“Mati has nothing to do with what we’ve been through. In fact, he’s making it easier for me to cope. Did that ever occur to you? Audrey has Janie, and you have your work. What do I have? The camera my dead brother gave me and a graveyard of a photography portfolio.”
With that, I spring from my chair and storm out of the library.
I leave my cooling coffee on the table, but I take the newspaper.
In my cavernous bedroom, I read every word of the article that’s got my mom so worked up and, yes, it’s scary, but I refuse to let fear color my perception of the world. Mati isgood. If I thought for one second that he or his parents were a threat to my family, I’d cut things off immediately. I might be idealistic, but I’m not obtuse.
I think of the poem he let me read at the cemetery, how it made me want to laugh. How it made me feel cherished…
Twinkle, twinkle shiny star, she has marked him like a scar.
I know exactly what he means.
I find a paint pen in my desk drawer, silver, and haul myself onto a chair. I have to stretch, but I can just reach my black ceiling with the tip of the pen. I draw a star, small, the size of a silver dollar. I fill it in, and then I give it a neighbor. Feeling a little like Michelangelo, I step down from the chair and gaze up, admiring my work.
Twinkle, twinkle indeed.
MATI
“I have to babysit my niece tonight,” she tells me.
We are walking home from the beach,
just the two of us.
We are closer than usual,
drawn to each other
like monarchs to milkweed.
Occasionally, the dog tugs the leash she holds,
causing our shoulders to bump,
or our hands to brush.
Her touch smooths my rough edges.
Her tone is tentative when she says,
“You should come by.”
“To your sister-in-law’s cottage?”
“Sure. Audrey’s working the late shift.”
This… is appealing.
She talks about her niece with wonder,
as if she were the most precious jewel.
Like oxygen, Janie feeds the flame of Nick’s spirit.
I would be happy to meet her.
And I will be happy
