“This is my daughter, Joanna,” the man says.
Hi, my name is Esther, and that’s my baby.
“Wow,” I say. It comes out as a whisper. “She has beautiful golden eyes.”
Here’s the thing about truth—it can be defined and redefined for eternity. Truth is like infinity. It isn’t an answer. It’s just an undefined idea that goes on forever. And in this infinite moment, my truth is defined—she is part me and part Amit, but she is not my baby. She is her adoptive father’s.
I am reminded, .9 recurring is equal to 1.
I set the stuffed rabbit back in the stroller. “Joanna,” I say. “Isn’t it amazing how there are so many people in the universe—so many people you don’t see—and then all of a sudden you see them, and your life will never be the same?” And then I say, “Make sure she’s good at math. Girls can be good at math. Way better than boys.”
“OK,” her dad says with a questioning smile.
“Here.” I hand the man the picture of Amit and me. “If she ever wants to know why she has golden eyes.”
And I walk away.
I let go.
43
Dharma said that souls have mates. That we don’t travel into this life alone. We are connected to people by something that is beyond our knowing. But the soul knows.
“Why don’t you let your fish go in the ocean?” Jesús says from the front seat of the car.
“She’s a freshwater fish,” I say.
I’m sandwiched between Color and Moss. Beth is driving.
“I’m not sure how much longer she can live in that small cup,” Color says.
“Don’t worry. It’s almost over,” I say.
“Joanna,” Moss says. “I wish Heaven still existed so you could put her name on the wall.”
“But she doesn’t need Heaven,” I say. “She’s not lost.”
“The first time we met, did you think we’d end up here?” Color asks.
“No way,” I say.
“Me neither,” Color says. “Another twist in the maze.”
Jesús leans toward the sun coming in the window. “I’m gonna miss it here.”
“We don’t belong in California,” I say.
“Where do we belong, Esther?” Moss asks.
And as I breathe, I smell salt water. I found what I was looking for. I just didn’t know exactly what it was until today.
I found my soul mates.
“Where do we belong?” I repeat the question and lay my head on Moss’s shoulder. “Together.”
We stand at the edge of the reservoir in Elephant Butte Lake State Park. Our journey is almost over as the sun starts to rise to the east.
“She belongs here,” I say. “In New Mexico. I think she always has. I just wasn’t ready to let her go.”
“Are you ready now?” Color asks.
“Yes.” At the water’s edge, I hold the cup up to my face and look into my goldfish’s eyes. “I think I finally know her name.”
“What is it?” Moss asks.
“Esther. Her name is Esther.”
I tip the cup into the water. My fish wiggles from her small container and swims away. Free.
My parting words are “And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”
44
The fire at First Community Church of the Covenant Bible Fellowship had burned late into the night. The town of Truth or Consequences watched as Touchdown Jesus crumbled before their eyes. And when the flames were gone and the ash turned to mud, all that was left were two metal rods . . . in the shape of the cross.
Mom and Tom aren’t happy. I scared them half to death. Tom says I’ve made some big mistakes, but so has he, and he’s starting to think facing them might be the best place to start. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, too. His snake tattoo isn’t that scary after all. I remind them that canaries always want to fly, even when they live in cages. It’s just natural. Mom says parents want to lock their children up to keep them safe. That’s natural, too.
Jesús is happy living with Color and Moss, but every once in a while, he sleeps in my closet—with the door open now. He’s still not done with his senior statement, but there’s time for that. The truth is always changing.
Pastor Rick disappears. Rumors fly around the church that he ran off and eloped with a young Mexican girl. Young hearts are broken, but Ms. Sylvia is excited to go back to more traditional church songs. A committee meets to decide what to do about the burnt hole and charred metal cross where Touchdown Jesus once stood. Half the people want a new statue. Half the people want to keep it as a reminder. So it just stays as it is. Undefined, with everyone fighting.
Hannah is grounded for a month. One afternoon I ask her if I can curl her hair. She lets me, and we bounce on my bed like it’s a trampoline. That night, Moss comes over for dinner with my family.
And the pool . . . Tom says he’ll fill it in the spring, when the weather is warmer. I’m inclined to believe him. He bought me a new bike after all.
I stop at the pet store one afternoon on my way to Color’s house.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” the clerk says. “Back for more fish food?”
“I don’t have a fish anymore.”
“Don’t tell me it got depressed.”
“No,” I say, watching the canaries in the cage. “She got free.”
We sit on the floor in Color’s room—Beth, Color, Moss, Jesús, and I—surrounded by family photos. Color took all the ones from Heaven and hung them on her walls.
“OK. We each get one question,” Color says, shaking the Magic 8 Ball.
“Just one?” Beth says.
“One.” Color is insistent. “OK, me first. Will I ever meet my dad?” She shakes the ball. We look at her, waiting for the answer. “Signs point to yes.” With a huge grin plastered to her face, Color passes the ball to Beth.
“Is time travel possible?” Beth asks ardently. Her enthusiasm fades. “Very doubtful.”
“My turn.” Moss takes the Magic 8 Ball from Beth. “Will I ever go to Antarctica?” He shakes it. “Cannot predict now. This thing sucks.” He tosses it in the air to Jesús, who catches it haphazardly.
“Will I ever fall in love?” He spins the ball around in his hands a little too long—worry for what it might say etched on his face. But when he stops and the answer appears, Jesús is joyful. “Yes—definitely.”
“The Magic 8 Ball never lies,” Color says.
“OK, Esther’s turn.” Jesús hands it to me. “Pick your question wisely, mon chéri.”
I shake the Magic 8 Ball. Just one question? But I have so many.
“Is God real?” I ask. We wait for an answer to appear.
Ask again later.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the beginning there was . . .
Renee Nyen, my agent, to whom I dedicate this book, but who must also be acknowledged for her unyielding persistence with this novel. So much of what is on the page is due to her courageous efforts, but also to her willingness to share her truth with me. This was our journey together, and I can’t thank her enough.
Thank you to my editor, Jason Kirk, who gave not only Esther her publishing home, but me as well. You are this book’s soul mate, and if I may say, mine, too.
A huge thank-you to my publicist, Brittany, and the whole Amazon team, who make publishing a joyride. It takes many hands to bring a book to market, each equally important. From copyediting to cover design, I am so appreciative of your hard work and dedication. Thank you.
Thank you to Anna and Sarah for brainstorming with me all those years ago. Look at where Esther ended up.
Thank you to Angie and Andrea, who offered hope to this book when it was most needed.
Thank you to my husband, Kyle, and our daughters, Drew and Hazel. You are my constant reminder of the numinous. You are my soul mates, my simple loves. Infinity exists in the whole of our family.
Thank you to my parents, Sydney and Russell Schnurr, who
showed me that spirituality isn’t just found in a church. On a sunny Cleveland day, a poetry reading in the valley with airplanes overhead does the trick.
And to the readers—I’m glad this book found you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2018 Kate Testerman Photography
Rebekah Crane is the author of several critically acclaimed young adult novels, including The Upside of Falling Down, The Odds of Loving Grover Cleveland, Aspen—currently being adapted by Life Out Loud Films—and Playing Nice. She is a former high school English teacher who found a passion for writing young adult fiction while studying secondary English education at Ohio University. She is a yoga instructor and the mother of two girls. After living and teaching in six different cities, Rebekah finally settled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains to write novels and work on screenplays. She now spends her days tucked behind a laptop at seventy-five hundred feet, where the altitude only enhances the writing experience. Visit www.rebekahcrane.com, follow the author on Twitter, or like her on Facebook at /authorrebekahcrane.
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