I shot one last look at the sweatshirt and tree, and mentally draped all that I wanted to leave behind over the branches.
Then I shouldered my vulnerability and folded my jelly legs into the passenger seat of Zac’s truck.
“Hi,” I said, my voice lacking energy behind it.
“Hi back.” Zac managed a faint smile. He also looked exhausted. Had he spent the rest of the night thinking, too? I didn’t know how to feel about this sudden chasm of honesty between us, but I wanted to stay with him.
Relief unlocked my spine, and I sagged in my seat. Zac shifted into drive and pressed the button that rolled down the windows. Within minutes, we sped down Highway 12. I leaned closer to my open window. The wind lifted the air around my face, waving the loose strands like those inflatable, arm flailing tube puppets that the car dealership always placed in front of their lot to advertise their big sales.
New deals every day!
I closed my eyes, allowing my hair to dance a little longer.
Today was another chance to try again.
A second chance.
I guess there was something good about second.
Zac drove us to Kitty Hawk, and we sat on the dunes outside the Wright museum.
“I’m sorry this got so complicated.” He twisted a piece of beach grass that looked like celery string.
“Me, too. So much.” I tucked my knees up against my chest.
Then there was a silence I felt desperate to fill.
“You know, I’m thinking pandemonium might work as an art movement title. I could sketch anything confusing or disorderly. Like a labyrinth, or whatever really. The rules for pandemonium would be no rules at all.”
Ramble much?
I traced my finger in the sand.
“Well, it does work with your Rubik’s mural. Especially because it’s unsolved.”
“Yeah, you’re right, and, wow, I just thought of the perfect title for it. Primary Colors of Perseverance. Because it’s like trying to create order, right?”
“I like it, Pinks.”
I stretched my feet out in front of me, pushing sand.
“So,” I said.
“So.”
I puffed out my cheeks. What else could I ramble about? How my hair and an air puppet ad inspired my second chances revelation?
I needed coffee.
Then Zac took my hand and placed the beach grass on my palm. He’d twisted it into a ring.
I smiled, feeling my nose crinkle. I looked at him.
“It’s silly.” He shrugged, glanced at his hands, then said, “But this is us…persevering.”
“I love it.” I placed a hand over my heart, closing my other over the beach grass ring. I scooted closer and kissed Zac.
“I love you, Pinks.”
Lightness bloomed in my chest, like bubbles. “I love you, too.”
Zac blew out a breath. “It’s been awhile.”
“Since we said those words?” I asked, but I was nodding.
“Yeah. I mean, I knew something was off. For the last couple of months, all I’ve been thinking about is being closer to you, but then school… And I don’t know, I’ve been so crazy busy. And I wanted to talk to you about it, but then I started wondering what that conversation might lead to, and suddenly, I was afraid. I felt like my past was being disloyal to you somehow. That somehow what happened with Jenny made us less special, and I want it to be special because…”
“Because it’s supposed to be special.” I set my chin on my knees. “Because you never forget it, or the person who was your first. Or so I imagine.”
“Pinks…”
“Zac. I believe you when you say you wish it could be me. I do. I’m okay, really. Unless you have access to a time machine.”
Zac’s hands cradled my face. “I meant what I said last night, Pinks. I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. I want to be near you, always. I miss you when you’re not with me.”
My skin tingled. I slid my hand across the sand and put it on his. “I missed you, too. I felt so far away from you, from us.”
“I want you to know that when… Well, I guess, if…”
“When,” I said with a small smile, feeling my lip move against his thumb. I shivered. “I think.”
Zac laughed as he pressed his forehead to mine. “What I’m trying to say is that I realized it’ll be my first time, too.”
I shook my head a little, feeling his hands push back into my hair. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never been in love before, Pinks. You’re my first love, and everything from now on is all new.”
Something in my middle uncoiled, splaying heat through me. “Second chances.”
“Definitely.” Zac leaned back, letting his hands fall to my shoulder and along my arms until he held my hands. The ring sat between our palms.
“Hey, let’s do something new right now,” he said.
My heart slammed. “What?”
He tipped his head toward the building behind us. “Let’s go hang gliding.”
Chapter 22
A Field of Personal Fouls, Chalk on Sidewalk
“So how did you manage hang gliding?” Mrs. Anderson asked Zac at dinner that night. “Don’t you have to be eighteen or at least have parental permission?”
“All they wanted was a signed waiver. I didn’t have any trouble.”
Zac’s mom shook her head but didn’t press any further about the obvious forging of her signature. She probably didn’t want Lily to get any ideas.
Lily already had enough ideas anyway. Before I could take a bite of my mom’s famous vegan cheesy bread, Lily presented me with my wildflower sketch—the one I’d doodled during Pictionary—and announced that I would teach her how to draw. And she wouldn’t accept maybe for an answer.
My mom pointed her fork at me. “How did you get by? You barely pass for sixteen.”
“Gee thanks, Mom. Joy keeps her driver’s license in her glove compartment.”
“And her key under the floor mat,” Chloe said, turning to Joy. “You really are opening yourself up for identity theft.”
