“Mom was thinking about the aquarium,” Quinn interjected.
“Okay!” Riley grinned.
Quinn watched Riley as she piled sliced strawberries on her waffle, then spooned a small mountain of whipped cream on top.
“Hungry, kid?”
“I guess so. Feels like I haven’t eaten all week.”
Quinn looked over at her mother, who was studying Riley. The change was too immediate and too drastic to ignore. She could see in her mother’s eyes that she didn’t trust the sudden burst of energy or Riley’s appetite.
“Maybe we should stick close to home. Just in case.”
“So the butterfly garden?” Quinn asked.
“That’s my favorite!” Riley squealed.
“I know. We all know.” Quinn rustled Riley’s hair and pinched her cheek.
Jane sat with them at the table, but she didn’t eat. She watched Riley. Quinn watched her. As a family, they had learned not to get too comfortable with the good days. Like a roller coaster, Riley’s heart could only rise so high before everything bottomed out again.
Chapter Ten
On the way to the butterfly garden, Quinn held Riley’s hand. Their mother walked a few steps behind, stopping once in a while to admire a neighbor’s landscaping or comment on the way a new paint color could make a crumbling home look proud and complete. Riley hadn’t stopped chattering since breakfast. Quinn inspected Riley’s chest for the glowing red freckle, but she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the sunlight. In fact, if Riley hadn’t been skipping her way through the morning, Quinn might have forgotten her visit to the other realm. Aimee had been right: life was moving on as though Quinn hadn’t been gone at all.
When they arrived at the garden, Riley pulled away and ran down the path toward the pond. Quinn felt a moment of panic, remembering the note she had left in the brush. What would Riley say if she found the envelope, if she learned of Quinn’s quiet campaign to keep her alive? Quinn considered trying to retrieve the note before Riley got to the pond, but a small, framed display case in the gift shop window caught her eye. Inside the case, pinned to canvas, was a butterfly with stark-red wings bordered in black. Quinn moved closer to read the handwritten inscription: Cramer’s Mesene, Mexico.
Quinn entered the gift shop and turned toward the cashier, an older woman with frizzy hair and a steaming cup of Lady Grey tea. Quinn could smell lavender wafting from the woman’s cup as she approached.
“Excuse me. Is the display case in the window for sale?”
“Which one are you referring to, hon?”
“The one with the red butterfly. Cramer’s something.”
“Sure is. You interested?”
“Maybe. Could you tell me more?”
“About the butterfly?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the colorings you see are pretty standard. They live down in Central America, I believe.”
“I mean, do you know where this one came from? Who caught this one?”
“There may be something on the back of the display. Why?”
“Can you check?” Quinn heard her mother calling for her in the garden. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Sure, hon. No problem.” The woman retrieved the case from the window and walked back to the counter. “Says here the butterfly was caught in Mexico City back in the Thirties.” She let out a sigh. “Pretty good condition, if you ask me.”
“How much?” Quinn asked, fidgeting. Jane called again.
“Just a minute. I’m asking about something I saw in the garden,” Quinn shouted from the doorway.
“The tag says $75. Seems a bit steep. I could knock the price down to $60.”
“Quinn, come here!” her mother insisted, poking her head into the shop.
She turned back to the garden, the door swinging shut behind her.
“Okay—um, thank you. Sorry. I have to go, I guess,” Quinn muttered, shuffling toward the door.
“You sure you don’t want me to wrap that case up for you?”
“Another time, maybe. Thanks again,” Quinn answered, leaving the gift shop.
She found her mother standing near a fountain, her arms folded across her chest.
“Sorry, mom. Is Riley ready to go already?” she asked, startling her mother, who appeared lost in thought.
“Quinn, does Riley seem—” her mother chewed on her lip.
Quinn could tell that she was searching for the right word, something they both often did when discussing Riley’s health. Sometimes one word was the difference between a break down and a celebration.
“Excited?” Quinn suggested.
“I suppose that works. Yes, excited.”
“Yeah. She definitely has more energy than she’s had in a while.”
