Living Out Loud

by Staci Hart

  “No thanks required,” she said, holding back tears of her own. “It will be nice to have music in our house again. And I know it seems silly to have two pianos in the house, but this way, you can play all you like without having to endure anyone’s company but your own.” She took a steadying breath and clasped her hands. “Come, Emily. Yours is last.”

  They left me alone in my new room, and I made no motion to follow them, too entranced, too surprised to leave. Instead, I sat on the gray velvet piano bench facing into the room, my eyes roaming every corner, every detail. Over the shelves stacked with books of poetry, across the gilded mirrors and framed book illustrations of fairy tales.

  She had very aptly looked into my heart and soul and fashioned a room that spoke directly to me. It was sorcery or magic, and as deeply as I felt right in that room, resistance slipped over me.

  Because this wasn’t a fairy tale, and nothing in this room was mine.

  I felt my losses so acutely in that moment that it set my heart galloping like a pony missing a leg, staggering and clumsy. Everything I had known was gone, and it would never be reclaimed. I was in a room I didn’t know in a home that wasn’t mine, relying solely on the kindness and generosity of strangers to care for those who meant the most to me in the world.

  As perfect as the room and the welcome were, in that moment, it felt like a lie, like a faerie trick. A gilded cage. There was no way out and nowhere to go.

  I heard my father, saw his face, felt the whisper of his breath against my ear when I closed my eyes.

  Don’t look back, Annie. That’s a sure-fire way to end up tripping on what’s in front of you.

  I swiped at my tears, spinning around on the piano bench when I heard Susan making her way back down the hallway, pushing Mama in her wheelchair. They didn’t stop, thankfully. I laid my fingers on the keys again, this time to play.

  My heart opened up when the first resonating note struck, my sadness and loss slipping out of that thumping muscle and through my veins, into my fingers. Mendelssohn filled the room, the deep and slow melancholy leaving me with every note—notes that I knew by heart and memory—leaving me with every tear. And when my trembling fingers rested, the last note hanging in the air, I was lighter than before.

  Music was the conduit for the abundance of feeling I had been blessed and cursed with. For my heart not only contained holes, but was too big for its own good.

  I closed the lid and stood, making my way toward the sound of my aunt’s voice.

  Susan was sitting at the head of the table in the dining room with the Maltese in her lap and Mama and Elle on either side of her, each with a steaming mug in front of them. The table looked like a smile with a missing tooth where Mama sat, the chair gone to leave a gap for her wheelchair. She still hadn’t gotten used to it. Her hands were blistered from trying to navigate on her own, her body and soul smaller than they’d been before. And when I took the seat next to her, her eyes begged me to save her from pretending, from the false smile and small talk.

  I reached for her hand in the hopes that she could read my intention to do just that.

  “And tonight,” Susan said happily as she stroked the half-asleep dog, “John’s associate and his wife—the Ferrars—are coming by for dinner. We just couldn’t wait for Frank to meet you, though I must say,” she leaned in, lowering her voice, “Fanny is insufferable. The woman wouldn’t know happiness if it crawled in her lap and purred.” She laughed pleasantly at herself.

  I found myself smiling simply because Susan was so agreeable despite the fact that we were travel-worn and rumpled and in no state or mood to entertain.

  Mama squeezed my fingers as if she’d been thinking the same thing, but Elle, with her ever-present smile of platitude and concession, said, “We’ll be glad to meet them.”

  Susan smiled, pleased. “Wonderful!” Her plump fingers ran through the dog’s cottony fur. “So, what would you girls like to do now that you’re here? Anything in particular you’d like to see?”

  “Only everything,” I said on a laugh, my smile spreading.

  Susan’s chuckle was an echo of mine. “Yes, only that.”

  Feeling momentarily brave, I added, “I think I’d like to find a job.”

  It was one of the items on my list of things I’d never done, and I was determined to check them off once we made it to New York. Thus, now.

  Mama’s face grew stern. “Annie, we’ve talked about this.”