Joy speared her grilled Portobello mushroom and raised it in the air. “Bring it on. Can’t have enough Joy, right? My life’s got more than enough awesome to go around.”
“Mine’s gonna be awesome, too, because I’m going to be a famous artist.” Lily held my flower doodle above her head.
Everyone laughed. Except Reed. He pushed at the tomatoes on his plate, trailing his fork tines through the juicy puddle.
Later, while I washed dishes, and the rest of the group played a game of Monopoly, Reed came into the kitchen, picked up a towel, and held out his hand for the plate I rinsed. “Hey.”
I passed the clean plate to him. “Thanks.”
Reed swiped the towel across the plate. “So, are you going back to the expo tomorrow?”
“I think so. What about you?”
“Yeah. I want to paint on the beach, too.”
“Cool.”
Then we both fell silent. I focused on washing forks. The sound of clinking silverware and water filled the void. Awkward. Apparently, we had nothing to say if my sister didn’t present the topic first.
I passed him a spoon, the last thing in the sink, and removed the stopper. The sudsy water chugged noisily down the drain.
Reed cleared his throat. “So, the reason I agreed to talk to you about the art stuff –and why I pushed you to connect with your sister was because I felt guilty.”
“Guilty? Why? Because you go to a fancy art school, and I got rejected from a summer seminar?”
“No.” He placed the dry spoon in a drawer. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I guess your sister isn’t going to tell you anytime soon. I’m worried about her. She tries so hard to be… Well, I’m not even sure who it is she wants to be, but she seems to be doing it at the expense of everyone in her life. She isolates all the people who can make her life easier, better.”
“She alwa
ys manages to have a good time. Why the worry?”
“I think she wants to have a better relationship with her family. With you.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. My hands were still wet, and dampness seeped into my shirt, warm then cold. “Did she say that?”
“Doesn’t matter how she said it. I know things have been rough. She told me all the crap she pulled in high school. That had to be hard on your family. But this is beyond high school hijinks, ditching college, or dealing with parental divorce. Your sister needs connections, now more than ever, maybe.”
“Crap. You two were together.” I pointed at him. Did he now feel guilty about kissing me when he had been with my sister? Or maybe he still wanted my sister. Maybe that was why she pushed him on me. It was just strange enough that it almost fit her style.
“No. Will you let me talk?”
I placed my hands on my hips and waited.
“Ever hear her talk about a Jeremy?”
“Jeremy,” I said, considering the name. “No. Who is he?”
“My older brother. He came back to the farm last Christmas. He and Joy hit it off right away. They were inseparable. She was in love.”
She. Reed didn’t say they were in love.
“So what happened? He broke up with her?” I assumed so since I never saw or heard mention of Jeremy while I was at Happy Hills.
The Monopoly crowd was riled up. I pictured a time when my sister flipped the game board, launching tiny red and green plastic buildings into the air.
Reed glanced over his shoulder before turning back to me. “They got married.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Before Valentine’s Day. They drove to North Carolina, somewhere in the mountains.”
“They eloped?” I pressed my palm to my forehead. “So…What happened? I mean, where is he?”
“Gone. It’s what he does. My brother’s a dick.”
“Oh.”
“She’ll be pissed that I told you. But I thought you should know.”
“She shouldn’t be pissed. Her family should know.” A sisterly protectiveness I barely recognized surfaced. Because hadn’t Joy asked Reed to talk to me about my stuff? Was that her way of trying to help me? I didn’t know because my emotions shifted gears, and I felt annoyed. How could my sister keep this a secret? “I told you Joy doesn’t want to be any closer. We don’t have a real relationship. What kind of sister gets married and doesn’t tell her family?”
Reed opened his mouth, but then closed it.
“She’s always telling me to be freer with my emotions. What a frickin’ hypocrite.”
I grabbed the towel from the counter and busied myself by folding it into a square. It didn’t take very long so I pinched the corner, shook it open, and started over. I wanted him to tell me more, but I didn’t like feeling confused and this far out of the loop. I didn’t even know what questions to ask. It was like trying to anticipate the experience of hang gliding earlier. I really had no idea what to expect. I would’ve never guessed that the hardest part was getting me airborne. I had to run down a hill, strapped into the glider, without looking at my feet. Focusing forward at the horizon instead was like trying to understand my sister’s life. The effort muddled my brain.
But mostly, I felt hurt. She got married? And didn’t say anything? I didn’t like that Reed knew more about my sister than I did. Taking into account all the things he knew about me, it was obvious my sister talked to him. It sucked that she didn’t want to talk to me, not only about her life, but even just a friendly conversation. Plus, she asked Reed to help me with my problems, as if she needed a handler to deal with me. And the idea that maybe the kiss happened because of sympathy caused the contents of my gut to curdle. What was wrong with me? Was I too young? Too immature to grasp what happened in her life? Was the almost three year age difference between Joy and me some kind of unbridgeable gap? Why didn’t she want to have a relationship with me?
“Monopoly calls,” I said before he could say another word about my sister. It was too much suckage, and I was done. As Reed headed back toward the game, I pivoted in the direction of the foyer, away from everyone. Because I didn’t trust myself not to walk into the other room and flip that stupid game board.
