The Heart Between Us

by Lindsay Harrel

  Their private tour had just ended in the garden out front. From the gorgeous white marble mausoleum encrusted with semiprecious stones to the detailed carvings on the walls, she and Megan had seen all the Taj had to offer. And now, standing in the courtyard near the garden in the fading sunlight, Crystal wanted to scream and uproot every tree.

  Because despite her being in awe over this prime example of Mughal architecture, it delivered no inspiration for her own work.

  And she needed inspiration, especially after receiving an e-mail from Jamie, the intern, this morning, telling her that Tony and Meredith seemed “really close” and were “always talking behind closed doors.”

  Of course they were. It made sense. But what if Tony changed his mind, decided Meredith was more deserving of senior architect? Without his support, Crystal didn’t stand a chance.

  Megan kicked at a pebble on the walkway, scattering Crystal’s thoughts. “This place is so overwhelming.” Her sister gazed up at the turreted structure.

  Maybe she should examine the structure from another angle. Crystal began walking farther away and to the left.

  Megan scurried after her. “Where are you going?”

  “Trying to see this thing from over there.” She pointed to the far end of the giant linear pool on the north-south axis of the structure. The pool was lined with sidewalks on either side and reflected the mausoleum. Surely seeing it from a different perspective would give Crystal some ideas. “I can’t squeeze reflecting pools into my design, but maybe incorporating water somehow . . .”

  They continued up the walkway, past women in beautiful pink-and-red saris and men in traditional Indian garb, as well as tourists with wide-brimmed hats and big cameras slung around their necks. A few children played a game of tag near the water’s edge, threatening to push each other in. As the sun dropped lower in the sky, the air became a little more bearable, though the humidity still clung to Crystal’s pores.

  “Did you hear the tour guide say the building changes color at different times of the day?” Megan shoved the pamphlet under Crystal’s nose as they walked, pointing out a few pictures. “See? It’s pink in the mornings and milky white in the evening. I can kind of see it turning now. Oh, and if the moon is out tonight, it will be golden. Obviously I know nothing about architecture, but maybe that’s something you could put in your design.”

  “Not sure that would work, but it’s an interesting thought.”

  Crystal studied her sister. After being together for nearly a week, things were starting to relax between them. Their conversation was still fairly surface level, but Crystal had no idea how to take it deeper after so many years apart.

  What had Brian said last night on the phone, once they’d finally had a chance to talk? “Things won’t change overnight. Just start small. Share a piece of yourself and see how she responds.”

  Once upon a time, that had been easy. Now, after years of stuffing her feelings away and pretending they didn’t exist, it felt about as simple as . . . well, figuring out the perfect idea for a career-changing presentation.

  But that’s why she was here, wasn’t it? To try.

  Crystal stopped and turned toward the pool, which caught the reflection of the monument behind it. The now milky-white structure sprang up from the ground and thrust forward into the pool, extending beyond its natural reach. It seemed larger than life.

  Here goes nothing. Crystal cleared her throat. “You know when I first decided to become an architect?”

  “When?” If a word could sound hungry, Megan’s did. Perhaps she was just as desperate to find a way to connect.

  “Junior year of high school. We took a trip to Washington, DC, remember?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew they were wrong. Because Megan wasn’t part of the “we.” By then, she’d been in and out of the hospital so much, Mom and Dad had decided she should be homeschooled.

  “I remember.” Megan’s voice was soft, and she stared at the pool, the Taj Mahal towering in the background.

  A memory surfaced, one that Crystal had buried deep. Herself, so excited about all the beautiful architecture and monuments she’d seen in DC. She couldn’t wait to come home and show the pictures to Megan, who loved the idea of traveling someday. They’d finally have something in common again, something to talk about, something to share—or so Crystal had thought.

  But though Megan had tried to act happy for her, Crystal had sensed something shift between them. Her attempts to draw them closer had only made Megan feel worse about her own situation.

  In that moment, Crystal had never been more aware of how wide the divide between their lives had become—and how it was something they might never be able to overcome.

  “You know what? Never mind. Let’s go.” She whirled and headed for the exit.

  “Wait.” Megan caught her arm and tugged, pleading in her tone. “I know it’s warm out, but let’s just sit here and enjoy this. See if the Taj really turns golden.”

  Crystal blew out a breath. “All right.”

  Megan found an empty grassy area under a tree and plopped down, stretching out her legs in front of her and wrapping her arms around her knees. Crystal tossed her backpack onto the ground and then sat beside it. She pulled a few water bottles from the front pocket and threw one to Megan. They both took long draughts. Then Megan removed a notebook from her bag and held her fingers to her pulse, her lips moving silently.

  “I’ve seen you do that a few times.” Crystal quirked an eyebrow. “Are you recording your heart rate?”

  “Yes.” With a quick flourish, Megan jotted something in her notebook, then closed it and put it away. “It was something my doctor suggested I do for the first year after my surgery. I might stop when I get home. But better safe than sorry while I’m away, you know?”

