Waves of Light (5 page)

D
ad, Vivian, and I went over to her house as soon as the sun rose.
House
was probably the wrong word to use because Vivian’s yard was now just a debris-strewn mud pit. Her roof, cracked in two places, barely cleared the pile of mud. But otherwise, only bits and pieces of her house were still visible. The trees were half-buried too, as were Vivian’s statues and yard.

“Maybe I should call Peter …” Dad began.

But Vivian had drifted toward what was left of the house.

“It just needs to be cleaned up, right?” I said. “I mean, we can clean up all this dirt, and everything will be okay underneath. Right?”

“They haven’t had a chance to check the house yet, Sadie. But I’m guessing it will be condemned. Houses aren’t made to get wet and crack apart this way.”

“But it’s not wet anymore. I mean, they said the flood was so short …”

“That’s what a flash flood is,” Dad said. “But there’s structural damage, soggy drywall, and possibly mold left behind.”

“But no one else’s house was …”

“There’s a bit of flood damage downtown.”

“A bit?”

“Nothing like this. Vivian’s house sits lower than most, and she got the worst of it here, with the ice jam on that creek up behind her house, melting and dislodging all at once.”

Vivian squatted down and dug into the dirt, coming up with something grubby cupped in her hands. I took a step closer but stopped when I saw the dead fish, his bright-red tail hanging at an awkward angle. All of her fish would be dead. All of her paintings would be destroyed. Her sculptures were broken and ruined. Anger rose, burning my throat. Why Vivian? Why not any other house? Why not ours?

Vivian started rocking back and forth. She hadn’t said anything since she’d told me the house was gone. The last part of our drive home had terrified me, with the thick silence and her tears. She seemed trapped, frozen — as though a layer of ice had grown around her. Now, her quietness didn’t feel comfortable, it was heavy — like Mom’s silence when the sickness came. I knelt down and reached for her shoulder, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually touch her.

Helplessness tore at me, ripping my insides and growing into thick black anger that demanded to be unleashed on someone, something, anything. Words, sense, nothing would come — just fury.

I clenched my fists, doing everything I could to hold myself together as Dad put his hand under Vivian’s elbow and practically lifted her to her feet. “You’ll come stay with us, of course.”

She shook her head. Still, I managed to hold the monster inside.

“Yes,” Dad said in a tone I knew meant business.

Breathe, Sadie. Breathe
.

Vivian’s voice cracked as she spoke. “I’ll stay in an apartment over in Hiawatha. Could you drive me over there? I suppose I’ll have to pick up my truck later.”

“Vivian, no one expects …” Dad began.

“I need my own space, Matthew. I need …”

From where I stood behind her, I couldn’t see her expression as she looked up at Dad. I saw his face harden, though, and then melt and settle into the look he sometimes gave Mom when there was nothing else he could do, other than help her to bed.

I wrestled my anger all the way to Hiawatha, hugging my arms around my body. If I let go, I might crack apart. Why was I so furious with Vivian? It didn’t make sense. I wanted to shake her, to force her to speak. I wanted her to yell and cry so I didn’t have to. I wanted to shout at Dad who hadn’t fixed anything. Mostly, I wanted to scream at God, “It’s not fair!”

I hated my hands, which fluttered around as though they could help if they could just find the right thing to do. All the things I wanted to say, like, “Don’t move to Hiawatha, Vivian,” and “I need you,” were so selfish. I knew they were selfish. Still, I couldn’t help thinking them.

We sat with Vivian while she signed a one-month lease and agreed to leave the walls in the apartment boring paper-white. Then Dad carried her suitcase upstairs. No bed, no couch, no TV. And definitely no colorful fishtank or art on the walls. No aprons or baking sheets or peanut butter cookie ingredients either.

She didn’t seem to notice. She drifted from room to room and stared out each window.

“Vivian, Sadie and I will run home to gather some things for you. A pillow, food, blankets, and the air mattress. I’ll ask Helen to come back with us so we can bring you the truck.”

