A Lily in the Light(19)

“That’s her middle name.” Cerise slid to the edge of the chair, her back pin straight, as alert now as an antenna. Annette’s eyes rolled back and forth, up and down behind her eyelids, looking at another world where there should have been dark, wet skin. Esme wished she could press her thumbs against those eyes to make them stop moving. It unnerved her. This wasn’t like watching light shift behind her eyes from orange to yellow to red when she was going somewhere in a car or dozing in the sun. This was a cross between make-believe and scary.

“Two, three, two,” Annette said. “I see the numbers two, three, two.”

“Is it an address?” Cerise was having trouble keeping her hands in her lap. They darted toward Annette, like touching her could pull Lily back from the world on the other side of Annette’s eyes. Cerise drew them back.

A long pause filled the living room. Esme watched Annette’s face carefully. Had she fallen asleep? She shifted her weight, feeling suddenly heavy, unsure if she should tap Annette.

“I can see the moon,” Annette said finally. “Only half of it.”

“Through a window?” Cerise asked. “Or from outside?” Outside, it was dark enough to need lights. The light was fading, but there was no moon. No stars. Maybe time was different where Lily was, but Lily couldn’t read clocks with hands yet. Was 232 the time?

“From a window with a red tree.”

“Lily,” Esme asked. “Does it say 232 on a clock?”

Annette shuffled; her fingers twitched. Lily did that sometimes in her sleep. Annette didn’t answer. Lily had caught her attention elsewhere.

“What else can you see?” Madeline asked.

“A tree house with a bird.”

“Lily?” Cerise called her back. “Is this happening now, or did it already happen? Is this place real or something you saw on TV?”

“The dog is real,” Annette said, still shuffling, feet bouncing. “It barks all night.”

“Is it barking now?” Esme asked, still thinking about the moon.

“No.” Annette’s brow furrowed deeper like she was trying to push away a headache.

“How’d you get there, Lily?” Andre asked.

“I see a car,” Annette said. “It’s tan and dark on the inside.”

“Who are you with, Lily?” Madeline jumped in, leaning forward.

“Elizabeth likes red,” Annette said.

“Why do they call you Elizabeth?” Cerise asked.

Annette’s breathing quickened, short, shallow breaths. She shifted in her seat. Her back straightened. The peaceful look was gone. A thin line of sweat beaded on her forehead. Annette pressed her eyes farther shut. Her lips were one long line of blueish white. Oh God. Was she in pain?

“Elizabeth is dead,” Annette said, finally.

“All right, enough!” Andre said. He jumped up so quickly his chair fell backward. Esme pressed her eyes closed and tried to focus on the light behind her eyes. Yellow, black, yellow. She squeezed harder, but all she saw were prisms throwing half-moon rainbows on everything. A little girl looking at the moon.

“Enough,” he said again. He walked toward the door and held it open.

Annette blinked slowly, dazed. Whatever she’d seen was over now.

“But she’s not finished.” Cerise was a pile of dandelion wisps again.

“Yes, she is.” The decision in his voice was final.

The peaceful-sleep look Annette had had during the trance was gone. The lines around her eyes were creased and tired again like a worn glove. Esme deflated, as if someone had opened the oven and all the heat had rushed out. Annette didn’t answer. She gathered her things and let one hand rest briefly on Cerise’s shaking shoulder before turning to the door. Annette’s quiet was eerie. Was it kinder not to say anything if there was nothing to say?

Annette paused by the door, hazel eyes almost brown, almost green, shifting color but holding Esme’s gaze steady. Esme emptied her head and thought of black space like the universe so there’d be nothing for Annette to read.

“She’ll know you,” Annette said, looking like she’d broken a rule. “She’ll know you without knowing you.”

“OK.” Andre pushed the door closed and bolted the chain into place.

“What does that mean?” Esme asked. The back of her neck burned. There had to be more. She couldn’t just leave them with nothing. Esme looked at her parents. Was she the only one who didn’t understand? No, Cerise was biting her thumb, eyes closed, rocking gently back and forth. The cassette tape sat on the coffee table next to Turtley. Esme picked him up and cradled him in her hands, covering his eyes.

“Call Detective Ferrera,” Cerise said, still biting her thumb. “Tell him what she said.”

“Tell him what exactly? Some random numbers and shit about rainbows?” Andre’s voice was ragged. “What the fuck would that do?”

Esme winced. He never used that word. Not ever.

Andre rounded on Cerise. “Have you lost your mind?” Andre was pacing now. The floor creaked beneath him. Esme stared at a crack on the ceiling. The peacefulness of the rainbows was absurd now. But they were real. Lily saw them.

“What a fucking idea, Cerise. Just great. Really wonderful. You want to be useful? Finish the list they asked you to make. Call the numbers they gave you. Make a fucking poster instead of listening to this shit.”