  Crystal ran her nail along the edge of her water bottle cap. “Sure.” But she didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine being in Megan’s shoes when she was sick.

  Being in her own had been hard enough.

  Above them, the sky turned from light blue to black, and a few stars popped out overhead. When greeted by the moonlight, the Taj turned a golden hue, like a sparkling beacon to the world. The crowd thinned as people headed to dinner. Spices like saffron and curry floated under their noses, their smell so strong it seemed as if they could be snatched and eaten off the air.

  “Crystal?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for coming with me.” Megan worked the label off her own water bottle, peeling it from the glue that held it in place. “It means a lot that you took time away from work and from Brian.”

  That first day in Cusco she’d told Megan the basics of the Lerner project and the promise of promotion that came with it, but she hadn’t exactly said anything about how her marriage was falling apart. A clog welled in Crystal’s throat, so she took another swig of the water. “You’re welcome.”

  A slight breeze started up, rustling the label in Megan’s hand. “I’m still surprised your boss let you come.”

  “I told him being around all this amazing architecture would surely spark some inspiration for my project.”

  “And has it?”

  “Not quite.”

  The water bottle in Megan’s hand creaked as she took another sip. “It seems to me like inspiration wouldn’t be something you can force. It’ll come to you in the right moment.”

  “I used to think like that.” Crystal pulled her hair off her neck and secured it with a hair tie from around her wrist. “But being in the real world of architecture will wipe that notion right out of your head. Projects have deadlines, and deadlines wait for nothing and no one.”

  “That makes me sad.”

  “What?”

  “It almost sounds like your job has taken something you love and turned it into a robotic task.” Megan rested her chin on her knees.

  “That’s not true.” But then what had happened to her passion the last few years, her ability to conjure up creativity?
“It’s just sometimes more black-and-white than I thought it’d be when I was a starry-eyed architecture student who didn’t know better.”

  “But why settle for black-and-white”—Megan pointed to the Taj Mahal, which glinted in the moonlight—“or even pink or milky white, when you can have golden?”

  Chapter 13

  And just as the Taj turned from white to golden, I thought,

  “What a lovely way to see the world.”

  Megan tapped the hotel room desk, staring at the blinking cursor, but couldn’t think of anything else to add to her latest blog post. She’d written it on their flight from India to Beijing, but something about it hadn’t felt complete. Maybe it was the conversation she’d had with Crystal about dreams and passion and living life in color. There was something probing and deep in their discussion that had clearly affected her sister.

  How exactly, Megan had no clue. She only knew Crystal’s brow had furrowed and she’d become eerily quiet. Not one to wear her heart on her sleeve—at all. Though for a moment there, when talking about Washington, DC, it had seemed like she might be willing to share a little of herself. Maybe Megan just needed to be patient.

  She hit Publish and watched her post go live. It was almost time to shower and get ready for bed. Even though it wasn’t that late, travel had a way of wearing her out. Since Crystal was in the bathroom right now, Megan had a few minutes to kill.

  It was getting darker in the room—the last of the natural light fading outside—so she flipped on the green lamp that looked like it belonged in a newsroom. She’d received an e-mail from their travel agent yesterday asking about officially booking the second half of their trip, but she hadn’t had a chance to check her GoFundMe account till now. And quite honestly, she was afraid to look. What if she couldn’t afford to complete the whole bucket list?

  She logged in—and stared at the screen.

  Fully funded.

  How was that possible? She scanned the list of donations, and there were several small amounts from people she knew, a few from those she didn’t. And then one huge donation, which took care of the balance. Tears sprang to her eyes as she caught the name on the donation: Gary and Charlene Abbott.

  And the note that went with it:

  We’ve been so blessed to think of you doing this for our girl. Looking forward to sharing in the adventure from afar! Hope you don’t mind, but we shared your blog with everyone we know. Wishing you great success as you honor Amanda’s memory.

  An ache tore through Megan’s heart. The sweet gesture was almost more than she could bear. And it certainly added another layer of motivation to completing the entire bucket list, considering the Abbotts’ emotional, and now financial, investment.

  Her phone beeped on the desk next to her. A text from Caleb. Though they hadn’t actually spoken since before she’d left, she’d texted him a few pictures of Machu Picchu, the pyramids, and the Taj. She hadn’t heard from him since sending the last photo.

  Now she read his response:

  You’ve got a good eye for color, Meg. But I hope you took photos with more than just your phone! ☺

  She laughed, and her fingers flew across the screen.

  I did, but we don’t all have fancy photography equipment, Watkins. I’ll leave the professional stuff to you.

  Ha-ha. Oh, hey, I just heard from an editor friend at a small online travel zine. She saw me share your last blog post on Facebook and wanted your contact info. I guess it’s

  not on your website? ☺ I hope you don’t mind, but I gave her your e-mail. She said she’d be contacting you soon.

  Megan’s breath caught.

  Wow, what did she want?

  Not sure. But her zine is growing rapidly and she’s always on the lookout for new writers.

  Whaaaaaaaaat?!!!!

