by John Shors
Georgia captured his smile and lowered the camera. “I don’t think she wants to be caught.”
“Hats off to her.” Holding out the lantern so that Mattie and Holly could stick more fireflies into it, Ian nodded at Georgia. “Might I snap one of you?” he asked as Mattie and Holly ran back toward the lake.
“Of me?”
“That’s right.”
She reached into her purse and removed a little mirror. “Just a second.”
“You don’t need that. Not one bit.”
Remembering how Frank had told her that he no longer found her attractive, that pregnancy had made her face too full, she pushed her hair into place. “Sorry,” she said. “A bad habit, I guess.”
“An unnecessary habit. Might as well repaint a schooner every time it heads out to sea.”
“A schooner?”
“An old sailing ship.”
Her brow furrowed as she smiled. “So I’m an old ship headed out to sea?”
“Well . . . something like that. But let’s strike the old part.”
“Strike away.”
Her smile lingered and he took her picture, framing it with the lake on one side and the distant forms of Mattie and Holly on the other. He handed the camera back to her. “It’s a beaut of a night, isn’t it?”
“It’s more than that.”
“You reckon?”
Georgia took another photo of the girls. “Look at them. Look at Mattie. She’s dancing around like the fireflies she’s chasing.”
“There’s a hop in her step—that’s for sure. She’s like the old Roo.”
“A big hop. So the next time you’re worried about her happiness, remember tonight. She hasn’t forgotten how to be happy. And neither have you.”
He caught a firefly, watched it glow within his cupped hands, and set it free. “I want to believe . . . those things.”
“And you should.”
“You do?”
She stepped closer to him, trying to stop the feelings that were flooding into her, but unable to deny them. “Can I . . . take your hand?” she asked, her pulse quickening, her voice unsteady. “Just as a friend? And nothing else? I just want to take your hand and walk beside the lake while our girls catch fireflies. That would make a beaut of a night . . . a perfect night.”
He studied her face, saw how she was no longer the confident woman who looked so at home on the streets of Hong Kong. “Let’s make it a perfect night,” he said, reaching toward her. “There’s no reason that mates can’t hold hands and have a walkabout.”
“Thank you, Ian.”
“No worries. And I should thank you. Not the other way around.”
Georgia smiled, his hand warm against hers. She felt as if she were suddenly decades younger. The sun had set and the lake was no longer afire with its reflection. The world was growing more subtle. Mattie and Holly ran back to add four or five fireflies to the lantern. “Look at you both,” Georgia said. “In your beautiful dresses. I just said that you remind me of the fireflies you’re chasing.”
Holly laughed. “They’re bugs, Mom. We’re girls.”
“True,” Georgia replied, still conscious of the warmth of Ian’s fingers. “But that doesn’t make you so different.”
Mattie nodded as Holly shook her head. The girls then turned and hurried back up the hill toward the restaurant, where a few fireflies were evading the outstretched hands of the local children. Ian and Georgia followed, neither talking, both content to watch their daughters. At first Ian felt guilty about holding Georgia’s hand, as the act seemed intimate. But soon his emotions shifted. She needed him and he needed her. And friends ought to be able to hold hands. If friends couldn’t hold hands, what good were they to each other?
Fireflies continued to escape or be caught. Though Mattie was more than a hundred feet from Ian, her laughter drifted to him, infusing him with her joy and spirit. She climbed onto a stump and jumped off it—twirling and soaring and undergoing what seemed to be an almost metamorphic change. Her colorful dress billowed outward and she appeared to take flight, and this instantaneous journey lifted Ian skyward, turning his fears into hopes, his sorrow into elation. Without thought or concern or reservation, he lifted Georgia’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of her wrist, holding her flesh against his as Mattie caught a darting source of light.
The girls turned toward him, and he lowered Georgia’s hand. She squeezed his fingers, leaning toward him, starting to speak, but closing her mouth, her lips forming a smile. Mattie’s firefly was set within the cage, and in the strengthening darkness the foursome walked back into the restaurant. Ian tightened his grip on Georgia’s hand, then released her fingers, carrying the lantern upstairs, setting it on their table. A dozen other tables held similar lanterns, and hundreds of fireflies appeared to beckon to one another on the veranda.
