The Sweetness of Salt

by Cecilia Galante

  Did anyone ever do that?

  Was there anyone who even knew how?

  chapter

  38

  Two days later, when Aiden offered me another afternoon ride on his quad, I hopped on. We sped through the forest once more, zigzagging through a maze of tree trunks and pine needles until finally bursting out onto a road.

  I gripped the sides of his jacket. “I don’t want to go on the road without a helmet,” I said. “Seriously. Can we go back?”

  “We won’t drive on the road,” Aiden said. “I just want to show you something.” He turned off the motor and beckoned me toward a stone bridge a few feet away. I leaned over the side next to him. Beneath us was a waterfall, set between two sloped—and very rocky—banks. A stream, thin as a snake, wound its way out from under the falls and then disappeared under the bridge. “Pretty,” I said.

  “This is the East Poultney gorge,” Aiden said. “It is pretty. But it’s dangerous too. Those rocks are a lot trickier to navigate then you might think.” He took off his hat. “I come down here all the time, just to sit and hang out. It’s where I get a lot of ideas for my pottery designs.”

  “You’ve learned how to navigate over the rocks, I assume.” I glanced in Aiden’s direction.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve been climbing around this place for years. It’s the people who don’t know what they’re doing that get in trouble.” He pointed toward the rushing column of water. The sound it made, gushing over the boulders, reminded me of a teeming rainstorm—steady, rapid, and forcefully liquid. “Sometimes, when the light is weird and milky, like right before a storm, that waterfall can look almost gray,” Aiden said. “Like slate or even smoke. It…I don’t know, I love to look at it like that. It’s cool.”

  I stared at the water, trying to imagine it looking like smoke. “I think Sophie comes down here too.”

  “Sophie?” There was a thin film of dust all over Aiden’s face from the ride. It made his features look slightly blurry. “Really? I’ve never seen her.”

  I shrugged. “She’s been bugging me to come down here ever since I got here. She said I’d love it.”

  “It’s a cool place,” Aiden said. “I’m going to miss it.”

  We stared down into the gorge for a few moments without saying anything. A loneliness swept over me then, as I tried to imagine being in Poultney without being able to pop in and visit Aiden whenever I wanted. I liked his company—and not just because he was cute. “When are you leaving?” I asked.

  “Two weeks,” Aiden said.

  I looked at him in surprise. “Two weeks! I thought you said the end of the summer! Why so soon?”

  “I found a studio the day before yesterday. And a roommate too. No use putting off what I can start now.”

  I gazed back out at the water. “What are you starting now?”

  Aiden looked at me. “The rest of my life,” he said. “Just like you.”

  I came into the kitchen the next night to find Sophie beating egg whites in a bright copper bowl. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and her cheeks were pink from exertion. I leaned against the butcher block. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, I’m just making a lemon meringue pie for the Table of Knowledge boys. It’s been a while and they all love it.” Sophie lowered the whisk for a moment and took a deep breath. “This whipping by hand is killing me, though. I gotta start doing some push-ups again—get some more upper-body strength.”

  “Why don’t you use the mixer?”

  “Oh no,” Sophie said. “I always use my copper bowls when I do egg whites. It’s the only way.”

  “What’s so special about a copper bowl?”

  “Well,” said Sophie, “there are actually ions in copper that mix with the egg white and make them very stiff. Egg whites made in a copper bowl will never fall over or deflate.” She glanced up at the rack of pots hanging above her. “All of my pots are copper too. Did you ever notice?”

  I stared up at the gleaming pots for a moment. They were a beautiful color, like a burnished pink, and so shiny I could see my reflection in them. “Wow. I actually didn’t notice. Who would’ve thought baking had so much science involved?”

  Sophie raised her eyebrows. “Cool, huh?” She picked up the whisk again and tapped it on the side of the bowl. “So. You given any thought to your mural yet?”

  I walked over to the wall slowly. It was about the size of the chalkboards we’d had in school—pretty tall and wide. It was going to take a lot of fruit and vegetable people to fill it up. “Actually, I kind of have.”

  Sophie started beating the lemon filling. “And? What’d you come up with?”

  I turned around. “I don’t think I want to do it.”

  Sophie stopped beating. “Why?”

  “I mean the fruit people. I don’t want to draw the fruit people. I know you think they’re cute, but…” I walked over to the butcher block and leaned my elbows on the smooth wood surface. “I’ve sort of moved on from that kind of stuff, Sophie. There are other things I can draw now, other things I’ve been drawing. I’d just…I’d like to do something else. If that’s all right.”

  “Of course that’s all right!” The words came out of Sophie in one big exhale. Her eyes were wide. “That’s more than all right. What were you thinking?”

  “Well, I’ve been fooling around with that sketch pad you got me…”

  “Eh? Does big sister know, or does big sister know?”

  I smiled. “And I’ve sort of been sketching…well, the street I guess. From my window at least. With the Laundromat and the pizza place and Perry’s…”

  Sophie had put the whisk down again. “Oh, Julia.” She was shaking her head. “Main Street? On the wall of my kitchen? It’ll be beautiful. It’ll be gorgeous. Please do it. Please. I would love it.”

