Waves of Light (4 page)

I
t wasn’t until we were sitting there on the drop cloth, our toes dripping with glow in the dark paint, that Frankie and I realized the flaw in our plan. All the way across the room from the bathroom, we were trapped.

“Whose idea was this, anyway?” Frankie asked.

“You have to admit,” I said, “The footprints are the perfect touch.”

We sat back and studied our mural. Pine, maple, and aspen trees filled a twilight version of our forest back home, with wildflowers blooming in splashes of color, and stars bright against the darkening sky. Despite her mixed feelings about the bears, Frankie let me add Patch and her yearlings to the mural. Patch’s ears and snout poked around the side of a thick tree, while her yearlings balanced in the branches above. After adding an owl, a red-feathered cardinal, a few
hummingbirds, a raccoon, and a rabbit or two, we decided the mural needed something more.

“Something mysterious,” Frankie had said.

Since we’d bought glow-in-the-dark paint for the stars, it seemed wasteful to use it for only a few stars and a sliver of moon.

“What about some footprints? Glow-in-the-dark ones. They could go down here in the darkest part of the forest so you wonder who left them and where they’re going,” I’d said.

Then we’d quickly torn off our socks and shoes, covered our feet with paint, and awkwardly angled ourselves until we could make the footprints go in the right direction, never considering how we’d wash our feet afterward.

I lay back now, careful not to touch the hardwood floor. “Looks like we’ll be here for a while.”

Frankie lay back too and sighed. “When you leave New York, this will all be so real and so horrible.”

“What? Patch lurking in your bedroom — ready to sneak up on you during the night?”

Frankie laughed. I laughed too and the sadness dissolved for the moment. We couldn’t avoid it forever, but I wasn’t ready for good-byes yet.

“We could crawl to the bathroom,” I suggested, pushing up onto my hands and knees.

Frankie held up her paint-coated hands and gave me a questioning look.

“So blow on them,” I said.

Frankie smeared her hands down the back of my shirt,
so I dipped my fingers into the paint to pay her back. In the end, we lay down on the drop cloth again, giggling madly. It felt like all we’d been doing was laughing, as though laughter could keep everything else far away.

“I have a present for you,” I said when we could finally breathe again.

I hadn’t planned on telling her about it because I’d wanted to surprise her. But somehow, this felt like the right moment to say something about the scavenger hunt I’d planned.

“If you put another fake spider in my hair, you will pay,” she said.

I grinned, remembering her manic dance as she’d tried to untangle the sticky legs from her hair. “At least it wasn’t a real spider.”

“If it had been …”

I interrupted her. “It’s a real present this time. But I’m not giving it to you until I leave.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what it is.”

“So you’ll have something to look forward to.”

Downstairs, the chimes rang as the front door opened. “Francesca, are you home?”

“Ugh,” Frankie said. “Already?”

“Francesca?” Her mom clacked upstairs and into the bedroom on impossibly teetery heels. “Girls, you’re a mess! And we need to leave in fifteen minutes to make it to the gallery opening. Vivian’s already there.”

“What opening—” Frankie started to say, but her mom cut her off.

“Vivian will see the gallery in full regalia, so she knows what to expect next month.” She stopped, looking pointedly at our feet. “What are you doing?”

“Mom, Vivian and Sadie are leaving tomorrow. Early.”

Frankie’s mom helped us to our feet, careful not to touch any of the wet paint. “All the more reason to have a night on the town, darling. Wait here. I’ll get you some old socks so you can dash to the WC and wash off.”

We wrestled socks onto our sticky feet and hurried into the bathroom, where we peeled out of our clothes and took turns rinsing off in the shower.

Frankie’s mom knocked on the door. “Hurry, girls. We’re late.”

As Frankie toweled off, she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, we wouldn’t want the chauffeur to have to wait.”

