Next to their car, a butterfly makes a wobbly landing on a foamflower bush. Its antenna twitches wildly, as if struggling to discover where it is. When it opens its wings I take a sharp breath. Yellow with elegant black stripes. In the warmth of the morning sun it opens and closes its magnificent, vivid wings, perhaps drying itself out from the clenched fist of a cocoon. I remember something about butterflies only living a day and wonder if that’s true. I resolve to find out what kind of butterfly it is and add it to my list. Steller’s jay and now this butterfly. I can ask Huia or Merriem if they know. I can learn these things, the names of trees and birds and insects. That would impress Alex.
I imagine him smiling as we lie together on a blanket, staring up into the treetops, the golden light bathing us both. A perfect light that keeps him mine forever. I tell him the names of birds as they call out and he reaches for my hand. His fingers are cool and soft against mine.
I step over to Bella’s car. People look younger when they’re asleep. Bella’s skin is smooth, her lips soft and parted. Daniel is so surrendered to the shape of the seat, his head tipped right back, hair messy, a small trail of drool by his lips, that he could be a boy. I knock on the windshield. The Virgin Mary on the dash gives a little wobble of her hips, like a hula dancer.
Bella stirs. I knock again and they both wake up. Daniel startles and gasps. Bella stretches and opens one eye. She rolls down the driver’s window.
“Oh, hey, Frankie,” Daniel says, blinking.
“Hey.”
Bella doesn’t say anything. She is waiting for me.
I clear my throat. “I’m going to make coffee.” Then I turn back to the cabin.
“Is that an invitation?” she calls to my back.
I shrug and hear Daniel yawning.
* * *
Daniel leans against the bookshelf while Bella perches on the edge of the bed. They sip their espressos in silence. I stand at the sink and watch them, letting my own coffee slip down my throat. They both look weary and unkempt.
“How did your mom get the laundry done around here?” I ask Daniel.
He lifts his head. “Huh?”
“Clothes? Washed?”
“Oh.” He smirks a little. “I don’t think she ever stayed long enough to get a bunch of dirty clothes. She did them in the washing machine at home, I guess.”
I notice Bella glance down at the dusty hem of her long dress. She is shoeless, a toe ring glinting.
“We stayed longer with Granddad,” Daniel adds, rubbing his eyes. “I think we might have washed underwear in a stream, near the ocean perhaps. I have a vague memory of soap . . . and underwear.”
Bella gives a wry laugh.
Daniel looks at her and smiles. “It was fun staying here with Granddad. He didn’t worry about much. We got dirty, climbed trees, hunted things. I can’t remember him really supervising us that often. I think his idea was that boys should be let loose to look after themselves. We ate whenever we wanted, roasted marshmallows for dinner, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds good,” Bella murmurs.
“S’mores with peanut butter?” I prompt, remembering Alex telling me about them.
“Yeah.” Daniel smiles at me. “I’d forgotten about that. That’s how Granddad had them, with peanut butter.”
I glance out the window. Alex always spoke about this place in a kind of spellbound way. “Alex told me a bear got into the cabin one year?”
“Yeah, that’s right. It made a mess getting in.” Daniel shakes his head. “It took more than the peanut butter but that’s all Granddad was upset about. He loved that stuff. We saw the bear just as it was leaving the cabin. It was huge.”
“Alex was scared.”
“He didn’t seem scared. He told me bears don’t like the taste of kids. Boys, especially. I believed that for years.” He smiles sadly.
From the window I notice some cans we didn’t pick up last night and the burnt patch of ground where the fire was. There’s an empty plastic packet out there too. And the trash bag by my foot. I tap my fingers against my coffee cup, thinking, and hear Bella clearing her throat.
“Frankie used to do that too.”
I turn back to her.
“She used to say things to make me feel better.”
Daniel stares at Bella but her gaze is locked with mine.
“Especially after Mama died, right, Frankie? Remember how you kept me believing in Babbo Natale—Santa Claus?”