  “What if it’s not good enough?” I asked. “What if you hate it?”

  “That’s impossible,” Sophie said. “I would never hate it.”

  “How do you know? You’ve never seen my sketches.”

  “How could I?” Sophie cocked her head. “Up until this point, you’ve more or less denied the fact that you even draw.”

  I looked down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s just…God, I don’t even know if it is drawing. It’s probably still just doodling. Just goofing around.”

  “Can I see the picture you did in your sketch pad?”

  I could feel my face flush. “Right now?”

  “Yeah. Right now.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  Sophie came around from her side of the table and put her hand on top of mine. “Listen to me,” she said. “For a long time, I thought that I should try to be somebody worthwhile, like a doctor or a nurse or a teacher. You know, to make my mark on the world. And then after I did that, I could screw around with flour and butter and eggs. Maybe on weekends, when I had extra time. Like baking wasn’t a good enough profession. And so I held back from really doing it, from going all the way with it. I told myself I wasn’t good enough, that I could never make bread because I was too impatient to let dough rise, and I should never try cheesecake because I burned everything made with dairy. But that wasn’t really true, Julia.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “You know, people make mistakes doing what they love. That’s human nature. What I bake won’t be great every single time. What you draw will probably never be perfect. But the biggest mistake people make isn’t how well they draw this line or crimp that crust. The biggest mistake people make is never finding or doing what they love at all.”

  A few silent seconds passed. Outside, I could hear the dull footsteps of someone walking along the sidewalk, the muted roll of tires against the street.

  “You found it,” I said finally. “What you love.”

  “I did.” Sophie nodded. “And now it’s your turn.”

  chapter

  39

  Over the next few days, I spent most of the morning in front of the
wide kitchen wall, laying out a rough copy of the drawing I had done in my notebook. Sophie and I had gone out and bought me real sketching pencils with soft lead. The difference was astounding, both in texture and smoothness. Plus, the new pencils erased much more easily. Which was a good thing. A really good thing, since I erased more than I drew.

  My anxiety mounted every time I took a step back and looked at the wall. What was I thinking? Did that look like a tree or a dying plant? But the quiet thrill that jolted through me each time I stepped back up to it with a new eye, a clearer idea, was unlike anything else I’d felt before.

  I kept going.

  Drawing.

  Erasing.

  Drawing some more.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” I bit my lip, waiting for Aiden to answer. Sophie had gone somewhere with Lloyd to pick out more tile for the roof, which meant I had a free afternoon. Aiden had fashioned a rough sort of seat for me out of an upside-down milk crate and a throw pillow so I could sit and watch him work. Just now, he had successfully centered a piece of clay and was beginning the process of forming it.

  He nodded, not taking his eyes off his hands. “Go ahead.”

  “If it’s too personal—I mean, if it upsets you or anything, just…”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He cut me off, squinting at the flat clay rim. “Just ask.”

  “Are your mom and dad…I mean, are they divorced? You said you lived here with your dad, but you’ve never mentioned your mom.”

  “My mother died a few years ago.” Aiden volunteered this bit of information with such aplomb that I almost gasped.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Aiden said. “Dad and I have pretty much come to grips with it now, but it was awful for a while. It was sudden—a car accident right outside of Manchester. Middle of the night. Real dark. Rainy. Route 30 is super narrow. No lights. They said she was killed on impact. I doubt the truck even saw her coming.”

  “God,” I whispered.

  Aiden rested his hands on his lap and looked at me. “You ever know someone who died?”

  I hesitated for a split second, and then shook my head. “No.”

  “It’s so weird,” he said. “For the longest time—months!—I thought I was stuck in some kind of bad dream. Like I was asleep and I couldn’t wake up. Have you ever had that kind of sensation?”

  I nodded. Some days, like the one on Main Street, when Sophie had been so close to telling me, had felt like that. It was hard to shake. Harder still to forget.

  “The call came in the middle of the night,” Aiden went on, “and I remember Dad waking me up so we could go to the hospital, but none of it felt real. Even when the sun came up the next day and then the day after that, it still didn’t feel real. It just felt like…I don’t know. Impossible. It didn’t…fit, like someone was trying to ram a puzzle piece into our life that didn’t fit. And even though it was too big, too wide, too friggin’ ridiculous, it still kept trying to push its way in.”

  He shook his head.

  “Did it ever fit?” I asked softly. “I mean, did it ever start to become real?”

  Aiden nodded slowly. “I went down to the gorge and camped out by myself for a week. I had to get away from Dad. He was a mess. He’d come home with his pockets filled with all those rocks, you know? He wasn’t making anything out of them then; just collecting them. He’d come home and empty hundreds of them out of his pockets onto the dining room table and then sit there with his head in his hands for the rest of the night. It was making me crazy. So one day I just packed up my shit and went down to the gorge.”

  “And being there, down by the water, made it real for you?”