Their waitress took everyone’s orders, and as Georgia and Ian smiled and spoke about the coming day, Holly and Mattie watched their fireflies, trying to count them. All the other patrons at the restaurant were Vietnamese, and the sounds of the old language seemed to echo into the night.
Before long their waitress returned with platters of steaming food. The companions shared their entrees as if they were locals, passing plates, mixing sauces that were sampled by all. Throughout the meal, their fireflies flickered. Only when dessert was served did Mattie and Holly tip the lantern to its side, open the door, and watch the fireflies depart.
As Holly led them to a taxi, everyone agreed that the restaurant was one of their favorites. Georgia seemed to be in particularly high spirits, which, to Ian’s surprise, comforted him. He hadn’t expected to ever make another woman happy, and the knowledge that he could warmed him. He wasn’t broken, as he had feared. Not completely lost.
Turning in the front seat, he realized that no sight could have pleased him more than that of Mattie sitting between Holly and Georgia, smiling as Georgia took her picture and asked what her favorite part of the day was. Of course, Mattie’s answer was the fireflies they’d chased, and how she was going to draw Rupee a sketch of them. Mattie wasn’t sure if there were fireflies in India and she wanted Rupee to see what she had seen. As Mattie spoke, Ian thought he detected a new self-assurance in her voice. He didn’t know if this confidence stemmed from her time with Holly or Georgia or from something else altogether. But it seemed to arise when Georgia asked her questions, when her mother’s best friend treated Mattie as she did Holly.
Ian was aware that during their time together, Georgia had tried to connect with Mattie, to make her smile. And he was grateful for those efforts, so grateful, perhaps, that he had kissed her wrist, that he had wanted to share his happiness with her. Not including his moments with Mattie, kissing Georgia had been the most pleasant thing he had done in months. He wanted to do it again.
He smiled at something Mattie said, watching her, then shifted his gaze to Georgia’s face, which wasn’t bordered by laugh lines or defined by the softness of an easy life. Her face wasn’t proud or all-knowing or free of doubt. Rather, it exuded a combination of compassion and wisdom and hope. Suddenly Ian longed to kiss her lips in the same way that he’d kissed her wrist. He didn’t want to feel alone, even though he had tried to bury such loneliness deep within him. He had done so for Mattie’s sake, but now, as he looked at Georgia sitting next to his little girl, he knew that he’d failed. As much as he adored Mattie, he needed more than she could give. And he knew that she would be happier if his spirits were lifted.
The taxi turned into the heart of Dalat, passing through an older part of the city. This area was where he and Kate had stayed. Though some things had changed, most of the weathered buildings looked familiar. Ian was about to turn from this view, and back to that of Georgia, when he saw an ancient stone bridge that spanned a river. A memory flooded back to him—a vision of Kate and him standing at the side of the bridge, late at night. She had thought of a poem about the bridge, something about how it was tired from th
e passage of countless feet. He’d grabbed her before she finished, holding her tight, laughing as she tried to complete her poem. As she had protested, he had picked her up and carried her across the weary bridge, moving into their guesthouse, up the cement stairs, and into their room. They had made love on a thin mattress, surrounded by a mosquito net, a ceiling fan wobbling above them.
He stared at the bridge until it was gone. Then he looked forward. The city that had seemed so alive a minute earlier now appeared to be dead. Everything was dark and dreary and spotted with age. Rubbing his brow, Ian wished that he had let Kate finish the poem. He wanted to hear it now, to listen to her voice once more. He had always loved the sound of her voice, whether in person or over the phone or across a street. Her voice was like a river, full of currents and the ability to sweep him away. But now it was gone, departed even before the ancient bridge that she had so sympathized with.