Vivian nodded slightly, still staring out the window. “I’ll be okay, Matthew. You don’t have to worry.”

“We want you to have whatever you need. Should I leave Sadie here with you?”

Did she sense my reluctance? Is that why she said she needed a few minutes alone?

I was desperate to get away, to stop seeing Vivian in pain. I knew she wanted to be alone, but somehow leaving her felt wrong. Why should she suffer alone? Why should she suffer at all? Why her house, which was full of irreplaceable things?

Dad hit the steering wheel with his palm after we got back into the Jeep. “Why?”

I’d seen Dad lose his temper maybe twice before. I didn’t know what to say.

Silence settled over us on the way home. Dad’s mouth pressed into a tight line, and I curled up in my seat, physically holding myself together. Just two days ago, I’d laughed so hard that I couldn’t breathe. Now I wasn’t sure I’d ever laugh again. How could the entire world flip on its head because of one broken ice jam?

I buried my nose in my knees and tried not to see the broken fish every time I blinked. Tears rolled down my cheeks in slow, silent lines. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“Sades,” Dad said.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

B
ack at the house, Dad and I rummaged through the linen closet and drawers. I found a spare apron in the kitchen. But even in his upset state, Dad forbade me from giving away his Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice apron, which would have been the perfect way to get rid of the hideous thing once and for all.

I gathered extra art supplies, paints, brushes, pencils, and a blank sketchbook I’d been saving for when I finished my current one. Fury ripped through me again as I turned through the blank pages. Not only had Vivian lost her house, but all she had now were blank pages. No old sketchbooks to flip through, no half-finished sketches to spark new ideas. Nothing. No art supplies in the world could fix that.

We packed towels, dishes, a cookie tray, sheets, blankets, a pillow, and our air mattress.

“This is a start.” Dad looked over the pile. “Helen and Andrew have been collecting stuff too. Let’s pick them up and then we can stop at the store. We’ll pick up some food and dish soap and whatever else we can think of.”

I nodded, still unable to speak, and helped carry the pile out to the Jeep.

A few bears rambled around the research station’s yard when we arrived, and a girl I didn’t know busily filled feeder boxes. With everything that had happened, I’d totally forgotten. Annabelle. Her blonde hair curled under at her shoulders, and she’d twisted and pinned a few strands here and there. White threads from her cutoff jeans hung against her perfectly tanned legs, and when she turned to look at the Jeep, my breath caught. Stunning green eyes, a perfect nose, and freckles scattered across her cheeks. She might be the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. She smiled at us as Andrew and Helen came out of the research station. Andrew walked over to Annabelle, put his hand on her shoulder, and told her something, his head close to her ear as he spoke.

Annabelle laughed and waved him away as he jogged over to the Jeep.

“Annabelle will stay and make sure everything’s okay at the station,” he told his mom. “She promised to call if the creek gets any higher.”

“Hopefully Big Murphy will show up today or tomorrow. Annabelle knows to try to get him onto the scale if she sees him, right?”

“Yep. You know how she is with the bears.”

Helen climbed into the Jeep. “My research assistant in training.”

Andrew hesitated before getting in back with me. “Do you want to meet Annabelle now, Sadie?”

I shook my head. No need to explain that I’d rather do just about anything than meet Annabelle.

“Okay. How is Vivian doing?”

I shook my head again. The lump in my throat wouldn’t allow me to speak, and I didn’t know if it was because of Vivian or Annabelle.

“How’s the health spa? Is Cindy settling in?” Helen asked Dad.

I stopped breathing. In all the commotion, I hadn’t asked him about Mom. Dad didn’t melt into a happy smile, but his shoulders didn’t tighten in frustration either.

“The doctors are hopeful, but no significant results yet,” Dad said, his tone guarded.

“What does that mean: ‘hopeful’?” Andrew asked.

Leave it to Andrew to call Dad on the diplomacy.

“Hopeful that she can get back to a normal life.”

