I took out my sketchbook and pencils anyway. Not every drawing had to be complicated and intense, right? I traced the outline of a sphere. Pippa’s hot air balloon. I’d draw it floating over a meadow. I sketched patterns on the balloon, and then I textured the grass. Still, the numbness didn’t fade.
I can’t feel.
No answers filled the silence. I closed my sketchbook. Drawing while I felt hollow like this was worse than not drawing at all. I curled up under the covers and made a space for Higgins. He lay next to me, and I buried my nose in his warm fur and waited for sleep to come.
School dragged on the next day. I ate lunch with Ruth and Annabelle and the others, and I tried to laugh and act normal, instead of like an empty shell. The only good part of the day was when Ruth agreed to help me with sets so I wouldn’t have to work with Mr. Reid by myself.
After school, I had an art lesson with Vivian. On the drive to her house, the pocket watch that I’d slipped into my pocket that morning felt heavy. I still wasn’t sure whether giving it to her was the right thing to do, and I didn’t trust my judgment these days.
Vivian seemed busy, distracted, from the minute she opened the door. She wasn’t her usual self today.
“I’m almost ready for the cement pour.” She waved me toward the living room. “What do you think?”
Chicken-wire shapes crowded the small space.
“I don’t usually work on more than one at a time.” Vivian wandered around the room, touching a statue here and there. “But I’m trying to replicate what I had before.”
I nodded, not sure what to say. I couldn’t picture what these statues would look like, really, not when they were all crowded together and still made of only chicken wire. Of course, Vivian knew what she was doing, but the room looked more like a manufacturing line than the way Vivian’s studio usually looked, with just one piece standing in the middle of the room. I remembered how she’d leave her current piece out, and touch it lovingly whenever she walked by, finding those places where she wanted to add color or texture. Sometimes she’d work on a sculpture for an entire month before moving on to the next one.
“Your dad offered to bring ceramic pieces from the old statues, salvaged from the yard. But I think I’ll just run over to the thrift store and buy some new dishes to break.”
“I told him you wouldn’t want to dig shards out of your old stuff,” I said.
Vivian bent the edge of one of the wire frames, pushing it into a tighter curve. “Usually, I would want to use the original pieces. But I have so little time, and I don’t want to spend it wallowing in self-pity.”
Maybe now. Is this the right time to give her the watch?
As I reached into my pocket and tried to get up my nerve, she said, “But you didn’t come to talk about my statues. Let’s take a look at those sketches.”
Giving the watch to her later might be better. I took my drawings of the set pieces out of my backpack and laid them out on the floor, stepping back as she knelt down to take a look.
“How did you determine the measurements?” she asked.
“The wagon needs to hold the music box, and the music box needs to hold Annabelle, so I started with those dimensions.”
“And you’re worried about weight?”
“Ted is strong, but he needs to pull the cart on his own, at least until he’s out of sight. Then, others can help him.”
“Instead of doing a solid wood lid, you might want to consider using PVC piping and curtains for when the lid is up. You could make a false lid when it’s closed … would that work?” She sketched notes as she talked. “Luan is a thin wood you could paint and design exactly like your drawing, saving you a lot of weight. I suppose you could do the same with the sides of the box, just make a frame and make the outsides out of luan. You wouldn’t need a bottom, right?”
“Yeah, I guess not.”
Vivian turned to the next page — the storefronts — and frowned. “This is a lot of painting. Are you sure you have time to do all this?”
“Rose falls asleep on the bakery stoop and then goes inside, but I think we need something that looks like a street. We’re using the cabin for the house at the beginning, but we need something like this at the end.”
“It’s just a lot … all of these signs and windows and doors.”
I nodded, not sure how to explain that I’d rather be busy painting during rehearsals, than watching Annabelle, or thinking about Mom, or wishing Ruth or Andrew would come talk to me.
Vivian looked at me, her eyes clear and no longer distracted. Neither of us had to say anything. We both knew why she had to create twenty statues at a time and I had to paint complicated scenes. We needed something to hold our attention, something to focus our energy and emotion. Being busy was better than either exploding with anger, or crumbling to pieces. Still, pressure continued to build inside me, every day, no matter how busy I made myself. Would I be able to keep holding it in? What would happen to me if I couldn’t?
Vivian worked on measurements with me until Dad knocked on the door. I should have given her the pocket watch already because I didn’t want to do it with Dad watching. I didn’t know why. Now I’d have to wait for next time.
As I got into the Jeep, I could tell Dad wanted to tell me something. He kept opening his mouth to speak and then turning away.
After a few minutes of this, I said, “Why don’t you just tell me whatever it is?”
He sighed. “It’s Mom.”
“What about Mom? She’s okay, right?”
Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s coming home.”
This was a problem? “So …”
“She didn’t complete the treatment, and she’s really discouraged. I think … I think we’re in for a tough time.”
As though it hadn’t been tough already.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.
“I just want you to be ready, that’s all. Mom has … well, she’s decided she’s not going to get better.”
“But that isn’t up to her,” I said. “I mean, she’ll get better or she won’t, right?”