You should be here now, he thought. I want you to see your bridge. It hasn’t changed a bit. And you never told me the end of your poem. I ruined it. I took you for granted. And I’m so sorry, my luv. I should have let you finish. I should have sat and waited for the proper words to come to you. I was a bloody fool.
Ian sniffed, his stomach aching for the first time all day. Georgia asked him if everything was fine. He nodded but remained silent, fearing that his voice would betray him. He didn’t want to hurt her, though he knew he would, because he wouldn’t kiss her again, wouldn’t walk her to her room and hug her as he said good night. He had wanted to do those things just a few minutes earlier, but the sight of the bridge had reminded him that Kate had been torn from him, had died in pain. And it didn’t feel right, that he should be happy with her gone. It felt as wrong as anything he had ever experienced.
Finally, he turned to Georgia. “Would it be all right . . . if Mattie slept in your extra bed tonight? The girls would enjoy that, I reckon. And I’d fancy a walk, if that’s all right with you.”
“A walk?”
“A stroll around town. Just to stretch my legs.”
As Mattie and Holly talked excitedly about the prospect of sleeping together, Ian saw Georgia looking at him, her eyes questioning, her lips silently mouthing, “Why?”
But rather than answering, he shook his head and turned away, staring at his feet, afraid of what else he might see in the old part of the city.
MATTIE AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING NEXT TO Holly. She was used to sleeping with her father and felt disoriented without him. Though she’d enjoyed whispering with Holly deep into the night, she was lonely after realizing that her father was in the room across the hall, all by himself. Thinking about him, and her mother’s request for an art exhibition, Mattie dressed and walked to the corner of the room, where Georgia sat in a robe, staring out the window.
“Good morning,” Georgia whispered, glancing up, reaching for Mattie’s hand.
“Good morning.”
“Did you sleep well? I heard you girls whispering late. Maybe too late.”
“Holly was being silly.”
“She usually is.”
“Thank you for letting me stay in your room.”
“You’re welcome,” Georgia replied, giving Mattie’s hand a squeeze.
Mattie sat down in a nearby chair, careful to be quiet. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why did my dad go for a walk last night? Why did he leave me?”
Georgia started to speak but paused, collecting herself, controlling her hurt. “I don’t know, Mattie.”
“But why do you think?”
Shaking her head, Georgia looked out the window again. The city already teemed with pedestrians and scooters, moving like a kaleidoscope turned round and round. “You have your drawings,” she finally replied. “And your drawings give you . . . time to escape. They do that, don’t they?”
“Usually.”
“Well, your dad needs some escapes too. And he can’t draw. So he . . . took a long walk. And however he was feeling, that walk made him feel better. Just like your drawings make you feel better.”
Mattie nodded. “I guess . . . if I couldn’t draw, I’d want to walk too. I’d walk so far. My shoes would wear out.”
Georgia moved closer to Mattie. “You have to remember that you have a lot of gifts. Your drawing is a gift. Your father is a gift.”
“My mommy . . . told me that once.”
“She was right.”
“She was a gift too.”
Georgia squeezed Mattie’s fingers. “For both of us.”
“Can I ask you something else? It’s about her.”
“What?”
Mattie pulled one of her braids to her mouth, biting it. “In her last letter to me, she asked if I’d do something for Daddy and her.”
“Do what?”
“She wanted me to create an exhibit, an exhibit of my drawings. Things I’ve seen on our trip. Things to show my dad . . . and to show her.”
“And . . . and you want to draw them here? In our room?”
Mattie continued to bite her braid, which had come loose during the night. “She can’t see them here. They need to be outside.”
Georgia forced her thoughts of Ian away, leaning forward so that she could rework Mattie’s braid. “Outside? But where?”
“By that waterfall with the big boulders around it,” Mattie replied, hoping that Georgia would say yes, worried that she wouldn’t. “I want to go there and use my chalk on the boulders. I want my first exhibit to be near that waterfall, where Mommy can see it.”
“And you want Holly and me to go with you?”
Mattie nodded, enjoying the feel of Georgia’s hands on her hair. “Please. Just for a while. Then my dad will come . . . and you can do whatever you want.”
