“And the lotuses?”
“I’ve kept a few,” I said, fingers tightening around the bottle. “I’ll find another supplier.”
“You’d be taking on so much responsibility,” Lee said.
There was a gentle challenge in his voice. It was exactly what I’d wanted from him. Something to push back against, forcing me to clarify the sudden and overwhelming wildness of my plan into a straight and clear-cut path.
“Lee, I understand if you don’t want anything to do with this,” I said. “But I’d be happy to have you.”
“That’s why you called me?” he asked.
“I also wanted to talk to you again.”
I could almost hear his smile, though there was a sadness to the silence that hung between us. “Where will you go to open it?” he asked. “You won’t stay here. Not after all this.”
“No,” I’d said. “Not here. I’ll pick a new place. Anywhere. A fresh start.”
The pregnancy is different this time. Nothing like the unmapped panic of the first time. I’m clearheaded and purposeful; most of the time, my body is light with energy. I’m generous. Not overtaken by something beyond my control, but powerful. At first, I waited for the old helplessness to eat at my brain. Every morning, I’d wake up and brace myself for the slipping away.
But it never happened. And I’ve grown more confident, more assured. I understand my own boundaries. I’m able to enjoy the sensation of pregnancy. Relearning the changing landscape of my body. Feeling the glimmering movements that are gently out of sync with my own, a quiet pattern dotted throughout my days and nights.
Sylvia’s amazement is a soft and steady rhythm. When she slips behind my eyes or into my fingertips, I’m overcome by the knowledge of what this means to her. Her astonishment blends with mine. I’m moved by Sylvia’s pleasure, marveling at it, and then she slips away and my wonder is suddenly centered on myself. I’m in awe of my own ability to exist, unafraid, inside this life.
I arrive at the time we agreed on. I let her choose our meeting spot: a small café. Curtains with crochet trim covering a plate glass window. The interior is warm, competing with the flat gray glow of the winter sky, and crowded with bodies on this weekend morning.
As I slide out of the car, I move with the carefully calibrated grace I’ve developed during these past few months. The baby stirs, a rolling knot like a hand beneath a blanket on waking.
The girl is a contrast to the people around her, most of them slouching or chatting, lost in conversations, staring into screens. She’s alert, posture tense and careful. She scans the crowd, her gaze lingering on each stranger in turn. But she doesn’t seem to notice me until I’ve paused right next to her table, patiently waiting.
“Oh,” she says. “You’re—?” The girl half stands, then stops, flustered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. For some reason, I just didn’t expect you to be—”
“It’s fine,” I say, sitting across from her. “Jessica, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me. We spoke on the phone?” Jessica’s in her early twenties, her bright red hair braided down her back. She’s worn a clumsy approximation of a professional outfit: plain blazer over a lacy tank. “Thanks for meeting with me today,” she says.
“You seem nervous,” I say gently. “There’s no need to be.”
She laughs, touches her hair, both sheepish and relieved. “I didn’t know how to prepare for something like this,” Jessica says. “You didn’t say much about it.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “This isn’t a traditional interview. It’s a way for us to learn more about each other. Just to see if our goals are the same.”
Jessica nods and nods. I notice her picking at the edge of a paper napkin, and she must catch my gaze. Her fingers still.
“To be honest, I was surprised to hear from anybody,” I continue. “I only just placed the ad. Why did you reach out to me, Jessica?”
“Well, I’ve been looking for work for a while,” she says. “Nothing really inspires me. But when I saw your ad, I got curious. It sounds different, I guess.”
“You know what the job would involve?” I ask.
“A little,” Jessica says. “I have a general idea.”
“And you believe you’re suited to this kind of work?” I ask.
“Maybe.” She makes faltering eye contact with me; I notice the coppery quality of her eyelashes, so pale they’re a glittering suggestion. “I think so,” she adds.
“I have to ask you a personal question, Jessica,” I say, leaning over the table. “Are you happy in your life?”
If she’s surprised, she hides it quickly. She gazes at the coffee-blotted rim of the mug, seeming to truly consider the question. “Yes,” she says. “For the most part.”
“Some people will use a job like this to hide,” I say. “But I don’t want that. I want people who are strong. Confident. People who don’t see this as a way to escape their bodies or their lives, but as a way to help others while staying true to themselves.”
After a second, Jessica smiles. “You know something—when I saw that ad, I thought it could really be a way to make a difference. Reach out to people who are grieving.”
Her other responses so far have been tinted with hesitancy. She’s been looking to me for cues like a nervous child. But this time, her voice grows stronger and brighter, her self-consciousness shedding away.
“This shouldn’t be a temporary job.” Leaning back, I instinctively press my palms to my belly, relishing the weight and warmth. “I want to get to know my employees. Work like this can take a toll on you, if you’re not careful. I’d like to change that.”
And we sit together as I look into the future, describing it to her, describing it to all of us, already letting myself want everything that waits for me there.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you so much to my enthusiastic and clear-sighted agent, Alice Whitwham, and to Zoë Pagnamenta. Many thanks to my wonderful editor, Jennifer Barth, for guiding this novel into a much braver, bolder place. Thank you to the team at Harper.
I’d like to thank David Jauss, my earliest creative writing professor. Much gratitude goes to the MFA program at Washington University in St. Louis. Thanks to Marshall Klimasewiski, Kellie Wells, and all my other thoughtful teachers. Thanks to all my inspiring colleagues who influenced my creativity and curiosity. Special thanks go to Kathryn Davis, who has so generously helped me find enduring confidence as a writer.
Thanks to Franklin Sayre, who read and responded to an early draft of this novel when my belief in the project was starting to falter. Thanks too to Janelle Barr Bassett, for your warm, witty friendship throughout this process.
Thank you to my in-laws, Tim and Karen, for being supportive of my family in big and small ways. Thanks to my many siblings and siblings-in-law for being fun, smart, and always willing to chat about books. Thanks to my sister, Anna, for being an early reader. And thanks to my grandmother for her pride and support.
Thank you to everyone who has supported and encouraged me throughout this journey.
Heartfelt thanks to my parents. To my father, Russell: thanks for fostering my love of reading and writing by being a passionate writer and scholar. To my talented mother, Teressa: thanks for raising me in a home where pursuing a creative life was an expectation.
To Miles: you’re the funniest, cleverest kid, and I’m forever proud of you.
And finally, I’d like to thank Ryan with all my heart. You’ve been instrumental to making this novel what it is, with your keen insight and your unfailing, astonishing belief in me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SARA FLANNERY MURPHY grew up in Arkansas, where she divided her time between Little Rock and Eureka Springs, a small artists’ community in the Ozark Mountains. Sara received her MFA in creative writing at Washington University in St. Louis. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband and son. The Possessions is her first novel.
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CREDITS
Cover design by Jaya Micelli
Cover photograph © Andreas Kuehn / Getty Images
Cover Image © imagehub88 / Getty Images (lipstick smudge)
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE POSSESSIONS. Copyright © 2017 by Sara Flannery Murphy. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
EPub Edition February 2017 ISBN 9780062458339
ISBN 9780062458322
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