A Lily in the Light(34)
Esme found a place beside Amelia, surprised it was OK to eat on a couch as nice as this one. Amelia lifted her spoon and blew on it a little, sending steam in Esme’s direction without noticing how carefully Esme’s bowl and spoon were balanced. She wouldn’t spill anything, not on this nice couch. But Amelia was so relaxed that Esme relaxed too, taking a first spoonful and blowing steam in Amelia’s direction. Let’s evaporate, Esme’s steam said to Amelia’s. The two mixed together and floated away. Esme’s throat tightened. Lily would’ve liked that one.
“I always try to have something ready when I get home. Does your mom use a slow cooker?”
Esme shook her head.
“They’re great,” Amelia continued. “All you have to do is set it up in the morning, and it cooks dinner while you’re gone.”
“It wouldn’t start a fire or something?”
“No.” Amelia laughed between bites. “It’s safe.”
Was she really eating here? Red and white flowers chased each other around the rim of the bowl. How could the woman she idolized so much do something as ordinary as eat soup on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her?
“My mom said electric blankets start fires, like Christmas tree lights. That’s why we don’t have either.” That probably sounded too strange, like she was afraid of simple things.
Amelia would change her mind about Esme living here for sure, but Amelia only nodded and said, “That’s true.”
They ate the rest of their soup in silence, except for when one of their spoons dinged against the bowl. Esme pretended that eating dinner in Amelia’s house was normal, that she could do this every night. Esme wondered what her family was eating, if they’d made her a plate and set it aside for when she got home. Madeline might have. Madeline. Could she sleep without Madeline in the next bed? She’d fallen asleep to the sound of her sister breathing every night for as long as she could remember.
“Amelia?” She waited for her to look up. “Would the other girls know I’d be living with you, if I did?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a secret.”
“But would they think it’s weird?” It would look odd, like she was being favored. But Esme was already the weird one from Queens who took the train and didn’t go to the same schools as the others, so maybe it didn’t matter. Amelia considered this carefully, placing her bowl on the table and turning her full attention to Esme. Esme wasn’t used to being listened to or looked at so carefully. She took nervous sips of water until the glass was empty.
“Lots of students live with their teachers, and no one thinks it’s strange, especially if their circumstances make it difficult to focus otherwise.”
Esme felt as if someone had pressed a cold finger against the back of her neck. She thought of the dirty dishes and the tiny apartment, headlines with Lily’s name and picture all over newsstands, and hoped Amelia didn’t think of her as someone who needed a better home.
It was quiet. The candles flickered in the windows. There were real candles on the coffee table. Wax had dripped down the sides and stuck there. She’d made something like that at home once with crayons in a tuna can. They’d baked it in the oven until the wax had melted into one multicolor crayon. It had been a present for Lily’s third birthday. She’d loved it.
“Did I ever tell you,” Amelia started slowly, “about my accident?”
Esme stilled. Of course she knew about the accident, but she didn’t really know. She’d seen the jagged scar, wondered about it, but she’d never asked. And why would Amelia want to tell scrawny Esme, who imagined herself dancing on an elephant in China like Anna Pavlova but hadn’t done anything yet?
“I was in a car accident. The details don’t matter now, but they told me I’d never dance again and I’d be lucky if I walked without a limp. But Esme”—Amelia shook her head from side to side—“I didn’t accept that. So I danced on it anyway, before it was healed. Well, I tried,” she said. “But it was broken forever. I knew it the first time I walked into the studio and tried to dance but couldn’t. The studio was so quiet, almost like it was waiting for me to realize I didn’t belong there anymore.”
Amelia paused. “The other driver was drunk, and we went to court. I ‘won’ enough money to buy this house, but it didn’t matter. It felt like I’d lost my whole life, and I wished, more than anything, that I’d just died in that accident.”
Amelia’s eyes found Esme’s, brown and sad. Esme thought of the teenage girl in the picture on the shelf. That was Amelia before the accident. Intense and focused. This was Amelia after. She’d always known Amelia after.
“Do you understand why I’m telling you this?”
Esme couldn’t speak. She knew exactly what it was to live in a shadow of a world that used to be comfortable and safe but wasn’t anymore. She nodded.
“Sometimes”—Amelia sighed—“I still dream about dancing, and it feels like I’ve lost it all over again.”
Esme looked at the beat-up toe of her sneaker that was holding her swollen ankle at bay. Lily wasn’t gone, not when she could still hear her laughing sometimes, not when all Lily’s things were exactly as she’d left them, when Turtley was waiting.
“It gets different,” Amelia said softly. “Not necessarily better, but different. You still have the world ahead of you, Esme. I promise.”