Georgia rewound three strands of hair, creating a tight braid. “Of course we’ll go with you. We’d love to.”
“You would?”
“You know, Mattie, your mom was my best friend. We laughed like you and Holly laugh. And I . . . I want her to see your drawings. And I want to see them too. I’d love to see them. So let’s go. Let’s wake up Holly and go. Right now, before it starts to rain or something.”
Mattie moved closer to Georgia, smelling her perfume. “Do you miss my mom?”
“I’ll always miss her. Best friends shouldn’t have to say good-bye to each other, just like daughters and mothers shouldn’t.”
“I don’t want to say any more good-byes.”
“Neither do I,” Georgia said, stroking the back of Mattie’s head. “You’ve got beautiful hair. Hair that reminds me of Holly’s, when hers was long, before she met all the Hong Kong girls and wanted it short like theirs.” She kissed Mattie on the forehead. “Now let’s go wake her up. And then we’ll tell your dad where we’re going, and that he should take a taxi to the waterfall in—what? Two hours?”
“Maybe three.”
“You go tell him. I’ll wake up Holly, and we’ll hurry and get dressed.”
“Thank you.”
Georgia squeezed her shoulder. “I’m excited about your first exhibit, Mattie. Thank you for inviting me, for making me a part of your big day.”
Mattie smiled, leaving the room, knocking on her father’s door. He must have awoken some time ago, because he opened the door right away and was already dressed. He dropped to his knees, hugging her tightly. His eyes were bloodshot, but he kissed her on the cheek and smiled. “Morning, luv,” he said, kissing her again. “Did you sleep all right with Holly?”
“We talked late.”
“You did? Well, that’s what mates are supposed to do.”
“She likes to talk.”
He ran his fingers down her cheek. “Were you okay, sleeping in their room? I thought you might fancy it.”
“Daddy?”
“What, luv?”
“Georgia, Holly, and I are going out for a while. I’m surprising you with something.”
“You are? And I can’t go with you?”
/> “It wouldn’t be a surprise, silly, if you went with me.”
He poked the end of her nose. “What am I supposed to do, Roo? Just wait here? Paint my nails pink like you did?”
“Wait three hours. Then take a taxi to the big waterfall, just outside town.”
He was about to ask her another question when Georgia and Holly appeared at the door. Georgia said good morning to him, her smile weak and forced. As they spoke, Mattie hurried into her room, picked up her backpack, and gave him another hug. He kissed her, finding it hard to let her go. “Be careful, luv,” he said, his eyes on hers. “Stay with Georgia and Holly. I’ll see you all soon.”
Mattie said good-bye and followed Georgia and Holly down the hallway. As they got into the elevator, Georgia explained to Holly where they were going and why they were going there. After swinging by the hotel’s restaurant so that she could take a few croissants and bottles of water, Georgia led the girls outside and hailed a taxi. She asked the driver to take them to the waterfall, and the city drifted past. She saw the old bridge and thought it was beautiful. The forest came next, the pines more fragrant in the morning, before breezes carried away their scents.
The taxi left them a few hundred paces from their destination. As they followed a trail, the waterfall soon loomed ahead, much larger than Mattie remembered, emerging from a ledge above, trees and bushes on either side. The waterfall was at least fifty feet across and another fifty feet high. Below it, moss-covered boulders the size of trucks were pounded by the water.
Mattie thanked Holly and Georgia and began to walk toward the rocks. She thought about her mother’s request, her mind serious, her steps steady. She wanted to create something beautiful, something that could be seen from the ground as well as the sky. The previous night, after Holly had finally fallen asleep, Mattie had mused over what she would draw. And visions had come to her, wondrous ideas that flowed into her in the same manner that they did every great artist. She saw splendor, knew that she could re-create it, and now, as she neared the boulders, her feet moved faster. Dropping her backpack, she reached inside, removing a case of colored sidewalk chalk. After wiping off a dry boulder until it was free of twigs and debris, she leaned close to it, tracing its contours, feeling its texture.