After a few more mad minutes of dressing and brushing our hair and swiping on some lip gloss, we were as ready as we’d ever be. We followed her mom down to the car, and I slid into the backseat. Frankie’s mom had studied the mural while we got ready, and now she analyzed our style and technique while Frankie bristled silently beside me. She hadn’t asked for her mom’s opinion. I stared out the window, trying to catch my breath.

After Frankie had come home from her trip to New York at Thanksgiving, I hadn’t understood her reluctance to live with her mom. New York was the center of the art world, and I knew her mom spoiled her rotten. Now that I was here, though, I saw how out of place Frankie was. It was like
watching a fish try to do ballet on dry land. But Georgiana didn’t stop moving long enough to notice. Which was worse: a mom who was too exhausted to notice anyone but herself, or a mom who was too caught up in her own life to pay attention to you?

Women in black dresses, glittery heels, and perfectly manicured nails filled the brick and glass gallery. Frankie’s mom swept us around the room and introduced us to Delores and Diamanté and Diandra. I’d never remember the names, and neither, I assumed, would Frankie.

After two hours of being petted and cooed over, my feet ached and my cheeks burned from smiling too hard for too long.

“Nothing like having a pet,” Frankie whispered when her mom turned away to clink glasses with the gallery owner. “Want some fresh air?”

I nodded and followed her out to the gallery’s front steps. Frankie sat and dropped her head into her hands.

“I can’t do this. I can’t be this person,” she said.

“I didn’t think I’d ever fit in when we moved to Owl Creek,” I said.

“That’s because I was doing my best to make you as miserable as possible.”

I grinned. “Think of everything you’ll learn about art here.”

“Vivian can teach me what I need to know. Anyway, you saw those paintings in there, and the way everyone took them so seriously.” She imitated one of the black-dress
women. “See that red circle? The ragged edge portrays violence and betrayal. It just … speaks.” Frankie lowered her voice for this final word, a perfect imitation of the woman we’d overheard.

I choked back laughter. “I wish I had your present here. I can’t wait for you to open it.”

“Can’t you just stay with me?” Frankie asked.

I took a deep breath trying to shape the thought that had been trying to come out — the thought I knew Frankie needed to hear — into words that would make sense. “Okay, don’t laugh at me.”

Frankie must have heard the change in my voice because she turned to face me. “I won’t laugh. Promise.”

“I don’t think I would have started drawing if hadn’t come to Owl Creek.”

“But you already—”

“Not like I did once I met Vivian. Drawing pulled me closer and closer to seeing …”

“Seeing what?” Frankie asked, as the silence stretched long.

My heart thudded against my ribcage as I tried to push out the words I’d known I would have to say at some point. I couldn’t quite force myself to speak.

“Come on, Sadie. I promised I wouldn’t laugh,” Frankie said.

“God,” I finally said. The name tumbled out of my mouth and fell between us as heavy as a stone. I was too afraid to look at her, too afraid to see her expression. My
feelings were too private to talk about, but I knew Frankie needed to hear about my experience. As her friend, I had to tell her — no matter what she thought of me afterward.

I pushed on, faster now, filling the silence with words. “When I drew, I felt something bigger than me, tugging at me. I probably always believed in God deep down, but I didn’t think about him much until I came to Owl Creek and all those bad things happened. It wasn’t only that I realized God exists, but I discovered he cares. I mean, when you really look at a snowflake and pay attention to all the fine details, you can’t help but see how much God must care. About everything. About us.”

When I finally looked up, Frankie made an impatient gesture, worse than if she had laughed. “So you think bad stuff should happen to everyone? So God can prove he cares?”

“No. I just think … I think when hard stuff happens, you realize you have help. Bigger help than you knew you had, and I think God’s help really matters. That’s all. It helps you keep going.”

Frankie silently picked at her fingernail for a long time, and my heart felt like it was growing, expanding so much that soon it wouldn’t fit inside my body. I couldn’t catch my breath.

