him.
Still, she knows it’s fantasy. He’s never looked at her. He doesn’t even really see her standing here now. If only he could see her, and the longing that shoots through her in this moment causes me physical pain. If he would only open his eyes.
“You showed them, Tuck!” she cries, cheering for him.
I back away from her, reeling, dizzy. There were all these jokes between him and me, about little Miss Allison Lowell. And all this time she’s been totally crushing on him.
I take a good long look at her. The first thing that strikes me is the red hair, a natural, shiny copper, not like the orange nightmare mine was last year, but the color of a new penny.
She’s willow thin, but I get a sense of muscle about her, too, regular exercise, fresh air. She’s stronger than she looks. Pale, milky skin smattered with freckles, but it suits her. Coral lips.
Expressive brown eyes.
She’s pretty.
And she does rodeo. And she’s from around here, maybe wants to stay. She’s a regular girl. A redhead. He likes redheads. And she likes him.
If I had never shown up at school last winter, maybe he would have seen her in her prom dress that night. They might have talked. He might have even ended up calling her Carrots.
She’s like the healthy alternative to me.
I can’t breathe. I head for the exit. Now more confused than ever.
But as I push through the crowd, I turn one last time to look for Tucker, who’s back on Midas now, and I can barely make out his head, his hat, his serious eyes as he pivots the horse back toward the gate, before I turn to go.
That night I curl up next to Mom in her bed and we watch home videos together. Dad comes in every now and then, watches with us with this half-sad expression, seeing the evidence of all he missed. Then he goes out. I never know where he goes when he’s not in the house. He’s just gone.
This one we’re watching now is of the beach. I’m around fourteen. It must have been right before Mom took me out to Buzzards Roost, told me about the angels. I am your typical girl here, walking along the sand, checking out the hot surfers. It’s kind of embarrassing how obvious I am, when the cute guys come along. I try to act all poised, toss my head to show off my hair, move with a dancer’s grace along the shore. I want them to notice me. But when it’s just us, just Mom and Jeffrey and me, I’m a total kid. I splash in the water, run around in the sand with Jeffrey, build sand castles and destroy them. At one point I grab the camera away from Mom to film her. She’s wearing a flowy white cover-up over her bathing suit, a large straw hat, big sunglasses. She looks so vital, so healthy. She joins in with our play, laughs, darts along the shore being chased by the waves. It’s funny how when people change, you forget the way they used to be. I’d forgotten how beautiful she was, even though she’s still beautiful. It’s not the same. There was an energy about her then, an unconquerable spirit, a light in her that never went out.
Right now she’s quiet. I think she might be asleep, but then she says, “That was my happiest time, right then.”
“Even without Dad?” I ask.
“Yes. You two made me so happy.”
I offer her my bag of popcorn, but she shakes her head. She’s completely stopped eating now. Carolyn can only get her to take sips of water, maybe a bite or two of chocolate pudding on good days. It bothers me, because living people have to eat. It means she’s not really living anymore.
“I think maybe that was my happiest time, too,” I say, watching myself smile up into the camera.
Before visions. Before purpose. Before fires. Before all these choices I’m not ready to make.
“No,” Mom says. “Your happiest times are still to come.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen it.”
I sit up to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“All my life, I’ve seen glimpses of what’s to come, mostly for myself, like the visions, but sometimes for others as well. I’ve seen your future, or variations of it, anyway.”
“And what do you see?” I ask eagerly.
She smiles. “You go to Stanford.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You like it there.”
“So Stanford equals happiness? Great then, I guess I’m all set. Can you tell me the color scheme for my dorm room, because I’m trying to decide between a lavender theme or royal blue.” Yes, I’m being sarcastic, and maybe I shouldn’t, when it seems like she’s trying to tell me something important. But the truth is, I can’t imagine real happiness. Not without her.
“Oh, sweetie.” She sighs. “Do me a favor,” she says. “Look in the top dresser drawer. In the back.”
I find a dusty red velvet box hidden behind her socks. I open it. Nestled inside is a silver charm bracelet, old and a little tarnished. I hold it up.
“What is this?” I’ve never seen her wear it before.
“It’s for you to wear to the cemetery.”
