The Sweetness of Salt

by Cecilia Galante

  It felt good to move again after so much time in the car, even if my legs did feel like tree trunks and there was a sour taste in the back of my mouth. What was I supposed to do now? There was no study guide in the world that would show me the steps to follow after a family secret had been exposed. Another one of Dad’s attorney mantras drifted through my brain: “Well, what are your options?” My options? I didn’t have options. I was here in Vermont for thirty or so more hours and then I had to go home. I had to start an internship at the courthouse, get ready for college, finish registering for fall classes at the University of Pittsburgh.

  Didn’t I?

  There were a lot more trees on this road, and a lot fewer houses. A thick canopy of green blocked out the sun, scattering the road with pale, leafy shadows. I kept going, slowing only when I heard a whirring sound ahead, followed by two emphatic grunts. White and purple irises swayed beneath the front windows of a yellow house, while the lawn (woefully in need of a good cut) stretched out before it like a hairy carpet. Pieces of shale formed a kind of haphazard path through the grass, and the front door was dressed with an enormous wreath made entirely of what appeared to be little white rocks. At the top of the house, a thin line of smoke curled out from inside a brick chimney.

  It was like looking at a painting, or turning the page in one of the fairy tale books Mom had read to me as a little girl and seeing this house—this very house, in all its perfect imperfections—spread out before me.

  “That’s where I want to be,” I thought.

  Right there.

  Right now.

  Inside that house.

  Nowhere else.

  Another grunt—louder this time—followed by a slapping sound, made me jump. I tiptoed forward a little bit, keeping close to the thicket of bushes on my right. Someone was pacing back and forth across a brick patio in the backyard, muttering under his breath. His baggy pants hung low over his hips, while the sleeves of a cotton shirt were pushed up to the elbow. A black hat, soft and droopy, sat atop brown shoulder-length hair, and his hands and arms were covered with dried mud all the way up to his elbows.

  He paused from his pacing suddenly, to stare down at a strange looking contraption on the left-hand side of the patio. It had a backless chair, three legs, a broad, flat surface with a wheel in the middle, and another smaller ledge above it. Without warning, the man reached back and kicked the whole thing to the ground. One of the legs broke off instantly, sailing through the air like a miniature baseball bat, while the rest of it slumped against the patio. I gasped instinctively and took a few steps backward.

  The man looked up, his dark eyes narrowing as he spotted me. “Hey!” He strode across the grassy lawn, his muddy hands clenched into fists. “Who are you? What’re you doing back here? This is private property!”

  I turned, ready to bolt, when I realized that he didn’t look that much older than me. Plus, he was kind of cute. His face was smooth, with just a shadow of a beard around the edges, and the outer edge of his left ear was pierced with tiny silver hoops. He was wearing black Converse sneakers, and a wide silver ring on one of his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” I said, taking a few steps back just to be safe. “I’m not from here. I was just taking a walk, looking around.”

  He was in front of me now, hands on his hips, breathing with a slight effort. Up close I could make out a tiny white anchor that had been sewn onto the front of his hat, and the color of his eyes, a light green with an amber starburst pattern around the iris. “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “No.” I took another couple of steps. “I’m leaving. Sorry.”

  “Where’re you from?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “You.”

  “Silver Springs.”

  He blinked.

  “In Ohio,” I added quickly.

  “Ohio?” he repeated.

  “Yeah.” I felt a twinge of defensiveness. “Why? Is there something wrong with Ohio?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Ohio. It’s just…far.”

  “It’s not that far.” I shrugged, as if the trip had been the easiest thing in the world. “I made good time.”

  “So what’re you doing in Poultney?”

  “Visiting my sister. She lives here.”

  “Who’s your sister?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know everyone in this town.”

  “Sophie. Sophie Anderson?”

  His forehead lined into a frown and then relaxed again. “Oh wait, is she the one who’s renovating the house on Main Street?”

  “Yeah. That’s her.”

  “It’s gonna be a deli or something, isn’t it?” He uncrossed his arms and held one out straight in front of him. With the fingers of the other hand, he began scraping off chunks of mud.

  “A bakery, actually.”

  “You here to help her out or something, then?”

  “Oh no. I’m just here for the weekend. Just today, really. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Not that close, huh?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your sister and you. You’re not that close, are you?”

  I bristled. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, you live in Ohio, and she lives here in Vermont, and you’ve come all this way for a visit, but you’re only staying for a day…”

  “Because I have to get back,” I said indignantly. “Besides, just because I don’t get to see her much doesn’t mean we’re not close. People can be close without seeing each other.”

  He nodded, still immersed in the task of cleaning his arms. “True.”

  “Why’re you covered with mud?” I asked, emboldened by the personal nature of his last question.

  He looked up at me and grinned. He had a beautiful smile that spread across his whole face, and small chiseled teeth. His nose had an odd sort of flatness to it—just at the tip—as if someone had leaned in and pressed it against the palm of his hand, but it only added to his good looks. “This isn’t mud,” he said. “It’s clay.” He jerked his head toward the back of the house. “I’m a potter.”

