrabbedmyhand.
“Whathappened?Whowasthat?What’swrong?”
Lostinmyownracingthoughts,Icouldbarelygetthewordsout.
“Toby,”Isaid.“Thegeneralmanageratthefarm.HetoldmethatmyauntAngiehadastroke.”
Morgan’shandflewtohermouth.“OhmyGod!Issheokay?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“ButI’vegottogethome….”
“Now?”
“Mysisterisn’tansweringherphone.”
“So?”
Iswallowed,prayingthatshehadn’tansweredbecauseshewaswithmyauntatthehospital.ButIcouldn’thelprelivingthepast,wonderingiftheworstwasyettocome.
“Shehasn’tcalledme,either.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Withfeartakingroot,Icouldbarelyprocessherquestion.“Nothinggood.”
Inadaze,IkissedMorgangoodbyeandranbacktomytruckbeforegunningittothecondo.ItossedeverythingI’dbroughtintothetruckandwasonthehighwaylessthantenminuteslater.
Inanormalsituation,Iwaselevenhoursfromhome.
Ihopedtomakeitinlessthannine.Withmyfootmashedontheaccelerator,IspedoverthecausewaytoTampa,Tobyonspeakerphone.
“Walkmethroughitagain,”Isaid.“Fromthebeginning.”
I’dknownTobyallmylife,andwhilehehadalwaysseemedunflappable,Icouldhearthestraininhisvoice.
“ItwasTuesdaymorning,”hesaidafterabeat,“andAngiewasintheofficewhenIarrived,justlikenormal.Iupdatedherontherepairstotheirrigationsystem—we’vebeenworkingonthat—andthenwemetwiththecontractoratthegreenhousetogoovertheexpansionplans.Thattookaboutanhour.Afterthat,shewentbacktotheoffice,andsheappearedtobefine.IfI’dknownorevensuspectedsomethingwaswrong…”
“I’mnotblamingyou,”Iassuredhim.“Thenwhathappened?”
“Xavierwenttoseeherrightbeforelunch.TherewasaproblemwiththeMopack,”hesaid,referringtotheegg-packagingequipment,“andhenoticedthatsomethingwaswrongwithhereye.Itwaskindofdrooping,andwhenheaskedheraboutit,shemixedupherwords.Hewasscaredenoughtocallme,soIhurriedover.Rightawayitwascleartherewassomethingwrongwithher,soIcalledforanambulance.Whentheyarrived,theysaidshewashavingastroke,sotheyrushedhertothehospital.”
“Whydidn’tyoucallme?”
“IassumedthatPaigetoldyou,”hereplied,obviouslyflustered.“IcalledherrightafterIcalledfortheambulance,andsherushedover.Shefollowedthemtothehospital,andIknowshewastherewhileyouraunthadsurgery.AsfarasIknow,that’swhereshe’sbeeneversince.I’msorry.”
IrealizedthatIwasgrippingthewheelsohardthatmyfingerswereturningwhite,andItriedtoforcemyselftorelax.
“Surgery?”
“Toremovetheclot,”heclarified.“That’swhatPaigesaid,anyway.”
“How’smyauntdoingnow?”
“Ihaven’tspokentothedoctors—”
“Whenyou’veseenher,Imean,”Iinterrupted.“Issheconscious?IssheinICU?”
“AccordingtoPaige,thesurgerywentwell.Angie’snotintheICU.She’sawake,buttheleftsideofherfaceispartiallyparalyzed,soit’shardtounderstandhersometimes.Andherleftarmandlegarereallyweak.”
“IsPaigewithher?Rightnow?”
“Ithinkso.”
“Whenwereyoulastatthehospital?”
Hemusthaveheardmyanxiety,becausehiswordsbegantocomeevenmorequickly
“Iwastheretoday,rightbeforeIcalledyou.Istoppedbyforhalfanhourorso.Butthatwasmyfirstvisitinafewdays.”
“DidyouseePaigethere?”
“No,butwhereelsewouldshebe?Shehasn’tbeenhomelately.Iwentoveracoupleoftimesandevencheckedthebarn.”
“Whenwasthelasttimeyousawher?”
“Atthehospitalearlierintheweek.”
Iwasalreadyspeeding,butIaccelerated,passingcarsinablur.Thoughitwasdangerous,IusedonehandtoopenFindMyFriendsonmyphone,tryingtolocatePaige’sphone.Isawthatherswasatourhouseandbreathedasighofrelief.Agoodsign.
Orwasit?IcalledPaigenext.Itwentstraighttovoicemail.
WhenIfinallyreachedI-95,Icalledmysisteragain.
Sameresult.
Icheckedtheapp.Nochange.
Idroveevenfaster.Afterthat,Icalledthehospital,gottherunaround,butfinallyspoketoanursewhohadjuststartedhershiftandhadn’tworkedsinceearlierintheweek.Shedidn’thavemuchinthewayofhelpfulinformationregardingmyauntbutpromisedthatsomeonewhoknewmorewouldcallmeback.
Thecalldidn’tcomeformorethananhour.Thatnursetoldmethat,asfarassheknew,there’dbeennorecentemergenciesbutthatIneededtospeakwithmyaunt’sneurologistforadditionalinformation.
Tryingtokeepmyfrustrationincheck,Iaskedtospeakwithhim.Thenurseinformedmethathewasn’tinthehospitalatthepresenttime—itwasaweekend,afterall—buthewasexpectedatroundssometimelater.Shewouldleavehimamessage,recommendingthathegivemeacall.
Afterhangingup,ItriedandfailedtoreachPaigeagain.
Mystomachtightenedfurther.TheinterstatewasahazymirageasIleftFloridabehindandenteredGeorgia.
Morgancalledforthethirdtime;I’dbeenonthephonethefirsttwotimesandhadn’tanswered.Afterapologizing,IfilledherinwithwhatIknew,addingthatIhadn’tyetspokentotheneurologist.
“Icalledmyparentsaboutwhathappened,”Morgansaid.“Iaskedthemaboutstrokes,andtheysaidthatifshe’snotinICU,she’llmostlikelysurvive.Butdependingontheseverityofthestroke,therecanbelong-termeffects.”
Likepartialparalysis,Ithought.“Canthosebefixed?”
“Idon’tknow.Itsoundedlikeitdependsontheoriginalblockage.Apparently,rehabilitationhascomealongwayinthelastfewyears.Ihopeyoudon’tmind,butmymomcheckedoutVidantMedicalCenteranddiscoveredthatit’saprimarystrokecenter,whichisreallyimportant.Itmeansthey’llbeabletoofferinterdisciplinarycareevenaftershe’sreleased.Shesaidyourauntisingoodhands.”
“Thatwaskindofyourmomtolookitup,”Isaid.“ButhowdidyouknowmyauntwasadmittedtoVidant?”
“Google.It’sthelargesthospitalnearWashington.Itwasn’tthathardtofigureout.”
EvenasMorganspoke,mymindcontinuedtowhirl.“Thenurseswon’ttellmeanything.”
“They’renotallowedto.That’sthephysician’sjob.”
“Hehasn’tcalledme,either.”
“Hewill,probablyafterhefinisheshisrounds.Anddependingonhowmanypatientshehas,hemightcalllate.That’swhatmyparentsdo.ButwhatdidPaigesay?”
Isaidnothingatfirst.Finally:“Ihaven’tbeenabletoreachheryet.”
“What?”Morgan’svoicesoundedherdisbelief.“Whydidn’tshecallyouwhenithappened?”
ThatwasthequestionIwasn’tyetreadytothinkabout.Instead,Ioffered,“Idon’tknow.”Istoppedforgas,thenhittheinterstateagain.Fromtheotherdirection,headlightsappearedastinydotsinthedistance,growinglargerastheyapproachedandsuddenlyvanishing,onlytobereplacedbyothers.Overhead,themoonlightwasclearandbright,thoughIwasonlydimlyawareofthepassinglandscape.
IcalledTobyagain.Aftermycall—maybebecausemyworrieshadamplifiedhis—hereturnedtothehospital,eventhoughhe’dvisitedearlier.Hesaidthathehadbeenallowedtostayonlyafewminutes,becausevisitinghourswereending,butthatmyauntappearedstable.“Shewassleeping,”heexplained.
“WherewasPaige?”
“Ididn’tseeher,butoneofthenursessaidtheythoughtthatshecamebyearlier.Theyassumedshewenttogetsomethingtoeat.”
“That’sgreat,”Isaid,feelingasuddensurgeofrelief.
“Ialsostoppedbythehouseagainonmywayback,”headded.“Thelightsweren’ton,andhercarwasn’tinthedriveway.”
AfterIhungup,thereliefwasstrangelyshort-lived.Inthebackofmymind,warningbellscontinuedtosound.
MynextcalltoPaigewentstraighttovoicemailagain.Bythetimethedoctorfinallycalled,I’dmadeitthroughGeorgiaandwasintoSouthCarolina.Iwasdoing90,prayingIwouldn’tbepulledoverbutmorethanwillingtoriskit.
“Youraunthadanischemicstroke,”hesaid.“That’swhereaclotnarrowsoneofthearteriesleadingtothebrain.Thegoodnewsisthattheblockagewasn’ttotal.”Heexplainedthesurgery—whileI’dimaginedsomethingcomplex,hesaidithadn’ttakenlong—andemphasizedhowcriticalitwasthatTobyhadcalledtheambulancewhenhedid.Heupdatedmeonhercurrentconditionandthemedicationsshewastaking,addingthathewasconfidentshe’dbereleasedwithinthenextfewdays.
“Whataboutherparalysis?”Iasked.
“That’sabitmorecomplicated,”hesaid,“butthefactthatsheretainssomemovementinherarmsandlegsisagoodsign.”Hewentontodiscusspotentialcomplicationsandpost-hospitalizationrehab,butwithmybrainstillwhirling,allIreallyunderstoodwasthatrightnowtherewasstillmuchhecouldn’tanswer.WhileIappreciatedthehonesty,itdidn’tmakemefeelalotbetter.
“Andyou’vetoldallthistomysister,right?Paige?Sheknowswhat’sgoingon?”
“Initially,yes.”Hesoundedsurprised.“ButIhaven’tspokentoherrecently.”
“Hasn’tshebeenatthehospital?”
“Ihaven’tseenhermyself,butsometimesIdon’tevenstartmyroundsuntilaftervisitinghoursareover.”
IcalledTobyagain,butthistimehisphonewenttovoicemail.
ItseemedlikeyearsbeforeIreachedtheNorthCarolinastateline.Morgancalledagain,maybeanhourafterIcrossedintoNorthCarolina.
“Hey,”shesaid,soundingsleepy.“It’salongdriveandIknowyou’reupset,soIjustwantedtocheckonyou.”
“I’mfine.”Ibriefedheronwhatthedoctorhadsaid,orasmuchofitasIcouldremember.
“Howfarawayareyounow?”
“Twohoursorso?”
“Youmustbeexhausted.”
WhenIdidn’tanswer,Morganwenton.“WhatdidPaigesay?”
“Istillhaven’tbeenabletoreachher.”
Silencestretchedoutovertheline,tothepointwhereIwonderedifwe’dlosttheconnection.Finally:“Istheresomethingyou’renottellingme,Colby?”
ForthefirsttimesinceI’dknownher,Ilied.
“No.”
Icouldtellshedidn’tbelieveme.Afterabeat,shesaidonly,“Keepmeinformed,okay?I’mgoingtohavemyphonewithmeallnight.Youcancallmenomatterhowlateitis.”
“Thanks.”
“Iloveyou.”
“Loveyou,too,”Irespondedautomatically,thoughmymindremainedelsewhere.SoutheastofRaleigh,whilestillontheinterstate,IknewIhadadecisiontomake.IcouldkeepgoingalittlefartherandtakethehighwaythatledtoGreenvilleandVidant.OrIcouldtakeadifferenthighway,onethatledbackhome.
Idoubtedvisitorswouldbeallowedintothehospitalatthishour,buteveniftheywouldallowmein,myguttoldmethatIneededtoheadhomefirst.
Justincase.IfollowedthehighwayI’ddriventhousandsoftimes,onlyhalfawareoftheturnsIwasnavigating.Lightningflickeredinthedistance,remnantsofapassingstorm.AsIeventuallynearedWashington,itwascominguponeleven,andIcouldfeelthetensionbuildinginmyshouldersandmyneck.
Afterexiting,Imadethefinalturns,oneafterthenext,untilreachingthegravelroadthatseparatedonesideofthefarmfromtheother.Themoonhaddriftedbelowthehorizonandthegravelwasslickfromarecentdownpour.Inthedarkness,itwasdifficulttomakeouttheshapeoftheblackenedhouse,butIthoughttomyselfthatitlookedasdesertedasTobyhadsaid.
AsIneared,however,Irealizedthatwasn’twhollycorrect;therewasafaintlightfromthekitchen,barelynoticeablethroughthebushes,whichwouldhavebeeneasytomiss.
Iwheeledintothedrive,goingsofastthatIhadtoslamonthebrakes,thetruckslidinginthemud-slickeddirt.Ijumpedout,splashinginapuddle,andnotedtheabsenceofPaige’scarevenasIracedalongthepaththatledtothesmallfrontporch.
Iburstthroughthedoor,andasingleglanceineitherdirectionwasenoughtoconfirmmyworstfears.Itorethroughthebottomfloor,searchingeverywhere,thenfinallyboundedupthestairs,horrortakinghold.
