A Lily in the Light(60)
She would be that kind of disappointing aunt, too, cool and traveling the world but missing birthdays and Christmases, too busy with her own life to be part of someone else’s. She put the shell back in its box, knowing she’d never compare to what she was supposed to be. She hurried to the bathroom, closing the door between her and the shell, pushing away thoughts of Adam, the tree outside Mrs. Garcia’s house, that book she used to read Lily about backsies. It was a bad deal, but there were no backsies. That was the bargain. Hadn’t that character done OK in the end? She couldn’t remember, and it hurt to try, so she emptied ice into the tub, anxious for the chill that would numb her thoughts, and slid inside.
Chapter Sixteen
Aunt Esme. It was her first thought in the hazy moment between awake and asleep. A new baby in the family, who didn’t know what life was like before, would help. There’d be a reason to put up a Christmas tree, bake birthday cakes, or hide treats from the leprechaun on St. Patrick’s Day. Cerise could make Halloween costumes for the baby. Her father would put the baby on his lap to “drive” in empty parking lots. They could do the things they’d had taken from them, kind of. The baby might make her want to go home again, and it would feel more like the home she remembered.
But eventually, they’d have to explain the embarrassing things: why Grandpa slept on the couch, why Grandma didn’t get out of bed in October except to light candles at church, why Grandma had a birthday cake with a new candle every year on Lily’s birthday for someone who wasn’t there, why Uncle Nick didn’t visit much.
Madeline would explain that Grandma and Grandpa acted strange because they’d once had a little girl named Lily, who would’ve been your aunt, but she disappeared one night and never came back. It made Grandma and Grandpa so sad. But don’t worry, Madeline would lie, Mommy won’t let that happen to you. The mysterious Aunt Lily would become a fairy-tale story, like Little Red Riding Hood being eaten by the wolf or the Gingerbread Man falling apart in the rain, a reason to be scared of things in the closet or under the bed because Grandma and Grandpa were proof that bad things could happen to real people. Explaining these things was enough to make Esme wish Madeline wasn’t pregnant so this little person would never have to understand.
If the girl in the basement was Lily, this was what she’d come home to, only worse because it was her fault somehow that they’d withered away without her, like Miss Havisham, whose heart had stopped at twenty to nine, who’d never taken off her wedding dress and let the cake rot on the table. Lily’d left them at the altar just by disappearing.
One day, the baby might ask why Aunt Esme was a dancer. Because she loves dancing. Because it’s a world different from this one. She’d think back to trips home in the past few years, when she’d taken a taxi from the airport because her mother had forgotten what day her flight got in or had eaten dinner with a plate on her lap in front of the TV because her mother had gone to sleep as soon as she could and her father was working. Between bites of stale cereal on those trips, she’d realized that if she had guilt about leaving, she should remember that they’d abandoned her first.
The morning passed quietly. Esme wandered past her usual breakfast café on the corner, where a bookseller was laying out children’s books on the sidewalk. On one of the covers, a turtle floated in the Seine, still and serene, while Paris swam around him in buildings and a sky of a million colors. Turtley. Hadn’t Lily said once there weren’t any books for turtles? You were wrong, Esme thought sadly, unfolding bills from her wallet and handing them to the woman. If not for Lily, maybe this would be the first little present she’d buy for Madeline’s baby, even if the words were all in French. The paper bag tapped against her leg as she walked back to the hotel, curled up inside the phone booth, and wrapped the cord around her wrist, hoping no one would bang on the door or pace outside. She wanted time.
Madeline answered on the third ring. “No word,” she said, sounding frazzled and a little annoyed. “Except that the girl’s name is Liz, and the investigation is ongoing. And I’m postponing the wedding.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I just want to wait. What difference does it make? It’s city hall and a Chinese restaurant.” Madeline’s voice rushed out in an angry jumble that made Esme’s cheeks burn. Was she waiting for Liz to be Lily, or was it regret?
“You can’t do that, Madeline. ‘We’ll do Christmas next year, when things are better.’” She mimicked her mother from long ago.
“That’s easy for you to say, Esme,” Madeline snapped. “Because you’re not here. Last night, Mom used all the centerpiece candles to make a vigil on the street. All of them. You had to see her down there, setting them up and relighting them every time they blew out.”
Esme cringed. Her mother had become as embarrassing as Mrs. Rodriquez wearing her dead husband’s clothes. After Lily, her parents were directionless. She’d promised herself not to be directionless and wouldn’t let Madeline either.
“Madeline?”
Cabinet doors slammed shut. Plates rattled. Madeline was unloading the dishwasher, but Esme knew she was crying hot, silent tears, trying to hide it with busy hands. “You don’t have to do any of this. If you don’t want to get married, if you don’t want to have the baby, we can figure something out.”