Elsa had returned, but brought her attitude along with her. She was putting in her time, doing what she had to, but that wasn’t the same thing as being helpful. It occurred to Avery that, even at minimum wage, a person could be overpaid. The minute the kids finished their snacks, Elsa went off to get an extra trash bag and disappeared for an eon, leaving Avery to coordinate the crafts for nearly thirty kids all by herself. Fortunately, some of the parents pitched in, but still . . .
With the chaos finally starting to subside, Avery was able to break away and talk to Lilly and her mother.
“I’m so glad you came!” she exclaimed, looking first to Mrs. Margolis and then squatting down next to Lilly’s wheelchair so she’d be at eye level with the little girl.
“I am sorry we were late,” Mrs. Margolis replied in good but not perfect English, her lilting accent giving away her native Mexican roots. “I did not see Owen’s e-mail until this morning.”
“Owen sent you an e-mail about my event?”
“Yes, I think he sent it to many hospital parents. I don’t think they know about it otherwise. I didn’t. But I am glad we came. Lilly is having fun. Aren’t you, Hija?”
Lilly bobbed her head deeply and deliberately, making the googly eyes glued to her blue and purple pipe cleaner antennae bounce. “Miss Avery? Why aren’t you a mermaid anymore?”
“Oh, I’m still a mermaid. Just not today.” Avery reached into her back pocket, pulled out one of her business cards, and placed it in Lilly’s hand. “See? What does that say?”
“ ‘Avery “Poseidon” Promise. Part-time mermaid.’”
Lilly read the words, slowly but surely, only needing help to sound out Avery’s made-up middle name. Avery looked up toward Mrs. Margolis, arching her eyebrows to silently tell her how impressed she was by Lilly’s progress in reading. Mrs. Margolis gave a quick nod, smiling to show she felt just the same.
Lilly lowered the card. “So you’re only a mermaid part of the time?”
“That’s right. Sometimes it’s fun to be a mermaid. Sometimes it’s fun just to be yourself. Or sometimes,” she said, flicking one of Lilly’s antennae with her fingernail to make it bounce and bobble, “it’s fun to be a ladybug.”
“I’m a spider,” Lilly corrected.
“Sure. I should have known that. Multiple eyes, right?”
Lilly nodded solemnly. Avery got to her feet so she could talk to the girl’s mother more easily.
“Thank you so much for coming. I think about Lilly all the time. It’s great to see her doing so well.”
“She is. The doctors helped her body to heal, but you healed her spirit. You show her the power of her mind, that she can travel the world without taking a step.
“Sometimes,” Mrs. Margolis said, her hand rising to finger the crucifix she wore around her neck, “when life feels too heavy to bear, God sends a beautiful angel to help carry the load. I think you are Lilly’s angel. I think maybe you are mine too.”
Mrs. Margolis’s brown eyes were swimming with tears. She took Avery’s hand and squeezed it hard before looking down at her daughter.
“We must go now, Hija. I will be late for work.”
“Nooo,” Lilly moaned. “I want to stay with Avery.”
Avery squatted down again. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon. Guess what? Mermaid me just got hired to make a commercial. We’re going to shoot it at Pier 66. If it’s okay with your mom, you can come and watch.”
Lilly hinged her neck up so she could see her mother’s face. “Can I, Mami? Please?”
“I will have to check my work schedule. But, yes, Hija. And now we must go.”
Avery gave Lilly and her mother a quick hug and got to work putting away the chairs and tables. Elsa was still nowhere to be found. After a few minutes, Adam came looking for her.
“Hey, I thought you’d want to know—we sold eleven copies of Caterpillar, thirteen copies of Worm, and six other titles. Nice job.”
“Eleven and thirteen? Is that all?”
“What do you mean is that all? That’s great!”
“But you ordered twenty copies of each book.”
“Because I didn’t want to risk running out, also because I knew we’d be able to sell any leftovers later. Those are popular titles. They’ll be gone by the end of the month, you’ll see.”
