A Lily in the Light(79)
The water was quiet. Later, it would be alive with boats. Esme spread her blanket over the grass, still damp from morning dew. A sprinkler clicked on across the street. The rise and fall of cicadas stirred Esme’s thoughts. Everything smelled like mowed grass and salt water, so unlike their real neighborhood, which Nancy had recommended against meeting Lily in for the first time. A neutral place would be best, one that was new and safe for everyone, but it didn’t have to be an office or the police station, and Esme was glad.
Lily had told Nancy she’d like to see water, like a lake or an ocean, because she’d never seen one before. It wasn’t true, Esme thought sadly, thinking of all the times they’d gone to the beach and pressed sand into buckets to make sandcastles, decorating sand turrets with seashells. But it didn’t matter if Lily remembered or not, Esme reminded herself. They were starting over.
This place had been Esme’s idea. She’d found an article in the newspaper about a small town by the bay that had a dibble stick gathering every year. Kids dressed as mermaids and pirates to dive for Popsicle sticks in the bay. It was only a small event and might be a good distraction if they needed one. Even Cerise hadn’t protested. It didn’t matter, Cerise had said, not after this long. Not when Lily was finally coming home. She’d given the article to Nancy to show Lily. It was just a small event, Esme had promised, only a handful of people, and the grassy stretch along the water’s edge was big enough that they could watch from far away if it was too much for Lily. Nancy had suggested taking Lily there beforehand to familiarize her with the place and make sure it was OK. Lily had said yes.
She didn’t expect Lily to remember anything about Marley or this place, but it seemed fitting, an overdue apology from Esme’s eleven-year-old self to her little sister, a promise to finish a story that had started a long time ago, if Lily still wanted to know.
In all the years her train had rolled past this watery stretch, she’d never actually been here. It was only rolling water and sky and marsh grass through the rectangular window, quiet and scentless. But here, wind rushed past her ears. Her skin warmed in the sun, then chilled suddenly when clouds rolled in. Everything smelled like salt water and cut grass. It was alive in a way she couldn’t have imagined through the window, different from the tidy rectangle of scenery she remembered. Lily might be like that, too, she thought, reminding herself that the little girl she remembered was now twelve.
It was a perfect August day. The leaves were beginning to yellow. So many summers like this had already passed without Lily. She traced the outline of the Throgs Neck Bridge with her eyes open and then closed, imagining details to settle her nerves. The sound of the bay washing over the rocks echoed in her ears. Nick and Madeline would be here soon, her parents too. Most importantly, Lily would be here. She set out a cluster of bananas, sliced oranges, berries, and apples on the blanket. It didn’t look like enough, but Detective Molina said Lily liked fruit. And reading. Of course, Esme had thought. Reading had been her world outside the basement. Esme pressed her eyes closed, pushing away all the places she’d been and how much she hadn’t always appreciated them. Those places would have meant so much to Lily. The unfairness of it all made her shake. She didn’t want to talk about books with Lily, who might say how much she’d like to see Paris or London or San Francisco or some other place she’d read about but couldn’t really imagine, and Esme would hate herself for having been there and the line it drew between them. She wasn’t ready for this. It wasn’t too late to leave.
She stood up. The urge to run was so strong, but water splashed behind her. Imaginary Lily hovered at the water’s edge, cupping her hands with water and letting it pour back into the bay.
“It’s OK, Esme,” she said.
“No, it isn’t,” Esme whispered back. “It’s never going to be OK.”
“Why can’t I hold the water?” Imaginary Lily asked. It poured through her fingers. Sunlight bounced off Lily’s white sundress. Lily stepped into the water, and the bay wet the hem of her dress. Her hair was still reddish in the sun, and her little shoulders had been rubbed with sunscreen. Would there still be an Imaginary Lily now that the real Lily was back? Esme took one last look at the little girl crouched at the water’s edge in glittery jellies, her little round belly, a white star in the sun.
“I don’t need you anymore,” Esme whispered. Her voice broke, but Imaginary Lily was watching something in the distance.
“Look!” Imaginary Lily called from the water’s edge. “He’s here!”
Esme could not see what Lily saw. Lily walked into the water. Her sundress pooled around her knees. She smiled back at Esme, twirling gently from side to side. A fin popped up from the water, orange and white, and Esme knew it was her fish named Marley.
A car pulled to the curb behind her. Imaginary Lily sang into the wind, and the sound was lost in gentle waves and the murmur of traffic in the distance, and then she was gone. But she was never really there, Esme thought sadly, wiping at her face with the backs of her hands. She’d only wanted her to be.
“Keep it.”
Esme recognized Madeline’s voice. The car door slammed, and Madeline climbed the waist-high metal divider to Esme. She was wearing a knee-length skirt under a loose blouse and thick-strapped leather sandals, carrying an oversize tote bag stuffed with loose papers and books. Madeline sagged under its weight. She’d chopped her long, thick hair into an uneven bob. Madeline already looked like a lawyer.