A Lily in the Light(38)
Esme could not bring herself to say it was OK. She stared at the ceiling, careful not to look at her sister, and tried not to think about the things Cerise had thrown away. The sidewalk was a kind of altar where people kept hope, but now it was gone. She prayed that the tree house and the red tree and the prisms were real. It was a kind of heaven she could imagine, where Lily was safe and still Lily even if they called her Elizabeth. Maybe she even liked it better there. If it was really so bad, wouldn’t Lily call home and ask to be picked up? Maybe Lily was OK wherever she was.
Could she leave too? She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to live with Amelia. But if Nick was lying and her parents were broken, then who did Madeline have? It wasn’t supposed to be that way either. Madeline was supposed to go to college and leave Esme and Lily behind, and they were supposed to count the days until they could finally, finally slide their stuff to Madeline’s side of the room, take down her posters, and turn Madeline’s bed into a couch for their friends. The thought of Madeline alone in their room made Esme as sad as watching her parents through the window. Everything was wrong. Little sisters weren’t supposed to leave first.
Hours later, Madeline’s sobbing had stopped, but she was still awake. Esme knew it the same way she always knew when Lily had been in her drawers, even if nothing was out of place.
“Madeline?” She almost wished her sister wouldn’t answer, but Madeline’s muffled voice swam through the blankets.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Nick’s lying?”
It was quiet for a long time. She waited for Madeline to say something like I don’t know or of course not, but her sister was silent. The blankets rustled. Madeline sighed, and it filled Esme with a push-and-pull feeling in her chest so strong it made her sit up and wrap the covers around her.
“Do you remember what Detective Ferrera said about people doing things to help because they feel bad about something?”
“Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“Maybe that’s why Nick’s out every night with Dad.” Madeline’s words were measured, unsure how much to feed Esme before she’d spit it out. Her voice was still hoarse from crying, but there was an edge to it now, unlike the broken thing it had been before.
“Maybe he’s out because he loves Lily and wants to help.”
Madeline laughed in the darkness. It sent a shiver through Esme’s bones. “Yeah, OK.” Her sarcasm called Esme an idiot. Esme’s hand balled into a fist, and she punched it against the bed. “Just think about it, Esme. When’s the last time Nick did anything because he wanted to help? Something Mom and Dad didn’t force him to do. I bet you won’t think of anything because I can’t think of one thing. So there’s that.
“That’s the problem with you, Esme. You’re so deep in la-la land all the time. The only reason you’re not pissed and angry about all of this is because you probably believe everything that fucked-up psychic said, but that’s stupid, Esme.”
“That’s not—” Esme started.
“It is true,” Madeline cut in. “You’re delusional. It was cute, I guess, when you made up stupid stories for Lily, but it’s insane to actually believe them. The irony is . . .” Madeline made a dry, huffy sound. “You’ll probably be just fine because you can’t see it, and the rest of us will go crazy.”
Esme felt stung. Madeline’s words leaked through her. What couldn’t she see? Lily’s not being here was bad, of course. Just the thought of it gave her a cold, shivery feeling on the inside, and Esme couldn’t go near it. She just couldn’t.
Esme’s head pounded. When Madeline finally spoke again, her voice was softer. Madeline rolled over, putting her back between them like a wall. “It’s probably better that way. Don’t let me ruin your delusional world.”
Esme pressed her eyes closed and replayed all the nasty things Madeline had said sentence by sentence, floating each one away on a newspaper boat, but the loneliness stuck. She wished she could float away, too, but she was stuck on the same bed and the same room she’d slept in for her entire life. Neither felt like home.
“You should watch what you say,” Esme said finally, hovering on the edge of tears, braver with the promise of Amelia’s house waiting for her. “Just in case your bitchy words are the last thing someone hears.” She stomped out of their room dragging her blankets behind her, hating her sister in that moment.
She wandered into her mother’s room, wishing she could curl up beside her. The door was closed but open enough for a triangle of light to fall over the foot of the bed. Her mother was sleeping, a single, uneven heap beneath the comforter. There was a new bottle of pills on the nightstand, an orange bottle with a childproof lid covered in red and yellow flags. A glass of water sat beside it.
Her mother should’ve rolled over and asked what was wrong in her half-asleep whisper. She could always feel them standing there somehow, but not tonight. Esme sat on the foot of the bed and pulled her knees to her chest, imagining the checkerboard pattern on Amelia’s quilt, the smell of lavender, dinner cooking in the kitchen downstairs, wishing she could bring those things here to make it feel like home again, but she couldn’t. She could only bring herself there instead. The thought rolled through her, and the relief was so overwhelming it carried Esme back to her hostile room, where she counted every ballet she could think of until she drifted off to sleep in the only bed she’d ever slept in.