  If it was at the top of my list, you could be sure it was at the tippy-top of Mama’s list of nevers.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like I’m asking to run the New York City Marathon, Mama. There have to be a million jobs in the city that don’t require cardio.”

  She huffed. “You have to be the only teenager I’ve ever known who wants to work.”

  “I’m eighteen. I’m not a baby.”

  “Eighteen is still a teenager.”

  “Eighteen is when most people are moving out,” I said a little louder and sharper than I’d meant to. So I took a breath. “I’m just saying, it would be nice to have a little independence.”

  “You worked at the library last summer,” she volleyed.

  “I volunteered. It’s not the same, and you know it.”

  Susan brightened up, her spine straightening. “Oh! You know, there’s a bookstore just straight across the park from here, near Columbia. A good friend of mine’s son owns it. I hear it’s quite the spot for people your age. It’s called Wasted Words, and it’s a bookstore that’s a bar! Can you imagine?”

  My eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

  “It’s just a ten-minute drive from here.”

  I frowned. “How long is the walk?”

  She tottered her head back and forth. “Oh, maybe twenty minutes.”

  I sagged in my chair when Mama gave me a look.

  “Too far to walk every day,” she said with some finality.

  And it was the truth. I couldn’t walk more than a couple of blocks before ending up winded and colorless and drenched in sweat.

  But Susan, my newfound savior, waved a hand. “We have a driver who can take her if she really wants to work there.”

  “See, Mama?” I gestured to Susan, as if there was no way Mama could possibly argue, my hope flapping proudly at the top of my flagpole.

  If only.

  She sighed with a note of impatience. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said, which meant, Absolutely not, and I’ll tell you why when Susan’s out of earshot.

  “How about you, Elle?” Susan asked.

  Elle blinked at her for a moment. “I…I don’t really know. I’d like to get a job too, but I’m not exactly sure where to start.”

  “What kind of work do you think you’d like?”

  “Well, since I graduated, I worked at a small insurance company in Boerne, mostly as a secretary.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  Elle nodded. “I suppose so. I liked the order of it, the organization of dates and calls and files. It felt…safe. Is that silly?” she asked, laughing as if it were.

  I laughed myself. “Safe because it’s boring. The Petersons were lucky to find anyone who could sit in that musty old office every day and file papers.”

  “Well, I liked it,” she said. “There’s something comforting about routine and rules and repetition.”

  Susan chuckled and reached for her hand. “Comfort of habit. Yes, I quite know what you mean.” She brightened up again. “You know, I’d bet John could place you at one of the magazines. They’re always looking for good executive assistants, and it sounds like you might just be perfect for the job.”

  Elle flushed, her lips parting in surprise as she stammered, “Oh…ah, I’m not…I don’t believe I’m experienced enough to work at that level. Really. I think the Petersons’ phone rang five times a week, max.”

  I snickered. “And three of those were from Gigi Blanchard to gossip with Mrs. Peterson.”

  But Susan wouldn’t hav
e it. “I’m not worried about you at all. Anyone who enjoys secretarial work would be welcomed; I’m certain of it. I’ll talk with John.”

  “Really, you don’t have to do that,” Elle insisted, the color in her cheeks deepening another shade.

  “I don’t mind at all!” Susan said, oblivious to Elle’s discomfort. “We’re happy to help however we can, including your place here. For years and years, John has wanted to do something, anything to help you. It just wasn’t right—the way your parents turned you out, Emily. None of us have ever forgiven them for that.”

  Mama stiffened next to me, her back straight and that false smile on her lips. “It was a long time ago.”

  “But hardly forgotten,” Susan said, not unkindly.

  She was so forward—too forward for me in that moment of exhaustion. The family I knew was small, only the nucleus of my sisters and parents, and opening that business up to Susan felt like an intrusion even though she was family too.

  So much change, so quickly.

  I turned to Mama, eager to escape. “How are you feeling?”

  Relief filled her face up, softening it. “I could use a little nap, I think.”

  I stood. “I’ll help you. Excuse us, Aunt Susan,” I added.