  “Not right away,” Aiden said. “It was October, so for the first three or four days I just sat in front of the fire, freezing my ass off and telling myself that I was cool with everything.” He paused, starting the wheel a little, cupping his hands protectively around the little piece of clay. “And then on the last night, I was lying in my sleeping bag, looking up at the stars, which was something my mom and I used to do all the time. Except that I couldn’t see any stars. Not a single one. It was cloudy, so they must’ve all been hidden.” He shook his head. “It was just so dark. Like all the lights in the whole world had gone out. I have never in my life felt so alone. And right then I felt my mother’s absence for the first time. I knew that night that she was gone. For real.”

  “Oh, Aiden.” I put my hand on his arm.

  “No, it was good,” he said. “It was what I needed. Before, I was walking around in a kind of cloud. Not really seeing or feeling or hearing anything. None of it was real. When I felt that…thing rip through me like that, I knew I was going to be okay again. Because I could feel it. Even though it hurt, I could feel it. And that was so much better than not feeling anything at all.” He laughed. “I went a little wacky after that, too, running under the waterfall, howling up at the moon like a wolf, screaming and yelling like a banshee.” He winced a little. “I don’t know. Realizing she was gone hurt more than anything in the world, but it felt good to get myself back too.”

  A silence settled in between us then; the only sound was the soft whir of the pottery wheel.

  “How is your dad with it now?” I asked finally. “I mean, was he able to come to grips with it too? Like you?”

  “He’s…better.” Aiden frowned, thinking. “I think the stone things he makes helps him. My mom used to collect little things like that, especially when we went to the beach. She’d take these long walks and come back with the front of her shirt filled with pieces of beach glass and shells and things.” He shrugged. Something passed over his face and then disappeared again. “We haven’t been back to the beach since she died,” he said. “But I think it helps Dad to keep collecting things for her.”

  I had to restrain myself from reaching out and hugging him.

  Instead, I picked at the skin along the edge of my thumb and didn’t say anything more. Neither did Aiden.

  The late afternoon light waned along the horizon, a pale curtain settling over the curve of blue. And when the shadows lengthened across the road and the church bell sounded its evening knell, I said good-bye and walked back to Sophie’s.

  chapter

  40

  I took a long bath that night, soaking in Sophie’s claw-foot tub with the raised sides and curled edges. It wasn’t very clean, and the metal soap dish was rusted on the bottom, but the water was warm and sudsy and smelled good, like coconut cream. My mind drifted back to Aiden, and the conversation we’d had earlier. “It felt good to get myself back too.” What a concept, getting yourself back. What did that even mean? And why, if I didn’t understand it, did it keep resonating so deeply with me?

  I slid under a pile of suds as a faint knock sounded on the door. “Julia?”

  “I’m in the tub!”

  “I know you’re in the tub,” Sophie said. “I heard you running the water. Can I come in?”

  I leaned forward, scooping more suds over the exposed parts of my body, and then sat back again. “Okay.”

  Sophie walked in. She was holding a plate of something that looked like pale brownies in one hand. “I just made a batch of blondies. I want to sell them in the store, but I need you to tell me what you think first. I’m not sure I added enough chocolate.”

  I took a small bite of one as Sophie settled herself into a corner and set the plate down next to her. “Ooh, I love them!” I took another bite. “Why do you call them blondies?”

  Sophie pulled out her cigarettes. “They’re the same idea as a brownie, except reversed. Less chocolate. More cake.”

  “Well, I want another one. And if you had these in the store, I would buy at least two dozen.”

  “Awesome.” Sophie grinned and offered the plate to me again. I took two this time.

  “Aren’t you going to have one?” I asked.

  “I already did,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “I’m blondied out.”


  I chewed thoughtfully, watching her smoke. “Do you smoke in front of Goober?”

  “Absolutely not.” Sophie peeled a bit of tobacco off the tip of her tongue. “Never have, never will.”

  I settled my head back against the tub. A faint water stain, like a splash of old coffee, shaded the far corner in the ceiling. “Well, I’m glad. She doesn’t need to see you doing that.”

  Across the room, my sister’s voice bristled. “I agree,” she said. “That’s why I don’t.”

  An uncomfortable moment passed between us. Then I sat up and looked directly at her. Tiny wisps of hair stuck out from behind her ears. “Have you ever been in love?” I said finally. “I mean really in love?”

  Sophie’s fingers, which were just poised to take the cigarette out of her mouth, froze for a second. Then she smiled. “Yes.”

  “With who?”

  “Eddie Waters,” Sophie said.

  “Eddie?” I stared at her wide eyed. “From high school? Really?”

  Sophie tilted her head back against the wall. “Oh God, I adored Eddie. Every single thing about him, right down to the last black curly hair on his stomach. I would have gone to the ends of the earth and back for that boy.”

  “But…but you treated him like garbage!” I spluttered. “I was there! I remember. You were so mean to him all the time!”

  Sophie looked down at the floor. The bib of her denim overalls was freckled with flour. “I know. I was. I was horrible to him. But I loved him. God, I loved him with my whole heart. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anybody else like that since.”

  “Why were you so mean to him if you loved him?” I was genuinely flabbergasted. “I mean, it must have ended because of all the things you did to him, right? All those things you said, how you acted. He couldn’t take it any—”

  “I know,” Sophie interrupted. “Don’t you think I know, Julia?”

  I settled back a little. “I just…I don’t understand.”