“But,” Emerson chimed in, “there are moments to retreat.”
Mark put his arm around her. “Damn,” he said. “That man is nothing short of a poet.”
“Language,” I said, smiling and looking down at AJ, as I tried to put out of my mind that this one flight could wipe out most of our clan. Mom had stayed up half the night reading articles to me about how the likelihood of dying in a commercial plane crash is statistically zero. I don’t know whenshegot so brave. Maybe it was because I was her child that she wouldn’t let me see she was afraid. Although I couldn’t help but notice that Jack was here. She had finally admitted to Emerson, Caroline, and me that she was, in her words, “sort of dating Jack. Taking things slow, seeing how they go.”
If they weren’t married by the end of the year, I’d be shocked. I loved Jack, but it was still weird to see our mom with someone who wasn’t our dad. I couldn’t say that out loud to my sisters because they thought I was ridiculous. But I was allowed to have my feelings. That’s what Adam would say if he were here. My heart skipped a beat when I thought of him. I had this fantasy that while my phone was off on the plane, they would find him and I would land to a voicemail saying he was OK. Because that’s how life works. No matter how vigilant you are, sometimes you miss the moment.
As I put my phone on the boarding pass scanner, I could feel the sweat gathering on my brow. I was doing this. How was this possible? I was getting on an airplane. I was going to New York. Both for the first time since I left, six months after 9/11. If Emerson hadn’t pushed me, I’m not sure I would have made it onto the Jetway. And this was with a double dose of Valium. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like without it.
As if this weren’t bad enough, I had the dream again last night. Emerson, Caroline, and I were playing on the beach. Caroline’s hair was blowing in the salty breeze; Emerson was running back and forth from our castle to the spot where the water lapped the shore. It was a perfect day by all accounts, easy and free, another childhood afternoon full of sunshine and free of worries, until I looked around for Mom and didn’t see her. My pulse quickened for a split second until my eyes locked on her. She’d been wearing a mint-green and pink bikini that day. She was so tan, so beautiful. But that day, she had her arms crossed, and her face looked angry and closed off, a way it had never looked before. It scared me to see her like that. There was a man standing with her, and he looked angry too. Angry and sad. He was talking a lot, and she was shaking her head. I remember his hair, how the light shone on it, how it was dark brown but in the sun it practically looked black, like Caroline’s. I couldn’t hear Mom, but I could tell she was yelling. Not like she did when Caroline and I had been arguing all day. Really yelling, like grown-ups do when they’re mad. I’d never seen her do that. It scared me to death. Then Mom was rushing us into the boat, and I could feel her fear. It wasn’t until later that I realized we had left our beloved fairy stones, the ones we took with us everywhere.
It had actually happened, long ago. But in my subconscious, it must have been incredibly fresh because, even though nothing particularly terrifying happened, it was still the scariest nightmare I had, seeing my mother like that and wondering who this stranger was and why they were so angry with each other.
I strapped AJ into the window seat so he could see out the window, though who would want to look out I couldn’t possibly imagine. I was in the middle, and Emerson was beside me for moral support. Mark had gotten upgraded to First Class. He acted like it broke his heart not to sit with Emerson, but let’s face it: Emerson was not as great as First Class.
Mom and Jack had Taylor a couple of rows in front of us. I was glad they had taken him because I was starting to get very, very sleepy, and I knew I couldn’t have kept up with him on the flight.
Emerson held my hand and said, “So, what do you think of Mark?”
My eyelids were getting heavy as I said, “I love him, Em. I think he’s a prince.”
I saw her smile dreamily as my eyes closed. As I started to drift off, I could feel the breeze on my face and the sand underneath my knees. I sat up straighter, willing my eyes open so I didn’t have to dream it again. I looked around. Taylor was strapped in his car seat, and I could see his tiny legs kicking. I was at the perfect angle where I could see Mom’s face. Her arms were crossed, and she seemed upset. Angry even.
My eyelids were heavy again, and I couldn’t tell if the mom who was angry was real, in the plane seat, or in my dream. I opened my eyes again, right before I saw the man she was talking to. I looked forward again to Taylor’s kicking feet, to the stream of light that was pouring through the plane window, how it made Jack’s dark brown hair almost black. My eyes closed again. I forced them open as Jack turned and I saw his expression. He was always so calm and laid back. This face was anything but. This face was mad.
In that moment I couldn’t hold off anymore. I felt my hand drop out of Emerson’s and my head collapse back into the seat. As my subconscious took over and wandered back into my dream, it hit me: The man on the beach that day wasn’t a stranger at all. The man was Jack.
CAROLINE’S HOUSE IN EASTHampton suited her perfectly. It wasn’t big, and it wasn’t on the water, but every inch of it was elegant and just modern enough. The entire palette was water blues and creams with touches of gold, seagrass, and plenty of natural beauty from resin coral and oyster shells.
I had never been to it, of course. And walking through the front door, I instantly felt calm. I assumed that’s what Mom had been going for when she designed it.
I was exhausted but proud, too. I had made it. I had lived through the flight, and we were here. Mom and Jack were staying in a hotel while the rest of us piled into Caroline and James’s house. When I walked into the living room with AJ and Taylor, who promptly scampered off to explore, I did a double take and felt my décor-induced calm dissipate as quickly as it had come. As Caroline ran to meet us, I said, “What is that?”
“Well, it’s so good to see you too, sweet sister,” she said. “Thank you for the warm greeting.”
“Caroline,” I said, an edge to my voice. “Why is Jack’s painting here?”
She looked at me innocently. “Oh, well, we thought it would be so nice to donate it to the cause. We’re going to auction it off tonight as I accept my award.”
“No,” I said. “I told you I’m not ready. I told you I don’t want my work out there in the world yet. It’s still just for me.”
“But Sloane,” she said, that crafty calm in her voice, “don’t you remember? You owe me.”
I felt the color drain from my face then because she had me. I did owe her. She had paid my credit card bill, and I owed her a favor. There was no way out.
To change the subject, Caroline showed me the white linen maxi dress she had bought for me. It was simple, but somehow made me seem taller and made my shoulders seem more sculpted.
As I wore the dress later that night, feeling somewhat confident despite the fact that I was totally out of my element among the coiffed-to-perfection women and men milling about a neighbor’s yard, I was so proud of my sister. Her hair was swept up off her face in a simple updo that made her neck seem swanlike, and she was wearing a rose-colored, silk jumpsuit that would have made anyone even slightly less tan look sickly.
As I was admiring her behind her podium, I came back into the moment and it registered with me what Caroline was saying. I felt all the breath leave my body as I heard, “You won’t find her on the Internet; you won’t see her in the magazines. She’s under the radar, but she’s one of the hottest up-and-comers in the art world today.” She paused. “We’re going to start the bidding at five thousand dollars.”
I understood now how people felt in those dreams where they’re naked in public. I may as well have stripped my dress off. All of my pulse points throbbed. I was a failure, a fraud, a nobody. And five thousand dollars? She was insane. This was humiliating. No one was going to buy this thing, and I was going to be a laughingstock.
Only, people started putting their hands in the air. Caroline left her podium and stood beside me. “See, Sloane? It’s beautiful. It really, truly is.” She looked at me intently and took my hands in hers. “You’re beautiful. And you can do this.”
She meant I could paint. She meant I could put myself out there. But she also meant I could raise my two sons and support my family. Hell, I could even get on an airplane and fly to New York.
A few moments later, Caroline hugged me and said, “Did you see that? You just raised eleven thousand dollars for at-risk youth. Aren’t you proud? See what good your art can do?”