  “Of course!” she said with a smile. “Dinner is at seven. Just let me know if you need anything at all.”

  “We will.”

  “And you’ll stay and chat with me, won’t you, Elle?” she asked eagerly.

  “I’d love to,” she answered with a polite smile as I rolled Mama away.

  When we were out of earshot, Mama said, “We’re horrible, cruel women for leaving Elle in there.”

  I chuckled. “Elle would sacrifice herself for your welfare any day of the week.”

  She sighed at that. “This…this is almost too much.”

  My throat tightened, and I swallowed to open it back up as I turned into her room. “I know.”

  I pushed her to the bed and turned it down before bending. She hooked her arm around my neck, bracing herself on the mattress top to hitch herself up with my help, dragging her limp legs behind her.

  I tucked them under the covers as she watched with shining eyes.

  Everyone said we looked alike—the same unruly blonde hair, the same slender frame, the same green eyes—but it was our smiles that I always thought made us look so much alike. We had the same shine—or we had before my father died.

  I imagined her in a bed like this, in a room like this, long ago—before she had fallen in love and left New York behind. I imagined her rich and cosmopolitan, like a ghost twin of the simple, unfussy, easygoing woman I knew, the woman now dimmed and dulled by loss.

  “I hate this, Annie. I hate everything about it.” Her words were as shaky as my breath.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in mine. “Me, too, Mama. It’s…” I paused, thinking. “It’s too confusing, too conflicting. It’s a relief to have help, to be in such a beautiful home with such beautiful things, but everything has changed. This isn’t home.”

  “It is now. We have nowhere else to go.” Her tears fell freely, her fingers squeezing mine, her sadness making her look young and vulnerable and small, propped up in that big bed, surrounded by pillows.

  “I know that too. And I know we’ll find a way through it all.”

  “One foot in front of the other, as your daddy would say.”

  My gaze dropped to our hands, catching on her simple gold wedding band. “I wish he were here,” I said barely above a whisper.

  “So do I.”

  Neither of us spoke for a moment, chasing our thoughts through the maze of our minds.

  When Daddy died, there hadn’t been enough money tied up in the house, not enough invested in Social Security, not enough shelled away in retirement. He was too young, and in his youth, he thought he had more time.

  We all had.

  Now, Mama needed full-time care, and Meg was still so young, years and years from being on her own. I had no job, no means to support myself, never mind Mama and Meg too, which was another reason I wanted so badly to find something, anything that could help ease that burden. We didn’t have the means to survive on our own. All we had left was each other.

  I only wished that were enough.

  A knock came from behind us, and we looked to the sound. Elle seemed both exasperated and relieved as she stepped in and closed the door.

  “Well, I’ve gotten us off the hook for dinner,” she said quietly as she sat on the other side of Mama’s bed. “I convinced Aunt Susan that you needed rest and that we could all use a minute to settle in before entertaining. Put that way, she agreed and rescheduled for next week.”

  I shook my head, frustrated and edging on agitated. My flair for drama and saying exactly what I felt won over my ability to be reasonable. “I know she means well, but we’ve been driving for days. How could she not understand we’d be exhausted?”

  Elle sighed. “Honestly, you should have seen her when I offered a little perspective. She was embarrassed and apologetic and…” She sighed again. “She felt like a fool.”

  The thought quieted my anger, replacing it with guilt. “This…this is so…” My throat squeezed closed.

  Elle reached for my hand. “I know. And Susan and John have saved us in a way. They’ve protected us from an uncertain fate, given us the chance to live well, for no other reason than kindness. Look around; look at what Susan has done just to make us feel at home and welcome.”

  A shuffling came from under the bed, and Meg’s head and shoulders emerged from under the bedskirt with a National Geographic book in front of her, split open to a spread about octopuses.

  “My room is one of the best things to ever happen to me,” she said matter-of-factly. “I like Aunt Susan. She gives good hugs and smells like flowers.”

  We all chuckled, and Elle stood, moving to Mama’s suitcase to flip it on its side and unzip it. “I know it’s hard, but it could be so much harder.”