“Yesterday was a bad one. Do you think she’s just bouncing back?”
“I don’t know. Could be. But hey, we have to take her in tomorrow anyway, right? Let’s just try not to worry today. She deserves a little joy.”
Quinn tried to sound hopeful without letting anything about the other realm slip. Her mother would never believe her and, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t quite believe Riley’s rapid improvement, either. She hadn’t expected Riley to heal so quickly or so easily.
“I suppose you’re right. Where did Riley run off to?” Her mother stood on her tiptoes and scanned the garden.
“Where she always is, mom. The pond.”
Quinn felt a resurgence of panic. What if Riley had found the note while Quinn was fooling around in the gift shop?
“Of course. Would you mind checking on her?”
“Sure.” Quinn started to walk away. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Riley’s going to be okay. All of us are going to be okay.”
Her mother offered a forced smile. “Oh, Quinn . . .”
* * *
Quinn found Riley as expected, sitting on a rock by the pond. Her eyes darted to Riley’s hands, but Riley wasn’t holding anything. She exhaled and relaxed her shoulders.
“Think fast,” she said, tossing a pebble in Riley’s direction.
Riley jerked her head around and snatched the pebble from the air.
“Nice, kid. Your reflexes are getting better!”
Riley threw the pebble back at Quinn. “I feel weird. Remember my breath got short at the park? Today everything is buzzing like when my toothbrush touches my teeth. I can hear the butterfly wings. And my chest feels full, sis. My legs won’t sit still. I feel like I swallowed a thousand laughs and they’re jumping around inside me.”
“That’s great!”
“I don’t know.” Riley stared into the water.
“What’s wrong, boo?”
“I just—I never really get better. I feel better, but I’m not better. You know, like how Mom says my body makes that stuff that makes you happy when I get shots or come out of surgery.”
“You mean endorphins?”
“Yeah. What if my body is playing a trick on me so I won’t know I’m dying?”
Quinn sat down and pulled Riley onto her lap.
“Well, I suppose you’ll just die with a smile on your face then, huh?” She dug her fingers into Riley’s ribs until they were both buckled over with laughter. They sat together, catching their breath while a colorful array of butterflies flitted around them.
“Ready to go?” Quinn finally asked.
“Yeah. I’m ready, sis.”
Chapter Eleven
The weather was holding, so Jane decided to take the girls for frozen yogurt. They left the butterfly garden, rounded the adjacent museum, and ambled down the grassy expanse on the opposite side. The hill was large and, as usual, filled with an array of tourists and locals all seeking the perfect spot for a few good pictures. Jane could easily spot the tourists, because they rarely had an entourage. Most were couples who had read about the rose garden. They walked hand in hand, pausing every now and then to snap a photograph with their phones. The
locals, on the other hand, were usually dressed to the nines. The rose garden had long been a favorite backdrop for senior pictures, family photos, and wedding parties. Halfway down the hill, Jane caught sight of a photographer directing a young couple who appeared to be taking engagement pictures. Each time they posed, the photographer would check the lighting, adjust his camera, inch an elbow up, brush a spiral strand from the woman’s face, check the lighting again, then snap a dozen pictures. The couple was wrestling with large, white letters which Jane assumed were their initials. The letters were in stark contrast to the woman’s dress, a long, marigold gown with shining gold inlays that matched her skin. When the light hit her just right, the woman disappeared in a shimmering cascade like a sun goddess. The man wore a tuxedo with a gold cummerbund. His nerves got the better of him every time he posed, and Jane couldn’t help but laugh along with him and the woman as the photographer tried to loosen his shoulders for the fourth time.
Dread rose from Jane’s stomach, pushing the smile from her face. Riley was a child, yet Jane avoided thinking too much about her future. She thought somehow that the inevitable grief would be more manageable if she acknowledged the reality of Riley’s short life. Riley would never take engagement pictures, or senior pictures for that matter. The idea settled in her throat and ached. She could feel her eyes begin to water. Maybe the doctors were wrong. Maybe this newfound energy was real. Riley had more color than she’d had in months. She could breathe normally. Who could say whether or not her daughter’s heart would heal, anyway? Anomalies are a part of science, she told herself. Riley’s condition was an anomaly. Somehow the word felt lifeless, an arbitrary label used by scientists and doctors who felt compelled to find reason in the inexplicable. The mothers of dying children were simpler. Miracle suited them fine. Miracles didn’t need a reason, and, if Riley really was better, Jane wouldn’t need one either.