IfoundPaigeonmybed,lookingatfirstasthoughshewassleeping.IshoutedhernameasIrushedtowardher,loudenoughtowakeher,buttherewasnoresponse.Abone-deepchillfloodedmybodywhenIsawanemptyprescriptionbottleonthebedbesideher—andotherscatteredprescriptionbottlesonthefloor—andIbegantoscream.Herchestwasbarelymoving,andIcouldn’tfindapulsewhenIcheckedherwrist.Iputmyfingersoverhercarotidarteryandfeltsomethingthreadyandweak.Herfacewasgauntanddeathlypale,andaftergrabbingtheprescriptionbottleandshovingitintomypocket,Iscoopedherintomyarmsandcarriedherdownthesteps.Unsurewhethershewouldlastlongenoughforanambulancetoarrive,Ihurriedtothetruck,bucklingherslumpingbodyintothepassengerseat.
Ibackedoutwiththeengineroaring,thengunneditdownthegravelroad.AssoonasIreachedasphalt,Ipressedtheemergencybuttononmyphone.
Mycallwasansweredbythedispatcherrightaway,andIexplainedwhatIknew.Irecitedmynameandmysister’sinformationandsaidthatIwasrushingforthehospitalnow.ItoldthemthenameofaphysicianIknewfromVidant.Thewomanontheotherendreproachedmeforfailingtocallanambulance;ignoringthecomment,IpledwithhertolettheemergencyroomatVidantknowIwascoming.ThenIdisconnectedimmediately,focusingallmyenergiesontheroad.
Thespeedometeroccasionallyinchedintothered,butthankfullytherewaslittletrafficatthistimeofnight,eveninGreenville.IslowedwhenIsawaredlightandmadesuretheintersectionwasclearbeforerollingthroughit,addingtoalonglistofdrivinginfractions.Throughouttheride,IkeptshoutingatPaige,tryingtowakeher,butsheremainedslumpedoverintheseat,herheadbowed.Ididn’tknowwhethershewasaliveordead.
Attheemergencyroom,IagainscoopedPaigeintomyarms,carryingherthroughtheelectronicdoorsasIcalledforhelp.Thereareemergenciesandthenthereareemergencies—Ithinkeveryoneinthewaitingroomknewthiswasthelatter—andaminutelater,anorderlyappearedfrombehindcloseddoorswithagurney.
IlaidPaigedownandwalkedalongsideasthegurneybeganmovingtowardtheback.RepeatingtothenursewhatI’dsaidtothedispatcher,Ihandedovertheemptyprescriptionbottle.Amomentlater,thegurneydisappearedbehindlockeddoors,andIwastoldtoreturntothewaitingroom.
Then,likeaswitchhadbeenpulled,theworlddescendedintoslowmotion.
OthersinthewaitingroomhadsettledbackdownafterthecommotionI’dcaused,revertingintotheirownworlds.IwastoldIhadtosigninforPaigeandstoodinaslow-movingline,untilfinallyreachingthewindow.Isatandfilledoutforms,detailingPaige’smedicalandhealth-insuranceinformation.Whenfinished,Iwasinstructedtotakeaseat.
Intheaftermathoffloodingadrenaline,Ipracticallycollapsedintoaplasticchair,feelingdisoriented.Thereweremen,women,andchildrenofeveryage,butIwasonlydistantlyawareofthem.Instead,Ithoughtofallthathadhappened.IwonderedifI’dmadeittothehospitalintimeandifPaigewouldlive.Itriedtoimaginewhatwasbeingdonetohelpmysister,triedtoimaginetheordersadoctorwascallingout,butcouldn’tpictureathing.
Iwaited,thenwaitedsomemore.Timecontinuedtoslow.I’dcheckthetimeonmyphone,surethattwentyminuteshadpassed,onlytorealizeithadbeenjustfive.ItriedtodistractmyselfwiththeinternetandlearnwhatIcouldaboutoverdoses,buttherewaslittleaboutthedrugIthoughtshe’dtakenotherthanwarningsandpromptsthatimmediatetreatmentatahospitalwasnecessary.Sometimelater,IthoughtaboutcallingMorganbutwasn’tsurewhatI’dbeabletotellher,becauseIhadnoanswers.Seatedoppositemewasawomanwhowasknitting,hermovementshypnotic.
Saturdaynight—ortechnically,Sundaymorning,Isuppose—wasabusyoneattheemergencyroom.Peoplecontinuedtostreaminandouteveryfewminutes.WhenIhadwaitedforwhatfeltlikeanintolerablelengthoftime,Iapproachedtheadmissionswindowagainandbeggedthenursetotellmewhatwashappeningwithmysister.Inmymind’seye,Iimaginedherintubatedwhilethedoctorsperformeddarkmagictokeepheralive.Thenursesaidshe’dseewhatshecouldfindoutandwouldletmeknowassoonasshedid.
Ireturnedtomyseat,frightenedandangry,exhaustedandtense.Ifeltlikecrying;inthenextinstant,Iwantedtobreaksomething.Iwantedtokickthroughadoororwindow,andthensuddenlyIfeltlikecryingagain.How,Iwondered,wasitpossibleforeverythingtohavegonesowronginsuchashortperiodoftime?Andwhyhadn’tIbeentoldanything?
IwantedtobeangryatToby.He’dtoldmethatmysisterwasatthehospitalearlier,andbecauseI’dbelievedhim,Ihadn’tsenthimbacktothehouse.BythetimeIrealizedthatIneededhimtodojustthat,hewasn’tansweringhisphone.Hadheanswered,hecouldhavegottenPaigetothehospitalsooner.Hadheanswered,hemighthavepreventedtheoverdoseinthefirstplace.
Butitwasn’thisfault.Itwasthenurseswho’dbeenmistakenaboutseeingPaigeearlier,but,honestly,Iknewitwasn’ttheirfault,either.Allofthiswasmyfault.ForgoingtoFlorida.Fornotcallingeveryday,eventhoughpartofmeknewIshouldhave.Andasmyangerturnedinward,IrealizedIhatedmyself,forhadIbeenathome,mysisterwouldbealiveandwell.
Icontinuedtowait.Meanwhile,therestoftheworldpersistedinitsordinaryroutines,thoughnothingfeltnormaltome.Nameswerecalled,andonebyone,patientsvanishedbehindthedoors.Often,familymembersorfriendsaccompaniedthem;sometimestheydidn’t.Someeventuallyemerged;othersremainedhiddeninthebowelsofthehospital.Achildwhowouldn’tstopcryingwasbroughtinandseenimmediately.AmanwithahomemadeslinghadbeenwaitingevenlongerthanIhad.
Morehourspassed.WhentherewasstillnowordaboutPaige,Icheckedwiththenurseagain.Again,shesaidshe’dletmeknow.Ireturnedtomyseat,achingwithfatiguebutknowingthatsleepwasimpossible.Anhourbeforedawn,anursefinallycametofetchme,andIwasledtotheback.BecausePaigehadbeenadmittedandtransferredelsewhere,Icouldn’tseeher,butIwasintroducedtoaharriedphysicianwholookedbarelyolderthanIwas.
Herexpressionwasserious,andsheadmitteditwasstilltooearlytoknowwhetherPaigewasgoingtomakeit;sheaddedthatshe’dhadtorequestthehelpofanothercritical-carespecialisttoevenensurethatPaigesurvivedaslongasshehad.Thenextfewhourswouldbecrucial,shesaid;untilthen,therewasn’tmuchmoreshecouldtellme.Attheend,surprisingme,sheplacedasympathetichandonmyshoulderbeforereturningtoherduties.Icheckedintoanearbyhotel.NotonlywasItoowornouttomakethedrive,butbeingsurroundedbythechaosofthehousewouldconjureupimagesofPaige’sactivitiesduringthepastweek,andIdidn’thavethestrengthorenergytofacethem.
Inthehotelroom,Idrewtheshadesandfellasleepimmediately,onlytojoltawakeafewhourslater.
Paige,Ithought.
AuntAngie.
Ishoweredanddressedincleanclothes,thenmadetheshortdrivetothehospital.Intheemergencyroom,IaskedaboutPaige,buttheshiftshadchanged,andittookalmosthalfanhourformetolearnthelocationoftheroomtowhichshe’dbeentransferred.Butthenursecouldoffermenoadditionalinformation.
Atthemainvisitors’desk,IlearnedwhereIcouldfindmyaunt,butIdecidedtocheckonmysisterfirst.WhenIfinallyreachedPaige’sroom,IfoundherintubatedandhookedtoaslewofmachinesandIVbags,unconscious.Ikissedhercheek,whisperinginherearthatI’dbeback,thenwoundmywaytoanotherwingandfloorofthehospital.
AuntAngiewasawakeandhookedtoonlyanIV,buttheleftsideofherfacesagged,andthatsideofherbodyappearedstrangelylimpandinert.Nonetheless,halfofhermouthliftedatthesightofme,hereyesglisteningasIscootedachairclosetothebedsowecouldtalk.Tryingtokeepthingseasyandlight,ItoldheraboutMorganandthetriptoFloridawhileshenodded,almostimperceptibly,herleftfingerstwitchingfromtimetotime,untilshefinallydozedoff.ThenIreturnedtoPaige’sroom.
AsIheldmysister’shand,Istaredatthenumbersonthedigitalmachine,unsurewhethertheywerenormalorworrisome.Iwenttothenurses’stationandaskedtospeaktooneofherphysicians,butnoonewasavailable,sincemorningroundshadalreadybeencompleted.
IfoundthesilenceofPaige’sroomoppressive.Instinctively,Istartedtochatterinanely,regalingherwiththesamelightheartedstoriesthatI’dtoldmyaunt.Shedidn’tstir,nordidsheregisteranyawarenessofmypresence.Steppingoutsidethehospital,IcalledMorganfromtheparkinglot.Sheansweredonthefirstring,andIupdatedheronmyvisitwithmyaunt.Icouldn’tsummonthecouragetotellheraboutmysister.NordidMorganask;somehow,shesensedthatIwasn’treadytotalkaboutPaigejustyet.
“Howareyoudoing?”sheasked,soundinggenuinelyworried.“Areyouholdingup?”
“Barely,”Iadmitted.“Ididn’tsleepmuch.”
“Doyouwantmetocome?”
“Icouldn’taskyoutodothat.”
“Iknowyou’renotasking,”shesaid.“I’msuggestingit.”
“Ithoughtyouweresupposedtoflyhometoday.”
“Iam.I’malmostpacked,andwe’llbeheadingtotheairportinanhourorso.”
“Okay,good,”Imurmured.
“IwentbyBobbyT’slastnight,”sheadded.“ItoldRaywhathappened.Iwasn’tsurethatyouremembered.”
“Thankyou—you’reright,ittotallyslippedmymind,”Iadmitted.“WasRayupset?”
“Ithinkthat’stheleastofyourworriesrightnow,buthesaidheunderstood.”
“Okay,”Isaid,mymindsuddenlyflashingtoPaige.Afteraprolongedsilence,IheardMorgan’svoiceagain.
“Areyousureyou’reallright,Colby?”Afterhangingup,Ireturnedtomyaunt’sroom.ShewassleepingwhenIgotthere,andIletherrest.Whenshewoke,Ihelpedhersitupandcautiouslyfedsomeicechipsintotherightcornerofhermouth,makingsureshewasabletoswallow.Herspeechwasdistorted,asifhertonguewereanunfamiliarpresenceinhermouth,butwithsomeeffortshewasgraduallyabletorecountwhathappened.
Whenshehadgonetotheofficethatday,shenoticedthatthefingersonherlefthandfeltoddlynumb,andthenhervisionstartedtoblur.Theroomspunandtilted,shesaid,makingitimpossibleforhertokeepherbalance.ThatwaswhenXaviercamein.Forsomereason,hecouldn’tunderstandwhatshewassaying.Notlongafterthat,Tobyarrived,thenPaige,andtheycouldn’tunderstandher,either.Shesuspectedshewashavingastroke—she’dseenthesignsonsomemedicaldramaontelevision—butshehadnowaytotellthem,whichmadeitevenworse.Theentiretimeshewasbeingloadedintotheambulance,shefrettedoverwhethertheeffectswouldbepermanent.Igaveherlefthandasoothingsqueeze;herfingerscurledbuttherewashardlyanystrength.
“You’llbegoodasnewsoon,”Iassuredher,tryingtosoundmoreconfidentthanIfelt.ItoldhernothingaboutPaige.
“Idon’twanttobeparalyzed,”shemumbled,thelastwordalmostunintelligible.
“You’regoingtorecover,”Ifoundmyselfsaying.
Whenshefinallydozedoff,IwentbacktoPaige’sroom.
ThenIvisitedmyauntagain,andthatwashowIspenttherestoftheday.Goingbackandforthfromoneroomtotheother.
Inallthattime,Paigeneverregainedconsciousness.RightbeforeIleftthehospitalforthenight,Ifinallymanagedtoconnectwiththephysicians.Firstupwasmyaunt’sneurologist,towhomI’dspokenonmydrivebackfromFlorida.
Whilethestrokewasserious,hereiteratedthatitcouldhavebeenmuchworse.Basedonherrecoverytothatpoint,hestillplannedtoreleaseherinacoupleofdaysbutsaidshewouldlikelyneedassistanceonceshegothome,sincewalking,dressing,andotherbasicactivitieswouldbedifficult.IfIcouldn’tdoit—orifanotherfamilymembercouldn’t—itwasrecommendedthatIhireahome-healthcareworker.Headdedthatafterherrelease,shewouldalsoneedextensivephysicaltherapyandthathewasalreadymakingarrangementsforjustsuchcare.Despiteallofthat,heremainedrelativelypositiveaboutherprognosis.
Inextmetwiththecritical-carespecialistwho’dbeencalledintohelptreatPaigewhileshewasintheemergencyroom.Iwasluckytospeakwithhiminperson,ashe’dreturnedtothehospitalonlybychancetoretrievesomethinghe’dforgotten,andthenursepointedhimouttome.
“Itwastouch-and-goforawhile,”headmitted,echoingwhattheotherdoctorhadwarnedmeabout.Thoughprematurelygraying,hisalertgazeandyouthfulenergysuggestedhewasonlyinhisearlyforties.“Sinceshe’sstillunconscious,it’shardtoknowthefullextentofanypossibleimpairments,”hequalified,“butnowthathervitalshavebeguntoimprove,I’mhopingforthebest.”
