Tin Lily (23 page)

I lean forward and wrap my arms around my legs. I feel myself bending, crying, answering.

“Are you okay, Lily?” Dr. Pratchett asks. His voice is quiet, but not far away. That’s when I realize I’m not hearing him through the buzzing because the buzzing’s gone.

“I’m okay,” I say. I sit up slowly and look at the empty chair where not-Hank was. He’s over by the bookcase now and he’s changing. First to a shiny metal like the small box Margie said is the toughest of the bunch, then to dull silver like the tin box Margie had to bend to make beautiful, then to copper and silver, then layered shale like the delicate box that looks strong but isn’t. He’s flaking apart little by little, breaking into a million pieces. Pretty soon he’s gone and he takes his whiskey, paint and mint with him.

I only smell Christmas.

Dr. Pratchett comes over and sits next to me. “How do you feel, Lily?”

“I guess maybe I feel better.” It’s true. Maybe not all the way better, but enough better to make the bees go, to make not-Hank go. “I think the buzzing was Hank’s lies about me and my mom. I believed him because he taught me how to ride a bike, how to read, how to paint a picture.”

“He was your dad,” Dr. Pratchett says softly.

“Yeah.” My voice hitches and pretty soon I’m using that tissue again, only my crying isn’t for Mom this time. “I loved him. I always thought he loved me. Even when he was mean, I thought he did.”

“Do you think it’s possible he both loved you and felt compelled to control you?”

“Be over in just a minute, sweetheart.”

“I love you, Beans. We
’
ll all be together now. Hold real still, honey.”

“See you later.”

“I think he believed we would better off not here anymore, that we would be together again after he shot me. Shot himself.” Dr. Pratchett is quiet and it takes me a little bit to realize my mistake. He touches my arm, asks me with his fingertips to look at him.

“Lily, you told Margie your father didn’t try to hurt you that night.” His voice is cautious, full of questions.

My stomach is all flutters and nervous energy. “I lied, Dr. Pratchett. Hank tried to kill me too. He was out of bullets by the time he was close enough.”

Silence, then more caution. “Did he say anything that would indicate he would come back for you?”

I decide I don’t want to lie anymore. No more lying, no more stuffing. Even if it means Mack and Darcy. I nod and see something in Dr. Pratchett’s eyes I haven’t before. Fear. “Have you seen him, Lily? In Seattle?”

“Yes,” I say. “In the bookstore. And he was on the bus with me during my spell. He left me a picture of me and Margie in Mom’s meadow. Then last night he came to Margie’s apartment when I was waiting outside for Nick.” Dr. Pratchett looks confused. “Nick is my friend—we went on a date. Hank was there before he picked me up. He said I have to make things right, that he wants me to live with him again, but I have to choose to come back. I think he’s been other places too, but sometimes I wasn’t sure if he was real.” I don’t know if it’s the time to tell Dr. Pratchett about the not-Hanks, about how his whiskey and mint smell meant that he wasn’t really there.

Dr. Pratchett looks like he wants to ask, but decides to focus on real-Hank instead. “The bookstore—is this when you went with Margie before our first visit?”

“Yes, when I met Cheetah.”

“What did he say to you, Lily?” Dr. Pratchett’s voice is still careful, like he’s afraid I’m going to stop talking. I’m not going to stop. I’m ready to not be hollow anymore.

“He said it wasn’t time yet, that when it was, we would go to Grandpa Henry’s.”

“And did you hear anything Hank said to you on the bus?”

“No. He just left me that picture.”

Dr. Pratchett nods, his eyes all worry. “And you didn’t see him again until last night?”

“He was maybe at Pike’s Place when I went there with Nick.”

“And you haven’t told Margie?”

I shake my head, ashamed. “I was afraid she would send me away. To Mack and Darcy’s?”

“I don’t know who Mack and Darcy are,” Dr. Pratchett says.

I’m surprised. I thought Margie would talk to Dr. Pratchett about Mack and Darcy’s ranch, but she hasn’t. “Didn’t Margie want to send me away?”

Dr. Pratchett shakes his head. “Never.”

I’m looking at Dr. Pratchett and I can feel my eyes are big, that I’ve got my deep pools going. I’m so surprised Margie never want to send me away I don’t know what to say. I keep quiet, though, and let the new feeling inside me spread.