“You were little,” I say simply, and remember that’s what I said to Jack about Bella and the rabbits. She had been little—a slight thing, with sweet, loose curls and eyes so wide you felt like you could fall into them if you weren’t careful. The least she could have, after everything, was Babbo Natale.
“Vinnie told me he wasn’t real,” she admits, “but I wanted you to think I still believed in him. Not just because of the presents.”
I know what she means. I had liked us both pretending, together, that he was real. I drink the last of my espresso and hold Bella’s gaze. We are silent for a few long moments.
“I just need to get something from the car,” Daniel says.
Neither of us looks at him. He leaves, wordlessly, and Bella and I continue staring at each other.
“I’m still angry with you,” I say.
“Nothing happened.”
“You left.”
“Yes. But that was complicated. There are things—”
“You think I’m boring. That my life is ordinary.”
She purses her lips. Takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Hell, Bella, you were acting up so much. Stealing stuff—Papa’s car . . . Do you remember any of that?”
“Yes.” She looks ashamed.
“I had to be good. You made me be the good one. I had no choice.”
She lifts her chin, speaks quietly but clearly. “You were always good, Frankie. You got everything right. The grades, the guy. I couldn’t be you. I wanted to be. Sometimes. But I didn’t know how. I never got it right. Everyone said I was the naughty one. Even when I was little. Even the aunties.”
I stare at her and feel thrown off course. Especially the aunties, she should say. I hadn’t thought about that, how the family always made comparisons between us. How them saying those things might make her feel. I’d just thought it was the truth.
“It was better for me to go,” she says. “Start over. I didn’t think I’d be away so long. I thought we would . . .”
I wait for her to finish but she doesn’t. I’m reminded of Jack, of him saying how people expect you to be the same, the way they’ve grown used to thinking of you.
I change the subject. “You were talking to Vinnie . . . about the funeral.”
“Yeah.”
“You were there?”
“I didn’t come in.”
“Why not?” My voice is more needy than I expected.
Bella lifts her gaze, noticing my tone. “I hate funerals. And I didn’t know if you wanted me there.”
I nod. Had I wanted her there? Probably not.
She continues to stare at me, as though reading my mind. And suddenly guilt takes over from anger, and it rattles me. Like the world is splitting into pieces and trying to put itself back together in a different way. I look at the floor, and am relieved when Daniel comes back into the cabin, clearing his throat. He’s holding a small stereo.
“I got some music—to play while we tidy this place up.”
He stands next to Bella, as though they’re on the same team. She gives him a grateful smile. Not even one of her flirtatious ones.
“Okay . . .” I say, pushing the floor with my toe. “So you’re not leaving then?”
Bella assesses me, her eyes round like Huia’s. She shakes her head.
“I don’t need looking after,” I warn her.
She shrugs. Not agreeing but not willing to argue.
“Right.” I turn to put my coffee cup in the sink, so my back is towards her. I
don’t want to look at her child-eyes. “Well, I don’t want bears. Someone has to get rid of the trash.”
Neither Daniel nor Bella responds.
“And we need more food. Clothes. And laundry powder. I’m sure Merriem will let us use her washing machine.”
“Or Jack?” Bella adds helpfully.
“I don’t think it’s fair to ask Jack,” I say quickly.
“Why?”
“He’s busy . . . with Huia. And he works for . . . I mean . . .” I glance at Daniel.
“I’ll clear the trash,” he says. “I know where there’s a public bin.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No. I mean, yes, I do.”
I pause. “Thank you.”
He clears his throat. “I want to ask you something.”
“Me?”
“Um, both of you.”
“What is it?”
He glances at Bella before turning to me. “I want to stay too. Can I?”
* * *
Daniel is outside, erecting two small tents and camp stretchers he pulled out from under the bed, all covered in a thick gray snow of dust. I stuff laundry into a plastic bag, Bella watching me.
“I didn’t know there were tents,” I confess.
