Blue Sky Days (2 page)

Daisy was not only the opposite of me, but also of my mother, who was critical and judgmental and had gone out of her way to make me feel worse than I already did about not going to college.

I tried to replace my worries with the thought that my aunt might be able to teach me a few things about life, freedom, and spontaneity.

After two of the seemingly endless hours of driving, I started to wonder if I would ever get to Riverview. I wasn’t used to being in a car for more than a few minutes, and I definitely wasn’t used to the unfamiliar highway. It didn’t help that rain fell in a steady curtain and cars whizzed by me while I stayed within the speed limit, my hands clutching the steering wheel, my eyes constantly checking the side and rear mirrors. I started to raise one hand to my mouth as if to bite the nails—a nervous habit I’d had briefly as a child before my mother shamed me out of it—but her scolding voice popped into my head, telling me what a filthy, disgusting habit it was, and I dropped my hand back to the wheel.

When I finally saw the exit for Riverview, my stomach began to flutter with anticipation, excitement, and a little bit of that old worry. I blinked in surprise when the rain tapered off and the gray blanket of clouds parted to reveal weak sunlight. It was the first time I’d seen the sun in weeks, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it. By the time I turned off the highway and saw the welcome sign that boasted Riverview as ‘The Little Town With A Lot of Heart’, the clouds were heading in the opposite direction and the sun was shining full force.

I turned onto Main Street and felt like I’d been transported back in time. The small town, with a population of around 2,000 had most of its major attractions right there on Main, looking like something from a bygone era. Daisy had told me that Riverview was a year-round attraction for tourists from all over the country, and I could see why. There was a 1950s-style diner and ice cream parlour, an old movie theatre advertising classic films for three dollars a ticket, a newer theatre no more than a block away offering new movies for seven dollars a ticket, and a variety of shops and boutiques housed in beautiful, elaborately designed buildings.

Couples walked down the street holding hands, and teens moved in clusters, the sound of their excited chatter and laughter drifting in through my now-open driver’s side window. As I turned off Main Street, an old woman and a little girl waved to me, their smiles bright and welcoming. I knew then that Riverview was the perfect place to start over, far away from the busy, crowded streets and flashing lights of Toronto. No one but Daisy knew me here, and even she didn’t really know the person I had become. I realized I could be anyone I wanted to be, and immediately felt at peace; I knew I would be happy living here.

That feeling of happiness and peace was cemented when I arrived at Daisy’s. The town was so small I had no trouble following the simple directions my aunt had relayed over the phone the week before. Even though Daisy had lived in Riverview for ten years, I’d never been here. After seeing what the town was like, part of me wondered if things would be different had I visited sooner—if
I
would be different.

Daisy’s two-story white-sided house was larger than I’d imagined, and more beautiful than any home I’d seen before. It had sky blue shutters carved with intricate moons and stars, and a bright blue door. Overflowing flower boxes, the same vibrant shade as the door, adorned the lower windowsills, and the cobblestone pathway that led to the porch was lined with more flowers and porcelain faeries.

There was an elaborate garden to the side of the house, flowers in riotous colours spilling out of the earth as well as clay pots. In the middle of the garden stood a white gazebo strung with lights, with an ornately carved swing visible through the entry. I was imagining sitting out there on warm summer nights surrounded by fragrant flowers and twinkling white lights when the sound of the front door opening caught my attention.

Daisy stood there, looking like something out of a picture. It had been so long since I’d seen her, I had almost forgotten how stunningly beautiful she was—wild masses of dark, wavy hair, huge glittering eyes the colour of sapphires, and a full-lipped mouth that smiled often. She was smiling right then, her eyes shining as she held her arms out for me.

I hurried up the walk and before I could say anything, she closed her arms around me tightly. Nobody but Daisy ever hugged me this way. Her embraces always made me feel as if I was the most important person in the world, and let me know that I was loved, cherished, and missed. I felt a sudden and powerful urge to cry, but instead, I relaxed into her arms and drank in the moment with all my senses: Daisy’s soft, sweet-smelling hair, her smooth cheek pressed against mine, and her melodious voice as she said, “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here, Emma.”