  She never thought anyone would really read her blog. Sure, she’d had a few comments from people in Little Lakes, her family, and a few of Amanda’s friends—which now made sense, knowing the Abbotts had shared her posts with others. But to have an actual editor see her work and request her information . . .

  You’re so dramatic, Meg. LOL. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s seen what I’ve known all along—you’re incredibly talented and need to be published.

  Oh, Caleb. He’d always encouraged her when it came to writing, and she’d carried his words with her even at her lowest moments. They made her feel brave, a lot braver than she really was. But that wasn’t the point. With him, she’d always been able to imagine who she wanted to be, and he gave her the inspiration to think she could actually become that person.

  Megan brushed a finger under her eyes. Oh brother. There she went again.

  I’ll let you know if I hear from her.

  She flipped from her texts to her e-mail, scanning the eighty-three unread e-mails until she saw one from a Sheila Daily.

  Ms. Jacobs, I’m the editor for Travel Discovery Nerds, an online magazine targeting readers of all ages who love to travel to destinations all over the world.

  Caleb Watkins does some freelance work for me occasionally and I got your contact information from him. I’m very interested in your story and would love to chat about the possibility of having you contribute to our magazine. Give me a call if you’re interested. I’m in New York City, so call anytime. After all, we never sleep here. ☺

  Sheila Daily

  Whoa.

  Her finger hovered over Sheila’s number on the screen. One tap and her phone would connect her to someone who might actually want to publish her stuff. All the possibilities whirled in her mind. They began as fluffy clouds that were light and airy and ripe with refreshing rain. But then they multiplied, bulged, and grew dark, overwhelming her senses.

  And just like that, all the fears she’d ever had—all the excuses, the reasons she’d never submitted before—came rushing back.

  At that moment Crystal came out of the bathroom wearing a robe with a towel wrapped around her head. A blast of humid air floated out with her. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

  “Thanks.” Megan moved to the window, pushing back the curtains and watching the lights of Beijing dance and twinkle in the darkness. What should she do?

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She turned to face her sister.

  “Well, which is it?” Crystal perched on the edge of her bed as she unwound her hair from the towel.

  Megan told her about Sheila’s e-mail.

  “I don’t understand.” Her twin finger-combed her hair. “That sounds like a great opportunity. Why don’t you sound happy about it?”

  “Because . . . what if I’m not good enough?”

  “Sounds to me like she thinks you are.” Crystal effortlessly wove her hair into a French braid. “And didn’t you come on this trip to try to build a portfolio?”

  “Partially. I also came for Amanda.”

  Crystal waved off Megan’s words. “Yes, of course. But also for you. This isn’t just Amanda’s journey. It’s yours too.”

  Her sister was right. Megan couldn’t—wouldn’t—talk herself out of an opportunity, not when it was the very thing she’d been waiting for. “Thanks.”

  She dialed.

  “Sheila Daily speaking.”

  Megan cleared her throat. “Hi, Ms. Daily. This is Megan Jacobs. I just got your e-mail.”

  “I’m so glad you called.” Papers rustled in the background. “I’m sure you’re busy, and it must be very late wherever you are.”

  “Not too late, but yes. We’re in Beijing. Going to visit the Great Wall tomorrow.”

  “I’ve always wanted to travel to Asia, but I haven’t made it there quite yet.” The distant barking of a dog filled the earpiece. Maybe Sheila worked from home. “Listen, I’m always on the lookout for interesting stories and great writers, and when I read your blog, I knew I’d found both.”

  “Thank you.” Megan tugged at the long sleeves of her shirt. “You mentioned me possibly contributing to your
magazine?”

  “Yes. I’d like to start by having you write a feature piece about your health journey and your decision to take this trip. We’d publish it as soon as possible, and encourage people to follow your blog. Our site isn’t like a traditional magazine. We are constantly updating our content. So if the piece gets the response I’m thinking it will, then we could have you contribute regularly along the way, perhaps once a week until you’re home. You could still post to your blog, but write something a bit different for our site.”

  How often had she dreamed of writing for a newspaper or magazine? And here was an opportunity practically leaping into her lap without her sending a single query. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Of course I’d love to hear a yes.” Sheila gave a staccato laugh. “Here’s a little more incentive for you. I treat my freelancers very well, and if this relationship works out, I’d be open to more contributions from you. So if freelance travel writing is something you’re interested in, we’re a good place to start. TDN is growing every day, so I will definitely have more needs in the future.”

  “That sounds amazing.” Megan couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “I would love to contribute as much as you’ll allow me to.”

  “Great.” Sheila gave her the details on the piece Megan would write first. Then they exchanged further contact information and hung up.

  “Well?”

  Megan let loose a squeal. “I did it. I landed my first writing job.”

  Chapter 14

  Why had she let Megan convince her this was a good idea?

  Crystal squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the small handrail in front of her as the chairlift shuddered. Only a long, dipping cable kept her and Megan’s car afloat over the Great Wall of China’s Mutianyu section. Crystal’s stomach was already protesting the foreign breakfast she’d eaten. “How did I let you talk me into this?”