“Daniel said they were his father’s. They’re not in bad shape considering they’re older than him.”
I hold up the bag. “You got anything you want to add?”
She’s surprised. “Yeah, are you—”
“Put it in then.”
She heads outside to her car while I continue gathering dirty clothes. It is comforting to be doing something so mundane. And to take control, as though this is exactly what Daniel and Bella have been waiting for. When Bella returns she’s wearing a clean T-shirt and blue shorts, with her dress and some other clothing balled up in her arms.
“Are you sure?” she says.
“No point just doing my own.”
She drops her dirty clothes into the mouth of the bag. Underwear that’s silky but worn, bright cotton panties with a daisy print, a chambray shirt with orange felt hearts sewn on the elbows, a long skirt. I knot the handles of the bag together and step out into the sunshine.
Daniel already has one tent erected, in a space between flowering trillium. He looks at me and smiles. It may be the most authentic smile I’ve seen on him in some time.
“I’ll just get this other one up and then I might go for a swim,” he says. “Wanna come?”
Bella nods. “Yeah.”
My stomach turns. I haven’t been down the path to the ocean since the day Bella arrived. I hold up the laundry bag as an excuse.
“Maybe later?” Daniel asks, but I don’t reply.
“We’ll drop off the trash after the swim,” Bella says to me.
“Thanks.”
“Do you want me to come with you to Merriem’s?”
“No. I’m okay.”
Bella walks over to Daniel, who’s now putting together an ancient-looking camp stretcher. The thin silver poles are speckled with rust and he’s having to work hard to press the pieces together. Bella picks up two bits and assembles them, frowning with determination.
As I drive away, I glance back at the scene; the two tents and the cabin in a cozy huddle. It looks as though a mom and dad and a couple of kids, or maybe some college friends, are getting away for a spring break. The sunshine will change the color of their skin just a shade or two, and the salt in the air will thicken their hair. They’ll swim and fish and think all day about what they’re going to eat for dinner and did someone remember the graham crackers? All it needs is a crackling campfire and a few sparkling fireflies, laughter hanging in the air.
I glance at the laundry bag beside me as I drive along the road, past the mailbox with the flower painted on its side, then past Merriem’s little green house. I’m thankful that she isn’t in the yard as I turn my focus to the road ahead. The curve of it, a dark snake nudging into the forest and away, away, away.
Chapter Sixteen
• • • •
I lower the window and let the cool air whip at my face. Trees stream by as a collective: a smear of green and a blur of branches. In places they thin out and the sunlight floods in. I think of all the seeds hidden in the soil, splitting and reaching up to the light.
I’m not running away, I tell myself, not really. I will go back to do the washing. I’ll go back by lunch or maybe dinner. I just need to move. To be part of something moving. To have that feeling of the ground pressing up and rolling away beneath me. To see different pieces of sky, and rush past different pieces of dirt.
I will go back. I just feel . . .
I can’t even finish the thought.
It’s not long before the scenery starts to look the same. My thoughts turn to the film reel playing in my head. The wedding that never happened comes to me in waves, like a jumbled edit of home videos. Tiny slices, close-ups, laughter, faces tipped up to listen to speeches, smiles above the rims of wineglasses. There’s Alex at the altar, his grandfather’s stained-glass window making patterns on his suit with colored light. As I walk to meet him, I see he is holding back tears. Cut to the kiss. A perfect kiss that turns the world into a beautiful chasm, which I fall into willingly. A heady, heavenly kiss. Cut to the reception: clinking glasses with Bella, sitting at the head table, leaning my cheek against Alex’s shoulder. Cut to Mama drying the corners of her eyes, though she was never going to be there. Cut to a dance floor. Another divine kiss and a cheer that circles us. Me throwing my head back with laughter. Pushing a knife into a perfect cake with three tiers and snow-white sugar flowers.