Untilthatmoment,Irealized,I’dbeenexpectingtheworst.
“Thankyou,”Isaid,exhaling.
Suddenlyravenous,Istoppedatadrive-thrutopickupsomecheeseburgersandfries,wolfingeverythingdownontheshortdrivetothehotel.Again,Ifellasleepalmostimmediately,tootiredeventoremovemyclothes.Isleptformorethantwelvehoursandwokefeelingalmosthumanagain.Ishowered,hadahugebreakfast,andreturnedtothehospital.
Iwentdirectlytomysister’sroombut,strangely,founditempty.Afterafewmomentsofpanic,Ilearnedthatshe’dbeentransferredtoanotherfloor.Whenthenursesexplainedwhy,Iunderstood,butmyheartfilledwithdreadasImademywaythere.
WhenIarrivedattheroom,shewasawakeandnolongerintubated.Herfacewasstillsunkenandgray,andsheseemedtobestrugglingtobringmeintofocus,asifwillingmeintoexistence.Finally,shecrackedaweaksmile.
“Youcutyourhair,”shesaid,hervoicesosoftIhadtostraintomakeitout.
ThoughI’dknownitwascoming,Inonethelessfeltsomethingplummetinsideme.“Yeah,”Ilied.
“Good,”shesaidthroughdry,crackedlips.“Iwasjustabouttoflyhomeandcutitmyself.”
Heroldjoke,Ithought.ThoughIknewshewastryingtobefunny,Icouldn’thelpeyeingtherestraintsonherwrists.Itookaseatbesideherandaskedhowshewasfeeling.
Insteadofansweringmyquestion,shefrowned,visiblyconfused.“Howdidyoufindme?”
AsIsearchedforananswertosootheherrisinganxiety,sheshiftedinherbed.“Didhesendyou?”Shescannedmyface.“Gary,Imean?”Twistingthesheetsinherbonyhands,shewenton:“Ihadtoplanformonths,Colby.Youdon’tknowhowbadhegot.HehurtTommie….”
AndthenshelaunchedintoastorythatI’dsuspectedwouldbecoming.Assherambled,heragitationgrew,untilhershoutsandtherattlingofherbedrailsbegantoattracttheattentionofanurse,whocameintotheroom.Thenursetoldmeovermysister’sstrenuouspleasthatthepsychiatristwantedtospeakwithme.
Notanypsychiatrist.Paige’spsychiatrist,amanIknewwell.
Hearrivedwithintwentyminutesandledmetoaroomwherewecouldhaveaprivateconversation.ItoldhimeverythingIknew.HenoddedasIdescribedmyinabilitytoreachPaige,thefranticdrivehome,andthestateofthehousewhenIarrived,buthesatupsharplywhenItoldhimaboutmyaunt.Hehadn’tknownshewasinthehospital,butnowIcouldseehimputtingallthepiecestogetherinthesamewayIhad.
HerecommendedthatIavoidvisitingPaigefortherestoftheday,maybeeventhedayafterthat,andtoldmewhy.Inodded,understandingandacceptinghisreasoning.Afterall,noneofthiswasnew.
Afterward,Iwenttomyaunt’sroomandfinallytoldheraboutPaige.Hereyeswelledwithtears,andIsawthesameanguishedguiltinherexpressionthatIfelt,thesamehelplessness.
WhenIfinished,shepinchedthebridgeofhernose,thenwipedawayhertears.
“Gohome,”shesaid,fixingmewithasternglare.“Youlookexhausted.”
“ButIwanttostay,”Iprotested.“Ineedtobehere.”
Sheforcedalopsidedscowl,onlyhalfofherfacecooperating.
“Colby,youneedtotakecareofyourselfrightnow.”
Shedidn’tbothertopointouthowpressedIwouldbeatthefarmforthenextfewweeksorthatI’dbenogoodtoeitherofthemifIcollapsed.Webothalreadyknewthosethings.Atthehotel,Irepackedmythings,feelinglikemydaysinFloridawereadistantdream.AsIdrovehome,Icouldstillfeellingeringtensioninmyneckandshoulders,andmemoriesofPaige’sterrifiedpleasasIleftherhospitalroomonlymadethingsworse.
IexitedthehighwayinWashingtonandeventuallyreachedthegravelroadthatledtothefarm.Iscannedbothsidesoftheroad,notingthefarmworkersinthefieldsandvehiclesparkedneartheofficeandtheegg-packagingfacility.Fromoutwardappearances,itseemedasthoughnothinghadhappened,yetallIcouldthinkwasthateverythinghadbeenirrevocablyaltered.
WhenIsawthehouseinthedistance,Iswallowedmydreadatthethoughtofhavingtogoinside.ButasIturnedintothedrive,Imadeoutapetitefiguresittingontheporch,asmallcarry-onsuitcaseandatotebesideher.Iblinkedtoclearmyvision,butitwasn’tuntilIpulledtoastopandsawherwaveatmethatIrealizeditwastrulyMorgan.
Stunned,Iclimbedoutandapproachedher.Shewasdressedinjeans,boots,andawhitesleevelessblouse,herlongdarkhaircascadingoverhershoulders.Ahundredmemoriesandsensationsrushedtothesurface,leavingmedazed.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“Iwasworriedaboutyou,”shesaid.“Youdidn’tsoundtoogoodonthephoneandthenIdidn’thearfromyouafterIgothomelastnight,soIbookedtheearliestflightsIcouldforthismorningandcalledanUberfromtheairport.”Shestood,shiftingnervouslyfromfoottofoot.“Areyoumadatme?”
“Notatall,”Isaid,reachingouttotouchherarm,myfingertipslingeringonherwrist.“Howlonghaveyoubeenwaiting?”
“Notlong.Maybeanhourorso?”
“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouwerecoming?”
“Ileftamessage,”shecountered.“Didn’tyougetit?”
Pullingoutmyphone,Isawthevoicemailnotification.“Ididn’tcheck.AndI’msorryfornotcallingyou.Ijustcouldn’t.”
Sheranahandthroughherhairandnodded.Inthesilencethatfollowed,Iknewmywordshadhurther.
Iavoidedhergaze,hatingmyselfforyetanotherreason.“HowdidyouknowI’dbehere?”
“Itwaseitherhereorthehospital.”Sheshrugged.“Thehospitalwasclosertotheairport,butIdon’tknowyouraunt’slastname,soIwasn’tsureIcouldevenfindyou.SohereIam.ButIstillcan’ttellifcomingwasagoodidea.”Shehuggedherarmstoherbody.
“I’mgladyou’rehere,”Isaid,movingcloserandpullinghertowardme.WhenIfeltherbodyagainstmyown,theemotionsI’dbeensuppressingsincemyreturnsuddenlyengulfedme.IchokedoutaraggedsobasMorganclutchedmetight,whisperingthateverythingwouldbeokay.I’mnotsurehowlongwestoodthatway,butinthecomfortofherembrace,mytearsfinallysubsided.
“I’msorry,”Ibegan,pullingback,onlytohaveMorgancutmeoffwithashakeofherhead.
“Don’teverapologizeforbeingahumanbeing.Youraunthadastroke—it’sgottobeterrifying.”Shestaredupatme,searchingmyeyes.“Youstillloveme,right?”
“Morethananything.”
Sherosetohertoesandkissedme.Readingthelingeringanxietyinmyexpression,sheapparentlydecidedtowaituntilIwasreadytoshareanyupdates.Instead,shesweptherarmtowardthefields.“So,thisisit,huh?Thefarm?”
“Yeah.”IsmiledasIwatchedherstudythesurroundingswithopencuriosity.
“Itdoesn’tlooklikeIimagined.”
“Whatdidyouimagine?”
“I’mnotsure.I’veneverbeentoafarm,soIwalkedaroundabitwhileIwaswaitingforyou.IthinkIsawthoseprairieschoonersyoutoldmeabout.”
Whenshepointed,Ifollowedhergaze.“That’sthem,”Iconfirmed.“Andbehindthemisthegreenhouse.It’swherewestartthetomatoesbeforetheygointhefieldorwherewegrowtheminthewinter.”
“Itlookshuge.”
“Andgrowing,”Iadded.“Wekeephavingtoexpandit.”
“Isallofthisyoursandyouraunt’s?”sheasked,spinningaround.
“Mostofit.”
Shenodded,remainingquiet.Then:“Howisshe?”
IdescribedmylatestvisitwithAuntAngieandalsotheunknownsofhercondition.
“Well,that’spositiveoverall,right?”sheasked,squintingupatme.“Thatshe’llbereleasedsoon,evenifshe’sgoingtoneedhelp?”
“Itis,”Iconceded.“Butthere’ssomethingIhaven’ttoldyou.”
Shetiltedherhead,buthergazedidn’tstrayfrommine.“YoumeanaboutPaige.”
Inodded,wrestlingwithhowtobegin.Finally,Itookherhandandledhertothebarn.Aswewalked,IcouldsenseMorgan’scuriosity,butIsaidnothing.Instead,Iliftedthelatchandopenedthebarndoor,sunlightspillingacrosstheconcretefloorthatI’dpouredyearsearlier.Iflippedanindustrialswitch,andtheoverheadlightscameonwithabuzz,sobrighttheyalmosthurtmyeyes.
HalfofthebarnwasusedforstorageofthekindofitemsIassumedmostpeoplekeptingardensheds—awheelbarrow,lawnmower,buckets,gardenimplements,thingslikethat.TheotherhalfwasusedbyPaigeasherworkarea.Atfirstglanceitappearedchaotic,butI’dseenherquicklyfindanythingsheneeded.Herownopinionwasthatartstudiosshouldalwaysbeabitcluttered.
AclusteroftablesintheshapeofaUconstitutedmuchofPaige’sactualworkspace;behindtheminthecornerwasanothertable.Plasticbinsfilledwithsmallpiecesofcoloredglasslinedtheshelvesalongthebackwall.Dozensoflargerpiecesofglasswerestackeduprightlikebooks;onothershelveswereboxescontaininglampstandssheorderedfromanartisaninVirginia,whocraftedthemfromoriginalTiffanydesigns.Twolampshades,bothnearlyfinished,satonthemaintable;oneoftheothertableswaswhereshecuttheglass.Woodenboxesatopathirdtablehousedamixofglass-cuttingtools,markers,coppertape,flux,andsolder,alongwithanythingelseshemightpossiblyneed,everythingwithineasyreach.
IledMorganthatway,watchingashergazeflittedfromonespottothenext,tryingtofigureouttheworkflow.Surveyingthemaintable,Iknewthatevensomeoneunfamiliarwiththeartisanalcraftcouldseethequalityoftheworkmanshipondisplay.IwatchedasMorganleanedcloser,examiningthelampshades,studyingtheintricatedetail.
“LikeItoldyou,she’sincrediblytalented.”Ipointedouttheplasticmoldsthatthelampshadeswerebeingconstructedaround.“Beforeshemakesthelamp,shehastocastthemoldperfectly,sothatoncethelampshadestartscomingtogether,itretainsthepreciseshapeshewants.”Movingtowardtheadjoiningworktable,Itappedoneofthepiecesofcutglass.“Usually,you’reallowedatinybitofleewaywhenyousolderthepiecestogether,butbecauseshetreatsthelampsasart—andbecausepeoplepaytopdollarforthem—she’llcutandrecuttheglassuntilit’sabsolutelyperfect.Shedoesthesamewhenshewrapstheedgeswithcoppertape,andthenagainwhenshesolders.Takealook.”
Onthetablelaydozensofpiecesofcutglass,somealreadyfinishedwithcoppertape,onacardboardschematicthatshowedthedesignandpattern.Morganlinedupafewpiecesoftheglassasthoughputtingtogetherapuzzleandsmiledwhensherealizedthateachpieceofglassfitprecisely.
“Overthere,”Isaid,pointingtothetableseparatefromtherest,“iswheresherunsthebusinesssideofthings.”Herlaptopcomputerstoodopen,alongwithanoverflowingwireinbox,astackofnotepads,acoffeecupfilledwithpens,andahalf-filledwaterbottle.Besidetheworkdeskstoodsomemismatchedfilecabinetspiledhighwithassortedbooks,rangingfromthehistoryofstainedglasstocoffee-tablephotocollectionsofTiffanylamps.“ThecabinetsholdcopiesofalltheoriginalTiffanydesigns,informationonherclients,andspecificworkdetailsonthelampsshe’salreadycreatedandsold.IthinkItoldyoushe’sbuiltagoodbusiness,butIprobablyunderplayedthat.She’soneofthefewpeopleinthecountrywhodothis,andshe’sfarandawaythebest.YoucanfindherworkinsomeofthemostbeautifulandexpensivehomesinthecountryandasfarawayasEurope.Whichiskindofcrazywhenyouthinkaboutit,sinceshe’slivedmostofherliferighthereonthefarm,exceptforthefewyearsshewasmarried.Thelocalguyshelearnedfromwascompetentatstainedglass,nothingmore—hemainlydidwindowsorpiecesthathanginwindows,andheworkedwithlead,notsolder—soshetaughtherselfallofthis.Andthenfiguredouthowtoidentifycustomers,marketandpromoteherwork.Withouther,Idon’tthinkthefarmwouldhavemadeit.Mostofthemoneyweneededfortheearlychangesactuallycamefromher.Shegaveittouswithoutasecondthought.”
Morganstudiedtheworkshopthoroughlybeforehereyesswungbacktome.
“Whyareyoushowingmethis?”