She eased back, pressing a kiss to each of my cheeks before holding me at arm’s length, her hands rubbing my arms in a comforting gesture. “Let me get a look at you,” she said, her smile widening as her eyes slowly swept over me. I wondered what she was thinking, and if she noticed that I’d let my curly hair grow long—not out of any sense of fashion, but because I didn’t have time to get it cut. Or if she realized that I’d grown at least two inches since the last time we saw each other, and we were now the same height.

As she looked me over, I took the opportunity to do the same to her. She wore a loose-fitting cotton dress of robin’s egg blue that twirled around her calves as she shifted. Her feet were bare, with toenails painted to match her dress. I had a sudden memory from childhood of Daisy preferring to be shoeless because she said that shoes were too confining and she never wore them unless absolutely necessary.

“What happened to my little girl?” Daisy asked, drawing me back to the present. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she continued to look me over, shaking her head slightly. “You’re so beautiful! You’re all grown up, and I missed it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, and, possibly mistaking my silence for something else, Daisy added quickly, “But you’re here now and we have nothing but time to make up for…well, lost time.” She laughed as she pulled me in for another hug, then offered to help me bring my things inside.

We deposited my bags just inside the front door, and I cast a look around while Daisy chatted excitedly. The front door opened into a large foyer; there was an old-fashioned coat rack just inside the door, with an antique-looking bench beside it. A closet took up the length of the opposite wall, and a small row of shoes was lined up neatly in front of it. As Daisy led me through the house, we passed the spacious kitchen, its gleaming countertops catching my attention. I had just enough time as we passed to notice a table and chairs, and a doorway leading to a formal dining room. When we entered the living room, Daisy gestured toward the furniture. “You get comfy and relax while I make some tea, okay?”

While she was gone, I looked around the house that would be my home for…well, I wasn’t really sure for how long. Whether it was a few weeks, a few months, or longer, I knew I didn’t want to leave until I had achieved what I came for, and until I made a good start on my journey of self-discovery.

The living room was enormous, with high ceilings, a mixture of eclectic furniture, and Daisy’s own artwork gracing the pale yellow walls. I had always loved Daisy’s paintings; whether they were abstract, portraits, or scenery, they held the power to make a person stop and think—about life, about love, about the world in general. She had a knack for capturing emotion and painting it onto a canvas with light and texture and a beauty that was multifaceted.

Little porcelain faeries like the ones in Daisy’s front yard were scattered on tables and peeking out from behind the chairs, the grandfather clock, and the bookshelf. It was all so different from my parents’ house, which was stuffy and formal with furniture that looked uncomfortable and unwelcoming, and very few personal, homey touches. Daisy’s house reminded me of Daisy herself: a welcoming mixture of simplicity and complexity, warmth and charm.

Daisy reentered the living room, her dress dancing around her bare legs as she moved to the coffee table and set down the hand-painted wooden tray she was carrying. She had such an easy grace about her and such a calming manner, I found myself completely at ease, which didn’t happen often.

“I hope you still like peanut-butter chocolate-chip cookies,” she said, handing me what looked like an antique cup and saucer with a pretty shamrock pattern.

“I do. I’m not sure I would have survived all those years without your care packages.” All through school, whenever Daisy visited, she brought packages with homemade cookies, fruit breads, and assorted teas. Once I was too busy to see her, she mailed the packages every few months. “Mother’s not exactly the baking type, as you know,” I said, accepting a plate of cookies from her.

Daisy scoffed as she sat down beside me and tucked her legs up under herself. She didn’t say anything as she studied me, her eyes intense as they looked into mine, then roamed slowly over my face. “You’ve changed,” she said.

“Well, it’s been a while,” I said, trying not to fidget under her steady gaze.

She made a little humming noise in her throat, her brows drawing together slightly. She studied me a moment longer and I wished I could see what she saw, and what was worth such intense scrutiny. Finally, she shook her head as if to clear it and the smile returned to her face as she reached out to touch my cheek. “Sorry,” she said. “There’s something different about you. I guess it’s just hard to accept the fact that you’re growing up.”