The car slips along the road as if it’s on tracks. A truck passes me hauling two big trailers full of tree trunks, stripped of branches, bark peeling like sunburnt skin. The driver sits so high up he seems barely to notice me. The car pulls towards the middle of the road a little as the truck flies past. I wonder how long I can drive before I run out of petrol. I wonder if I’ll end up heading towards Oregon, as Bella did, or straight to the Canadian border. I think about the car lifting from the road and becoming airborne. Unencumbered, surrendering gravity, floating.
Once, on a trip to Italy, we flew from Sicily to Rome in a small plane, small enough that the hostess let us see inside the cockpit. Papa came with us, Bella gripping the leg of his pants, both of us with our hair in braids. The pilot patted our heads. He had a coffee beside him, with a cookie on the saucer, and he smelled like Nonno’s cigarettes. Bella hid herself behind Papa and sucked on her thumb, an old habit that Aunty Connie was trying to break. But I was transfixed. The cockpit was a marvel of buttons and levers and flashing lights. The pilot showed us which buttons did what, his set of headphones, and the gold wings on the band of his hat. The endless sky beyond, laid out in limitless possibility, was the most brilliant blue. A proper blue, light and bright, not like the ocean or the sky in Washington. In our seats we were just in a plane; here in the cockpit, we became a bird.
The hostess offered us candy. I took one but put it into my pocket. This was no time for eating candy. My heart was dancing in my chest.
When Papa led us back to our seats I kept glancing over my shoulder, wishing I could remain in that cockpit. I could still see the sky, streaked with clouds that looked like steamed milk. But the pilot waved and the curtain, with its severe pleats and squares of Velcro, was fastened shut once more.
Back in our seats, I looked at Papa. His face was thin and tired, the face he’d grown over the past year. He looked like a different man from the one who had kissed my mother full on the lips every morning, and brought her Italian chocolates studded with roasted hazelnuts every Friday. “Look after your papa,” Aunty Rosa had reminded me before we went on the trip. “He loves you girls, you know. Take care of him.”
I did love him and wanted to take care of him. He was my papa and I’d carry the world if he asked me to. I already planned to have a good, safe life and keep him company forever. But seeing that big, blue
sky made me feel like my insides had been rearranged. The idea of going anywhere in the world, of running away. Of flying. It made me feel thrilled and a bit sick all at once. Like driving on an open road when no one knows where you are.
I wanted to go to Europe for our honeymoon. I’d collected travel brochures from my cousin Giulia, the travel agent. Alex wasn’t keen. We were in bed one night and he’d slipped his hand into my hair, rolled a strand around his finger. I could smell the hand soap from our bathroom on his broad fingers. Lavender.
“I’ve been thinking about France,” I said.
“In general?” he teased.
“After the wedding.”
“What’s wrong with Hawaii?”
“Nothing is wrong with Hawaii.” There was a great deal on flights and a five-star resort in Oahu. It was all-inclusive: room, food, cocktails by the pool. The photos showed huge beds covered in crisp, white linen, and palm trees curving in from the shore. “I just thought . . .”
“It’s a really good deal,” Alex reminded me.
“I know.”
But I’ve never been to France, I wanted to say. I kept finding myself staring at flight prices to Paris at the travel agency where Giulia worked. Mama and Papa had been to Paris once, on their way back from Italy, before she had me and Bella. Mama kept a tiny Eiffel Tower statuette on her dresser, right under the mirror where she put on her earrings or checked her hair. I imagined crowded cafés and buttery croissants, the earnest quiet of the Louvre, the gray rooftops and slow-moving Seine. Plus, I wanted to show Alex Italy. Perhaps that was the real truth of it. Italy was right next door.
“You don’t want to go to Hawaii?” Alex asked.
“It’s not that. I just thought France could be something different. We could see Paris.”
He frowned. “I don’t know that I’m a Paris kind of person, babe.”
“But you’ve never been to Europe.”
“Yeah, it just doesn’t . . . appeal. There’s everything you could ever want right here in the States. Cities, country, deserts, mountains, sea.”
Season of Salt and Honey Page 17