The hollow place was so heavy before. This new feeling is light. I think Dr. Pratchett was right—there’s room inside for everything. Mom’s face, her smile, they’re right there in my mind and I imagine her here, grinning at me, telling me she’s proud I stopped stuffing. Imagining Mom makes the tears start up again, but they don’t make me rip, don’t dissolve me. I think they’re something like normal tears, the ones you cry when someone you love isn’t here anymore.

Dr. Pratchett reaches over and pats my arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I say. For the first time I mean it.

“That was quite a breakthrough, Lily, and I want to thank you for trusting me.” He smiles and points to the phone on his desk. “I’m going to need to call Margie now. You understand?”

“Tell her Hank’s in town.”

“Yes.”

“Tell her I’m sorry, too?”

Dr. Pratchett smiles and heads on over to his desk. He’s talking to Margie and I’m walking around his office now, touching his books again. I run my fingers down the spine of
The Stand
and think about how Stu Redman didn’t get to make his final stand against the Dark Man. He broke his leg along the way and had to stay behind. The plan for Stu was bigger than facing the Dark Man. He didn’t know it was bigger, though, didn’t even know how he was going to fit or where he belonged. But he trusted.

I decide to be like Stu, to trust that I’ll fit into this new life.

I decide to trust that there’s a plan for me.

She was no longer wrestling with the grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts.

-George Eliot,
Middlemarch

While Margie’s rushing to Dr. Pratchett’s office from her work, I’m talking with Nick on the phone, asking him if he wants to say good-bye before we leave. Margie’s decided we’re not staying in Seattle, that we’ll borrow Sam’s cabin on San Juan Island until Officer Archie and his friends in Washington can catch Hank. Sam will take Binka and keep her safe.

Nick’s at Pike’s Place and will have to run back to meet me in front of the dancing fountains. It’s why he was calling earlier, to see if I wanted to go with, if I was still in the market for a personal fish, a panama hat, maybe some more daisies. I think now if I heard the old guy with a lot of hope singing about shouting down the wind, I might think different. I might have something more to say about that.

Dr. Pratchett takes me downstairs and stands with me in the lobby until we see Nick running up the wide concrete stairs.

“I’ll stay here until Margie picks you up,” he says.

“Thanks, Dr. Pratchett.” I head on out to the fountains, giving Nick a little wave. He trots over, grins, gives me a big hug without asking. I don’t mind the not asking. Don’t mind at all.

I keep quiet about answering the buzzing, not sure if Nick would understand. This is good-bye for a little while and I don’t want there to be a bunch of weird words between us. We’re only starting out, me and Nick.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Nick says. He still hasn’t pulled his arms away. I listen to his heartbeat, quick and strong. My body feels his heat. Where he touches is alive, and where he doesn’t is alive too.

“I wish that too,” I say. “I’ll miss you.” The words are easy. So easy.

Nick pulls back, his face surprised. “Don’t tease me, Berkenshire.”

“I’m not, Hornsby.”

Nick’s smile makes me smile and pretty soon we’re grinning at each other like it’s the best day of our lives. Full goof.

“You seem different,” Nick says.

“I am different.” Nick doesn’t know how I was before Hank came with his gun. I don’t remember, but I do know he’s right—I am different.

“So, you going to change your name?” Nick says.

“Henrietta Livingstock,” I say right away.

Nick laughs, shaking his head. “Please, god, no, anything but Henrietta.”

"What’s wrong with Henrietta?”

Nick just shakes his head again, then fishes around in his pocket and pulls something out. “I bought you this,” he says. “Down at Pike’s.” He holds it up in the bright day so I can see. It’s a necklace on a thin, silver chain. My breath catches and I can’t joke anymore, can’t believe Nick bought me this necklace.

“It’s stained glass,” he’s saying. “The guy I bought it from said the glass and metal were forged together.” He points to the dull silver holding the tiny pieces of colored glass together. “There’s no glue. Just metal and glass. I guess it’s unique or something.”

I take the necklace from Nick, slip it over my head and study the fragments of glass—once shattered grains, barely sticking, now whole.

“It’s perfect.”

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, Henrietta.” Nick brushes my cheek with his thumb.