“So. Adam,” she said slowly, not quite sure how to bring this up. “Were you kidding about moving me into management?”
“Nope, not kidding.”
“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Very,” he said. “With some training, you’ll be a great manager. You’re creative, you care, and you work hard. Speaking of which, I’m a little short-handed. Can you pick up a couple of extra shifts next week?”
“Sure, anything you need.”
“Good. Because I just fired Elsa.”
Chapter 31
May is the month when, having had your hopes raised by the sight of newly sprung, lush green grass that turns to mud and straw beneath your feet when storm clouds gather and split into deluge on the next day, mucky enough to build bricks with, you are tempted to give up on Seattle entirely.
It is exhausting, waking up each morning, uncertain if this day will be good or bad, or even really, really good and really, really, really bad. You’ve sampled it all in recent days, but the pattern is impossible to predict and you’re simply worn out with trying. You truly do think about giving up. But you don’t. Because this is where you are, and where else could you go? So you stay put, hang on, and soldier through, left-right, left-right, hoping that, eventually, it all leads to someplace good.
Or at least familiar.
Meg moved furniture and set up card tables, humming some pop diva single that Trina insisted on playing whenever they were in the car. It was bouncy, upbeat, and stuck in her head, an earworm, the perfect soundtrack for a sisters’ paint party, and it perfectly matched her mood.
Someone thumped on her door.
“It’s open!” she shouted, and put a bottle of wine in the refrigerator. Asher came inside, carrying a platter with chicken wings, veggies, and dip.
“I was just going to microwave a bag of popcorn,” she said when he put the tray down on the kitchen counter. “Are they here yet?”
“Joanie called. They’re running late. We have twenty minutes before they get here. Maybe twenty-five.”
His eyes sparked with that hungry, now-familiar flame that never failed to melt her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as he stepped toward her and she stepped back, advancing and retreating together, until she backed into the wall and there was nowhere for her to go, not that she wanted to. He lowered his head and kissed her, pressing his body into hers, and she kissed him back, reveling in the sensation of being so willingly entrapped, reaching up to encircle his neck with her arms so they were even closer.
He reached down, sliding his hand up her thigh, raising the hem of her skirt. She pulled her mouth from his and laughed. “Whoa! Slow down there, cowboy. My sisters—”
“Eighteen minutes out,” he murmured, burying his lips in her hair and reaching higher. “Possibly twenty-three. Plenty of time.”
“Asher!” She squealed with laughter and pushed his hand back from beneath her skirt. “Seriously, we don’t have time. And even if we did, we can’t do it here. There’s no curtains on the front window.”
He raised his head, looked at her blankly for a moment. “Right. Bedroom,” he said, then grabbed her by the wrist and started pulling her down the hallway.
“Asher, no! We can’t!” She laughed some more and pulled in the opposite direction, digging in with her heels like a reluctant Labrador at bath time. Asher was stronger, though, and eventually managed to drag her to the bedroom, only to find the narrow bed was heaped high with paintings.
“I had to put them somewhere,” Meg said, grinning when he glowered at her. “I needed room for the card tables.”
Ashe
r released his grasp on her wrist and wilted against the wall, dropping his head forward, groaning.
“I’ll come see you tonight,” Meg promised. “After everybody’s gone.”
“Oh, fine. Another booty call. I feel so cheap.”
Meg moved closer, wedged her body between his legs. “Most men like booty calls,” she said, and kissed him. “Don’t they?”
They kissed and caressed, more slowly than before, more gently, but with no less passion or intensity. Feeling her desire increase and resolve waver, Meg finally took a step back, placing her hands against his shoulders and taking in several deep gulps of air, trying to slow her heart and catch her breath.
“We have to stop. Really. I don’t want to, but we have to. My sisters . . .”
Asher groaned again. “Okay. You’re right. But you’re coming over later?”
“Yes.”
“And staying?”
“Asher . . .”