  Mama nodded, but she still looked defeated and deflated.

  “How are you, Mama?” I asked gently.

  Her green eyes met mine. “I don’t know how to feel. Mostly, I think I’m numb. Like part of my brain is driving my body, giving the absolute minimum to consider participation, while the rest of me has retreated somewhere deep inside. Because when I reach in and think or feel, it’s too much. Too much—” The words were cut off by a sob that she swallowed, but her tears fell, unconfined.

  Those tears drew my own from the well that I realized would never run dry. “We’re gonna be okay,” I said, wanting to believe it.

  “I hope so,” she whispered, trying to smile.

  “We will,” Elle added from the other side of the bed. “We’ll survive. If Daddy were here, he wouldn’t let us give up. He’d tell us to find joy every day, to hang on to each other, to turn our faces to the sun and warm ourselves with hope. So that’s what we should do.”

  And we all knew she was right, though not a single one of our faces said we believed we could do it.

  We’d try anyway.

  Elle smiled, a comforting expression that coaxed a smile from my own lips, small as it might be. “I think a good night’s sleep in a real bed in a real room will do us all good. Annie will be spreading her sunshine again soon enough, and Meg will tell us the wonders of the deep ocean. And Mama will smile and laugh like she used to, and we’ll all love each other.”

  “Well, I have been reading about anglerfish,” Meg said from the floor after a pause. “Did you know they can eat fish twice their size?”

  I laughed. “You have something in common; you can eat a pizza twice your size.”

  “Dare me to try!”

  I winked. “Double dog dare.”

  Her face brightened as she scrambled to her feet. “Oh, man, now I’m asking Aunt Susan if we can have pizza for dinner.”

  “I’m sure she has something planned, baby,” Mama chided.

  But Meg shrugged, grinn
ing. “I’ll tell her I’ll name a fish after her.” And with that, she bounded out of the room.

  I looked from Mama, whose smile finally touched her eyes—not deep down, but enough—to Elle, who watched us with a veil of love and pride that covered her own sadness.

  As for me, I found Elle’s words to be true, simply by her having spoken them. And my heart lifted, that sagging balloon rising, warmed by the sun and reaching for the forgotten clouds.

  2

  Mittens

  Annie

  Elle was right; a good night’s sleep and a hot shower had done wonders for my disposition. The luxurious sheets and pillows helped this endeavor.

  Each night got easier, and each day brought with it a little more happiness. And over the course of the following week, I found a glimmer of hope that this could someday be home.

  This morning, I woke like a princess in a Disney movie, fresh as a daisy and smiling like the world was full of possibilities. Because it was.

  Mama had agreed to let me get a job.

  It was likely due to my incessant pestering, bolstered by Susan’s and Elle’s support. Susan had been insistent in my favor and oblivious to Mama’s distress. Elle, ever the voice of reason and sense, had noted that I needed a job, something to do, and really, there was no reason to refuse besides Mama’s worry over my health.

  I’d almost done jumping jacks to prove just how fine I was, but I hadn’t wanted to push my luck.

  Of course, fine was a relative term.

  From the time I had been born, I’d been sickly, subjecting my parents to the pain and stress of having a child with a heart defect. I was diagnosed with a rare defect called Ebstein’s anomaly, noted by a deformed valve—pulmonary stenosis, which obstructed blood as it attempted to leave my heart—and an atrial septal defect—the fancy name for the hole between the chambers of my heart. I had an arrhythmia, too—you know, because all that other mess wasn’t quite enough for the universe to bestow upon me.

  The result was a busted up jalopy of a heart, sputtering exhaust as it clanked and clacked around in my rib cage.

  My first open-heart surgery was at three weeks old when they put in a temporary shunt. I tried to remember that fact when Mama was overprotective. I would imagine her lying in a hospital bed, her brand-new baby whisked away and put in an incubator so that she could breathe. I would picture Mama in the NICU, staring into that plastic box at her newborn whose skin was a terrifying shade of blue, her tiny body full of tubes and wires, her chest stapled up after being cracked open like a melon.