“BecauseItoldyouthatshewassmartandtalentedandgenerous.Idon’twantyoutoforgetthosethings.JustlikeIdon’twantyoutoforgetthatshe’smybestfriendintheworld,orthatweplaygamesorwatchmoviesatnight,orthatshe’sanexcellentcook.Orthatshewastheonewhoprettymuchraisedme.Idon’tknowwhoIwouldhavebecomewithoutPaige.”
“Ineverdoubtedanyofthosethings,”shesaid.
Ismiled,feelingthewearinessofthelastfewdays.“Youwill.”
“Idon’tunderstand…”
Iloweredmygaze,extendingmyhandagain.“Comewithme.”
IclosedupthebarnandledMorgantowardthehouse,pausingatthefrontdoor.“Shepaintedthedoorred,bytheway.Ithoughtitwassilly,butshetoldmethatearlyoninAmerica,areddoormeantthatvisitorswerewelcome.Likeiftheyweretravelingonhorseback,itwouldbeaplacetheycouldspendthenightorgetsomethingtoeat.That’swhatshethinksahomeshouldbe.”
Isteeledmyselfbeforereachingfortheknob,thenfinallyopenedthedoor.IgesturedforMorgantostepinside,notingthathergazesweptfromlefttoright.Islippedpasther,walkingtowardthekitchen.Inthesilence,Iheardhertentativestepsasshefollowed.
Intheairwastheodorofburnedandspoiledfoodmixedwiththefaintresidueoffreshpaint.Inthekitchen,disheswerepiledhighinthesinkandonthestovetopandatopthetable.Therewasaplateofchickendrumsticks,charredononeside,rawontheother;onanotherplatewasrawhamburger,alreadyspoiled.Therewasapotofsoakingbeansononeofthestoveburners.Therewereunfinishedmealsonthetable,nexttoacontainerofmilkthathadturnedrancid.Inadirtymasonjarwithalargedirtyspoonbesideit,Isawwhatappearedtobeadeadtadpole.Allthedrawersandcabinetdoorsstoodopen.Thewallsofthekitchenwereyellow,butthepaintjobhadbeenhastyandsloppy,withsmearsonthecabinetsandcountertopsandsplashesonthefloor.Kitchenutensilsweresplayedeverywhere,andinfrontofthesinkwasapileofdetergents,cleansers,sponges,andotheritemsthathadobviouslybeenpulledoutinhaste.Deadflowerssatinajellyjar,andIsawMorganstartleatthebloodstainsonthecounters.Onthetable,strangely,wasadrawingofahouse;thoughincrayon,itwassurprisinglygood,anditremindedmeoftheplacewherePaigehadlivedinTexas.Pickingourwaytothepantry,wesurveyedtheclearedshelvesanditemsstackedonthefloor.Shesaidnothingaswewalkedtothelivingroom—Iwordlesslypointedouttheemptiedclosetinthehallwayaswepassed—butnotedwithobviousshockthecockeyedcabinetandhalf-paintedwall,rottingapplecoresontherug,toppledstacksofDVDsandbooksandalbumsandapairofPaige’sshoesandotheroddsandendsheapedeverywhere.Thetelevisionwasonthefloor,andasIusedtheremotetocheckthatitwasstillworking,Isawthatitwastunedtothecartoonchannelandturneditoff.Touringthebackporch,weobservedthatalmosteverythingexceptadrillandsawhadbeenremovedfromtheshelvesandplacedonthefloor,justlikeinthepantry.
WeeventuallyclimbedthestairstothesecondfloorwhereIabsentlymotionedtowardthecontentsofthelinenclosetheapedinthehallway.Inmyroom,therewasastackofchildren’sclothingandasmallishpairofsneakers,alongwithabookI’dsavedfromchildhoodcalledGo,Dog.Go!OnthenightstandwasanIronManactionfigureI’dneverseenbefore.Forwhateverreason,mypillowcaselookedasthoughithadbeendraggedthroughthemud,andMorgan’seyeswidenedwhenshesawapileofbloodyBand-Aidsonthefloorofmybathroom,alongwithmoredriedbloodonthecounter.
Paige’sroomwasfarworsethanmine.Asinthekitchen,allthedrawersandtheclosetdoorswereflungopen,andherclothingandpersonaleffectshadbeenstrewneverywhere.Onthefloorofthecloset—asthoughplacedforemphasis—wasaboxcontainingmysister’sfavoriteshoes,theChristianLouboutinpumpsthatherhusband,Gary,hadoncegivenherforherbirthday.
Inthebathroom,MorgangaspedatthesightofabloodyT-shirtcrumpledonthefloor,aswellasawigandanAcebandagethatlayuncoiledonthecountertop.
“Ican’tstayinside,”Imuttered.“It’stoopainful.”
Turningonmyheel,Ihurrieddownthestairsandouttothefrontporchagain,whereIsatinoneoftherockers.Morganfollowedclosebehind,loweringherselfintotheotherone.Leaningforward,Iclaspedmyhandsinfrontofme.
“Iknowyou’rewonderingwhatyoujustsaw,”Ibegan.“Imean…itlooks…crazy,right?ButassoonasIgothere,Iknewexactlywhatitmeant.IfoundPaigeupstairs.Shehadoverdosedonsleepingpillsandbarelysurvived.ThismorningwasthefirsttimeIwasabletospeakwithher.”
Morganpaledslightly.“Wasitanaccident?”
“No,”Isaid,feelingtheweightofmywords.“Andit’snotherfirstsuicideattempt.”
Morgancoveredmyhandwithherown.“I’msosorry,Colby.Ican’timaginehowyou’redealingwitheverythingrightnow.”
Iclosedmyeyesforalongmomentbeforeopeningthemagain.“Iunderstandthatyouhavequestions,butthere’salotIjustdon’tknowrightnow.Like…Paige’shandwasburnedwhenIfoundher,butIdon’tknowhowthathappened.Idon’tknowwhythehouselooksthewayitdoes.Idon’tknowwhyshedidn’tcallmeaboutmyaunt.OnceI’mabletohavealucidconversationwithher,I’msureI’llgetsomeanswers,butshe’snotthereyet.WhenIsawherthismorning,doyouknowthefirstthingshesaidtome?”
“Ihavenoidea.”
“ThatshewasgladI’dcutmyhair.ShesaidthatifIhadn’t,shewouldhaveflownhomeandcutitherself.AndthenshewantedtoknowhowIfoundher.”
Morgan’sexpressionwasuncertain.
“ShethoughtIwasstillinhighschool,”Iclarified.
“Idon’tunderstand,”shesaidwithafrown.
Iswallowed.“Mysisterisbipolar.Doyouknowwhatthatis?”
“Youmentionedthatyouthoughtyourmomwas,butIdon’tknowmuchaboutit.”
Ibroughtmyhandstogether.“Bipolarisamooddisorderthatcausesalternatingperiodsofmaniaanddepression.Inthemanicphase,Paigebarelyeatsorsleepsandrunsonnervousenergy.Then,afterthemaniapasses,depressionsetsin,andthat’sjustwhatitsoundslike.There’salotofcryingandalotofsleeping,anddark,darkthoughtsintrude.Sometimesshebecomessuicidal.”
“Andthat’swhathappened?”
“Kindof,”Isaid.“WithPaige,there’smore.Shehasbipolar1,whichisanevenmoresevereformoftheillness.Everynowandthensheexperiencesapsychoticbreak,completewithdelusionsandhallucinations.That’swhyshethoughtIwasstillinhighschool.It’salsothereasonherpsychiatristrecommendedthatInotvisitheragainuntilshe’sstabilized.”
“Butyou’reherbrother….”
“She’sinrestraints,Morgan.Ifthisepisodeisanythinglikethelastone,sheimaginesshe’snewintownandontherunfromherhusband.Thelasttimeithappened,shewasalsoconvincedherson,Tommie,hadbeenabducted.Butnoneofthatistrue.”Irubbedmyeyes,infinitelyweary.“She’sevencallingherselfBeverlyagain.”
“Beverly?”
Isighed,hatingthebiologyandgeneticsmysisterinherited,hatingthatIhadn’tbeenatthefarmwhensheneededmemost.
“It’sherfirstname,butaftermymomdied,shestartedusinghermiddlename,Paige.That’showeveryoneknowsher.TheonlytimeIeverhearthenameBeverlyisduringtimeslikethese.”
“Isn’tthereanymedicationthatcanhelpher?”
“She’sonmedication.Orshe’ssupposedtobe,anyway.I’mnotsurewhetherthemedicationstoppedworkingorwhethersheforgottotakeitinthemidstofthecrisiswithmyaunt,but…”Iturnedtoher,spreadingmyhandsoutbeforeme.“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,andtrustmewhenIsayIunderstandhowscarythewordspsychoticbreaksound.Butpleasekeepinmindthatinthoseperiods—likenow—Paigeisn’treallydangeroustoanyonebutherself.Doyouknowanythingaboutbipolarpsychosis?Ordelusionsandhallucinations?”
Whensheshookherhead,Iwenton.
“Adelusionisafaultybutunshakablebeliefsystem.Forexample,likeIsaid,inherlastepisodeshetrulybelievedshewasontherunfromherhusband,Gary,whowastryingtotakeTommieawayfromherandeventuallydid.Asfarashallucinationsgo,hersarebothvisualandauditory.Inotherwords,shealsobelievedthatTommiewaswithher.ShesawandspoketohimjustthewayyouandIareinteractingnow.Itfeltthatrealtoher.”
IcouldseeMorganstrugglingtoabsorbthisinformation.“Thatalmostsoundslikeschizophrenia.”
“Theconditionsaredifferent,butsometimestheysharethesamesymptoms.Delusionsandhallucinationsarerarerforthosewithbipolar,buttheycanbetriggeredbyabunchofdifferentthings—acutestress,sleepdeprivation,lackofmedication,sometimesmarijuana.Anyway,oncethemaniabeginstowane,itbecomesmoreandmoredifficultforPaigetomaintainthedelusion,andthedepressivephasesetsin.Sometimesit’sjusttoomuchforhermindtohandle,which,inhercase,spiralsdownintosuicideattempts.There’salotmoretoallthis,butthat’sageneraloverview.”
Shewassilentforawhile,digesting,beforesherealizedtheobvious.
“Younevertoldmethatshehadason.”
“Tommie,”Isaid,nodding.
“Where’shenow?DoesGaryhavecustody?”
Iexpelledabreath.“GaryandTommiediedoversixyearsagoinacaraccident.”
Morgancoveredhermouthinshock.“OhmyGod…”
“Tommiewasonlyatoddleratthetime,”Isaid,myvoicesoft.“Itwasoneofthosestupidthings,anothercarrunningaredlight.Theguywasn’tdrinking;hewasjustdistractedbyhisphone.Notlongaftertheirfunerals,Paigehadherfirstpsychoticbreak.WefoundherinArkansas,afterwegotacallfromthesheriff.She’dbeenarrestedforvagrancy.IguessmyaunthadsentheraletterwithareturnaddressandPaigehaditinherbag,whichwasgood,becauseshehadnootheridentificationwithher.Thesheriffmadeitclearthatsheneededmedicalhelp,somyauntandIdroveouttogether.Herpsychiatrist—thesameoneImetwiththismorning—wastheonewhoeventuallydiagnosedherandgotherontheappropriatemedicines.Onceshewasstabilized,sheagreedtomovebacktothefarm,andIsetherupwithaworkshopinthebarn.”
“Wheredoesthedelusioncomefrom?Imean,ifthere’sananswertothat.”
Ishrugged,knowingIbarelyunderstooditmyself.“AsfarasIcantell,shemixesupbitsandpiecesofherpastintoherdelusions;shefitseverythingsheseesintothestoryshe’scurrentlytellingherself,andthereareusuallygrainsoftruthinallofit.Forinstance,IknowthatsheandGarywerehavingserioustroublesintheirmarriage,tothepointthatthey’dseparated.I’msureherillnesshadsomethingtodowithit,sinceitwasn’tbeingtreatedatthetime,butanyway,Garywastemporarilyawardedfullcustody,andhewantedtomakeitpermanent.HealsoworkedfortheDepartmentofHomelandSecurity,thoughinhiscaseitwasforFEMA,notanysecurityoranti-terrorismbranch.Asforthespecificsofthisparticularepisode,Ireallycan’ttellyou.Someofthethingsshewasrantingaboutinthehospitalthismorningechoeddelusionsfromherlastepisode,butothersdidn’t.Like…shesworethatGarymusthavegonetoJohnSmallElementarySchool,whichiswherebothofus,notGary,wenttoschoolwhenwewerelittle,sothatpartdidn’tmakesense.Untilshefullystabilizes,Iwon’tknowforsure.”
“Andyousaidshe’sattemptedsuicidebefore?”
Inodded,feelingawaveofhopelessnesswashoverme.“OnourwaybackfromArkansas,shetriedtojumpoutofthecarwhilewewereonthehighway.Intheend,wehadtouseducttapetokeepherfromtryingagain.Hersecondattempthappenedacoupleofyearsaftershe’dmovedbacktothefarm.Inthatinstance,hermedicationhadstoppedworking,andwedidn’trealizethatshehadbegunself-medicatingwithweed.Iwokeonemorningtodiscoverthatshe’drunoffinthemiddleofthenight.Shetookbusesandhitchhikedhalfwayacrossthecountry,butfortunately,inthatcase,shehadherphoneandIwasabletotrackherwithFindMyFriends.Ieventuallyfoundherinadinernearabusstation.Shehadacupofhotwaterandwasusingpacketsofketchuptomaketomatosoup.Shewasstillinhermanicphaseanddidn’trecognizeme,butwhenIofferedheraride,sheaccepted.Forwhateverreason,shethoughtIsoldcarpetsforaliving.Inthetruckonthewayback,shebegansleepingmoreandcryingmore,andwhenwefinallystoppedatahotelforthenight,shetriedtojumpfromthebalcony.Ishouldhaveknownitwascoming,butI’dgonetousethebathroomforjustaminute.Icaughtherwhenshewashalfwayovertherailing.HadInotfoundherwhenIdid,hadshebeenalonethatnight,Idon’t…”
Aftertrailingoff,Icouldseehertryingtograspitall.“It’sagoodthingshehadFindMyFriendsturnedonsoyoucouldfindher,”shesaid.
