I smiled coyly. “You won’t be sorry.”
“I know I won’t be sorry,” he said. “I . . .” He trailed off, smiling. “Do you remember that night we fell asleep on Starlite Island?”
I laughed. “Remember? Oh, I’ll never forget. And we woke up, and it was four thirty in the morning?”
He nodded. “We paddled as fast as we could from Starlite back to the dock, and as we were running across the street, you stopped in front of my new house and said, ‘Man. That one could really shine in the right hands.’ ”
That had been a perfect night, as so many of those young nights with Jack had been—besides the fear that my parents would wake up and kill me for spending the night out with a boy, of course.
“That night, I remember thinking I would give anything to buy you that house, to live there with you and make it our own.”
“Jack . . .” I said.
He shook his head. “No, I get it, Ans. This isn’t me coming on to you. It’s just I could tell in the yard that I had hurt you, that you thought I didn’t remember. But I did. I remember.”
“Well, thank you.”
He smiled. “And, also, Caroline told me to buy it, and she’s a really, really scary small person.”
Between my laughter I said, “Caroline told you to buy it?”
He winked at me. “She had some notion that maybe you would fall in love with the boy next door.”
All those years ago, I had. I had fallen in love with the boy next door—or the boy down the street, anyway. Sitting with Jack now, I had the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I could fall in love with the man next door too.
FIFTEEN
the brightness of the stars
sloane
November 28, 2010
Dear Sloane,
Even out here, in a dry desert that it feels like God surely has forgotten, the stars shine bright and the moon hangs low, and for a moment, between the gunshots and the shrapnel, the wounded soldiers and the innocent civilians lost in the mix, there is a moment, just a moment, that still feels like a miracle, that still feels like life can be beautiful and good. I’m convinced that these moments are what make up our lives, that the moments that are nothing short of miraculous are the ones that define who we are, that we will remember always. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Because I’d hate to think that I will remember the fighting but I will forget the brightness of the stars.
All my love,
Adam
I PRAYED ALL DAY, every day that God would bring Adam home to me, unharmed. My faith was my sanity, and I wondered, not for the first time, how my mom survived everything she had without belief in a higher power. My faith was one of the greatest gifts I had. Because of it, I knew that even when I couldn’t quite see the end, everything would work out the way it was supposed to.
That didn’t keep me from feeling utterly terrified and devastated, but it helped me put one foot in front of the other when I didn’t want to. That day, I wanted to. I could practically smell my children, feel their sticky little hands on my face, and hear their sweet, small voices, so filled with excitement and joy.
When I walked through the door, my two boys flew into my arms so quickly that they almost knocked me over, giggling and covering my face with kisses. It occurred to me that, in a world where children’s laughter exists, all can never really be lost. I hadn’t even finished kissing them before I looked up and saw that Caroline had hung one of my paintings from the boat over the mantel.
“It’s perfect,” Mom said. “It changes the entire room.”
“Aren’t the grays so good?” Caroline asked.
Emerson walked through the front door, canvases in her arms.
“Sloane!” Mom gasped, admiring each one. “You should sell these.”
I was going to say no. These canvases were too important to me. They were my heart and soul, all of my emotions draining out from my fingertips and onto the canvas. But then I remembered: I needed the money. This could be the answer to my prayers. It could get me out of the mess I’d made and help me start over. I picked up one of the canvases. Sure, these paintings may have helped bring me out of the darkness. But if I could let them go, I would be free. Not forever. But for now. “Not yet, Mom. I’m not ready. But soon.”
Grammy walked in wearing a beautiful yellow pantsuit. Her hair was freshly combed and her makeup expertly applied with a steady hand, but I would never get used to seeing her with a cane. I didn’t like it. It made her seem old. I didn’t want her to be old. I wanted her to be young and so very alive. I wanted her to walk on the beach with us, take the boat over to Starlite Island. I wanted her to be immortal. As foolish as it seems, I almost believed she was.
She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “We had so much fun with the boys, darling. They are precious.”
Then she hugged Caroline. “And that James.” She paused. “I hate him much less now.”
We all laughed as Mark burst through the door. Emerson jumped into his arms like she hadn’t seen him in months, kissing him passionately.
“Darling, for heaven’s sake,” Grammy said.
Mark backed away from Emerson, assessing her. “Why do you have on long sleeves?”
Caroline and I shared a glance.
Mark was studying Emerson’s face. As he said, “Oh my God, Emerson,” she pulled him out the door, and I knew he had noticed her bruise. I looked at Caroline again