“Grace?”
I stopped.
“I got involved because I feel some responsibility for the damage my brother caused.”
“You got involved because my sister told you to.” I yanked open the front door. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to babysit me anymore.”
Chapter 23
Two Girls on a Beach, Mixed Media on Transparent Paper
After my conversation with Reed, I kind of transformed into a super spy on my sister. I studied her from across the room as she read, sat in the game room as she watched whatever movie was on the TV, and I stalked her from the side of the house, when she headed out the kitchen door to take out the trash.
Ridiculous. The whole thing illustrated the stinky depths my relationship with my sister had sunk.
Later, I found her in the game room, reading another book while an animated movie Lily loved, played in the background. I considered sitting next to Joy, but what was I going to say? How was the wedding, the annulment, your disastrous relationship with Jeremy?
I had no idea where to start. Not only because our relationship was super shaky but because I was kind of afraid of Joy. She wasn’t an easy person to trust with your feelings. If she was mad, she’d blurt out your secrets. The day after my twelfth birthday, I bumped into her in the hallway on a middle of the night trip to the bathroom, and she fell (because she was wasted). Our parents woke up from the noise, and she got grounded for the umpteenth time. Of course, that was when Joy screamed that I’d hated the vegan coconut layer cake my mom had made for me the night before. It was true, but my mom had simply forgotten I thought coconut flakes tasted like shredded paper. I didn’t think my mom needed to know, at least not like that. Or the following summer, at Lake Gaston, when Joy asked the Jet Ski rental guy (who I’d crushed on all week and naively admitted to my sister) why he hadn’t even said hello to me. I stood right there, mute, but with a face so bright it could have guided boats through the fog. Of course, he thought we were both nuts. It was mortifying. So yeah, I never felt completely safe sharing anything with her. She was too much of a wildcard. But did she really think she was helping me by asking Reed to talk to me? I didn’t know, but I was sick of her acting like she always knew what was best.
I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep (and not only because Chloe’s deviated septum fluttered louder than usual). Even though my stalking had been fruitless (and ridiculous), my mind kept replaying the things I knew from my sister’s past. The partying, the recklessness. Was her getting married simply an impulsive thing? She didn’t seem worse for the wear. She had a job, friends, fun. She performed her older sister duty of simultaneously poking fun of me and philosophizing. She appeared better than ever.
She didn’t seem to be hurting like Reed had suggested.
Reed was acting out of guilt. But still, lying in the bottom bunk, I couldn’t get the thought that she could be heartbroken, out of my head. What if he was right? What if something was wrong and we didn’t know? The night of her big three-wheeling accident, she’d been drunk and high, and she knew it when she got behind the wheel. That was the culmination of her year of self-destruction, one that started with her cutting herself. But the cutting was a one-time incident, because the moment she learned that cutting had become some kind of a ghoulish trend among girls her age, she got pissed at herself. She never did it again, because she bucked any trend. I guess after the three-wheeling accident, when she ended up in the hospital with a broken arm, she figured she topped herself, because after that, she found her own purpose, her own sort of religion. Sure, she remained quite the flaky kook, but she no longer seemed bent on obliteration. Was Reed worried that Joy could be headed down another path of self-destruction?
I rolled out of my be
d and slipped out of the room, making my way to the loft room Joy had to herself. She wasn’t there.
I checked the game room. She wasn’t there either. Her car was in the driveway. I peeked in all the rooms. Everyone else was asleep in their beds.
Where was she?
I grabbed my mom’s sweatshirt from the hook behind the back door and went outside. I circled the house, then rambled up the wood slat path to the beach. Once on top of the dune, I surveyed the beach. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to allow me to see a figure at the edge of the surf.
A long, white tunic dress blew like a flag in the ocean breeze. The same dress Joy wore earlier.
What was she doing?
Waves pushed in and around her legs. She continued further in, stopping only to take off her dress. She tossed it behind her and dove into the next wave.
I held my breath. My heart seemed to hesitate before it took on a faster thump. I scrambled down the rest of the path, stumbling across the stretch of sand between the water and me.
I studied the water, but I could no longer see my sister, only her crumpled dress on the wet sand, swishing back and forth in the surf. My head filled with thoughts of sharks, accidental drowning, and worse, the idea that Joy might be brokenhearted and might have been doing this on purpose.
At the water’s edge, I scanned the rolling surface, wading in deeper with each step. “Joy!”
The water was cold. Darkness stretched out around me. Joy was nowhere. I stopped when the water pushed against my thighs. My hand went to my hip, and I remembered I was wearing pajama pants. My phone was plugged in next to the bunk bed. I pounded my fist on my thigh. “Shit, shit, shit.”
How long had she been under the water? Did I have time to run back to the house?
I placed my hands on my head for a moment, feeling the sand shift underneath me, my feet sinking. What choice did I have? I couldn’t stand out on the beach until the sun came up.
I took one last look at the ocean and turned to run back to the house. Someone was in my peripheral vision. I stopped. Somebody walked toward me on the beach.
The Art of Second Chances Page 14