“Believeme,Imakesureshekeepsiton,andIcheckeditwhileIwasdrivinghome.Notthatitdidmemuchgoodthistime.”
“Isshegoingtorecover?”
“Physically,yes,onceshe’sstabilized.Butit’llbereallyhardforheremotionallyforawhile,becauseshe’llremembermostofwhatshedidandeverythingshewasthinking,andalotofitwon’tmakesenseeventoher.Shefeelsatonofshameandguiltaboutthat,andit’sgoingtotakeherawhiletoforgiveherself.Isortofgetit,”Iadmitted,runningahandthroughmyhair.“WhenIwaswalkingyouthroughthehouse,itfeltlikeIwaswanderingintohermindandseeinghowbrokenitwas….”Icouldhearmyvoicedwindling.“Iknowhowawfulthatsounds.”
Morganshookherheadinsympathy.“Itsoundslikeshe’ssickandshecan’thelpit.”
“Iwishmorepeoplethoughtthatway.”
“Isthatwhyyoudidn’ttellmeabouther?BecauseyouwereafraidofwhatI’dthink?”
“It’snotmystorytotell,”Icountered.“Andyou’vegottounderstand:This—what’shappeningnow—isn’twhosheusuallyis.Thevastmajorityofthetime,she’sjustmyincrediblygiftedandwittyandgeneroussisterwhocooksagreatmealandmakesmelaugh.Ididn’twantyoutothinkofherasmymentallyillorcrazysister.ButIknewthatnomatterwhatelseIsaidabouther,assoonIsaidbipolarormentallyill,orpronetopsychoticbreaksoroccasionallysuicidal,thoselabelswouldhavebeenfrontandcenter,becauseyouhaven’tmettherealher.”
Morgangazedoutoverthedistantfields,nodoubtthinkingabouteverythingI’dtoldher,andforalongtimeneitherofussaidanything.“Paigehashadsuchahardlife,”shewhispered.
“Noquestion,”Iagreed.“Shewasdealtareallyunfairhand.”
“It’snoteasyforyou,either,”Morganobserved,turningbacktome.
“Notalways.”
Shegentlysqueezedmyshoulder.“You’reagoodbrother.”
“She’sagreatsister.”
Droppingherhandtocovermine,sheseemedtocometoaresolutionofsorts.“DoyouknowwhatIthinkweshoulddo?Ifit’sallrightwithyou,Imean.”
Iraisedaneyebrow.
“I’dliketohelpyoucleanupthehouse.Youshouldn’thavetodothatbyyourself.Andafterthat,I’llmakeyoudinner.”
“Itdoesn’tlooklikethere’smuchfoodinthehouse.”
“Wecangogroceryshopping,”sheresponded,undeterred.“I’mnotagreatcook,butmygrandmataughtmeatleastonefoolproofdish,andIthinkIcanpullthatoff.”
“Youwon’tfindmuchinthewayofspecializedingredientsaroundhere,”Icautioned.
“AslongasIcanfindricenoodlesandsoysauce,Icanimprovisetherest,”shesaidwithashrug.“Andwaituntilyoutrymygrandma’spancitbihon.Friednoodlesaretheultimatecomfortfood,trustme.”
“Okay,”Isaid,forcingasmile,thoughitwasthelastthingIfeltlikedoing.
Rising,weheadedinside,butIfoundmyselfstoppingjustbeyondthethreshold,toodauntedbythechaostoevenknowwheretobegin.However,intake-chargefashion,Morganmerelysteppedaroundmeandmadestraightforthekitchen.Kneelingbeforethepileinfrontofthesink,shecalledout,“Allthisgoesunderneath,right?IsthereanythingparticularIshouldknow?Likedishsoapontheleftorwhatever?”
WhenIshookmyhead,shestartedputtingthingsaway.Herinitiativeproddedmeintoaction,andIclearedthetable,scrapingfoodintothegarbage.Idumpedthebeansandhalf-burnedchickenandspoiledmeat,aswell,alongwithadozenwadsofusedplasticwrapandthemasonjarandjellyjarandanythingelseIcouldfindtodiscard.WhenIhauledthebagouttothegarbagecan,IopenedthelidandsawallthefoodthatPaigehadthrownaway.Isimplyputthebaginandclosedthelid,wonderingagainwhatshe’dbeenthinking.BythetimeIreturned,thepileonthefloorhadbeencleared,withthedishragsinapile.Morganhadalsogatheredupallthescatteredkitchenutensilsandplacedtheminthesink.Shewasalreadyfillingthebasinwithwater.
“Icouldn’tfindthedishwasher.”
“That’sbecausethereisn’tone.”
Shesmiled.“Inthatcase,doyouwanttowashordry?”
“Either.”
“I’llwash,”shesaid,andlittlebylittleweworkedthroughallofit.Inoticedthatsheknewnottousesoaponthecast-ironskillet,runningitunderhotwaterandscrubbinguntilitwascleaninstead.Sheaskediftherewasanyvegetableoil.
“Therewas,”Ianswered,“butPaigethrewitaway.”
Knowingenoughnottoaskwhy,shehandedtheskillettometodrybeforesoapingadishragandwipingdownthecountersandstovetop.Oddly,InoticedtheovenwasascleanasI’dseenitinyears.Spottinganoldbackpackofmineinthecorner,Iopenedittofindhalfadozenpeanutbutterandjellysandwichesmashedtogether,alongwithacoupleofapples.Dumpingthecontentsintothegarbage,Itossedthebackpackintothepileofdishragsonthefloorandbroughteverythingtothebackporch,depositingtheloadinthewasher.Thesightofemptyshelvesoutsideonlyspurredmorequestions.
Nextwasthepantry,whichdidn’ttakelongtoreorganize.MorganwouldhandmesomethingandI’dputitwhereitbelonged;werepeatedtheroutineonthebackporch.Restoringeverythingintheclosetwentfairlyquickly,too,andinthelivingroomMorganhelpedmemovethecabinetbackinplacebeforeIputthetelevision,antiquatedDVDplayer,andstreamingdeviceswheretheybelongedandreconnectedeverything.MorganthrewtheapplecoresintothegarbageandhandedmealbumsandbooksandDVDsinneatstackswhileIputthemaway.Thehalf-paintedwallstilllookedridiculous,asdidthemessypaintjobinthekitchen,butfornowthedownstairswasserviceable.
“Ifyou’rewonderingwhyshepainted,Ihavenoidea.Shejustpaintedthesewallsmaybeamonthago.ShelovesHermèsorangeandsworethekitchenwouldlookfabulous.Samethingwiththewallhere.”
“I’msureshehadherreasons,”Morgansaid,whichwasthenicestpossiblethingshecouldhavesaid.
Upstairs,werefoldedandputawaytheitemsfromthelinencloset,cleanedmybathroom,andIscoopedupthechildren’sclothesandmypillowcase,leavingthepileatthetopofthestairsforthetimebeing.InPaige’sbedroom,Ihesitated,somehowreluctanttointrudeinmysister’spersonalspace.Morganhadnocompunction,however;sheimmediatelystartedsortingthroughpilesofclothingandfoldingthem.“I’llfoldandyouputaway,”sheinstructed.“Andmaybehangwhatever’sonahangerbackinthecloset,okay?”
Iwasn’tsurewhereallofitbelonged,butIdidmybest.Inthebathroom,Iscoopedupthebloodyshirt,knowingthatitwouldendupinthegarbage,andcarefullyinspectedthewig,tryingtoimaginewhyPaigewouldhavefelttheneedtowearone.
“ShedressedasaflapperforHalloweenacoupleofyearsago,”Imused,spinningthewigaroundonmyhand.“Thiswaspartofhercostume.”
“Hey,Idressedasaflapperlastyear!”Morganchirped,sprayingthebathroomsinkandcountertopswithcleanser.“Greatmindsthinkalike.”
Ihadtoadmitthatitwasaloteasiertocleanwithherhelp.Alone,Iwouldhavescrutinizedeveryitem,tryingtofigureouthowitfitintothedelusion,butMorgansimplykeptmovingforwarduntileachtaskwascompleted.BytheendIfelt,ifnotquitewhole,reassuredthateverythingwouldeventuallyreturntonormal.
“Isthereadecent-sizedsupermarketnearby?”Morgansaid,washingherhandsatthekitchensink.
“There’sthePigglyWiggly.”Ishrugged.“But,really,wecangooutifyou’dratherrestafterallthiswork….”
“YoucookedformeinFlorida,soit’smyturn,”shesaid.
AtthePigglyWiggly,MorganmiraculouslymanagedtofindapackageofricenoodlesintheAsianfoodsection,alongwithasmallbottleofsoysauce.Addinggarlic,frozenshrimp,chickenbreasts,cabbage,andafewvegetablestothecart,alongwithadozeneggs,shetriumphantlypulleduptothebeverageaisleandthrewasix-packofbeerintothebottomofthecart.
Backatthehouse,shegotbusyinthekitchen,washingandchoppingvegetablesandstartingapotofwatertoboilonthestove.Pullingoutalargeskillet,shemadeashooingmotioninmydirection.“Leavemealoneinhere.Gositontheporchwithabeerandrelax,”sheinstructed,inavoicethatbrookednodisagreement.
Pullingabeerfromthesix-pack,Igrabbedmyguitarfromthetruckandsettledintooneoftherockersoutfront.Ifiddledaroundwithwhateverchordscametomeasmymindwanderedoverthelastfewdays.EverynowandthenI’dstoptotakeasipofbeer,feelingthebeginningsofamelancholyballadtakeshape.
“That’spretty,”IheardMorgansayfrombehindme.Iturnedtoseeherstandingatthescreendoor,herhairtiedbackinaponytailwitharubberband.“Isitnew?”
Inodded.“Yeah…butI’mnotsurewhatitisyet.AndI’msureI’llneedhelpwiththelyrics,sinceyou’resogoodatthoseall-importanthooks.”
Morganbrightened.“Afterdinner,”shepromised.“Foodinfifteenminutes,”shecalledoverhershoulderasshereturnedtothekitchen.
Thesmellswaftingthroughthescreendoorweremakingmymouthwater,andthecracklingsoundoffryinggarlicandonionseventuallymademelaydownmyguitarandwanderbackintothehouse.Morganwasstir-fryingtheshrimp,chicken,andvegetablemixtureinaheavenlymixofsoysauce,blackpepper,andotherspices,allthewhilekeepinganeyeonthequick-cookingricenoodles.
“Youcansetthetable,”shesaid,swipingabsentlyatatendrilofhairthathadescapedherponytail.
Isettwoplaces,crackedopentwocoldbottlesofbeer,andputthemnexttotheplatesjustasMorgansetdownahugeplatteroffriednoodlesgarnishedwithlimesandhard-boiledeggs.
“Wow,”Isaid.“Kindaputsmychickendinnertoshame.”
“Don’tbesilly,”shesaid,takingaseatacrossfromme.“Thisistheeasiestdishintheworld,althoughitreallyhitsthespot.”Sheraisedherownbottleofbeer.“Tofamily,”shesaid.
Weclinkedbottlesandtooksipsbeforediggingintoourfragrantplatesoffood.IthinkMorganknewIneededadistractionfromthinkingaboutmyauntorPaige,sosheregaledmewithstoriesofherfamilytripstoManilaandhergrandma’sattemptstoteachherhowtocook.“Iwasn’taverygoodstudent,”shesaid,laughing.“OnceIcausedasmallfirewhileIwastryingtousethewok,butIdidlearnoneortwothings.”Shepoppedashrimpintohermouthandwasheditdownwithanothersipofbeer.“MygrandmafinallytoldmydadthatitwasagoodthingIwassmart,becausenoonewouldmarrymeformycooking.”
Ileanedacrossthetableandkissedher.“Iloveyourcooking,”Isaid.“Andeverythingelseaboutyou.”
MorganwentontotellmeaboutherlastdaywithherfriendsattheDonCeSar.Whilesheadmittedthatmysuddendepartureputabitofadamperontheirlastafternoon,whatmadeitworsewasagroupofguyswhomonopolizedthechaiselonguesnexttotheirsatthepoolandspenttheentiretimebadgeringthemtomeetuplater.
“Itwasirritating.Allwewantedwasapeacefullastafternoontogetherinthesun.”
“Didyouendupgoingoutonyourlastnight?”
“Wedid,andthankGodwedidn’trunintothoseguys.Butweweren’toutlate.Everyonewaskindatired.Itwasabigweekforallofus.”
“Funthough,right?”
“Ican’tspeakforthem,butIwaslivingindreamland.”
Ismiled.“Howdidyourparentsreacttoyouleavingagainassoonasyougothome?”
Shemadeaface.“Ididn’ttellthemuntilafterIbookedtheflights,andwhiletheyweren’tthrilled,theydidn’ttrytostopme.Ishouldmention,though,thatassoonasIgothome,mymomsatmedownandtriedagaintoconvincemetotakethatmusic-teachingjobinChicagoinsteadofgoingtoNashville.”
ImadesympatheticnoisesasIstoodandclearedthetable.Together,wedidthedishes,bynowinpracticedrhythm.AsIputthelastofthemaway,shenoddedinthedirectionoftheporch.“Let’ssitoutsideforawhile.Iwanttohelpyoukeeptinkeringwiththatsongyoustarted.”
Wesettledourselvesintherockersthen,absorbingthesmellsandbuddingsceneryofthelate-springevening.Theairwasbalmy,andthestarswerescatteredintheskylikehandfulsofloosecrystal.Fromthesmallcreekbeyondthebarn,Iheardthenightchorusoffrogsandcrickets.Themoonlentthelandscapeasilversheen.