“Someday I’m going to tell you how important this necklace is.” I smile at him, then slip my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

Nick pulls back from our hug, but doesn’t let me go. He leans in, his eyes slipping slowly closed. When his lips kiss mine, they are soft and warm. His hands move behind me and I feel his fingers just barely touching my back. Ten spots of pure softness. Ten spots that tell me he knows what I need, what I can handle. I let Nick kiss me and I kiss him back. I move my hands up his arms, feel him shiver, press my palm against his cheek. In this moment Nick’s lips, his hands, they’re all I want. I don’t care if the wind’s kicking up and sending spray from the fountains to coat our skin. I don’t care that we’re right out in public where anyone can see us. I don’t care that my phone is playing a tune.

Nick does, though. He breaks our kiss and points at my pocket. “Margie’ll kill me for keeping you like this.”

“Hi, Aunt Margie,” I say after I peek at the caller ID.

“Hey, kiddo. Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve gotta hit the road.” I’m relieved Margie doesn’t sound mad.

“Where are you?”

Instead of Margie’s answer, I hear her honk. She’s where the bus picks people up and drops them off. She waves. I wave back, then turn to Nick. “I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?”

He’s serious now. “Be careful, okay?”

“I’ll be careful.” I give Nick another quick hug, whisper good-bye and trot toward Margie’s car. I remember to wave to Dr. Pratchett still inside the big glass doors before I get too far. He waves back.

“See ya, Henri!” Nick calls out as I’m opening Margie’s car door.

“See ya, Hornsby!” I holler right back. My voice cracks a little because I haven’t done much yelling lately, not even much talking if we’re being honest. It’s good, though. My voice cracking means I’m alive.

We go back to the apartment so we can pick up our clothes, some books, a couple of Margie’s boxes, her laptop. I’ll have to say good-bye to Binka, try to explain to her about Sam and his two cats. I’ll tell her to be brave meeting them and ask her to not teach them any of her bad manners and spazzy ways unless she needs to. I think if I get Binka back after Hank’s caught, I’ll be lucky. Sam loves her.

Sam’s waiting outside the apartment when we get there, his hair going twenty different ways as usual. “Kick some bee ass, Lilykins?”

“Damn straight,” I say.

He grins and gives me a squeeze while Margie unlocks the door.

I expect to see Binka sitting in the entryway or the living room like usual, waiting to pounce the second we get in. But she’s nowhere. This makes my legs go weak even before I hear Margie’s holler and Sam’s gasp. They’re looking at something over by my favorite chair next to the patio, something I don’t care about right now because I have to find Binka. I run to my bedroom, call her name, then when she doesn’t come, scream her name. I drop to my knees and look under my bed. She’s there, tucked into a corner, her spaz fur sticking out even more than usual, her eyes huge and terrified.

It takes a minute to coax her out and then her body stays rigid when I hold her against my cheek. Even before I go back into the living room I know why Binka’s so scared. Hank’s been here.

Sure enough, Margie and Sam are over by the sun chair, their shoulders bent while they look at something.

“Oh my god,” Margie says.

In my chair is a new painting. It’s just me in Mom’s meadow this time, my cheek resting on my bent arm, my eyes closed, paint splatters running up the page like blood. My skin is two-toned, like Hank understands that he made me into someone else when he killed Mom. Flowers bloom up around me—the Susans and the honeysuckle and the dogwood, the bluebells. I take a step closer. Something catches the light, something not in the picture. There’s gold dust on the flowers, in the air around me. He painted Mom’s ashes gold. It is the most beautiful painting I have ever seen. Beautiful and terrible.

On the table next to the sun chair is a collage. Me and Margie stepping into the bus the first day we visited Dr. Pratchett’s building. Me and Hank at the bookstore, Cheetah in my lap. Margie wearing goggles and an apron, bending over a liquid fire, her gloved hand pointing to something. Binka in the dumpster on her coffee can, her pink mouth open wide, meowing her head off. Me and Nick on the bench at Pike’s Place, the water stretching out golden in front of us.

I get closer to the paintings. They’re amazing in a way I’ve never seen before. Hank’s art was always just average, never good enough for a gallery or even to get A’s in his classes at college. I found a painting once with an evaluation clipped to it. His professor said he needed to dig deeper, that his technique was perfect, but there was no feeling in his work. Looking at Hank’s new paintings, I think his professor would say different now. Hank’s gone all the way crazy and found the feeling he needs to be a good painter. A great painter.