My Lullaby of You

by Alia Rose

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Amy

  “You didn’t need to come with me, Cassie,” I repeated to her on the train. I clutched my suitcase closer to me and counted how many more stops were left before O’Hare.

  Four.

  “I know, but I don’t have anything else to do, and I would hate going to an airport and have no one to wave farewell to.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s depressing.”

  I felt like pointing out that I didn’t find it depressing, but I resisted. It was nice of her to tag along. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, losing myself in the rhythm of the train on the track. It was calming

  My mom had been extremely happy when I’d called to tell her I was coming home for Christmas. I was staying a total of three weeks, leaving right after New Year’s. It was only December 11, but my mom said she had a surprise for me. I was curious about what it could be and whether I would actually like it. Her cheerfulness made me uneasy, and I wondered how much of it was just pretending.

  “You are so lucky to be going home to warmer weather!” Cassie told me. “I’m going to be dying in this cold.”

  I nodded. “I can’t wait to get out of this stupid coat.”

  Cassie walked out with me to the airport, and we said good-bye at the door. I gave her a hug. “Thank you,” I told her. It was true that Cassie got on my nerves a lot, but here she was, seeing me off, and that I was thankful for.

  “Any time. Bring some warm weather back with you, okay?”

  I laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

  She smiled, pulling her coat closer to her face. I walked through the sliding doors and turned back and waved. She waved back and began walking away.

  I had an hour before my flight would begin boarding, so I grabbed a coffee and waited. Airports were like trains, people coming and going. One difference, however, was that airports also contained the feeling of letting go and being reunited.

  The significance of leaving in an airport seemed greater. Maybe because, on land, there’s the chance a passenger could change her mind at the next stop and turn back, or that a person could go after her to say what should have been said. With airplanes, though, the destination was final. The ticket purchased, the plane boarded. The bystander doesn’t have many options once the plane is in the air. He or she can only watch as it flies away, getting smaller and farther away, all hope going with it.

  I was there at the beach the day Seth left Shelby. I had been there, but he just hadn’t seen me. I had gone to Sarah’s after our fight the night before and told her about his mom, and the connection between him and John. When I was done, she asked me one simple question.

  “Do you love him?”

  It had taken me off guard, and I sat there thinking. Did I? I cared about him more than I had any other guy, but was that love? Instead of answering, I said, “Why does that matter?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t, but if you do or whatever, it will be harder to let go of him.” She paused. “Which is what you should do.” She looked at me to see my reaction, which consisted of my looking down and swallowing.

  “I knew that. I just needed to hear it from someone else.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “I know you were hopeful and didn’t agree with how I handled things with Jared, but summer is practically over now. You’re going to Chicago, he’s going back to Maryland and then becoming a singer. And that probably means he will tour and never be in one place. So whatever you do, you’re going to get hurt, sooner or later. I would let him go now when you’re not so attached.”

  I nodded, knowing that even without the added complications, these were all facts I had to face. It still didn’t change the fact that I wanted to see him.

  I lay awake for hours that night just thinking about it all. I didn’t want to hope that things could work out long distance. I knew they wouldn’t. We were headed toward two very different lives, and there really wasn’t much point in trying.

  Still, as four o’clock neared that next day, I couldn’t stop myself. I got as far as the boardwalk, stopping when I saw him. He was sitting on the sand, facing the water. His body was hunched over. It was a sight I had grown to know so well. It looked a little bit odd, without me sitting next to him. I continued to watch him, wanting his arms around me so much. The fight the day before seemed to have melted away.

  I kept up my strength, though, and didn’t go to him. He played with the sand, grabbing a handful and letting it fall through his fingers, dissolving in the wind. I could see his disappointment as his shoulders slumped and he lay down, realizing I wasn’t coming. I took a deep breath and walked away. I walked away from everything we had and now what we would lose.

  “Flight 361 will begin boarding,” the overhead speaker said. I snapped back into reality and looked around. People shuffled around, grabbing their bags and children’s hands. They formed a line at the entrance, ready to go. I joined them, ready to go home. I was ready to board and get up in the air, even though it was toward the memories and good-byes.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Seth

  I looked up from my bed at the clock on the nightstand. It read six thirty. I groaned and rolled over. It was too early. I hated this bed and this hotel. It didn’t even have a decent continental breakfast. Seriously, what was I paying for?

  I sat up and looked out the window. It was still dark but a tiny strip of light shone across the horizon. I didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, so I got up and started a pot of coffee in the miniature coffee maker. As I waited for it to brew, I got dressed and checked the weather. It was supposed to be in the low sixties, and a run sounded good. I drank all of the tiny pot of coffee and headed out.

  I ran on the main roads, cutting through the quiet neighborhoods. I stopped at places I had been before, taking new routes and running four miles total. Being back in North Carolina was harder than I had expected. I thought about Amy a lot, and I wondered how she was doing, if she’d changed at all, if she had moved on. The last one kept me wondering, and the questions haunting me. I tried to picture her, those knobby knees and curly hair. The image grew more faded each day.

  Phil was waiting for me when I walked into the label’s offices. We headed for the studio.

