A Lily in the Light(39)
In the morning, the world was white snow. It’d blown through the open window and covered her dresser in watery patches that dripped onto her bed. The whole room was crying, melting in puddles. She closed her eyes and pretended she was watching through a watery world, where laundry floated on the floor like limp fish stabbed by rays of sunlight. It was peaceful to watch her world instead of live in it. Would living with Amelia feel like this too?
The sound of her feet on the floor surprised her. Energy dangled in her fingertips.
“This isn’t about boxing.” Cerise’s voice was a harsh whisper on the other side of the door. “This is not the same thing.”
Esme held her breath. They were talking about her. She could feel it.
“It’s not?” It wasn’t a question, at least not the kind her father expected an answer to, and yet he sounded so sad. She’d heard the story a million times: how he’d been training to debut at Sunnyside Gardens, but he’d just met Cerise, and she’d begged him not to fight. He’d been so in love, so awestruck, that he’d thrown down his gloves and walked out just to make her happy. There was a Wendy’s where the arena used to be. He pointed it out every time they passed it.
She’d never seen her father box but imagined he wasn’t the type to throw the first punch. No, he’d bounce from foot to foot, dodging blows until the other person was tired; then he’d strike and end the whole thing quickly. She couldn’t prove it, but she’d seen him like that with her mother, dodging, sidestepping, watching with quiet intention until he found his window and the whole thing had run its course.
“Not her too.” Cerise’s voice was a broken, muffled whisper. Esme knew her mother was biting her nails, an old habit. “You can’t take her away from me too.”
“But you will lose her, Cerise,” Andre said softly. “Just not in the way you’re thinking.”
But they weren’t losing her. She would only be at Amelia’s house, but the weight of it hung in the room like the ice outside the window. It didn’t make sense. Living with Amelia should’ve been her mother’s idea. Her father probably knew she was on the other side of the door. He wanted her to know. It made everything clearer.
She opened the door without looking at her parents because it was too sad, so she talked to their two hunched shapes at the table instead.
“Mom and Dad.” She took a deep breath and drew another line between them. “I want to live with Amelia.”
Chapter Ten
On Esme’s first night at Amelia’s house, she hovered at the top of the stairs, listening to the hum of the TV, deliberating over how to say good night. Should she go downstairs, or was it OK to yell from upstairs? She rubbed her thumb over the smooth wood of the banister. “Good night!” Her voice echoed in the new space. She closed the bedroom door behind her, embarrassed. Maybe when two unrelated people lived together, they didn’t have to say good night at all.
It was Sunday night. At home before Lily had gone missing, they would’ve watched Touched by an Angel, except Nick, because angels coming down from heaven and impersonating humans just to help them didn’t make sense. He was probably right. If there were angels, now would be a good time to help her family. Her pajamas dragged along the hardwood floor instead of the worn white carpet at home. They looked out of place here. She wondered who Roma Downey was helping this week.
Her suitcase, the one her mother kept in her bedroom closet stuffed with old clothes, was worn and faded next to Esme’s new bed. Esme wondered if it was excited to be on a journey or if it missed the top of the closet and all the familiar clothes and smells. Soon it would be shoved in a closet again, where it could talk to unworn shoes and forgotten eighties clothes about what it had seen. Lily would’ve liked a talking, bragging suitcase. Esme pushed the thought away and decided to read instead.
She had the Chronicles of Narnia, but Madeline said the only one worth reading was The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The thought of her sister made her mouth taste sour. They hadn’t even said goodbye before she’d left. She peeled the bedspread back into a triangle and ran her hand over the green and pink flowers on the flannel sheet, her new grown-up bed.
It was a stupid book, but it distracted her from the lavender-scented sheets, unusually soft against her cold feet, or how for the first time in her life, Madeline wasn’t in the bed next to hers. She’d never once fallen asleep in an empty room. It should have been wonderful, but it felt lonely instead. Esme fought the urge to tiptoe down the hall to call home. It’s only your first night, Nick would snicker. Was that better or worse than her father telling her she’d be fine or that he could pick her up if she wanted? She closed her eyes and imagined Lily was tucked into the space beside Esme, warm as a potato in her slipper-feet pajamas.
“Lily?” Esme whispered. “I’m scared.”
“It’s OK,” Imaginary Lily whispered back. “It goes away.”
Before Esme could ask how she knew, Imaginary Lily had vanished too.
She tried reading again, but the story was about four bored brothers and sisters. She slid it under the bed. That was too familiar and also not, something she remembered but couldn’t relate to anymore. Downstairs, laugh tracks and Helen Hunt’s voice whirled through the house. Real houses were supposed to be quieter. Sounds stayed in one room instead of traveling everywhere, changing shape as they went, but that wasn’t true after all. Amelia was quieter than her family, but Esme didn’t know what it sounded like when she shuffled to bed at night or tossed her feet over the side of the bed in the morning, whether she wore slippers, what it sounded like when she made coffee. She would learn eventually, just like everything else.