Normal seemed impossible to me right now.

Andrew reached over and squeezed my hand. “I heard you were with Vivian when they called her about the flood. I’m sorry, Sades.”

As soon as I could, I pulled my hand away and wrapped my arms around my knees again.

Andrew folded his arms and settled back into his seat. “We packed some things too. Kitchen stuff and a few books.”

“So, who’s Annabelle?” Dad asked Helen. “You’re grooming a new assistant?”

“Not really. Her family runs a boating resort during tourist season, so they come up in the spring and stay through the summer. Annabelle fell in love with the bears the first summer we moved out here, and now they stay with us every year while they open up their lake house. To tell the truth, I don’t think I could keep Annabelle away.”

“She’s a dancer, though,” Andrew said. “I don’t think she’ll end up being a scientist. Sadie, I have so much news: Annabelle’s going to be the lead in the show! She’s perfect for it because the main character has to be a dancer — a really good one.”

I forced a smile.

Andrew nodded at my necklace. “Pretty.”

My cheeks burned. He’d given me the necklace. So why did I feel totally exposed for wearing it?

Andrew frowned and took my hand again. “I know you’re worried about Vivian. I’m sorry, Sades.”

Yes. I should be upset because of Vivian. But all I could think about now was Annabelle’s perfectly freckled nose.

“We’ve improvised our way through the play a bunch of times,” Andrew went on. “Penny set the scenes in their locations, and we have a loose idea of the flow. You’ll love the story.”

He was probably trying to distract me from thinking about Vivian, but I was mostly noticing how the pressure of his hand against mine clashed with the way he said Annabelle’s name.

“The play starts in a forest shack, so we’re using the Thompson’s front porch. A messenger visits and announces that the king has requested their daughter — word has reached him about how she sings like a bird and dances like gravity doesn’t exist. But the messenger is a liar. He takes the girl to the forest, binds her feet up in a music box, and collects money as people watch her sing and dance. That’s the big thing your set crew will need to make — a music box. Oh, and the messenger’s cart. Something big enough to hold Annabelle. She’s not that big, but you know what I mean.” There was that smile again — that Annabelle smile.

He looked as though he expected a reply. “Are you okay, Sades?”

He still held my hand. I pulled my fingers free. “Maybe we should talk about this later.”

I dropped my face into my hands and rubbed my temples like I had a headache. Mostly, I didn’t want to look at his face, all lit up like that.

“Vivian was going to help you with the set pieces, wasn’t she, Sadie?” Helen asked from the front. “Maybe we should recruit some other helpers now. She’ll be busy prepping pieces for her art show. Especially now, since—”

“She probably won’t even be able to do the show,” I snapped.

The Jeep went quiet.

Dad shot me a warning glance in the rearview mirror, and I mumbled an apology. “I’m just …”

“You’re upset,” Helen said. “I know. It’s okay.” She turned
up the radio, and I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.

I felt Andrew watching me and turned away so my shoulder blocked most of his view of my face. He wanted to spend time with Annabelle? Fine. He didn’t get to hold my hand, too.

T
he phone rang after I’d fallen asleep, and Dad picked it up on the first ring. I checked the clock: Eleven ten. Higgins jumped onto the bed and snuggled close, but I couldn’t get comfortable. No call in the middle of the night can be good. After a few minutes, Dad’s bedroom door opened, and his footsteps sounded on the stairs. Now I really had to know. I pulled on my slippers and hurried after him, Higgins on my heels. He was probably hoping for a treat.

Dad already had the frying pan out on the stove and was cracking an egg into a glass bowl. “Oh, Sades. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Who called?”

“Midnight snack?”

When I nodded, Dad cracked a few extra eggs into the bowl and added cheese and milk and spices. I sat at the table while Higgins lay on my feet, letting out a huge dog sigh.

“All right, Higgy.” I took a treat from the jar and made him sit before giving it to him.

“So who was it?” I asked, sitting back down.

