A Lily in the Light(74)
She should see everything, for Lily’s sake. Maybe one day they’d sit together and talk about things to see, like cotton candy fog and San Francisco.
They crossed big streets that reminded Esme of New York. She couldn’t wait to get away from the noise and places too familiar to be interesting. It was only when they found the winding cobblestoned streets that Esme relaxed.
“So,” Esme asked, “want to know why it’s called the Latin Quarter?”
“Churches?”
“Universities,” Esme said, proudly remembering Madeline’s facts. “They taught classes in Latin, hence . . .” She pointed to the neighborhood around them. “My sister told me there’s a pantheon. Parthenon? I get them confused, but there’s one here, and a coliseum. It’s a park, but they used to flood it with water to race boats and have gladiator battles.”
“Where did you learn that?” Adam asked, amused.
“My sister, living vicariously.”
They rounded a curve. A small plaque marked Hemingway’s house above a shop with spools of colored yarn in the window.
It wasn’t the view she’d expected. Trash bins lined the narrow street. A children’s clothing store sat below. She tried to imagine what he’d seen through that small window years before, writing through a haze of cigar smoke and early-afternoon alcohol.
“Herds of goats came up this street every morning. The shepherd rang a bell so people would know he was coming. They waited outside with buckets for milk. Imagine?” he asked. “His Paris must have been so different.”
The back of Esme’s hand brushed Adam’s as they tipped their heads to look at the window above. A motorcycle passed behind them, kicking up the breeze and rustling Esme’s dress. Fabric tickled the backs of her knees and sent a shiver up her spine. Something was different about today. If she pressed her hand to her chest, her heart might beat backward or a paper cut would bleed blue. The phone in Adam’s pocket was silent, but she sensed it the same way animals sensed storms. Esme didn’t want to burrow. She wanted to live a little longer.
Adam handed his camera to a passing woman and asked her to take a picture.
The air rushed out of her lungs as Adam lifted her to his shoulder. It was a move they’d practiced a million times together in the studio, but it took Esme by surprise on the street. She adjusted her dress and crossed her ankles, finding her balance before lifting her arm to point to the sign. She smiled at the camera, aware of the sweat forming under Adam’s fringe of pale-blond hair.
“Say fromage!”
Today could be the day. Something could be happening right now while Esme sat on Adam’s shoulder, enjoying the familiar pressure of his hand against the small of her back under the shadow of Hemingway’s past. Adam carefully set her down. Esme was thankful for the sidewalk beneath her feet. She lifted onto her tiptoes and kissed Adam’s cheek softly, thankful for the view down the winding street, for imaginary herds of goats.
Adam fumbled for his pocket. The phone was ringing. Esme held her breath. If it was one o’clock here, it was ten a.m. there. Adam turned the screen toward Esme. She knew the number. It was the first she’d ever learned. Her heart was quiet in its cage of bones. Adam held her elbow tightly as he handed her the phone. She flipped the phone open, suddenly aware of how much effort it took to stand, and lowered herself to the sidewalk, her legs fragile against the cobblestones. It was her mother.
“She’s coming home.” Cerise sobbed, painfully happy sobs. “Lily is coming home.”
Esme pressed her hand to her mouth. Her skin electrified, and when she opened her mouth to speak, she cried instead. Adam’s hand was on her shoulder; he was unsure what to do. When Esme looked up, he was blurry. For a quick second, she mistook him for her brother.
“Say a prayer and thank God,” Cerise said. “This is our miracle.”
Esme didn’t remember hanging up. She didn’t remember handing Adam back the phone or lifting herself from the sidewalk to her own two feet.
“My sister is alive,” she told him. She wanted to scream it, but her voice was only a whisper. She laughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. For as much as she’d feared this, it didn’t matter now. When she looked at Adam, he was joy, too, her joy, behind his wide eyes and big smile, as if he’d been waiting for eight years with her. Esme lifted herself onto her tiptoes and circled her arms around Adam, burying her face into the warmth of his neck. He wove his fingers through her hair. Esme pulled away finally, laughing and crying but clear eyed enough to see the glint of a prism in the window overhead throwing tiny rainbows on the street around them.
Chapter Nineteen
“Hey.” Adam stood in the doorway holding a water bottle. The hallway lights glowed behind him like a fluorescent halo, making him look more shadowlike than person. She was cross-legged on the floor, folding clothes into her suitcase. The outfit she’d worn to the beach was crumpled behind the door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Adam sat on the bed, then lowered to the floor beside her. His face was level with hers. “What’s next?” he asked, gesturing toward everything piled at her feet.
“Home.” She sighed. “Then back to San Francisco, I guess.”
She’d been up all night thinking about what it would be like to meet Lily, the looking-glass version of the sister she’d imagined for so long. She hoped the bond of being sisters would undo the years apart, painfully aware that living across the country would limit the slow building her mother said they’d have to do. It was hard to believe that something unfolding for eight years, that had shaped so much of her young life, could finally come together in less than a week.