Meg’s insistence on getting up and returning to her own house after their trysts had become a bone of contention between them in the last few days. Every time she came to his bed, he begged her to stay.
“I just think it’s better if I go back home. How will it look to Trina if she gets up in the morning and I’m there in your room?”
“How will it look?” he asked, his jaw going slack. “It’ll look like we’re married. You know why? Because we are. It’s not my room, Meg. It’s our room. It’s our house, yours and mine. Your name is on the deed right next to mine—Meg and Asher Hayes. Same last name. Why? Because we’re married.”
“I know, I know,” she said, walking down the hallway and into the great room with Asher following. “But, right now, I don’t feel married. I feel like we’re having one long, fabulous date. Or maybe a torrid love affair.” She opened a cupboard, pulled down three wineglasses, and turned toward him. “And, really, what’s so bad about that? Why can’t we just go on like this for a while?”
“It’s not bad,” Asher replied. “In fact, it’s been great. But it’s not real. Look, I’ve got nothing against dating. Dating is fantastic. But it’s not supposed to be a permanent condition. I married you because I wanted to stop dating you.”
Meg put the glasses on the counter and tipped her head to one side, giving him a look. “You married me because you wanted to have sex with me. You were a good Christian boy from a good Christian home and you couldn’t sleep with me unless we were married. That’s why you married me. You told me so yourself.”
“No,” he said slowly, in a correcting sort of tone, “that’s why I married you so fast. Six weeks was as long as I could wait and I wanted to do it right, without compromising anything. If Joanie hadn’t been so set on throwing us a wedding, I’d have married you sooner. But sex wasn’t the only thing I couldn’t wait for.
“Don’t you get it?” he asked earnestly. “I couldn’t wait for you. I wanted us to be together forever. Every night, every morning. For always. I love you.” He grabbed her hands. “Come to me tonight. Come to me and stay with me.”
Asher’s eyes pleaded with her just as intensely as his words. Looking into them, thinking about all the things she had learned about him over the last weeks—that he was kind, considerate, hardworking, handsome, funny, playful, creative, a good father, a good man, a gentle and generous lover—she couldn’t understand why she couldn’t say yes to his request. It didn’t make sense, not even to her. And yet . . .
“I’m just not ready yet, Asher.”
He dropped her hands, almost pushing them away. “When will you be ready? It’s been a month. And that’s not counting all the months before the accident when you’d hardly talk to me. But we’ve finally gotten past all that. We’re good now. Can you blame me for wanting my wife and life back? What are we waiting for?”
“Your life? Your wife?” she barked, incredulous. “So this is all about possession?”
“Oh, come on! You’re not being fair. That’s not what I was saying and you know it. I just want to get our lives back to normal. I want us to go back to being married again.”
“Why? So we can spend more time arguing?”
She knew she wasn’t being fair even before he pointed it out, just as she knew he didn’t mean his words to sound the way she’d taken them. But she was annoyed at him for cornering her on a subject that she wasn’t ready to deal with. She’d been in such a good mood when he came in, looking forward to a fun night with her sisters and a steamy tryst afterward. What more did he need? Why couldn’t he just let it be, let her be?
Someone coughed.
Meg and Asher turned toward the sound. Meg didn’t know how long Trina had been there, but judging from the look in her eyes, it had been long enough.
“Looks like you’re getting your wish, Dad. The two of you are definitely back to normal. Way to go, guys.”
Asher turned to her. “Honey, you don’t understand. We’re not fighting—”
“We were just talking and it got a little heated,” Meg interrupted when she saw that smoldering look in Trina’s eyes and knew she wasn’t listening to him. “Really. Everything’s fine.”
“Whatever. I don’t care,” Trina said, dropping an unconvincing curtain of indifference. “I just came out to tell you that Aunt Joanie and Aunt Avery are here.”
She stomped off across the yard to the big house.
Asher watched her retreat. “If people came into the world as teenagers, the world would be filled with nothing but only children.. . .”
