“What is it?” she asks, hopeful about the answer, and I’m struck by the intense black of her hair and blue of her eyes—she outdoes her own work.
“Disney World,” I say.
“Yes,” Lola says and tilts her head. “It’s Ray on Space Mountain.”
“The Magic Kingdom,” I say. “Is this before or after he puked?”
“Mom told him not to get on,” Lola says. “Remember what Dad said when Ray got out of the bushes?”
“‘Magic is in the belly of the beholder,’” I say.
Ray was already growing daring, dangerous, and self-destructive. For the first year after Lola’s accident he barely spoke, and then when words came back to him they were spiked with metal tips. We scattered from him like he was shotgun blast. Dad tried the hardest, staying in the line of fire, weathering the wounds like he wore a bulletproof vest.
Only in Lola’s presence was Ray softer. At first, he couldn’t even speak to her; he was a pillar of stone when she came near him. Yet they seemed to share a communication to which no one else was privy. She sat by him on the couch when we watched television. She would put her arm around him or rest her head on his shoulder. His body tensed at her touch, and his breathing became slow and carefully measured. I watched the juxtaposition of their bodies—hers at rest and his tensed to the point of quivering like an arrow drawn.
At first I mistook it for anger, but the more I watched them, the more I saw it for what it was—self-loathing. Ray took responsibility for the accident. Lola couldn’t remember the details of it clearly, and none of us ever told her exactly what happened. But Ray knew. He knew what he had done.
Back then, she sought out Ray in the house, forcing him to be near her. He never refused her, but it took years for him to turn from stone to flesh at her touch. She became his calming force, but without her next to him, he was all torment and destruction. When he left at eighteen and couldn’t take her with him, I feared he wouldn’t survive.
Lola sighs, bringing me away from the past. She points to the painting with her brush. “I can always count on you to make out the meaning.”
“That’s what I was hoping you would do for me,” I say.
She puts down her paintbrush. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. Everything feels different.”
“Every moment you don’t go back in time is different,” she says. “That’s the way it works.”
“I might have started something I shouldn’t,” I say and walk around her studio, looking at her work like it’s my own private gallery showing, searching for something in the brushstrokes that will make the world make sense.
“Like Ray getting on Space Mountain?” she asks.
“It’s exactly like Space Mountain.”
“I’ll make coffee,” she says and heads for the kitchen. “The good stuff.”
I stand in front of the Space Mountain painting and try to see what else might be in there. I can’t find anything so I join Lola in the kitchen.
Chris comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. We catch each other’s eye, and I look away.
“Sorry,” he says, holding one hand out in front of him. “Didn’t know you were here.”
“Ditto,” I say.
Lola screams, dropping the mug she’s holding, and points at Chris. “Who is that? Who are you? What are you doing in here?”
My heart kick-starts in my chest, and I grab hold of her hand.
“Lola,” I say, managing a soothing voice that quickly escalates toward panic. “This is Chris. You’re dating him. You’ve just forgotten for a moment. Holes, remember? Holes.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head and looking at Chris. “I’ve never seen him before. I wouldn’t forget someone I was dating.”
Chris clutches the towel around his waist and looks horrified. “You know me,” he says and reaches out for her.
“Get away from me.” Lola slaps at his hand.
My breath catches in my throat, and I look frantically from Lola to Chris and back again.
“It’s me,” Chris says and starts singing. “‘Your car is broke, and it’s no joke. You got a rash . . .’”
Then the both of them start laughing.
I release my breath and my knees get weak. “That was mean,” I yell at them, my heart pounding. “You two are just mean.”
Chris is laughing so hard he drops his towel, revealing a pair of shorts underneath.
“I’m sorry, sis,” Lola says, trying to regain her composure. “We’ve been planning that for a while. Just waiting for the perfect opportunity. It was funny, right?” She stands beside Chris, and he puts his arm around her.
“It was her idea,” Chris says. “I heard you out here and went for it.”
“Just don’t pull that on Ray,” I say. “Or at least make sure you’re dressed again. Getting into a fistfight in the nude is bound to be embarrassing.”
“Point taken,” Chris says, nodding appreciatively. “I’ll leave you girls alone. Unannounced visit from the sister usually means girl talk.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Lola says and pecks him on the lips.
I’ve never seen her joke about her forgetfulness in such an open and carefree way. It makes me like Chris all the more. I still want to pound on both of them for taking a few months off my life, but I like him nonetheless.
“It’s a gorgeous day,” Lola says to me. “Let’s sit outside.”
I give Chris the eye, but end up smiling at him. Lola and I finish making our coffee and go out onto her patio.
“I should be ashamed of myself,” she says, setting down her coffee on the black iron patio table. “I’ve been inside all morning painting when it’s this beautiful out.”
“You can be French and bring your easel outside. That way you can enjoy the fresh air and still get your work done.”
“Ever practical,” she says to me. “And when it gets dark, I can put candles in my hat like Van Gogh did
