“Wow, those are so old,” I had said, and she laughed.
“They’re actually pretty new. We have to break them in when we first get them. Run razors over the bottoms, rip the satin, burn the tips.” She ran a finger along a shiny ribbon, a sad smile on her face.
“I want to see you dance again.”
She lifted her eyes to mine. For a few seconds she just looked at me, but then she leaned forward and kissed me. A few days later, I went with her to her first dance class at the studio in Sugar Lake, and I watched her come alive again.
“I’m ready for more,” she says now, her voice a soft whisper.
I run my hand down her face and cup her jaw. “Something more than a sad little swan.”
She leans into my touch, a single tear blooming and spilling over. We both let it fall. “Yeah. Something more than that.”
Luca slams the bed cover on his truck closed and takes out his phone. I know he’s texting Kimber that we’re about to leave to pick her up. She’s coming with us, much to my chagrin, but she makes Luca happy, so I know she and I will find a middle ground somewhere.
Emmy comes out the front door, Macon and a waddling Janelle behind her. They all hug me, wish me luck, say all the right things a family should say. Still, it’s not the same, and a knot forms in my throat so huge, I’m not sure I’ll ever swallow again. Emmy must read something in my expression, because she cups my face in her hands and kisses my forehead.
“Is this what you want, Gracie?” she asks, peering into my watery eyes.
“Yes.” No hesitation. I know this is what I’m supposed to do, what I want to do, but it’s still hard as hell. Because getting what you want always means giving up something else.
Emmy nods knowingly. She runs her thumbs over my cheeks and winks before enveloping Eva in a hug.
True to form, Luca gives me a noogie as I pass him to get into his truck. I slap his butt and he yelps. He’s just started the engine when a brown UPS truck pulls up behind us, blocking the driveway.
“Dammit,” Luca says.
“Oh, chill, it’ll only take a second,” Eva says from the back seat, but I’m sort of with Luca on this one. My entire body feels like it’s lit on fire. Like, if I don’t go now, I never will. Or something will happen to prevent this whole thing. Luca’s truck will break down before we even get off the cape. Manhattan School of Music will call and cancel. New York City will sink into the Atlantic. All of these thoughts are totally stupid and paranoid, but, hey, my butt’s in the car, so I’m already way ahead of where I’d ever thought I’d be.
We watch Emmy walk over to the driver and sign for a package a little smaller than a shoebox. She tells him thanks but frowns down at the package. When she lifts her eyes, they land right on me.
The truck rumbles away and Luca’s just about to throw the truck into reverse when Emmy walks over and knocks on my window. I roll it down.
“Is that for me?” I ask, even though I can’t possibly imagine why it would be. But Emmy nods and holds up the package.
There’s my name right above the Michaelsons’ address. My full name.
Margaret Grace Glasser.
Written in a chicken-scratch handwriting I’d recognize anywhere.
Suddenly I’m standing in the driveway, the box in my hands. I don’t remember getting out of the truck, but Eva’s right there next to me, Luca on my other side, his finger trailing over the return address label.
No name.
At least, not a person’s.
Mountainside Behavioral Health Center. Portland, Maine.
I feel Eva’s hand press into my lower back as I tear the package open. The tape is stubborn and I’m pretty sure I get a paper cut on my thumb, but I barely feel it. I keep tearing until all I see are balls of white tissue paper.
Carefully, I sift through them until my hand collides with another box. I lift it out. It’s a simple white box, square and light. Luca holds the ripped-to-shreds UPS package while I remove the lid and blink at the contents, hardly believing my eyes.
It’s a necklace.
Triangles of aqua sea glass, edged in rusty red copper. At first, I’m confused. I angle the box in Luca’s hand to check my name, wondering for a split second if this was meant for Eva instead of me because I know Mom never got around to giving it to her. But no. It’s my name. And looking closer at the necklace, I can tell it’s not the same one Maggie made for Eva. The glass is lighter, more blue than green. I remember Eva’s had a little smear of copper on one of the triangles, but this one is nearly flawless, the copper applied expertly around each cool edge.
Hot and cold.