“Right. But if she gives up …”
And then I finally understood what he was trying to say. Mom had given up. The realization hit me full speed, knocking the breath out of me.
“She’ll be home on Friday,” he said.
Dad didn’t say anything else, and neither did I. There wasn’t anything else to say.
From: Sadie Douglas
To: Frankie Paulson
Date: Wednesday, April 18, 6:45 PM
Subject: I’m a chicken
Yeah, I wanted to give Vivian the watch today, but I chickened out. I’ll do it at my next lesson. I don’t know. Maybe I can come to Vivian’s art show. She has a lot to do still, but I think she’ll have something to display. And I’d rather be in New York than at Annabelle Fest.
The drawing of your reflection in the water of that Alice in Wonderland statue was really amazing, Frankie. And sad. You look sad. Can I do anything to help you? I’ll find a reflection of my own to draw and send it to you soon.
Tomorrow, I have to build sets with Mr. Reid (Annabelle’s dad). Fortunately, Ruth promised to come too, so at least I won’t have to be alone with him, listening to him go on and on about how perfect Annabelle is. Did I tell you he actually said that at dinner … that she’s perfect? Ugh.
From: Sadie Douglas
To: Pippa Reynolds
Date: Wednesday, April 18, 6:52 PM
Subject: :-(Happy Birthday
I miss you so much, Pips. I hope you had a perfect day.
Chapter 21
Sawdust
Sawdust filled the air as the blade whined through each board. I stood back while Mr. Reid cut the pieces for the music box.
“You’re sure these measurements are going to work?” He turned off the saw and put his safety goggles on top of his head.
Where was Ruth? How could she have deserted me after she’d promised to b
e here?
Shrugging had become my fallback method of communication.
Mr. Reid raised an eyebrow. “Well, you did measure it all out, right? Because these are expensive boards. We wouldn’t want to—”
“Yes.” I finally found my voice. “I measured. And Vivian checked my work.”
He shook his head. “What awful luck that woman had. Imagine a flood coming up so fast like that. Unpredictable.”
“Thank you for cutting the boards for me.” I was going to kill Ruth.
“Would almost make you feel like nature was singling you out.”
Another shrug.
“You know, I tell Annabelle this all the time. Kids just don’t know how great their lives are. You practically have no worries when you’re a kid.”
I circled around the boards and started brushing off the sawdust. Maybe if I started organizing them for my project, he’d stop lecturing.
“Annabelle tells me she worries about you because you never smile. You never smile? Now how can that be?”
He was like a dog with a bone that just wouldn’t give up.
“Do you know that Annabelle actually thinks you’re unhappy because of her?”
I set down my board louder than necessary. Yes, actually. People keep telling me so.
“That’s not true, is it, Sadie?”
His gaze burned into the back of my head, and I knew I wouldn’t get away without answering him. But maybe I could finally get out of the conversation too.
After staring at my toes for a few moments, I finally said, “I’m fine. I’m not unhappy. Umm … I need to go get supplies.”
I hurried away from the set-building area. As I got about halfway across the field, I realized he might wait around to help me some more.
I turned back and shouted, “Thanks for your help, Mr. Reid. I can take it from here.”
I ran the rest of the way to the church, through the sanctuary, and into the back hallway where Penny, Doug, and Ben’s offices were. All I wanted was to escape, to hide, even from myself. At the end of the hall, I tried a door. Inside, Bibles and hymnals crowded a small supply cabinet. I went inside, closed the door, and breathed in the smell of ink and dust.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, slow and steady — not a storm this time. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pretend hard enough. Everyone saw through me. Even Annabelle’s dad. It was like a current had swept me up, and I couldn’t do anything to fight back. My own private flash flood. Only this flood went on and on and on.
“Sadie?” Ruth called from the hallway. “Penny said she thought you came in this way. Are you here?”
I considered staying in the closet, waiting until Ruth went away. But anger boiled up, hot and sudden. Ruth had left me to be lectured by Mr. Reid after she promised to be there for me. I threw open the door.
Ruth frowned at me. “Sadie, what were you doing in the—”
“Where were you?”
Ruth stepped back, away from me, from my angry words. “That’s what I came to tell you. Annabelle scheduled a lastminute rehearsal for today since her dad was going to be here working anyway. She and Penny decided to add a dance after I untie Annabelle’s feet — just for Annabelle and me. I didn’t even know I could dance before Annabelle started teaching me — What is it, Sadie?”
The hallway was dark, but she must have finally noticed my tear-streaked face.
“You promised you’d be there to help me.”
“Yes, but … I thought you’d understand, Sadie.” Her voice faltered. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
I couldn’t answer. I sat down and put my head in my hands.
“Mr. Reid did all the cutting, right? I mean, you didn’t need me for anything.”
Tears poured out of me, hot acid sizzling down my cheeks.
“Sadie, I don’t understand what’s wrong with you lately. You were obviously miserable at lunch these last few days.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“You’re not giving Annabelle a chance at all. And the play is supposed to be fun, but you’re …” Ruth knelt down by me. Her sleeve brushed my cheek as she put her hand on my shoulder.