Riley tugged on the sleeve of Jane’s jacket. “Mom, can we go to the bakery instead?”
“I suppose we can.”
The girls had been asking to try the new bakery for months, one of those artisan shops that’s only open for a few hours on weekdays. Normally the girls were in school, and Jane was at work before the bakery opened, and the shop closed before Jane went to lunch.
“Really?” Riley cried out, breaking free of Jane’s grasp and hopping up and down. “What do you think they have? Oh my goodness, mom, I’m so hungry. How will I choose? Do you think they have chocolate?” The questions tumbled out of Riley as fast as she could find breath for them.
Jane laughed. “We’ll just have to see what they have when we get there.”
She looked at Quinn, who had a genuine, bright smile spread across her face. Jane couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Quinn really smile. Quinn often smirked, or faked smiles for Jane and Riley, but she kept her jaw tight. Jane pretended not to notice, just as Quinn pretended not to notice her own masques. They had become a necessary evil like an old Christmas sweater—something all of them wore to stave another broken holiday.
“Mom?” Quinn whispered, barely audible in the cacophony of the rose garden.
Riley was farther down the hill, and Quinn was trying to get her mother’s attention without Riley noticing.
“Yes, honey?”
“About Riley—”
“Quinn, please. Let’s not talk about this. Even if her energy is a reason to worry, I want to have this day. I want a memory that doesn’t end in tears.”
“Okay . . .” Quinn took her mother’s hand, grasping it tightly.
* * *
Jane pulled her in and Quinn laid her head on her mother’s shoulder.
“I love you,” Quinn said, but the words were lost to the wind.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Riley stayed several yards ahead, waving at strangers as they passed, sometimes stopping to pet a dog. When she reached the shop, she turned to her mother and pointed to the door.
“Yes, Riley, you can go in. We’re right behind you,” her mother called.
“You’d think the kid had never eaten fresh bread,” Quinn quipped.
The customer-facing side was remarkably small, with just enough room for one wrought iron bistro table and two chairs. A planter with two white-and-fuchsia orchids was centered on the table, and a copy of the day’s newspaper sat in front of one of the chairs. Most of the walls were periwinkle, but the streetside wall was the color of persimmons.
“What a beautiful contrast,” Jane said, running her hand along the accent wall. “Maybe we should do something like this in your room.”
“Seriously?” Quinn responded in a tone more pointed than she had intended.
“Why not? Don’t you like the colors?”
“The orange one is fine, but you know I hate blue.”
“Really? Why?”
“Blues are just . . . depressing.”
Quinn was confused. This wasn’t anything new. Quinn had hated blue tones since she was old enough to know what the colors were called, especially the darker hues like midnight and cornflower. They were the only colors not included among the kaleidoscopes on her shelf. Quinn’s mother had even argued with her father one Christmas after he surprised Quinn with a shiny blue and white tricycle. “She hates the bike,” Quinn remembered him saying later that day. “Well what did you expect?” her mother had whispered. “That’s her least favorite color. You’d know that if you took the time to talk to her once in a while.”
“Didn’t you have a blue bike or something? You loved that thing.”
What was she talking about? Her mother remembered everything her father had ever done wrong, which Quinn had pointed out to her more than once.
“Welcome to Marie’s. Do you have any questions?” the clerk asked as they approached the counter.
“We’ve never been here before. What do you recommend?” Quinn’s mother replied.
“Of course. The fruit galettes are very popular. We have a few peach, one plum, and one cinnamon apple left this morning.”
“Oh, the peach sounds nice. How about one of those to share, Quinn?”
