Tin Lily (16 page)

“And that’s different from now… how?” Nick’s grinning, all that light and happiness taking over again.

“Not so different now,” I say.

“Thanks for understanding about my mom,” he says.

“You miss her a lot.”

Nick nods. “I do.”

“Is it good you have your dads, your other mom, or are they too much sometimes?”

Nick looks at me twice—a double take. “Sometimes it’s too much. How’d you know?”

“Even my Aunt Margie’s too much for me sometimes.” I smile like I’m joking because I feel bad, but it’s true. Sometimes just Margie is too much. I think it’s why the quiet place is nice, tempting.

Nick’s mouth turns down. “You know what some of my friends said when Mom died?”

“No.”

“They said ‘well, at least you have spares.’”

“That’s… um… wow.”

“Yeah. I kinda ditched them because of it, which is why I’m spending a lot time down here this summer.” He waves his arm toward the market.

“Do you miss them?”

Nick shakes his head. “That’s the weird thing. I really don’t. None of them understood what I was going through, you know? After a few months they expected me to be over it and back to the way things were. When I wasn’t, they started hounding me.” Nick looks at me, his eyes wide, unbelieving. “My best friend said I was dwelling on it too long. Believe that?”

I think about Hank in those last few months, how he would say the same thing when one of us got sick.
Malingering
was the word he used. He said if we weren’t so lazy we’d get better faster. I remember when Mom had the flu so bad she needed to go to the emergency room, how I finally had to get a neighbor to take her because he wouldn’t. Mom withdrew after that, starting to leave for work earlier, coming home later. It was the worst time for yelling and the start of when Hank accused her of awful things.

“I’m sorry your friends said that.”

Nick nods. “It’s nice to talk to someone who understands.”

Bees come along and I think maybe they’re not mine. I like being here with Nick, talking about our moms and I don’t feel like going to the quiet place. I’m hoping there’re one or two buzzing around, looking to fill up on daisy pollen from Nick’s flowers, but there aren’t. Only the ones inside my head. I think it’s because Nick sees me—inside where I’ve gone. Right down into the hollow. I think also it’s because I’ve spoken the words. I’ve told Nick what happened.

I wonder if now’s a good time to answer the bees, the phone, to find out what it all means. When I think this, though, the bees buzz louder and I feel the quiet place wanting me.

“I’d better get back now.” Bus. I need to catch my bus.

“I can take you home.”

“Maybe another time.” I stand up and gather my things. We head back the way we came in. I walk fast, hoping maybe if I hurry I might not go quiet in front of Nick. He knows about Mom. He knows about Hank. He doesn’t need to know about me too, about the nothingness, about my mind slipping and sliding all over the place.

Pretty soon we’re at the bus stop and the bus is at the curb. I need Binka. I need my tether. I pull out my cell phone, bring up her picture and stare at my kitten’s face. “Thank you for the flowers,” I say to Nick.

“Sure. Listen, can I have your number? To make sure you get home okay?”

I hand my cell phone over. “Can you put yours in here? I’ll call you when I get to Margie’s.”

While Nick’s programming in his number, the bees invite a few friends. While I’m stepping up the bus stairs, the friends invite friends. While I’m watching Hank weave his way down the long aisle toward me, his eyes looking left, right, then back at me, the hive takes over. Pretty soon I go where it’s quiet. Right there on the bus with Hank coming toward me.

My cell phone’s playing a tune. Margie’s changed the song since the last time it rang—something upbeat, something you can tap your feet to. I pull it out of my pocket and open it. “Hello?”

“Lily?” It’s Aunt Margie.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Where are you?”

I look around. I’m still on the bus, at the back. There are people in their seats, facing forward. I don’t recognize where we are. The bus doors are just whooshing shut, a bunch of used-to-be passengers standing on the sidewalk outside. Hank’s in the middle of them, still with his black button-down shirt, his khakis instead of jeans, his black mantis eyes that aren’t hurt anymore, just full of rage and decision. I don’t smell whiskey or paint or mint.

“Lily?”

“I’m on the bus.”

“Are you on your way home?”

“Yes. I fell asleep.”

“Where are you?”