“I don’t know if I believe in God, Sadie,” Frankie finally said. “But I’ll try to believe you — that something bigger out there is watching and helping. I really hope that’s true.”

We sat there watching clouds drift across the night sky,
white against the orange city glow, until Frankie’s mom burst through the door behind us.

“Oh, Francesca, Sadie! I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. We should be getting home now.”

For once, Frankie didn’t make a snide comment. She must be exhausted. I’d leave her present on her bed in the morning, and hopefully she wouldn’t wake up. I wanted her to have that surprise, at least — a small moment of happiness even though she’d be here on her own.

M
y mouth tasted like moldy socks, my eyes were sticky at the corners, and I couldn’t feel anything in the lower half of my left leg, which seemed to be tucked up under my knee. Why was I sleeping sitting up? I blinked my eyes and cradled my foot as what felt like millions of bees woke up under my skin, stinging me until my eyes watered.

“You okay?” Vivian asked from the seat next to me.

“My leg’s asleep.” I had to lift it off the seat with my hands to straighten it, and then I pressed my foot against the floor so the pain would hurry up and get over already.

“Lovely hair,” Vivian handed me a steaming thermos. “It’s hot chocolate. Should help wake you up.”

Slowly, as the fog cleared from my head, I remembered getting into Vivian’s truck. I must have fallen asleep immediately after we’d left Frankie’s house. “How long have we been driving?”

“About four hours. It’s nine thirty now.”

I held the thermos in both hands and directly under my nose so the chocolate steam battled the terrible taste in my mouth. Finally, when I was sure I wouldn’t drool all over myself, I took a sip.

Outside, puffy clouds hung in the bright blue sky, and the highway stretched on endlessly. Trees covered low hills on either side of the road, but other than the occasional semitruck and a car or two, there were no signs of civilization.

“We’re in Pennsylvania, a little way outside of Bellefonte,” Vivian said. “We can stop and grab some breakfast.”

“I need to brush my teeth.”

Vivian gave me a sideways glance. “No kidding.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes, still trying to wake up. Leaving Frankie’s house was a foggy memory, almost like a dream. I’d tiptoed into Frankie’s room and put the box at the foot of her bed. Maybe by now she was awake and reading the letter I’d written and rewritten until I was sure I’d gotten it just right.

A small hollow space opened up inside me — a space that couldn’t be filled by sending drawings back and forth. But if I felt this sad, how must Frankie feel? At least I had Ruth and Andrew and the play to go home to.

I opened my eyes. “How long will Frankie put up with being called Francesca?”

“Doesn’t really fit her, does it?”

“None of it fits her.”

“Well, her mom is an artist. Don’t forget that.” Vivian pointed to a restaurant sign up ahead. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, I’m starved.” And my fingers itched to draw. I’d skipped drawing again last night. “It doesn’t seem like Georgiana is an artist, at least not the way you are.”

“There’s more to her than what’s on the surface.” Vivian took the next exit. “When she showed me around the gallery, she surprised me, actually. Unfortunately, what’s on the surface is terribly distracting. Frankie will have to get through a few layers before she really gets to know her mom.”

“And you think she will?” I asked.

“If she keeps drawing, she can’t help but see some different angles to her mom.”

We turned onto Main Street, which was lined with trees that hung over the road. It reminded me of a postcard of some long-ago small town. As we drove underneath them, I looked up into the branches covered in brand-new leaves, thinking of the first task in Frankie’s scavenger hunt:

From this point of view, the leaves were green lace against a blue sky. Maybe I’d draw the leaves from two angles — first drawing, done.

“I left the scavenger hunt on Frankie’s bed this morning,” I said.

Vivian smiled. “She’ll love it.”

We found a small coffee shop and ate egg sandwiches. Then we brushed our teeth in the small bathroom. Luckily, it was a one-person kind with a lock on the door, so no one came in while we spat our toothpaste into the sink. With food in my stomach and my dragon breath cured, I felt more like myself. I wet down and re-braided my hair, splashed cold water on my face, and headed out to the truck.