Meg slipped her arm around his waist, the indignation of a moment before dissipating into guilt. Trina slammed the backdoor so hard that the two of them jumped. Asher looked at Meg with an expression of feigned desperation.
“Couldn’t I stay out here and paint instead?”
She smiled with relief. The moment had passed. She was right. They were good now.
“Sorry. Girls only. You still want me to come over after? It might be late.”
“I’ll wait up.” He gave her a peck on the lips. “Have fun.”
“We will,” she said.
* * *
Having fun comes easier to some people than others.
“I can’t do this. I told you,” Joanie said, pointing at her canvas and what should have been a field of flowers but looked more like a pile of regurgitated jellybeans, then to Avery’s canvas, which looked even better than the inspiration photo Meg had pinned on the wall for them to work from, a mountain landscape with blue sky above and wildflowers at the base. “Look at Avery’s. It looks exactly like it’s supposed to.”
Meg looked at her sister’s easel and frowned. She truly believed the old saying that inside every person there is an artist waiting to get out, that all human beings are born with a natural talent and urge to express themselves through art. But if that was true, then why did so few adults do so?
The answer was perfectly illustrated by Joanie’s pointing finger, first at her work, then at Avery’s. Comparison, competition, and perfectionism—the toxic trifecta that is certain to corrode and, in time, destroy one’s God-given, joy-filled, natural desire to create. Among other things.
“Don’t pay attention to what Avery is doing,” Meg said, nudging her younger sister’s easel to an angle so the older one couldn’t see. “It’s not a contest. Just have fun and enjoy the process.”
“How can I when Avery’s is perfect and mine sucks?” Joanie put her paintbrush into her water cup and left it there, pouting.
“It is perfect, isn’t it?” Avery said, frowning as she studied her own canvas. “It looks almost exactly like the picture. No wonder I’m so bored.”
Avery dropped her paintbrush, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared unhappily at her painting. Meg made an exasperated sound and got to her feet.
“Okay, this isn’t working,” she said, then plucked her siblings’ canvases from their easels and put them aside. “Time to try a new approach.”
“Like what?” Joanie asked.
“Like wine,”
Meg answered, going into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of white from the refrigerator.
“Nope.” Joanie lifted her hand like a defendant taking an oath. “I swore off it after I invited Hal to dinner. Makes me too loose.”
“Tonight you could use some loose,” Meg replied, pulling out the cork. “You’re thinking way too much. What you need to do, dear sister, is kill a few brain cells. Here.”
Meg held out a glass of wine and kept holding it out until Joanie, finally and reluctantly, took it from her hand and took a sip.
“Better,” she said, and filled a glass for Avery.
“Hey, how come Joanie gets more?”
“Because she needs it more.” Meg poured some wine for herself. “All right, now that we’re all provisioned, let’s give this another try.”
Glass in hand, she marched back over to the painting tables, laid a big piece of white butcher paper at each place, then put three aluminum pie plates in the middle of the table. Joanie lowered her glass from her lips.
“Meg. This is pointless. It doesn’t matter how many times I try, I’m never going to be able to paint a mountain that looks like that,” she said, pointing to the inspiration photo that was still tacked on the wall.
Meg ripped down the picture and then picked up a big bottle of yellow acrylic paint and started pouring some into one of the pie pans.
“Good to hear. Because I can’t think of anything less fun than trying to copy somebody else’s painting. Forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said, pouring out a pool of blue. “Now get over here. Bring your glasses.”
Chapter 32
Looking at the stars always made Trina feel better. She wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it was because she could count on them no matter what.
She understood logically that, over the course of time and millennia, even constellations change and move, but she liked knowing that they were up there, where they were supposed to be. Sometimes, when she was having a bad day, she liked to look up to a certain spot in the cloudy or sunny day and think, I can’t see it now, but the Andromeda Galaxy is right there, and then, when night came, she’d train her telescope on that same spot and see that she’d been right. Even when you couldn’t see the stars, they were there. Always. It was comforting. She wished the rest of life could be so reliable.
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