“Hold on.”

I cover the phone’s mouthpiece and tap on the shoulder of a woman sitting in front of me. “Where are we?”

“Near downtown,” she says.

“How far from Queen Anne?”

She thinks for a minute. “Probably twenty minutes or so.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

I get back on the phone with Margie. “I’m about twenty minutes away, Aunt Margie. Are you at home?”

“Yes. I called a few times and came home when I couldn’t reach you.” Margie’s voice is upset and scared.

“Sorry. I promise I’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll watch for you. Twenty minutes.”

I hang up and tuck my cell phone in my pocket. Dr. Pratchett’s Twice Told Tales bag is on my lap now. I remember leaving it on the seat next to me and putting Nick’s daisies on top of it. The daisies are still there, wilted from no water, velvety petals scattered on the seat and the floor underneath. I put my hand on Dr. Pratchett’s bag, letting my fingers feel through the canvas, trying to understand why it’s on my lap. I only feel the outline of the workbook inside.

I open it wide all at once, my insides leaping because I think maybe it wasn’t a not-Hank I saw at Pike’s and on the bus and outside the window after all.

A picture is peeking out from where it’s tucked behind the cover of the workbook that tells about my issues. I reach inside, pull it out slowly, but keep it face down.

I wait until we get to Queen Anne, wait with my hand shaking over the picture that shouldn’t be inside my workbook. When we’re still a block away, I ding the bell for my stop and turn the picture over at the same time.

Margie and me in Mom’s meadow. A picture of our backs, of us sitting close together, waiting for a whisper, a
good-bye
to come along. Hank was there the whole time. In Mom’s meadow where she was supposed to be safe.

Click. Snap.

I get off at my stop and take Nick’s daisies, leaving a trail of petals from the bus down the block to Margie’s apartment—bullet-shaped red petals that say I let them dry out, that I killed them.

Margie’s waiting for me when I open the door. She’s not mad. She’s scared.

“Lily, what happened?” There’s guilt too, like it’s her fault I blanked out on the bus.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Aunt Margie.”

She wraps her arms around me. “Where have you been?” Her voice is chock full of fear.

“I fell asleep on the bus.”

“Lily, tell me the truth.”

I scoop up Binka where she’s sitting on the couch and hold her to my cheek. She puts her head under my chin and pushes hard.

“I went to Pike’s with Nick—”

“Nick?”

“He lives in Dr. Pratchett’s building. I met him on the elevator. He’s nice.” I sit down on the couch, Binka’s head still pushing under my chin.

“How old is Nick?” Margie asks in a careful voice.

“My age.”

Air whooshes through her white lips. “Okay. Why did you go to Pike’s with Nick?’

“I missed the first bus. He invited me.”

“And was today the first time you met him?”

“No—last week.”

“Why didn’t you mention him then?”

I look down at Binka where she’s curled herself up in my lap. “I forgot.”

“Lily,” Margie says. “Did Nick do something to you?”

“No. Nick’s nice.”

“It’s been two hours since you finished your session with Dr. Pratchett. Have you been with Nick this whole time?”

I look up at Margie and see she knows already. “I had a spell on the bus.” I say. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t apologize for something you can’t help. Just tell me the truth. Are you okay? Did anyone bother you?”

I think about the picture Hank left that tells me he’s been with us the whole time, about him standing with a bunch of bus riders like he’s a normal person touring the city. If I tell Margie, she’ll send me away. To Mack and Darcy’s. To the loony bin. Away from Binka.

“No, Aunt Margie, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“I never should have let you go on the bus. I’m sorry,” she says.

I hold out my arms and wrap them around her without disturbing Binka. “It’s okay. Nothing happened.”

Margie puts her hot face against my neck, her whole body shaking. “It’s not me I’m worried about. My god, Lily. My god, if something
had
happened…”

“It didn’t. It’s a small thing, the bus. We can forget about it. We can let it go.”

She sits up and looks hard at me. “You’ll never go on the bus again.”

“Okay.”

“Never,” Margie says again. “I’ll take you every time.”

“Your job, though.”

“You’re first, Lily.”