I had to admit I found this kind of amusing since Daisy is only fourteen years older than I am. An unexpected but welcome surprise for my grandparents later in life, Daisy was born when my mother was in her late teens. My aunt had still been a child when my parents got married and had me. In a lot of ways, we grew up together, almost like sisters—something my mother fought hard to discourage every chance she got. She and Daisy had been so different that they had never been close, so my mother didn’t want me to have a special relationship with my aunt. Not that it made my mother work any harder to ensure a special relationship—or
any
kind of relationship—between her and me. The harder my mother tried to keep Daisy and me apart, the harder we both fought to be close. Daisy had been everything to me growing up—she was like an aunt, sister, mother, and friend all rolled into one fun package—basically all the things my own mother wasn’t.

Physically tired from my trip, and emotionally tired from having nothing but time to think for the past several weeks, I steered the conversation onto lighter subjects. I told Daisy about my drive up, my first impression of Riverview, and how I was looking forward to sitting in the garden and learning about the plants and flowers she had. We reminisced about our childhood, carefully avoiding the subject of my mother.

When the teapot was nearly empty and the cookies were gone, Daisy stood, smoothing out her dress before reaching for my hand. “Come on upstairs. I’m anxious to show you your room.” She pulled me from the couch and wound her arm through mine, leaning into me with a smile so loving it made my heart ache.

The stairs went straight up to a small landing before splitting in two directions. Daisy took me to the left first to show me ‘her wing’, as she called it, with her enormous bedroom and luxurious en suite bathroom, and a smaller room that she used for her painting, sculpting, and other artful endeavours. The stairs on the other side led to the guest wing, which was now mine, according to Daisy. There were two small spare bedrooms she said I could use when friends were over, or turn one into a workspace for anything I was interested in. I didn’t tell her I had no friends, or that I was clueless as to what I’d use a workspace for. She was so delighted about showing me around, I didn’t want to disappoint her by letting her know how dull I had become, or how lonely my life was.

“I hope you like your bedroom,” Daisy said as we paused in front of the closed door at the end of the hall. “When you told me you were coming, I spent days planning it all and putting it together.” Her whole face lit up, and her eyes glowed with an excitement I associated with kids on Christmas morning.

When she opened the door, I knew why; it was like something out of a secret dream—the room I had always wanted but seemed too fanciful for someone as sensible as I was. My eyes were drawn immediately to the gleaming maple four-poster bed in the centre of the room, covered in a fluffy dark purple comforter and matching throw pillows. It was every little girl’s dream, and a vast difference from my single bed at home.

Two of Daisy’s original paintings, both watercolours of the same forest—one in spring and the other in autumn—were hanging from the pale lavender walls, creating bright spots in the room. I scanned the hardwood floors that matched the maple bed, and when my eyes came to the desk in the corner, I realized Daisy had thought of everything as I saw a vase of white calla lilies and framed pictures of Daisy and me when I was a little girl. The final aspect of perfection about the room was the French doors that led out onto a small balcony. I could see the river in the distance, sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

The powerful urge to cry that I had felt when I first arrived washed over me once again, but this time I couldn’t hold it back. I burst into tears and threw myself into Daisy’s arms.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she cried in alarm. “You don’t like it?” She held me close and rubbed my back in slow, soothing circles.

“I love it,” I said between sobs. “It’s beautiful.”

Daisy stood back and took my hands, her eyes full of laughter, but her face carefully controlled. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I can’t believe you did all this for
me
,” I said, sniffling. I was beginning to feel foolish; I couldn’t even remember the last time I had cried, and
this
was when I decided to start?

Daisy laughed out loud this time, a sound as musical as her voice. “I did all this for
you
because I love you. I want you to feel at home here. I thought a pretty room of your own that you could enjoy and spend time in would be a nice change from your little box of a room at home.” She laughed again as she brushed my tears away with her fingers and kissed me on the cheek.