On our way out, Luke’s drawn to an impressive array of mixed-media pieces that are just his style. Graphic and bold, acombination of print design and photography, according to the artist’s statement. The central piece is of the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.
“Wow.” I’m stunned.
“It’s really good,” Luke agrees.
“Your work is just as good, Luke. It could fit right beside this piece easily. You should make something to submit.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t have time. Plus it’s just a hobby. It’s relaxing, you know. A distraction.”
“Sure.” I don’t want to let this go for some reason. Worse than him refusing to think about what he wants outside of what his family needs is this insane idea he has that his art isn’t worth his time. “But it’s still really good.”
“Your work will be here, though,” he says, deflecting. “Those underwater portraits maybe? They don’t just have to be for your application.”
“Maybe. I don’t know that I’ll have enough time to start showing in galleries…” I say, trailing off.
“Don’t say that,” he says, looking hurt.
“Luke…”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I just want you to let yourself have hope. Neither of us was supposed to live past two, and look at us now. You can’t know what will happen.”
He’s both wrong and right at the same time. Sure, there are the unknowns that give me hope. But IknowI’ll need a new heart one day. Iknowmy body could reject it. Iknowmy life will still be shorter than his. It’s hard to think past next summer, to pretend we have all the time in the world like I know he wants me to. Am I taking up all the air, not having long-termhopes and dreams for us simply because I think it’s too hard to picture them? Summers down on the Cape have always felt like a break from reality, and this one has the same taste of suspended time, but maybe that’s not fair. Luke lives here all the time. This ishislife. I’m just a visitor. In more ways than one.
“You should submit your work to them,” Luke says. He marches up to the front desk and takes a pamphlet with information on the gallery. I keep quiet, my head a little fuzzy from all the thinking and the long day.
On the drive home, I let one hand trail out the window while the other rests warm and secure in Luke’s hand. My thoughts swing back and forth between this moment and several imagined futures, the bright and impossible kind I haven’t been allowing myself to entertain.
Luke calling me while I walk around Paris and me telling him about the light in the city.
Maddy and me tired and grungy on a train to Amsterdam—her rambling about the food we’re going to eat while I sketch the view.
There are so many ways my future could look if I have one, each daydream more beautiful than the last.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sera
The next Sunday, Luke takes his brothers fishing and I opt out. Oliver pouts when I tell him I can’t come, and Adam asks why, but I just say I have a project to finish instead of the whole truth. I’m zapped, tired, and a little cranky. It’s August 8, so I do have to finish my essay before the application is due Wednesday, but the tiredness I’m feeling brings back the ghost of that lonely, sick girl I was last summer. It feels like she’s trying to invade my happy, easy, lovely summer with reminders of how little time I could have left. I give in for the day, and I let my family fuss over me. Abbi sets my easel up in the backyard, and Mom carries herbal teas out to me every thirty minutes. I’m trying to do what Luke asked, have hope about the future, and start sketching a new piece of the two of us. But I barely get started before I need to go in and lie down. The humidity is oppressive, a heavy weight on my limbs and lungs. I retreat to my room, close the shades, and blast the old shaky AC unit until I’m freezing and can snuggle under my blankets in Luke’sred baseball hoodie. I sleep most of the day, hoping that’ll make me feel better.
When Monday rolls around, I’m a lot better, but Luke doesn’t drop me at work. Instead, he hangs around while the kids are checking in and quickly becomes too engrossed to leave.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say as Rose and another girl from the softball team pull him over to the clay bucket. They’re begging him to scoop huge pieces for them like he did for a couple other kids. We’re doing slab pottery this week. They’ll make their pieces today, then glaze them on Wednesday so I can fire them before they do presentations on Friday.
“I want to,” he says, his hands smeared with rusty wet slip. “I like being back here. It makes me want to work on my own stuff more, which you keep telling me to do.”
I almost call him out. He’s been so resistant to working on anything for longer than one session. I’m getting tired of sneaking his crumpled-up work out of the garbage and stealing his posters off the window at the shop before they get taken down. I know he just wants to hang around and watch me because I’m looking off, and because Abbi told him yesterday was a bad day. There wasn’t enough cold water on the Cape to make the purple bags under my eyes go away this morning, so it wasn’t like I could say she was making it up. I want to tell him to go. Go hang out with Maddy, who actually has the day off, or his teammates before they’re all off to school or their full-time jobs. But I also selfishly want as much time with him as I can get. I reach out and wipe a streak of clay off his cheek.
“Okay,” I say with a shrug, “you can stay.” Rose, who’s beenpretending not to listen, jumps and claps her hands once so loud with excitement that everyone jumps. I have to laugh. “I guess that’s a consensus, then. Okay, everyone. Mr.Luke is joining us today.” A swell of cheers goes up. “If you need help getting clay from the big bucket, please ask him. And please treat him like we treat all teachers here at Blue Honeybee.”
There’s an adorable chorus of “Yes, Miss Sera” that makes my heart swell before they get back to work.
With Luke there, the day flies by. There are some tears at checkout, so I have to promise he’ll be there for a little bit on Friday, too, before Rose will leave with her mom, who’s trying not to laugh.
“She has a little crush,” she admits to me as Luke bends down and promises Rose he’ll be back. “We’re all glad to have you teaching this summer, Sera. And it’s been so wonderful to see Luke have some fun again.” I look at her, a little surprised, and she gently taps my elbow. “Rose is in Oliver’s class, and Paula and I are close. She worries about him.” She gives me a knowing smile and pulls Rose away.
“Bye, Miss Sera! Bye, Coach Luke!” Rose says, eyes still red but her worries forgotten, as she skips off ahead of her mom, already asking if they can go for ice cream.
I’m still thinking about what Rose’s mom said when Luke comes over and asks if I want to stay and do some painting. Am I any good for Luke, long-term? Who knows what’s going to happen with my health, and I don’t want to become another thing he feels responsible for, like his family.