Margie decides to invite friends over for a dinner party on Saturday. I’m expected to go. She says it’s important I start meeting other people.

“I met someone, remember? I went to Pike’s with him on Thursday? The flower guy? Nick?”

“I know and I think that’s great, but I’d like you to meet my friends now. You’re a big part of my life and they are too.”

Margie’s voice is unbending. I send out a little ribbon of hope that Hank will wait to come for me until after the party. I tell myself I don’t feel afraid about Hank coming with this bullets, his decision, that there’s no room inside for fear. All seats taken. I tell myself this, but when I look over at Binka sleeping on the couch and at Aunt Margie stuffing manicotti shells with a bunch of different cheeses, at all the metal boxes that mean different things, at the apartment that’s starting to feel like home, I’m not so sure anymore.

“Tell me more about this Nick guy,” Margie says.

“He lives where Dr. Pratchett has his office.”

“I know. You mentioned that. What else?”

“He’s nice.”

She grins at me. “Well, good, I’m glad you’re meeting people. You need to be careful when you do, though, okay?”

“I shouldn’t have gone to Pike’s?”

“No, I think it’s great. I hope you’ll let me meet this Nick soon. I just want you to be careful. Besides the episodes, you’re a little spacey. Know what I mean?”

“I’m careful,” I say. “Nick’s a good person. He, um, he lost his mom too.” My voice is so quiet Margie has to stop what she’s doing and lean forward to hear me.

“And you told Nick about your mom?” she asks, her voice all hope.

“Yes. We sat on the bench where Mom told me we were leaving Hank. It brought back some memories. From when we were here before?”

Margie keeps her hands busy making manicotti, but I see she’s tense and wants to ask more questions. Push, don’t push. Pester, don’t pester. “It was really nice when the two of you came last year,” she says. Her voice is careful.

“Mom loved your apartment. I did too. You didn’t have all the boxes, though.”

Margie’s eyes flit to mine, then back down to the manicotti. “I put them away when you came last time.”

“Because they would’ve reminded Mom of Hank.”

She nods.

“I’m glad you left them out now.”

“I didn’t have time—” She looks up, her eyes wide. She doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to.

“It’s okay. I know you had to leave fast.” I watch Margie stuff a couple more shells. “Thank you, by the way. For taking care of me.”

Margie smiles a little. “Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” She wipes tomato sauce on her face when she brushes her cheek with a gooey finger. “I’m glad you had a nice chat with Nick.”

“He’s easy to talk to.”

I watch Margie’s fingers stuff cheeses like it’s what she does for a living and wonder if she looks like this when she’s making her boxes. Elegance and strength and care in Margie’s hands, total concentration on her face.

“Do you know Nick’s phone number?” she says.

“Why?”

“Well, if you’re up for it, I think it would be nice to invite him over. That way you have someone familiar here and I get to meet your new friend.”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m sure he has something to do.”

“Up to you, kiddo.”

“He’s probably got a date or something.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

I think about going to Pike’s with Nick and I don’t mind the idea of him being here. “Okay, I’ll call him,” I say. “His number’s in my phone.”

Margie looks surprised and happy. She skips off to get my cell phone after she washes off her manicotti goo. She brings her laptop too.

“What’s Nick’s last name?”

“Andros. Wait, like Andros. Anders.”

Margie looks completely confused.

“Anders.”

She types quickly, then turns the laptop around so I can see what she’s looking at—a bunch of pictures with “nick anders + seattle” typed into a search field. Clever Margie.

“Do you see him here?”

I see Nick’s picture right away and point at the second one in the second row. “That’s him.”

Margie whistles. “He’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She looks at me. “You do like him, don’t you?”

“I think he’s nice.”

Margie shakes her head. “Good enough for me.” She clicks on the picture, which goes to the website where it’s posted. Pretty soon she’s muttering under her breath, reading, “…scholastic achievement… first place state science fair… my god, Lily, he’s brilliant. Did you know he’s slated to graduate a year early and go to an ivy league college?” She reads a little more and her mouth drops open. “An ivy league college
of his choice?
”

Margie’s looking at some high school site where Nick’s got a page dedicated just to him. I get where his confidence comes from now. “No, I didn’t know.”