  “Okay, now don’t get mad, but—” he began, but I cut him off.

  “Don’t tell me,” I said dryly. “They want me to rerecord another song. What is it to be this time? More poppy? Or will I be rapping instead?”

  “Look, they want it to be better. They’re only trying to help you, Seth,” Phil argued. “Just trust us, okay?”

  I didn’t answer, just clenched my jaw, frustrated. I liked the way my demos had turned out. Why change them? I didn’t want to sound like everyone else.

  I took a deep breath and walked into the studio. Rita, another person from A&R, greeted me. She had her red hair tied up with a purple striped bandana and wore hoop earrings large enough to fit your hand through.

  “Okay, this is what we are changing.” She handed me the lyrics for one of my newer love songs. I had written it in Shelby after “Curly Hair and Knobby Knees.”

  “We need this one slower,” she said, not looking at me, already distracted by her hair getting caught on her earring. I glanced at her, then at Phil, my expression turning from annoyance to surprise.

  “Slower?”

  She did a sideways nod, still attempting to get her hair free. “Yeah, we want to try it with just piano. I think it will give it a softer touch and enhance its beauty.” I raised my eyebrows at her, but nodded. This I could work with.

  I cleared my throat. “Should I add a more complicated variation to the piano piece?”

  She shrugged. “We can try it.” She finally yanked her hair out and winced. “Let’s get started.”

  I went to the piano and sat down. I brushed my fingers across the keys, playing the soft melody. I played it slowly, and then repeated it a little louder. I looked up at the sound room where Rita and Phil were standing, watc
hing me. Rita nodded, approving, so I began a variation, playing around with it. I hoped she was recording; I liked the way it sounded.

  Her voice filled the studio. “That was great. All right, that’s going to be the first twenty seconds of the song. Now start the simpler piece again, and let’s try and record the whole song. Remember: slow. Get a little louder and complicated at the bridge.”

  I nodded again and she gave me the signal to begin. I began playing again and thought of Amy. I remembered singing this song the first night she watched me play at Conner’s Club. This song was about her, as were so many others on this album.

  Throughout the song, I glanced at Rita, who continued to nod and once even smiled. When I finished the last of the lyrics, I played the piano piece, slowly getting quieter and then fading away completely. Rita’s voice filled the studio again. “That was perfect.”

  Three hours later, I grabbed some dinner and had a picnic at the fountain in Pack Square Park. It was nice out, of course—North Carolina weather was rarely anything else. It was great being able to sit outside in beginning of December without needing a winter coat. It was crowded, even at five in the evening. I watched the sun disappear gradually behind the trees. I thought about my mom again and how long it had been since her death. Four and a half years. I closed my eyes and inhaled the air, remembering that night as if it were yesterday.

  It was cooler than usual, and I lay in bed slowly dozing off. I had headphones in, trying to will myself to sleep, when I heard the screen door slam shut. My eyes flickered open and I saw my mom, barefoot, running on the sidewalk away from the house. It was odd to see her running without me; usually on her midnight trips to the beach, she’d shake me awake to go with her. That night, though, she didn’t. I didn’t hesitate to get up and follow her. I knew my mom too well to go back to sleep. We hadn’t gone to the beach in a while because of her depression, so I knew something was not right.

  When I left my bedroom, I noticed John’s light was on. The light was seeping out of the bottom of the door, and I could vaguely see shadows crossing the light. He was awake. Another odd thing. My mom never left until after John was asleep.

  I went downstairs and out the door. I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach and broke into a run. When I reached the beach, passing the smoothie shack and swim gear shop, I could barely make out my mom’s bobbing head. I pulled off my shirt and dived into the water. The tide was high and it was hard to swim against the fierce waves, which insisted on pulling me back, keeping me at a distance from her. When I reached the deeper water, I dived under it, getting past the waves. When I came up for air, I found my mom a few yards away, floating next to a black rock. I swam to her and yelled over the noisy waves.

  “Mom?! What are you doing?! Come back!” I yelled, the water choking me.

  My mom lifted her head for a moment before the water swallowed her. The water seemed to accept her and was fighting me. Or maybe, I realized, she was the one accepting it.

  “Mom!” I yelled again. I pulled at her leg, forcing her off her back and making her face me.

  “Seth,” she said calmly, her face pale. I reached out, touching her cheek. She was ice cold.

  “Mom,” I said, uneasy, my voice cracking.

  “Seth,” she repeated. “I love you.”

  I shook my head. “Mom, let’s go.”

  She pulled me close and then let go. “I love you,” she said again.

  I stared at her, not understanding. She was going to freeze. My body was already going numb in the cold water. What was she doing?

  She kept her eyes on me, which began to glisten with tears. “I love you,” she mouthed as the water pushed her farther away from me.

  Then I understood.

  I was frozen for a moment before rage overtook me. “No!” I yelled at her. I tried to swim nearer to her, but the waves pulled me under. When I emerged I was already yards away from her.

  “No!” I screamed, crying and choking. I fought the waves as hard as I could, but still the water pulled me under again and again. When I finally came up, spitting and gulping for air, my eyes searched helplessly for my mom’s bobbing head. I couldn’t see it. My vision was clouded with tears and water.