“Dr. Jenkins at the spa. Mom is having a difficult time with the detox treatment. Her heart isn’t reacting well.”

“Her heart? As in she had a heart attack?”

The eggs sizzled as Dad poured them into the pan. “No. Nothing so serious. Just arrhythmia. She’s always had a little irregularity in her heart, but the treatment is making it act up.”

“So she’s getting worse.”

Dad turned to look at me. “They’ll take her off the treatment for a few days while her heart stabilizes, and then they’ll try it again.”

“And she’ll have to stay there longer.”

“Yes. But I know she wants to be home with us.” Dad pushed the eggs around the pan with a spatula.

I kicked at the table leg, thinking about Mom in her hospital room all alone.

“What if …?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question.

“She’ll be okay, Sadie. She can live with the disease. I probably shouldn’t have suggested that she try the spa. I shouldn’t have raised all of our hopes. Maybe we should just work on accepting the situation.”

I kicked again — this time so hard that my foot rammed into the post. While I rubbed my big toe to stop the throbbing, Dad spooned eggs onto two plates and brought them over to the table.

I stabbed my fork into the pile. The eggs tasted like sandpaper, even though I’m sure they were just as good as Dad’s eggs always were. Anger had taken over every part of my body — my nose, my mouth, my entire insides. My anger was so big that my skin couldn’t hold it in. It burst out from every pore. My entire body burned with it.

“Sades, are you okay? You look flushed.”

“I don’t feel well.”

Dad held his hand to my forehead. “You might have a fever. Maybe you should go back to bed.”

I shivered. “Okay.”

I felt hot, then cold, and then hot again. And my eyes stung. Higgins followed me upstairs, and I snuggled under the covers, not sure whether I should pull them up or throw them off. If only I could stay one temperature for a minute or two, then maybe I could decide.

Accepting the situation
. Dad’s words tumbled around in my head. How was I supposed to accept the fact that Mom would never be well? Never. As in never, ever? How could a person be fine one day, and then the very next day be sick with something that would last the rest of her life? For every holiday, every birthday, my graduation. Maybe even my wedding day (if I ever had one).

Thoughts of weddings made me think of Andrew and Annabelle, and now I did toss my covers off. I lay back, letting the cool night air hiss against my skin. Andrew’s necklace burned against my neck. I flung it onto the bedside table and lay back, willing my mind to stop spinning. I wouldn’t wear it anymore. Not ever.

I needed to pray. But what would I say?
God, help me accept the fact that Mom will be sick forever and that Andrew loves Annabelle? Help me accept that Vivian’s house is gone and she has to start all over with her artwork?
I didn’t want to accept any of those things. I closed my eyes and breathed until my heart slowed enough for me to fall into a toss-and-turn sleep.

I woke up a little later with my skin still on fire and my sheets a messy tangle. Tomorrow, I was supposed to go to the Tree House and spend the day working on set plans. Penny had scheduled the performance for one month from now, so the set pieces couldn’t wait forever. We needed a music box and a cart, but I didn’t know any of the other particulars. I shouldn’t have cut Andrew off this afternoon. I just couldn’t stand listening to him gush about Annabelle and how wonderful she was.

I rearranged my covers and opened my sketchbook, deliberately flipping past all of my prayer-pictures. From now on, I’d use the book to sketch set pieces. Business only. If God wanted to destroy Vivian’s house — or allow her house to be destroyed — then I didn’t feel like asking him for anything else. Talking to God seemed to lead to disasters, one way or the other. And I’d had more than my fair share of disasters. So much for God not giving me more than I could handle.

I tried not to picture Annabelle as I drew designs for the music box. It was supposed to be ornate and look like something that belonged to a king. So I’d need to find gold or silver paint. I’d pair whichever I found with deep red. Or maybe green. Apparently the messenger was poisoning the girl with lies, so maybe poison green would be appropriate.
Drawing only stirred up all of my frustrations, so I got out of bed and turned on my computer. Maybe Pips had answered my email.