Back on the road, we played through Vivian’s road trip playlist from start to finish — a full two hours. Now it was noon. On and on and on the road stretched. The trip back to Michigan would take seventeen hours; so if we were lucky, we’d be home by ten o’clock.

I jiggled my legs and shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Bored?” Vivian turned down the music.

“Kind of. I’m thinking about our youth group’s play. I’m in charge of the sets.”

“Do you know what you’re making?”

“No idea. I haven’t read the story yet. But I’m hoping you’ll have time to help me with it. I mean, unless you’re swamped with the exhibit.”

“I’m sure we can work something out. Do you have a crew?”

“Not yet, but Penny said she’d ask for a parent volunteer or two. She doesn’t want me to work the saw, for one thing. And there’s some building stuff I don’t know about. Like how to make something strong enough for an actor to stand on.”

“We can look over the drawings together,” Vivian said. “I’m better with chicken wire and cement, but I know a thing or two about wood.”

Vivian pulled off the highway at a rest stop.

When we were back in the truck, Vivian let me look through her art show sketches. I flipped through the plastic-covered pages, and then napped until two. By then, we could no longer ignore our growling stomachs. We drove through Wendy’s, because we’d already done McDonalds and Taco Bell. Since we were both impatient to get home, we ate in the truck and kept driving. Dad should be home from the airport by the time we got there. He’d spent a few days at Mom’s spa, so he should have some news. I knew my imagination was running wild. I pictured Mom running on the beach with her hair swinging across her back and her cheeks flushed from the exercise. The way she used to be. I’d already banished all of my recent memories of her, pale as porcelain and draped limply across a chair or bed. I’d decided she would finally be better, no question. I knew disappointment was possible, but I couldn’t help hoping. Something had to work. Mom couldn’t live the rest of her life this way.

“You know, I think I can use a number of the sculptures from the yard,” Vivian said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m
actually thinking the display should be like the yard back home, with the creatures and sculptures all tucked away between trees. Which means I’ll have to create some trees, too.”

Vivian went on about three-dimensional art and how she planned to use light to mirror sunrise and sunset in the room, making it as close to an outdoor forest as she could. When our stomachs started growling, we found a café, stretched our legs and then loaded up for the final part of the drive.

I fell asleep for a few minutes, but woke up as the sun started to set. My first thought was of Mom. I wanted so much for her to be okay that I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I flipped through my sketchbook and did a loose sketch of the leaves, but I quickly lost interest. At least the sketch was a reminder so I could draw them properly after I got home. I played DJ for a while, scrolling through Vivian’s playlist until we started to see familiar surroundings.

Vivian’s cell phone buzzed.

“Answer that for me, will you?” she asked.

I dug through her purse and pulled out the phone, disappointed when the number on the screen wasn’t Dad’s. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Vivian? Vivian Harris?”

“No, this is Sadie. Vivian is driving.”

“Can you ask her to pull over?”

I didn’t like this voice, clipped and official. The kind of voice that brings bad news.

“She’s asking us to pull over.”

Vivian frowned but pulled the truck onto the shoulder and turned off the engine.

She took the phone from me. “Hello?” Pause. “Yes, this is she.” Long pause. Then all the color drained from Vivian’s face. “I don’t understand.”

After another even longer pause, she said in a voice totally unlike her own, “So it’s … Yes, I see … No.” Vivian’s hand shook. “When can I go take a look?”

I mouthed, “Take a look at what?”

As Vivian turned away from me, I noticed how white her face had become. She nodded and then said, “Yes. Daylight. I understand.”

She hung up and just sat there, staring out at the road. I don’t believe she saw anything at all.

“Vivian?”

She didn’t answer.

“Vivian, what happened? Are you okay?”

Slow tears rolled down her cheeks. “My house is gone.”