“It’sbeautifulhere,”Morganbreathed,takingitallin.“And”—sheinterruptedherselfwithalaugh—“Iwasgoingtosayit’squiet,butit’snot.Thesoundsarejustdifferentthanbackhome.OreveninFlorida,forthatmatter.”
“It’scalledlivingintheboondocks.”
“It’snotthatbad.IwasabletogetanUberinGreenville,afterall,anditwasarealcarandeverything.”Sheleanedherheadbackagainsttherocker.“Earlier,whenIwaslisteningtoyouworkingonthesong,mythoughtskeptreturningtoourweektogether.Iknowyou’rechannelingalotofstressandworryrightnowaboutyoursisterandyouraunt,butwhenyou’rewritingaballad,thesongneedstocomefromamemoryofhappinessorit’snotgoingtowork.Sadnessispowerful,butithastobeearned,youknow?SoIwasthinkingthefirstlineofthesongcouldbesomethinglikethis….”Shedrewadeepbreath,thensangtheopeningfewbars:“There’saplacethatIknow,whereonlyyouandIcango…”
Iinstantlyknewshewasright.“Anythingelse?”
“It’syoursong,notmine.Butsinceyouasked…”Shegrinned,archinganeyebrow.“Ithinktheopeningshouldbemorecomplex,instrumentallyspeaking.Likeorchestral,even.Abigromanticsound.”
Ireachedformyguitar.“Sinceyouthinkthisshouldbeasongaboutus,right?”
“Whynot?”sheasked.“Andweshouldprobablygetgoingonit,sinceI’mleavingtomorrow.”
“Sosoon?”
“Ican’tstay.IhavetospendalittletimewithmyfamilybeforeIleaveforNashvillenextweek.Andthere’ssomuchtodoinNashville.I’vegottofurnishmyapartment,setupabankaccount,getutilitiesturnedon,thingslikethat.Anyway,you’vegotalotonyourplaterightnow,andI’djustbeadistraction.”
Thoughshewasright,Ifeltarippleofsadnessatherwords;Ididn’twanttothinkaboutthatyet.Instead,Istrummedtheopeningchordstothesong.Then,inaflash,Iknewwhatitneeded.Istartedover,andMorgan’sgazeleapttomineinrecognition.Assoonasshesangtheopeningline,thefollowinglinecamealmostautomatically.Wantingtobesure,Iplayedthefirststanzaasecondandthirdtime,alreadyfeelingthesongtakeflight.
WeworkedaswehadinFlorida,seamlessly,withanunspokengive-and-take.AsItweakedandadjustedthemelody,Morgankeptaddingtothelyrics,turningtheballadintooneofhopeandloveandinevitableloss.Itwasshewhocameupwiththechorus,whichstruckmeasundeniablyright:
HoldontoDreamland
Forever,notjusttoday
SomedayDreamlandwillbeours
Holdfast,don’tfallaway
Bythetimewefinishedthefirstdraft,themoonhadtraversedtheskyandahushhadfallenoverthefields.Iputawaymyguitarandledherupstairstothebedroom.Whenwemadeloveinthedarkness,Ifeltasthoughoureverytouchandmovementwerechoreographed.SheseemedtoanticipateeachbreathIdrew,andthesoundsofhervoicemergedwithmineinthestillnessoftheroom.Afterward,welaytogetherwithoutspeaking,Morganpressedupagainstme,herbreathsslowinguntilshefellasleep.
Butforme,sleepwouldn’tcome.Restless,Irosefromthebedandthrewonapairofjeansandashirt,thencreptdownstairs,whereIsatatthesmallkitchentable,stilltryingtomakesenseofallthathadhappenedinthelasttendays.WhenmythoughtsturnedtoMorgan,mylifefeltcomplete;whenIthoughtofPaige,thelifeItrulywantedfeltasifitwouldalwaysbeoutofreach.Isatwiththosecontradictoryfeelings,alternatelyatpeaceandinturmoil,untilthelightofdawnseepedthroughthewindows.Whenitwasbrightenough,Ifoundsomepaperandapen,andIscribbledoutthelyricsthatwe’dwrittenthenightbefore.
InthetruckwerethebagsIhadyettounpackfrommytriptoFlorida,andIwalkedbarefootthroughgrassdampwithmorningdew.IfishedoutmypairofVansandmadeatriptothegrocerystoreforcoffee,alongwitheggs,bread,milk,andafewotheritems,rememberingatthelastminutetogrababoxofgreentea.IwassippingcoffeeatthekitchentablewhenMorganfinallywandereddownthestairs.Whenshesawmeatthetable,shecoveredhermouth.
“I’dkissyou,butIhaven’tbrushedmyteethyet.”
“Ihaven’t,either.”
“Thenyoucan’tkissmeyet,either.”
Ismiled.“Wouldyoulikecoffeeortea?”
“Teawouldbegreatifyouhavesome.”
Iaddedwatertoateapot;whenitwhistled,Ipouredthehotwaterintothecupandaddedabag,bringingittoheratthetable.
“Youwereupearly,”shesaid.“Almostlikeyou’reafarmer.”
“Icouldn’tsleep.”
Shereachedover,takingmyhand.“Ihatethatyou’rehavingtodealwithallthis.”
“Me,too.”
“Isyourauntgoingtobereleasedtoday?”
“Probablytomorroworthedayafterthat.”
“HowaboutPaige?”
“That’llbelonger.Itmighttakeafewdaysuntilshe’sstabilized.Whattimeareyouleavingtoday?”
“Two?WhichmeansIshouldprobablybeattheairportbyone.”
Withtraveltime,Irealized,wehadonlyafewhourslefttogether,andmorethananything,Ididn’twanttospoilthem.“Doyouwantbreakfast?”Iasked.“Icanmakeeggsandtoast.”
“Theteaisfinefornow.I’mnotallthathungryyet.ButyouknowwhatI’dliketodoafterIshowerandbrushmyteeth?”
“Kissme?”
“Ofcourse,”shesaidwithasmile.“ButI’dalsoliketoseethefarm,soIcanputactualimagestoyourdescriptionsofthings.”
“Soundsgood.”
“Andmaybegetaphotoofyouonatractor.OrmaybeevenavideoofyoudrivingonesoIcantextittomyfriends.”
Ihadtolaugh.“Whateveryou’dlike.”Aftershowering,Iwaitedforheronthefrontporch.Inthedistance,IsawToby’struckparkedneartheofficeandcaughtsightofthesprinklersirrigatingthefields.Someworkerswerealreadyworkinginthetobaccofieldswhileanothergroupwascarefullybringingbasketsofeggsintotheprocessingfacilityforinspectionandpackaging.Theactivityremindedmeofhowmuchtimeitwasgoingtotakemetocatchup—especiallywithmyauntoutofcommission.Ipushedmyworriestothesideandwanderedtothebarninstead.
AtPaige’sworkdesk,Isiftedthroughthepilesofpaperwork,searchingfortheordershewasworkingon.I’dneedtocallthecustomertoexplainthatthere’dbeenanemergencyandthattheordermightbedelayed,but,unabletofigureitout,Ileftthebarn,wonderingwhenPaigewouldbecoherentenoughtotellme.
BythetimeIgotback,Morganwasinthekitchen,heatingmorewaterforhertea.Soakingupthesightofher,Irememberedhowshe’dfeltinmyarmslastnight,andmovingherhairaside,Ikissedheronthebackofherneck.
Aftershefinishedhersecondcup,wesetoutonourtour.Iletherwalkthroughoneoftheprairieschooners,pastthecluckingchickens,thenshowedherthefacilitywherewecheckedandpackagedtheeggs.Iguidedherthroughthegreenhouse,thenshowedherthefacilitieswherewereadiedthetomatoesforshippingandthewarehousewherewedriedthetobaccoleaves.Westoppedbythemainoffice—Icalleditpaperworkcentral—andstrolledthroughthetomatoandtobaccofields,beforeIfinallyallowedhertoshootvideoofmedrivingatractor.AsidefromToby,theworkerswentabouttheirbusiness,offeringnothingmorethanagoodmorningorwavefromafar,butInonethelessfelttheircuriousglances.Ittookmealittlewhiletorealizeitwasprobablythefirsttimeanyofthemhadseenmewalkaroundthefarmwithawomanotherthanmyauntormysister.Michellehadneverbeeninterestedinthespecificsofmydailylife.
WehadanearlylunchataplacecalledDownonMainStreet,intheheartofthewaterfrontdistrict.Thoughthefoodwasappetizing,Iwastootensetoeat,andI’mprettysureMorganfeltthesameway,sinceshemainlypickedathersalad.Afterward,westrolledhandinhandtowardthewaterfront,withitsgorgeousviewsofthePamlicoRiver,thewaterglitteringbeneathacloudlesssky.Inthemiddleoftheriver,asailboatrodethegentlebreeze,movingslowly,asthoughinnorushtogoanywhereatall.
“HaveyougivenanymorethoughttocomingtoNashvillewithme?”sheasked,stoppingtofaceme.“Imean,IknowIshouldn’tevenbetalkingaboutthisrightnow,andIunderstandthatitmightbeawhilebeforeyoucouldgetthere,butyouneverreallyansweredme.”
Intheglintingsunlight,Icouldseetinyflecksofhazelinhereyes,somethingI’dnevernoticed.“Idon’tthinkIcan.Idon’tseehowIcanleavemyauntandmysisterwhentheyneedmemost.Ileftforthreeweeksandlookwhathappened.”TheyweresomeofthemostpainfulwordsI’deversaidinmylife.
“Yeah,”shesaid.Hereyeslookedwet.“That’swhatIthought.Butyou’llcomevisitme,right?AfterIsettlein?”
Ihesitated,wishingwecouldtalkaboutanythingelse,wishingthatsomanythingsinmylifeweredifferent.
“I’mnotsosurethatwouldbeagoodidea….”Ioffered,trailingoff.
“Whywouldn’titbeagoodidea?Don’tyouloveme?”
“OfcourseIdo.”
“Thenwe’lldothelong-distancething.Inthisdayandage,it’seasy.WecanFaceTime,wecanvisiteachother,wecancallandtext….”
Shereacheduptoturnmyfacetohers,andIrespondedbytuckingastrandofhairbehindherear.“You’reright.Wecandothosethings.Ijustdon’tknowifweshould.”
“Whatonearthareyoutalkingabout?”
Ibroughtmylipstogether,wishingmorethananythingthatIdidn’thavetosaythewordsthatIknewwouldbecomingnext.“WhenIwasatthehospital,Ihadalotofquiettimetothinkaboutyouandmeandthefuture,butnomatterhowItriedtoimagineit,mythoughtskeptcirclingbacktotheideathat,fromnowon,we’regoingtobelivingintwoveryseparateworlds.”
“Sowhat?”
“Thoseworldswon’tevercometogether,Morgan,whichmeansthatitwouldalwaysbelongdistanceforus.You’regoingtoNashville,andasforme,Ican’tleavemyaunt.Ican’tleavePaige,andasfarasthefarm,it’stheonethingIknowI’mgoodat.It’swhatIdo.”
“Butyouhavegiftsasasingerandsongwriterthatyoucan’tignore.YousawthecrowdsatyourshowsinFlorida.Yousawhowpeoplereactedtowhatyouweredoing….”Morgan’svoicewasedgedwithirritation.
“Evenifthat’strue,itdoesn’tmatter.Whowouldtakecareofmyfamily?YouandIaredifferent,andwhatdoesthatmeanforusinthelongrun?Dowestaytogetherwiththeknowledgethatwe’llleadmostlyseparatelives,wherewecanonlyseeeachothereverynowandthen?Andifso,forhowlong?Ayear?Fiveyears?Forever?Long-distancerelationshipsworkwhenthey’retemporary,butwithus,itwouldneverchange.I’mstuckhere,maybepermanently,butyouhaveyourwholelifeinfrontofyou,andtheworldiswaitingforyou.And,mostimportantly,isthatthekindofrelationshipthatyouwant?Onewherewebarelyseeeachother?You’reonlytwenty-one….”
“Soyou’rebreakingupwithme?Youjustwanttoendit?”Assheasked,Icouldhearthecrackinhervoice,couldseethetearsbeginningtoforminhereyes.
“Itwasnevermeanttobe,”Isaid,hatingmyselfandhatingthetruthandfeelingasthoughIwaslettingthebestpartofmedie.“Yourlifeisgoingtochange,butminecan’t.Andthat’sinevitablygoingtochangethingsbetweenus—eventhoughIdoloveyou,eventhoughIknowI’llneverforgettheweekwehadtogether.”
ForthefirsttimesinceI’dknownher,Morganseemedataloss.
“You’rewrong,”shefinallybitout,swipingangrilyatatearthathadspilledontohercheek.“Andyoudon’tevenwanttotry.”
ButIcouldtellthatshewasthinkingaboutmyauntandPaigeandthefarmandunderstoodwhatI’dsaid.Shecrossedherarmsandstaredoutoverthewater,unseeing.IreachedintomypocketandpulledoutthepieceofpaperI’dscribbledonthatmorning.
“IknowIhavenorighttoaskanythingofyou,”Isaid.“Butpleasetakeoursongandmakeitfamous,okay?”
Shereluctantlytookthepaperandglancedatit,whileblinkingbackthetearsthatkeptthreateningtooverflow.