  He was a potter? He didn’t look much older than Milo. “How old are you?” I asked.

  He laughed a little. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  If Mom had told me once she’d told me a hundred times never to ask people their age. It was horrible manners. I dropped my eyes and kicked a little at the dirt around my foot. “No reason. You just…look kind of young, I guess. To be a potter, I mean.”

  “I’m twenty-four,” he said. “And I wasn’t aware that there was an age limit for potters. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen,” I answered. “Almost eighteen.”

  “You gonna be a senior this year?”

  “Actually, I just graduated. I’m going to college in the fall.”

  “Oh. Cool. I’m going to Seattle in the fall.”

  “Seattle?” I repeated. “To do what?”

  “Set up a pottery studio. Do my own thing.”

  I looked up, studying him for a moment. “What kind of pottery do you make?”

  He went back to picking the dried clay off his arms. “Stonewear, mostly. Vases, mixing bowls, mugs. I just finished a big pitcher that…” His voice trailed off. “Well, actually, the pitcher didn’t turn out that great.”

  “Was that what you were kicking around up there?”

  He snorted. “Among other things.”

  “Rough day?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I’m having one of those days myself,” I said.

  He stopped picking. “Your sister?”

  I didn’t answer. It was Sophie, sure. But it was so much else too. Even if I couldn’t put it into words yet.

  He looked back down when I didn’t respond. Shrugged a little. “Whatever. It’s none of my business.” He stuck out his hand suddenly. “Aiden,” he said.

  “Julia.” I took his hand in mine. It was warm and rough. “Nice to meet you.”

  “An
d you.”

  “Well, I have to get back.” I didn’t have to get anywhere, really. It just seemed like the thing to say. “Good luck on your pottery.” I paused. “Or should I say, cleaning up your pottery.”

  Aiden raised only his left eyebrow. “Thanks.”

  I started walking down the road again as he moved back up the lawn. But I paused again as the stone wreath on the front door caught my eye. “Hey, Aiden!” I yelled.

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  “Did you make that wreath on the door?”

  He shook his head. “That’s my dad’s!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “He’s into making weird stuff like that. It amuses him.”

  I smiled and waved. “Tell him I like it!”

  Aiden lifted his arm. “Will do. Later!”

  “Later?” I thought to myself, walking down the remaining length of road.

  Later when?

  My head began to pound along the inside of my temples as I crossed Main Street. Sophie’s house was less than half a block away. I stopped when I glimpsed her blond hair in the distance. She was sitting on the railing of the front porch, her hands braced on either side of her. Her back was to me, and her feet swung in front of her.

  What if I didn’t leave tomorrow? What if I stayed? What would happen if I gave Sophie the time she obviously needed to talk about Maggie? The sudden thought sent prickles along the tops of my arms. Mom. Dad. The internship at the courthouse. Mom. Dad.

  Jesus. I would have to call Mom and Dad. They would say I wasn’t staying on course. Which I wasn’t. Suddenly, inexplicably, I was thinking of veering off in my own direction. And the worst part about it was that I wasn’t even sure if it was the right thing to do. What if I was making a huge mistake? What if, by staying here for however long it was going to take, I was screwing up everything they had worked so hard to lay down for me, brick by brick, year after year?

  I squeezed and unsqueezed my hands as I watched Sophie light a cigarette and exhale the smoke toward the porch ceiling. A chip of paint, large as a lemon, fluttered down and landed lightly on top of her head. Sophie reached up with one hand and pulled it out of her hair. She looked at it a moment, and then threw it—hard—across the porch. Her shoulders slumped as she steadied herself along the railing again, and her head hung low between them.

  “Okay,” I whispered to myself as I resumed walking again.

  “Okay, Sophie. All right.”

  chapter

  20

  “Hey,” Sophie said as I came into view. She put out her cigarette against the porch railing and stuck the butt into her pocket. Even when she was younger, Sophie had always been big about not littering. “I was just starting to wonder if you were going to come back. Where’d you go?”

  “Just for a walk.” I sat down at the top of the steps, resting my forearms against my knees, and looked out across the street. The maroon awning over Perry’s front window cast a strange rectangular shadow on the sidewalk.

  “Yeah?” Sophie hopped off the railing and came over to sit by me. “Where to?”

  “Just around.”

  She nodded. The unsaid thing about Maggie hovered heavily between us, a dark invisible shape. I could almost feel her approaching it and then pulling back. Tiptoeing up only to turn and run away again.

  “So listen,” I heard myself say, even before I had a chance to think about saying it. “I’ve decided I’m gonna stay.”

  “What?” Sophie asked.

  “I’m gonna stay. Here.” I patted the boards of the porch next to me. “With you. I thought…you know, that you might want some help with the bakery and stuff, and that I would hang around for a while. For however long it takes.”

  Sophie didn’t say anything. But she wasn’t really breathing either. “Really?” she said finally.

  “Really.”