  “Mom,” I whispered softly, all the energy draining from my body.

  And then I heard it.

  A voice, a hum, above the wind and the waves, my mom’s lullaby. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the lullaby, the water playing with me, swaying me this way and that way.

  If they’d take her, they can have me too, I thought. I let the water take me under again, and this time I didn’t fight it. I began to hear myself hum the lullaby as well. I didn’t open my eyes until I felt sand beneath me. I looked around me and then sat up quickly. I searched the water with my eyes but saw nothing but blackness. I tried to stand but fell to my knees, shivering.

  “Mom!” I yelled, sobbing. “No, no, no!” I cried. “Why didn’t you take me too?” I yelled at the water. “Why?!” I asked, helpless, falling to the ground, sand getting into my eyes. I was shivering and shaking.

  I closed my eyes again and hummed the tune, but it was unrecognizable. I tried again and failed.

  I remember hearing footsteps a few hours later, a yell, and a lot of confusion. I remember bits and pieces after that. The hospital, getting a glimpse of my mom’s body, so still and blue, her face at peace. Then the funeral, the yelling, the blaming, the fighting, and leaving for college, leaving everything for good. The ache in my heart that never left, the emptiness intoxicating me. She was gone. She had left me, with no one, all alone.

  I remembered the night I told Amy all of this. We were at our usual spot on the beach, cuddled up, her head on my chest, my fingers stroking her hair. It was a few nights before I confronted John. We had become rather attached in the previous two weeks. I remembered telling her every detail about that night. I had never told anyone the story before, and when I was finished she stroked my face, looking down at me. She leaned into me then, touching her lips to mine. It sent chills through my body as I pulled her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her. She pulled away slowly, smiling at me. I lifted up to kiss her nose and she lay back down, interlacing her fingers with mine. I rolled to my side to face her and as I mouthed the three little words I couldn’t keep inside me any longer, I feared her reaction and what this meant for us. What this meant for me.

  Whatever it had meant, I wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Amy

  The minute I stepped out of the airport, a wave of nostalgia hit me. It bugged me that the memories of last summer were all that greeted me. What about the feeling of home? What had happened to that?

  I sat on a bench, waiting for my mom to come pick me up. The air welcomed me, sending a light breeze my way. It had to be in the sixties. I closed my eyes, taking it all in. Warmth. Finally.

  A honk brought me out of my trance, and I opened my eyes to see my mom frantically waving in her car in front of me. I smiled at her and picked up my bag. She popped the trunk and got out of the car.

  “I got it, Mom,” I said to her as she scurried over to the trunk.

  “I know.” She waved me off. “Come here.”

  She opened up her arms and I hugged her, wrapping my arms around her small body. I closed my eyes, now realizing how much I had missed her. She smelled of smoke and I could feel that she had lost weight. She pulled away quickly, and I realized there were cars waiting behind us. We quickly got into the car and began our drive home.

  We lived about half an hour away from the airport, and I was hoping to take that opportunity to rest, but my mom had other plans.

  “So I was thinking we could go out to dinner tonight as a welcome-home thing. And then tomorrow is the surprise.”

  “Sure, that sounds great,” I told her, looking out the window.

  “I’m so glad you came home for Christmas,” she said. “I’ve really missed you.” She tried to sound excited, and I could tell i
t was a little forced. I looked at my mom, and I could see her hands trembling, moving across the steering wheel. She had bags under her eyes, and her cheekbones stuck out even more than usual. I could see what my absence and John’s was doing to her.

  "I’ve missed you too,” I told her. I felt the urge to ask her if she was okay, if she was eating, and how she was feeling, but I didn’t. Bringing these things up wouldn’t help anything right now. She caught me staring at her and smiled quickly before turning her eyes back to the road.

  “I know I look thin,” she said. “I just hardly have an appetite. But I’m doing fine.” She cleared her throat and then added, “I joined a gardening club.”

  I raised my eyebrows. A gardening club?

  “Yeah, I know it’s a little weird, but I like it. It’s a great stress reliever. Keeps my head clear on my days off.”

  “Well, that’s great, Mom,” I said slowly, unsure of how I really felt. Clubs? Stress relievers?

  “I hope you like the surprise,” she said suddenly, smiling at me.

  I smiled back, trying to hide my concern. She was trying to be happy, making an effort in front of me. How she was really doing without me, I had no idea.

  When we reached the house I noticed the change instantly. It was a good change, and I had a hard time processing it. The grass was cut and green and the whole front of the house was decorated with flower beds. There were four hanging flower pots on the porch as well. The side of the house was the same, with a stone border outlining more flower beds. It looked great.

  “Wow, Mom, you did all this?” I said, staring at the yard as she pulled up in the driveway.

  She shrugged. “Most of it, anyway. Paul cut the grass for me and saw me planting and helped out a little. We made a pretty good team.”

  “Paul?” I said, surprised.

  “Yeah, he stopped by a week after you left and asked if I needed anything.” She got out of the car as I continued to stare after her. “He’s a nice boy.”