“Mom, I’m allergic to peaches. You know that.” Quinn’s tone was intentionally harsh this time. Forgetting that she hated blue was one thing, but Quinn couldn’t even touch the skin of a peach without breaking out in hives. One bite and the whole family would be in the emergency room before lunch.
“Are you?”
“What the hell, mom? Are you on another planet this morning?”
“Check your tone. Now.” Her mother’s voice was stern.
“I could literally die if I eat peaches!” Quinn shouted, frustrated. “Am I being unreasonable to expect my mother to remember the things that could kill me?”
“I want those!” Riley exclaimed, pointing to a pile of teal and baby pink cookie sandwiches.
Quinn turned toward her sister, grateful for the interruption.
“Are you sure, kid? Do you even know what they are?”
“That’s our take on whoopee pies. A bit of marshmallow crème between two macaroons,” the woman behind the counter answered.
“All right. How about three of those, one of the plum things you mentioned, and—” their mother scanned the glass cases. “—anything else, girls?”
“What’s that?” Quinn asked, pointing to a blue-and-purple slice of cake.
“That’s our blueberry lavender cake. I have a sample. Would you like to try a bite?”
“Yeah!” Riley interjected.
The woman reached into the case and cut three small squares, placing them on a thin wafer.
“Here you are, one for each of you.”
She smiled at Riley, who ate the sample and the wafer in one bite.
“Oh my,” their mother gasped.
“We need that. Get that, Mom. Lots of that. Please,” Quinn begged.
“Well, I shouldn’t. Not with your attitude. But I suppose today is a special day. Let’s have three slices of the cake, three of the macaroo
n sandwiches, and the plum—I’m sorry, what was that one called?”
“A galette.”
“Yes. That should do for today.”
The woman began bagging the items. “Would you like anything left out of the bag?”
“Can I have my cookie now, Mom?” Riley said, her voice pitched with joy.
“Of course.”
The woman handed one of the macaroons to Riley, who plopped down at the bistro table and bit into the cookie. The crisp shell crumbled, forming teal spots at the corners of Riley’s mouth.
Quinn laughed, sitting down in the chair next to her. “I think she approves.”
Their mother turned to see Riley, now littered with crumbs, licking the marshmallow crème from her fingers. “Geez, Riley. Did you even have time to taste the cookie?”
“Yep!”
Riley ducked Quinn, who was trying to wipe the crumbs from her mouth with a napkin.
“Get over here, kid!” Quinn scolded half-heartedly. “You look like a rabid pastry fiend.” She chased Riley to the door, then out onto the sidewalk. Their mother called after them, probably reminding them to stay out of the street, but neither could hear her over the string of bells still rattling on the bakery door.
The walk home was tranquil. Riley was not so much subdued as enamored by the things they passed. She bent down every fifty yards or so, inspecting a caterpillar on the sidewalk or the yellowed edges of a dying plant. Quinn watched her run her delicate fingers along the underside of a tulip. The careful way Riley’s skin met the petal reminded Quinn of how scared she had been when Riley first came home from the hospital. Riley had been so small, just under five pounds, and Quinn was convinced that the slightest touch would break her in two. Her mother had asked time and again if Quinn wanted to hold her, but Quinn was content to lie next to Riley in their mother’s bed, stroking her baby sister’s head, just as Riley was now stroking the flowers, as if she were convinced that a heavy hand would ruin all the beautiful things in the world.
* * *
The sisters played in their room while their mother prepared dinner in the kitchen. Quinn had been back nearly twelve hours, and Riley showed no signs of slowing down. Whatever the glowing bulb had done to Riley’s heart, Quinn saw a side of her sister that she hadn’t seen since before Riley started school. She tried to catalog all the changes she’d noticed just in case Riley fell off again, in case Quinn had to go back to the other realm. She made mental notes: the lightness of Riley’s laugh, the pink tint in her cheeks, the pitch of her voice, the strength of her hugs, the sheer number of hugs, the way she spun in circles to make her dress billow, Quinn’s name in her mouth, the new red freckle over her heart.
The Kaleidoscope Sisters Page 6