  A little whimpering sound came out of her mouth, and she blocked it with both hands. “I just…God, Julia, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never actually talked about it. Maggie, I mean. I guess I need some time.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m staying.” Holy shit. I had actually said it. Twice, even! The magnitude of my decision loomed suddenly before me. I pressed my lips together but the sob coming up from the back of my throat was too big. It pushed its way out like a fist, exploding into the air before me in a loud puff of sound.

  “Julia!” Sophie moved in close to me, the side of her leg pressed up against mine. “Julia, it’s okay! Really, it’s okay. You don’t have to stay.” She said the words over and over again, while circling her hand on the small of my back. “Listen to me. I’ll be fine. We can work this out some other time. Really. It’s not a big deal.”

  My crying slowed when she said that. “No, it is a big deal.” The words hurt as they emerged from my clenched throat, but I said them again anyway. “It is a big deal. It’s our lives, okay? It’s…” I let my forehead sink against the heels of my hands as fresh tears sprung to the corners all right my eyes. “It’s…everything, okay? And I’m staying for you, Sophie, but I think I might be staying for me too. I don’t know. I just…I want to stay.”

  Sophie didn’t say anything, but her hand kept up its steady circling along my back. Her face was close to mine. A cigarette smell drifted out from her hair.

  “Okay.” I lifted my head finally, tried to shrug her hand off. “I’m okay.”

  “Chill,” she said.

  “I’m still staying,” I said softly. “Don’t think I’m not still staying just because I broke down and cried a little. I can’t help it. Things overwhelm me sometimes, that’s all.”

  Sophie guffawed softly. “Join the fucking club.”

  We sat there for a few moments, just breathing. The air seemed heavy suddenly, but light too, full with the sensation of new possibilities.

  After a while, Sophie cleared her throat. “Jules?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just want you to know that this is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” She paused. “Ever.”

  I sidled an inch closer. Slipped my arm through the crook of hers. Rested my head on the curve of her shoulder.

  We stayed that way for a long while—not saying anything—as people continued to fill and then empty Perry’s restaurant across the street.

  chapter

  21

  Sophie convinced me to lie down for a while, and I did not object. I was still exhausted from my all-night trip, and the emotional toll from my decision had given my limbs a Gumby sort of quality. Still, I unpacked my clothes from my suitcase, refolding them neatly and sliding them into the dresser drawers. The room I was staying in looked and felt a little like an empty barn. The least I could do was keep it neat. The sound of scraping drifted up from outside as Sophie got back to work, but I rolled over to one side and stared at the almond-colored walls until my eyes grew heavy and finally closed.

  A thrumming noise from the corner of the room woke me. It was coming from the top of Sophie’s dresser. I stood up unsteadily. My phone, which was next to a small ceramic dish filled with dried lavender and a picture of Goober as a baby, was vibrating violently.

  My heart lurched as I peeked at the front of it.

  “Hello?”

  “Jules?” I closed my eyes at the sound of Milo’s voice. No one said my name like he did. No one in the world.

  “Yeah?” I paused, and then said, “How’d you get my number?”

  “I asked Zoe for it.” I could hear the sound of a Certs clicking against his teeth. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  He asked Zoe for my number? “No, it’s fine. It’s just…you’ve never called me before.”

  “I know. Actually, I’ve been trying to call you for the last three days. Do you usually not answer your phone?”

  Three days? He’d been trying to call me for three whole days? Was he serious? “Oh, I turned it off. I’ve been sort of busy.”

  I stretched out on the bed again and pressed my fingers against my rib cage. Be
neath it, my heart was bouncing around like a tennis ball.

  “Oh.” He coughed. “So listen, I hope this doesn’t sound too weird or anything, but I was wondering if maybe you would meet me somewhere. Like at Mo’s downtown? We could get some coffee and…I mean, there are some things I want to tell you. Things I should’ve said the other night at Melissa’s party.”

  I almost laughed then, realizing that he had no idea where I was, and wiped my eyes with the back of my hands. “No, actually I can’t.”

  “Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. “You’re still mad then, huh?”

  “No, I’m not mad. I’m in Vermont.”

  “Vermont?”

  “Yeah, you know that little New England state that makes really good maple syrup and has all the different-colored leaves?”

  “Did you go visit your sister?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Oh,” Milo said. “Well, that’s cool. When’re you coming back?”

  I paused. “Well, I was going to stay just for the weekend. But then I changed my mind. Just this morning, actually.”

  “Oh.” There was a trace of anxiety in Milo’s voice. “So how long will you be up there then? Zoe said you had an internship. You’ll be back for that, right?”

  At the mention of my internship, my throat got tight. I got up from the bed and walked over to the window. There was a tiny Laundromat across the street, right next to the House of Pizza. Rows of washers and dryers lined the opposite walls. I wondered if Sophie did her laundry there.

  “I don’t really know how long I’m going to be here yet,” I replied. “Sophie and I…we’re kinda going through some stuff, that’s all. And we need time to figure it all out. The internship…well, I can’t worry about that right now.”

  “Wow.” Milo’s voice was soft. Maybe even a little impressed. “Okay. Well, have you told your parents?”

  “Not yet.”