“Sadie, can’t you just try to be happy?”
Instead of bursting out, my anger exploded deep inside me, shattering every bit of fight I had left. I felt like she’d pushed me into deep, inky water. Coldness slithered through my body, and I sunk down inside myself so that her next words rippled on their way to my ears. Her hand felt like dead weight on my shoulder.
“Just try, Sadie.”
I nodded because it was the only thing I could think to do. And then I stood up, in my newly watery body. Every step felt like it took the last bit of energy I had.
Ruth frowned at me and then checked the clock on the wall. “I have to get back to rehearsal. Will you be okay, Sadie?’
I nodded again and then watched her bounce down the hallway, her question hanging in the air between us. My feet felt as heavy as rocks as I walked out to the steps to wait for Dad, trying not to think about Mom coming home tomorrow. Worse and worse and worse.
Chapter 22
Breathe
After Dad dropped me off from school, he went to pick up Mom at the airport. She was paler than ever when she walked through the door, holding tightly to Dad’s arm.
“She needs a little sleep,” Dad said. “And then we can have dinner together.”
Mom barely looked at me as he took her upstairs.
I went up to my room and lay down on the bed. Higgins tried to lick my face, but I pushed him away. I stared at the ceiling until the lines and knots started forming pictures, waves and wind and angry faces staring down at me. I closed my eyes. Was this how Mom felt all the time, like even sitting up would require too much strength?
Dad called me down to dinner later, and I didn’t know if I’d slept or not. I could have been lying there forever or for just a few minutes. I forced myself to stand up, walk across the room, and go downstairs, step after step.
Mom sat at the table and looked out the window. I don’t know what I’d expected. Dad had tried to warn me. Still, seeing Mom like this, totally drained of life, was worse than any time she’d been sick before. Now it wasn’t that she couldn’t hold her head up or couldn’t keep her eyes open. She was just … gone. Even though her body was here. I didn’t know how to bring her back, if that was even possible. I stood there, just watching her for a while, until Dad poked his head out of the kitchen.
“Come help me, Sades?”
I helped Dad carry salad and soup to the table. As we ate, Dad asked me to tell Mom the story of the spirit bear, and then he asked me questions about the set pieces and the play. He told Higgins stories, and I tried to laugh. Mom smiled every once in a while, but she didn’t come back to herself.
Finally, as we were taking last bites, Dad said, “We’re happy to have you home, Cindy.”
“I missed you,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
I looked at my fork. Why could I still not feel anything? The numbness frightened me. I stood up and started clearing dishes, the burst of energy taking me by surprise.
“Thanks, Sades,” Dad said.
I hurried off to the kitchen and made as much noise as I could washing dishes, battling the terrible silence that had settled over the house.
By the time I was finished, Dad had taken Mom upstairs again. I called good night to them on the stairs and went to my room. Too quiet. I couldn’t email anyone right now because what would I say? Finally, I took out my sketchbook. Maybe tonight I could finally feel something when I drew.
The white page glowed in the moonlight. Where to start?
I can’t do this.
Are you out there?
What’s wrong with me?
The silence was heavy. My mind was as blank as Vivian’s apartment walls.
I know you’re out there.
Why won’t you answer me?
I tossed my sketchbook aside and threw myself onto
my bed, burying my face in the pillows. Higgins whined, jumped onto the bed, and nudged me with his nose. I should scratch his ears, but I couldn’t lift my arm. My eyes were dry. My entire body ached. I felt as though giant hands had grabbed me and started to squeeze; if I couldn’t get free, I would die. But minute after minute passed, and I lay there, gasping for breath.
Breathe.
Just one word, and I knew it hadn’t come from my own mind. At that moment I was about as capable of telling myself to breathe as I was of lifting Dad’s Jeep over my head. It wasn’t the answer I’d hoped for, but I didn’t actually know what I wanted. I wanted God to fix everything. And I couldn’t even put “everything” into words.
I rolled over onto my back and hugged a pillow to my chest, practicing the breathing Mom and I used to do in yoga. In through the mouth, out through the nose. Slower. In. Out. In. Out. Breath after breath after breath.
Just let me go to sleep. Give me that at least.
Tomorrow, I had to go to school. Had to see Ruth, Annabelle. I just needed … what?
Breathe. The instruction came again.
So I kept breathing. In. Out. And with my eyes closed, I started to see something new. As I breathed in, the air was silver, shimmery, like liquid starlight slipping up into my nose and down my throat. As it swirled into my lungs, it cooled the ragged pain. As I breathed out, inky blackness poured out into the night, like poison draining out of a snakebite.
In. Out. In. Out.
I’m breathing starlight. And something is coming out of me.
Breathe.
I should draw.
Breathe.
The word wrapped around the starlight. I kept breathing as I climbed under the covers, as I arranged my pillows, as Higgins curled up next to me. I kept breathing as I fell into a dream where stars, like lily pads, led me out into the night sky.
Waves of Light Page 10