There’saplacethatIknow
WhereonlyyouandIcango
Farfromthedarknessofthepast
Wherelovecanbloomatlast
HoldontoDreamland
Forever,notjusttoday
SomedayDreamlandwillbeours
Holdfast,don’tfallaway
Inmymindwe’relivingthere
Inthatplacewe’remeanttoshare
Nomoretalkofwhatweowe
Justwhatourheartsalreadyknow
InDreamland,downinDreamland
Holdfast,don’tfallaway…
Shedidn’tfinishbutslippedthepageintoherpurse,andforalongmomentwesimplystoodtogetherinthesmalltownIknewI’dneverescape,aplacetoosmallforMorgan’sfuture.Iputmyarmaroundher,watchingasanospreytookflightoverthelappingwaves.ItssimplegraceremindedmeofMorganpaddlingthroughwaterwaysinaplacethatalreadyseemedfar,faraway.
Afterawhile,wemadeourwaybacktothetruckanddrovetotheGreenvilleairport.Ahandfulofcarsidledinfrontofthesmallterminal,unloadingpassengers,theirhazardlightsflashing.Ipulledthetruckinbehindthemandreachedforherbag.MorganslippedthetoteoverhershoulderasIrolledherluggagetotheentrance.
MystomachwasinknotsasIburiedmyfaceinherhair.IremindedmyselfthatIhadspokenthetruth.Nomatterwhatplanswemadeorhowhardwebothwantedthingstoworkbetweenus,Morganwouldleavemebehindsomeday.Shewasdestinedforgreatthings,andshe’deventuallyfindsomeonewithalifemoreinsyncwithhers,somethingIknewIcouldneverofferher.
Still,IunderstoodthatI’dhurtherdeeply.Icouldfeelitinthewaysheclungtome,inthefinalitywithwhichshepressedherbodyagainstmyown.IknewthatIwouldneverloveanotherwomaninthesamewayIlovedher.Butlove,Irealized,wasn’talwaysenough.
Whenweseparated,Morganmetmyeyes.
“I’mstillgoingtocallyou,”shesaidwithacatchinhervoice.“EventhoughI’mfuriousatyou.”
“Allright,”Isaid,myvoicehoarse.
Shereachedforherbagandadjustedthetotestraponhershoulder,thenforcedabravesmilebeforeheadingintotheterminal.Iwatchedtheelectronicdoorsopenandshutasshepassedthroughthemand,shovingmyhandsintomypockets,Istartedbacktowardthetruck,achingforher,andforme.AsIslidbehindthewheel,IrecalledwhatPaigehadoncesaidaboutloveandpainbeingtwosidesofthesamecoinandfinallyunderstoodexactlywhatshemeant.
Turningintotraffic,ItriedtopicturePaigeandmyauntasI’dlastseenthem,feelingaheavinesssettleinmychest.AsmuchasIlovedthem,Iknewthatsomehowthey’dalsobecomemyprison.ThoughMorganandIstayedintouch,thecallsandtextsdiminishedovertime.Intheend,ithadmoretodowithherthanwithme.IntheweeksfollowingMorgan’smovetoNashville,I’dstruggledtomanagethefarmwhileoverseeingPaige’sandAuntAngie’srecovery.Bylateautumnourlifehadsettledabit,butbycontrast,eventsovertookMorgan’slifelikeabouldergatheringspeedandpowerasitrolleddownhill.Thechangesthatfollowedtheignitingofhermusiccareerleftmestunned;itreachedthepointthatwhenIleftavoicemail,shesometimescouldn’treturnmycallfortwoorthreedays.Itwasfine,Itoldmyself—asI’dtoldher,Ididn’tthinkweshouldtrytomakethelong-distancethingwork,sinceitwouldinevitablycometoanend.Instead,whenwefinallyconnected—oftenwhileshewasinairportsorbetweenmeetings,orduringrecordingbreaks—Iwouldlistenwithinterestandprideassherelayedthelatestdevelopmentsinhermeteoricprofessionalrise.
Eveninherwildestdreams,shecouldn’thaveplannedthepathhercareerhadtaken.UponarrivinginNashville,she’dspenttimeinarecordingstudioand,withdemosinhand,metwiththehandfulofmanagersshe’dmentionedtome,allofwhomshowedmildtomoderateinterest.Atthecasualencouragementofoneofthosemanagers(“Whynot?”),she’dpostedthevideoofherperformanceatmyshowtohersocial-mediaaccounts.Ithadbeeneditedexceptionallywellbyherfriends,intercuttingfootagefromherrecordingthesongatthestudiowithscenesfromBobbyT’sandclipsofMorgandancingonTikTok.Interestinthesongsparkedamongsomekeyinfluencers—includingafewadmiringstarswithhugefollowings—eruptingintoaninferno.Withinweeks,itwasviewedtensofmillionsoftimesonline,andshequicklyreleasedanothervideo,inwhichsheperformed“Dreamland.”Naturally,hersocial-mediafollowingexploded,aswell,andshewassoonbeingcourtedbythemostprominentmanagersandrecordinglabelsintheindustry.“ThenewTaylorSwift”washowshewasoftendescribed,drawingcomparisonstofemalemegastarslikeOliviaRodrigo,BillieEilish,andArianaGrande.
Themanagerwithwhomsheultimatelysignedwasadmittedlyamarketinggenius,andhebuiltontheearlymomentum,immediatelypackagingMorganinawaythatmadeherseemlikeanalreadyestablishedstar.Shestartedgettingplayontheradio,andaformalpublicitycampaignwaslaunchedthattookherfromcitytocity,withappearancesontalkshowsinNewYorkandLosAngeles.Herfaceappearedregularlyinstoriesaboutcelebrities,andbythetimesheperformedonSaturdayNightLiveinNovember—whereshewasintroducedasaglobalphenom—itseemedtomeasthougheveryoneintheworldhadheardofher.Somehow,betweenallofthat,shemanagedtofindtimetobeginrecordinganalbum.Producedbyhugehitmakers,itfeaturedsongswrittenbyheraswellascollaborationswiththehottesthip-hop,pop,andR&Bstarsinthebusiness.
Originally,shetoldme,there’dbeendiscussionsofhergoingontourandopeningforonemajoractoranother,butwhenshereleasedathirdsongonsocialmediaafterherappearanceonSaturdayNightLiveandinadvanceofherdebutalbumdrop,thesongwenttonumberoneonthecharts.Nowtherewastalkofothersopeningforhersolotournextautumn,whichwasalreadyatthirtycitiesinNorthAmericaandcounting.
Shewascaughtupinacyclone,soitwasn’tsurprisingthatwewereintouchlessfrequently.Andwhenevertheacheofmissingherbecametoogreat,IremindedmyselfofwhatI’dsaidonourlastdaytogether.
Asforme,Ihiredanaidetohelpwithmyauntafterherreleasefromthehospital;shenotonlyhelpedAuntAngiearoundthehousebutshuttledhertoandfromherphysical-therapyappointments.Theparalysisonherleftsidehadbeenslowtoimprove;itwasn’tuntilHalloweenthatshewasconfidentenoughtofinallysendtheaideonherway.Shestilllimped,herleftarmremainedweak,andhersmilewascrooked,butshewasbacktorunningtheofficefull-timeandevengotaroundtherestofthefarmwiththehelpofafour-wheeler.Thefarm,morethanPaigeorme,remainedthecenterofherlife.
AndPaige…
Ittookhersixdaystofullystabilizeagain,afterwhichIeventuallypiecedtogetherthetimelineofhercrisis.AsI’dsuspected,sheracedtothehospitalwhenmyauntwasadmitted,leavinghermedsandherphonebehindinherhaste,whichwasthereasonshehadn’tcalledmeassoonasithappened.Andalthoughshesworeshekeptintendingtoretrievehermedsfromthehouse,myaunt’sconditionwastooseriousforhertofeelcomfortableleavingthehospitalwithoutanyfamilymemberspresent.Withinacoupleofdays,thechemicalsinherbrainbegantocausemisfires,affectingherperception;notlongafterthat,thesuddenwithdrawalofhermedicationdistortedherreality.Amongotherthings,shewasconvincedthatshe’dcalledandspokentomeaboutmyaunt’scondition,notoncebuttwoorthreetimes;itwasn’tuntilIshowedhermycalllogthatsheacceptedthatshe’dimaginedentireconversations.Afterthat,hermemorieswerefuzzyandincompleteuntilthedelusionsetin;sherememberedwalkingoutofthehospitalbutdidn’trecallsmokingweed,eventhoughherbloodtestsshowedahighlevelofTHC.
Afterherrelease,shedidn’twanttotalkaboutitforalongtime.AsI’dknownshewouldbe,shewasdeeplyashamedandembarrassed.NearlyamonthpassedbeforeIwasabletogetthewholestory.Itbecameapparentthatshe’dincorporatedsomeelementsfromherpreviouspsychoticepisodesintothenewdelusions,includingthebusridesandhitchhikingandthedinerwheresheaddedketchuptoacupofhotwater.Sheexplainedwhythehousewasinshamblesandadmittedshe’dtakenthegunsthatIkeptbeneathmybedandburiedthemnearthecreek.ShevaguelyrememberedbuyingtheIronManactionfigurefromastorenearthehospital;she’dintendedtogiveittomyaunttoboostherspiritsbymakingajokeabouthowtoughshewas.Butthehardestpartsforhertotalkabout,theonesthatseemedabsurdeventoher,weretheobviousones:Howcouldshenothaverecognizedherownhome?HowcouldshenothaverecognizedToby,amanshe’dknownformostofherlife,whenhe’dcometothehouse?Shehadnoanswertothosequestions,justasinthepastshe’dhadnoanswertowhyshedidn’trecognizeme.Asfarastherestofherdelusions,we’dalreadylivedthroughmostofthem,andneitherofusfelttheneedtorehashthepainfuldetails.
Iduguptheguns,thencleanedandoiledthem,thankingGodthatI’dlongagoequippedthemwithexternaltriggerlocksandalwayskeptthekeyswithme,whichmadethemimpossibletofireunlessthelockswereremoved.AfterPaige’sfirstsuicideattemptandevenbeforeshe’dleftthehospital,I’dtakennochances.Still,tobedoublycarefulinthefuture,Ipurchasedagunsafe,aswell,andstoredthemthere.Ialsorepaintedthewallsandcabinetsinthekitchen,alongwiththelivingroom,beforeshewasreleasedfromthehospital.Orangeandburgundy,thecolorsshe’dchosennottoolongbefore.
Onceshewashome,gettingbacktoworkwasanecessarydistraction,andthankfully,herbusinesshadn’tsuffered.Still,itwasafewmonthsbeforeshebegantoseemlikeheroldself.Thoughshestillcookeddinnerforusafewtimesaweek,sheoftenavertedhereyeswhileweate,andthereweretimesIfoundhercryingquietlyontheporch.
“IhatethatI’mbroken,”shesaidononeofthoseoccasions.“IhatethatIcan’tevencontrolwhatIthink.”
“You’renotbroken,Paige,”Isoothed,takingaseatbesideherandreachingovertostrokeherarm.“Itwasonlyafewcrappydaysintheschemeofthings.Everyonehasthem.”
Despiteherself,shelaughed.“Thedifferenceisthatmybaddaysarereally,reallycrappycomparedtomost.”
“Ican’targuewithyouthere,”Iagreed,andagainshelaughed,thengrewserious.
“Thanks,”shesaid,turningtowardme.“Forsavingmylife.Again.”
“Yousavedme,too.”
IeventuallytoldheraboutmytriptoFloridaandMorgan,leavingnothingout.ItwasaroundthetimethatMorganhadpostedthefirstvideoofherperformanceatBobbyT’sonsocialmedia,andPaige—likeeveryone—wasflooredbyhertalent.Whenthevideoended,sheturnedtome,eyebrowsraised.
“Andshethoughtyouweregood?”
Ilaughedatthat—PaigeactuallylovedwhenIsang.ButshewasalsosensitivetohowharditwasformetowatchMorgandriftfurtherawayoverthenextfewmonths.IknowPaigespottedthephotographplasteredalloverthegossipsitesacoupleofweeksbeforeChristmas—apaparazzishotofMorganwalkinghandinhandwithafamousyoungHollywoodactor.Paigelovedtofollowcelebritygossip,butshewascarefulnottomentionthephototome.Still,Iwouldhavehadtobelivingunderarocktomissit.
I’mnotgoingtosaythatseeingthephotodidn’thurtme,justasI’mnotgoingtosaythatIwasshocked.AndthoughourliveshaddivergedjustasI’dpredicted,IneverforgotthedecisionI’dmadeonthenightthatMorganandIfirstmadelove,whenIresolvedtomakechangesinmyownlifesoIdidn’tenduplikemyuncle.WhilethathadtowaituntilIknewmyauntandPaigeweregoingtorecover,IliketothinkIkeptmypromise.I’dbeenabletomakeittothecoasttogosurfingfourtimessincemytriptoFlorida,andIsetasidetimesonFridaysandSundaystodonothingbutplayorwritemusic,nomatterhowmuchworkremainedunfinished.Ireconnectedwithafewoldfriendsandmetupwiththemontheoccasionalweekendnight,evenifitstillsometimesfeltlikeGroundhogDay.
I’dalsomadeanefforttorelaxmyroutinesfromtimetotime,whichiswhyIdecidedtochangethebrakepadsonmytruckoneTuesdaymorning,despitethelonglistofotherthingsIshouldhavebeendoing.Whilebasicvehiclerepairsmightnotsoundlikefuntomostpeople,Ienjoyedit;unlikepracticallyeverythingelseatthefarm,itwasataskwithadefinitefinishingpoint.Inaworldwherenothingeverstops,actuallycompletingsomethingcanbeverygratifying.
Thankfully,thetemperaturewasmildthatafternoon,andIpushedupthesleevesofmyworkshirtasIthoughtthroughthestepsoftherepair.Butfateisastrangething:JustafterIturnedontheradiointhecabandreadiedmyselftoslideunderthetruck,Morgan’svoicesoaredoutofthecarspeakers.Itwas“Dreamland,”whichbythenI’dprobablyheardahundredtimes.Still,Ihadtoadmitthatthesongalwaysmademestopinmytracks.Hervoicewasresonantandheartbreaking.She’dchangedpartsofthelyricstoaddthewonderfulhookI’dknownshe’dfind,andIallowedmyselfthebriefestofmemoriesofhersittingontheporchthatday.
