A Lily in the Light(82)
Lily searched her mother’s face. Esme’s breath caught. It was the same curious look she’d seen on her brother and sister, an expression they were born with no matter how many years they’d spent apart. And then it was gone, swallowed in the folds of Cerise’s dress as she pulled her closer. Lily’s arms circled back, pale against the dark pattern on her mother’s dress. One broken nail. These were not the little hands Esme remembered, tucked into her own to cross the street, or the same little ones that made turkey handprints before Thanksgiving, baby soft and warm. Andre closed around them. Eight years of tears and hope held them together under a smear of blue sky.
They couldn’t have found her, Esme thought suddenly. No amount of searching would have led them to Gloria’s basement. Cerise buried her face in Lily’s hair. The sun shifted behind a cloud. The memory of Cerise’s sewing machine whirled through her head, making costume after costume to pay for Esme’s ballet classes, wedding dresses to make rent and food. I’m sorry, Esme wanted to tell her mother, who’d always found a way to fix everything except this one thing, and Esme hadn’t realized she’d been blaming her. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.
Madeline’s arms were wrapped around her stomach. She was shaking. That old script must be running through her head. Life would be better without you. Esme’s own words echoed. Later—I’ll tell you later. They hadn’t known everything would cut off midsentence, how much everything would matter later.
“Come on.” Esme pulled Madeline by the wrist. They folded around Lily, one living, breathing unit. Lily was all angles, shoulders and elbows, not the doughy little girl Esme had once carried on her hip. That girl was gone; she always would be, replaced by the fast-forwarded version instead. Esme put her hand over Lily’s to preserve time for just a little longer, tracing the long fingers beneath her own. Esme leaned her head against Lily’s. Lily’s hair pushed back. The ground was uneven under her feet. No, they were swaying, rocking from side to side. Esme prayed they wouldn’t terrify the girl at its center.
Lily was crying soft tears. She looked from her mother to her father, to Nancy leaning against the car that could take Lily away if she was overwhelmed. “Are you OK?” Nancy mouthed, and Lily nodded. Nancy smiled encouragingly. It was OK. This was OK if Nancy was smiling and Lily was still here.
Cerise pulled back and wiped her eyes. Lily’s hand fell away from Esme’s, and already it felt like a memory, a dream. Cerise ran one hand through Lily’s hair, smoothing stray wisps and the places they’d held her too tightly. Her hand found Lily’s and pulled her toward the picnic blanket. She was Mom again, already in motion, passing plates and opening containers. She handed Madeline a bottle of white wine and a corkscrew. Madeline raised an eyebrow.
“What? We’re celebrating. Just open it.”
Cerise filled plates with potato salad and sandwiches. Esme stared into the pile of irregularly chopped potato salad, wishing she could squeeze herself between Madeline and Nick, to sit so close their legs overlapped until she couldn’t tell where one started or ended, before pulling Lily into their tangle under the same shining sun. Did they want that, too, to let go of all the barriers they’d built, the grown-ups they’d become?
“Eat,” Cerise told them.
Esme picked at her food. Andre scraped his plate with the side of his fork, ready for seconds. Esme couldn’t remember the last time her father had looked so happy.
Lily pushed her food around, unsure how to respond to Cerise staring or pushing away strands of hair that blew across her face, asking if Lily wanted sunscreen. She’d thought someone else was her mother for eight years, and that woman was gone. Esme wondered whether staying with Amelia longer would have caused the same confusion. How overwhelming this must be, being here with a family she didn’t remember. Lily toyed with a blade of grass.
Esme caught Lily’s eye. “Want to see pictures?”
She pulled a photo album from her bag, and Lily crept closer. Together they flipped through pictures of Lily coloring on the living room floor, in the bathtub with floating boats and a kicking scuba diver, riding her tricycle with flying streamers, tucked in beside Esme with A Bargain for Frances, a tiara, and a Strawberry Shortcake nightgown. What struck Esme most as Lily flipped through pages, lingering on some longer than others, was all the pictures that weren’t there and never would be. The loss felt as great as the joy of Lily being here now.
“It must be weird”—Esme paused, afraid to ask the question she’d been wondering since they’d found her—“to find out you’re someone else.”
Lily stared at the pages in front of her. They were up to one of Nick’s birthdays now, a bike party in the park. They were wrapping crepe paper around the spokes, some kind of silly game.
“Like a dream,” she said. “But I’m not sure which one feels more real yet.”
“Yeah,” Esme said, thinking of her time in Amelia’s house, of the cardinal in the bush. “It might feel that way for a while.”
Lily nodded. Esme ignored the glassy drop that fell on the photo album, and the second, before handing her sister a napkin. She just needs to find her closet full of costumes. Esme thought of that night at Amelia’s. Something that pushes her from the world she knows into the one that comes next. I’ll help you find it, she promised silently. We’ll all help you find it.