ItwasaboutthenthatIheardacarapproachingfromthedistance.Isquinted,tryingtomakeitout,andwassurprisedwhenitslowed,thenpulledintothedrive,comingtoastopbehindmytruck.
Fromthebackseat,Morgangotout.ForamomentIcouldn’tmove,anditwasonlywhentheUberstartedbackingoutthatIunfroze.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Istuttered.
Sheshrugged,tossingalengthofhairoverhershoulder,andIwonderedhowitwaspossiblethatshe’dgrownevenmorebeautifulsincethelasttimeI’dseenher.
“Icametovisityou,becauseIwastiredofwaitingforyoutovisitme.”
Stilltryingtoprocesshersuddenappearance,Icouldn’tsayanythingelseforafewseconds.“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouwerecoming?”
“AndruinmyValentine’ssurprise?Idon’tthinkso.”
Leavingherluggagebehind,shewalkedintomyarmsasthoughitwasthemostnaturalthingintheworld,likewe’dneverstoppedholdingeachother.
“It’snotValentine’sDay,”Imumbledintoherhair,feelingherbodyagainstmyown.
“It’scloseenough.I’mgoingtobeinL.A.ontheactualday,andthisisthebestIcoulddo.”
Whenweseparated,Isawafamiliarmischievousglintinhereyes.
“Ithoughtyouwereseeingsomeone,”Isaid,tryingtosoundcasualasImentionedtheactor’sname.
“Wewentoutacoupleoftimes,butitjustwasn’tright.”Shewavedahanddismissively.“Hewaslackingthatspecialsomething,youknow?Like…whenweweretogether,Ikeptthinkingaboutthezombieapocalypseandwonderingwhetherhecouldgrowfoodandfixtrucksandallthatothersurvivalstuff.”
“Yeah?”
“Welovewhatwelove,right?”
Igrinned,relievedthatshedidn’tseemtohavechangedintheslightest.
“Right,”Isaid.“ButIstillcan’tbelieveyoushoweduplikethis.You’vegotsomuchgoingon.”
“Andyoudon’t?”
“It’sdifferent.”
“Everyoneisbusy,becauselifeisbusyforeveryone.Ialsocameheretotellyousomething.”
“What’sthat?”
“Doyourememberthatbigspeechyoumadeonourlastdaytogether?Youknow,whenyouwereprettymuchtryingtoendthingsbetweenuswhiledoingyourbesttosoundallnoble?”
ThoughIwouldn’thavedescribeditthatway,Inodded,stillunabletostopsmiling.
“I’vebeenthinkingaboutthatalot,andI’venowcometotheconclusionthatyouwereahundredpercentwrongaboutprettymuchallofit.”
“Ohyeah?”
“LikeItoldyouthen,Iwasangry.Iwouldn’thaveexpectedaniceguylikeyoutobesuchaheartbreaker.ButI’mfinallyoverit,andIdecidedtogiveyouanotherchance.So,fromnowon,we’regoingtotryitmyway.”Shefixedmewithasterngaze.“Thelong-distancething,Imean.WhereIvisityouandyouvisitme,andinbetweenwetextandcallandFaceTimeeachotherbecause,asofnow,we’reacoupleagain.”
Assoonasshesaidthewords,IknewtheywereexactlywhatI’dwantedtohear
“Howlongcanyoustay?”
“Onlyacoupleofdays,butIhavesomefreetimenextmonth.That’llbeyourturntovisitme.”
MymindflashedtoPaigeandmyaunt,butIsuddenlyknewwithcertaintythatIwouldsomehowmakeitwork.
“Yes,ma’am,”Isaid.
“Nowtellmethatyouloveme.Youstoppedtextingthattomeafewweeksago,andIdidn’tlikethat,either.ButI’vedecidedI’llforgiveyouforthat,too.”
“Iloveyou,Morgan,”Isaid,thewordscomingeasily.
Risingtohertoes,shekissedme,herlipsassoftasIremembered.
“Iloveyou,too,”shewhispered.“Let’smakethemostofthesenextcoupleofdays,shallwe?”
Theturnofeventswassodizzyingthatitwasdifficultformetograspwhatwashappening.
“Whatdidyouhaveinmind?”
Shesurveyedthesurroundings,thensettledhereyesonme.“YouknowwhatI’dliketodofirst?Beforeanythingelse?”
“Ihaven’ttheslightestidea.”
“I’dreallylovetomeetyoursister.”
“Paige?”
“Iwanttogettherealscooponwhatyouwerelikeasakid.I’llbetshehassomeinterestingstories.Ialsowanttotellherthankyou.”
“Why?”
“Youtoldmesheraisedyou,andIlovewhoyouturnedouttobe.Whywouldn’tIthankher?”
Itwasmyturntokissherthen,ifonlybecauseIknewshereally,trulyunderstoodme.WhenIpulledback,Iallowedmyhandtolingeronherhip.
“Let’sgouptothehouse,”Isaid,takingherhand.“I’msurePaigewouldlovetomeetyou,too.”FORABBYKOONS,ANDREAMAI,ANDEMILYSWEETLikesomanypeoplearoundtheworld,IhavespentthelastcoupleofyearsinrelativeisolationduetoCovid.Andasforsomanyothers,theperiodofenforceddistancingcausedmetoreflectdeeplyonthenatureofmyrelationships.Someofthoserelationshipsatrophiedinthiseraofcrisis;othersflourishedandgrewdeeper.Remarkably,somefreshnewconnectionsemerged,aswell,mirroringtheshiftsinprioritiesanddesireforchangethatmillionsofpeopleexperiencedduringtheGreatPause.
Oneenduringrelationshiphasremainedand,ifanything,grownevendeeperduringtheserecentyears:myfriendshipandcollaborationwithmylongtimeliteraryagentandproducingpartner,TheresaPark.T,attwenty-sevenyearsandcounting,ourclosepartnershipstandsasoneofthemostimportantandconstantinmylife.Togetherwiththeleadersofmyfirst-classteamatPark&Fine—towhomI’vededicatedthisnovel—you’vehelpedmesustainacareerthathasdefiedevenmyownexpectations.Butevenmoremeaningfulhasbeenthedecades-longjourneythatwehavesharedasfriendsandfellowtravelersontheroadoflife.
AmongthenewrelationshipsthatIembarkedonduringthepandemicismyprofessionalaffiliationwithPenguinRandomHouse.IamimmenselygratefultoMadelineMcIntoshformidwifingmyintroductiontothePRHfamily,andtoGinaCentrelloformakingsuchextraordinaryeffortstoensurethatIwascomfortableineveryway.KaraWelshandKimHovey,it’sbeenapleasuretogettoknowyou—andInowunderstandhowyourdivisionrunswithsuchprofessionalism,efficiency,andgrace.Yourlongexperienceandrelentlesspursuitofexcellencearesurelyresponsibleforyourunparalleledrosterofbestsellers,andyetyourleadershipstylealwaysfeelsdeeplyhumane.ToJenniferHershey,whosemeticulousoversightofeverydetailofthisbook’spublicationrangedfromthebroadeststrategicinitiativetothetiniestquibbleinpageproofs,Iwishtoconveydeepestthanksandgenuineadmiration.
ToJaciUpdikeandherunparalleledsalesteam,youhavemyheartandsoul(rememberthatIalwayswillbeasalesrepatheart!).Itisanhonortohavemybookssoldbysuchoutstandingprofessionals.
Inmarketing,QuinneRogersandTaylorNoelbringoriginality,doggedpersistence,andfierceambitiontotheirjobs;it’sraretofindanardentsenseofpossibilityandlimitlessambitioninthegenteelworldofpublishing,andyettheybringthattotheirworkeveryday.Similarly,intheworldofpublicity,IcannotimaginegreaterdedicationandpassionateadvocacythanthatdeliveredbyJenniferGarza,KarenFink,andKatieHorn.
ThesophisticationandinnovativestrategiesofthePRHaudiodivisionstemdirectlyfromitsstellarteam:EllenFolan,NicoleMcArdle,KarenDziekonski,DanZitt,andDonnaPassannante.Ilookforwardtolotsofhigh-qualityaudioversionsofmybooksincomingyears.
Ofcourse,thebookyouareholdinginyourhandorreadingonyourdevicecouldnotexistbutforthedetail-oriented,deadline-driven,andtechnologicallysavvyproductionfolkswhoworkaroundtheclocktodeliveraflawlessandbeautifulproduct:KellyChian,KathyLord,DeborahBader,AnnetteSzlachta-McGinn,MaggieHart,CarolineCunningham,KellyDaisley,andDavidHammond.Youalltakesuchprideinyourworkanditshows.
LastinmythankstomynewPRHteam,butdefinitelynotleast:theinspiredartdirectorsPaoloPepeandElenaGiavaldi,whocreatedthegorgeousnewlookofthisnovel.Themagicyoubringtothisprocessholdsmeinawe.
Iowethesuccessofmycareer-spanningnovels,featurefilms,partnerships,andsocialmediatotheloyal(andsometimeslong-suffering)teamwhocontinuestomanageandoverseeallofmybusinessandpublic-facingendeavors.IntheworldoffilmandTV,myclosefriendandwizard-likeagent,HowieSanders,atAnonymousContent:Howie,Icontinuetomarvelatyourinstinctsontiming,story,andthemarketplace;Itreasureyourunflaggingdecades-longfriendshipmorethanIcansay.Asmyentertainmentlawyerandfierce,tenaciousadvocate,ScottSchwimernevergivesuponthebestpossibletermsoronmeasafriend;Scottie,Ihopeyouknowthatyouremainclosetomyheartthroughalltheupsanddownsofourrespectivelives.TomynewpartnersandfriendsatAnonymousContent,CEODawnOlmsteadandproducerandmanagerZackHayden,I’mgratefulforyoursupportandvisionforourcreativefuture.Onarelatednote,IcanhardlyoverstatemyexcitementattheprospectofworkingwithPeterCramer,DonnaLangley,andLexiBartaatUniversalPicturesonaslateofnewprojectsbasedonmybooks—thankyouforbettingonthestoriesIwriteandforbringingsuchenthusiasmandenergytoourcollaboration.
MypublicistCatherineOlimatRogers&Cowanhasguidedmethroughthebestoftimesandtheworstoftimes,withpragmaticyetsavvyinstincts;Catherine,youneverhesitatetotellmethetruthandIprizeyourforthrightopinions,whichalwayscomefromaplaceofloveandprotection.LaQuisheWright(“Q”)ishandsdownthemostbrilliant,supportive,andsophisticatedsocial-mediamanagerintheentertainmentbusiness—andalsoatrustedfriendwhoseintegrityisbeyondreproach.MollieSmith,youpracticallyinventedmyWebpresenceandfanoutreach—withoutyouIwouldn’tknowhowtoconnectwithmyreaders.Yourinsightsandpatiencewithallofthechangesanddevelopmentsinmycareeroverthepastdecadeshavebeenastabilizingforceforme.InTheresa’sofficeatPark&Fine,CharlotteGillieshasprovenindispensableatmanagingallthelogistics,scheduling,contracts,andpaymentsthatTheresaoversees,constantlyliaisingwithmyentireteam.AndwherethenutsandboltsofearningalivingaretransformedintonumbersIcanunderstand,PamPopeandOscaraStevick,myfaithfulandrigorousaccountants,reignsupreme—thankyou,oldfriends,forshepherdingmetoaplaceoforderandsecurity.
Ofcourse,myworkinglifeasanauthorisprofoundlyintertwinedwiththepersonalandcommunityrelationshipsthatsustainme:Mychildren,Miles,Ryan,Landon,Lexie,andSavannah;VictoriaVodar;JeannieArmentrout;TiaScottShaver;ChristieBonacci;MikeSmith;BuddyandWendyStallings;Angie,Linda,andJerrold;PatandBillMills;ToddandGretchenLanman;LeeandSandyMinshull;PaulMinshull;EricandKinBelcher;TonyandShellieSpaedy;TonyCain;AustinandHollyButler;GrayZuerbregg;JonathanandStephanieArnold;DavidandMorganShara;AndySommers;DavidGeffen;JimTyler;JeffVanWie;PaulDuVair;RickMuench;BobJacob;ChrisMatteo;PeteDeCler;JoeWestermeyer;DwightCarlblom;DavidWang;MissyBlackerby;KenGray;JohnHawkins…andmygratitudefurtherextendstomyfamily,aswell:Monty,Gail,AdamandSean,Dianne,Chuck,ToddandAllison,andElizabeth,Sandy,Nathan,Josh,MikeandParnell,MattandChristie,DanandKira,andAmandaandNick…and,ofcourse,alloftheirchildren.BYNICHOLASSPARKS
Dreamland
TheWish
TheReturn
EveryBreath
TwobyTwo
SeeMe
TheLongestRide
TheBestofMe
SafeHaven
TheLastSong
TheLuckyOne
TheChoice
DearJohn
AtFirstSight
TrueBeliever
ThreeWeekswithMyBrother
TheWedding
TheGuardian
NightsinRodanthe
ABendintheRoad
TheRescue
AWalktoRemember
MessageinaBottle
TheNotebookABOUTTHEAUTHOR
NicholasSparksistheauthoroftwenty-threebooks,allofwhichhavebeenNewYorkTimesbestsellers.Hisbookshavebeenpublishedacrossmorethanfiftylanguageswithover150millioncopiessoldworldwide,andelevenhavebeenadaptedintofilms.HeisalsothefounderoftheNicholasSparksFoundation,anonprofitcommittedtoimprovingculturalandinternationalunderstandingthroughglobaleducationexperiences.HelivesinNorthCarolina.
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