The Library of Lost Things

by Laura Taylor Namey

  I managed to collect myself before Thomas turned to glare at me. “She’s right,” I said. “We’ll go with the pewter.”

  But Marisol wasn’t done. “We’ll also be handling the installation ourselves, since it’s a simple change-out. This way, Ms. Wells doesn’t have to adjust her work schedule. And Darcy doesn’t have to worry about being home during school or her work shifts, either.” She glanced from me to Thomas and grinned again.

  He pointed a shaky finger right back at her. “You’re going to install a showerhead and aerator? You do realize it’s nothing like picking out sofa swatches or even painting. It requires tools. Wrenches and pliers—”

  Marisol straightened her neck. “My father makes it a point to teach me practical skills. So I can take care of my own home one day without relying on others so much.” One step forward on camel gladiator sandals. “That includes big, scary tools like wrenches and pliers.”

  “Oh.” Blood flooded Thomas’s cheeks; his fingers clenched the brochure, wrinkling the edges. “I’m sure it does. I just meant—”

  “It’s settled then.” My friend sat again, crossing her legs. “You place the order. We’ll handle the installation and even deliver the old showerhead to your door.”

  After an audible huff, he was gone. I whipped around to face Marisol, hands flailing. “That... I mean...you...”

  Marisol patted my arm and pulled over my smoothie. She patted that, too, urging me into mango. “Easy, babe. What’s got your tacos in a tangle?”

  “You never lie. And you just...the faucet...”

  Marisol sipped her own smoothie. “Nothing I said was a lie.”

  “We’ll handle the installation?”

  “I said we’ll handle it. The situation. Not necessarily the work.”

  “Fine. Then, design school?”

  She shrugged. “FIDM is design school. I never mentioned what kind of design.” Marisol leaned in. “Come on, word girl. You can recite Shakespeare till you’re purple, so you’ll have no problem remembering every syllable that just came out of my mouth. Go on. Press Rewind on the last minute, and if you can show me even one lie, I’ll buy all the smoothies till summer.”

  I did, and I couldn’t. She was a genius—I told her so.

  And scary. I told her that, too.

  “Still, about the install—and not just this one—I can’t ask Marco anymore,” I whispered. My new-old Peter Pan novel rested by my smoothie cup on a chipped tile. I toyed with the soft, timeworn edges.

  “I know but, Darcy, you’re the smartest person I know. And you’re missing the most obvious solution of all time.”

  My brows narrowed.

  “Babe, every time you go to work, your solution parks his paint-splattered denim on your boss’s furniture and plows through book pages like ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar.’”

  I shook my head rapidly. Marisol had been around my house and hoard so long, sometimes she forgot how much I needed our unwelcome mat. “No way. Absolutely not.”

  “Give me one good reason why not.”

  Dozens of reasons shook my insides. “He’s still recovering from the accident.”

  “Please. If he can hang drywall at the center, he can install a showerhead and probably tackle most issues in your apartment.”

  “Marisol, he works all day building and...installing. Another fix-it project is the last thing he’ll want to take on during his off-hours.”

  “Excuse me, but didn’t you just save his ass big-time last night? I know he’d help as a thank-you.”

  “What if London found out? And started gossiping? Because we both know that’s the one thing she does better than acting.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” she asked incredulously. “He wouldn’t say a word if you asked him not to. Just tell him. I know it’s scary. But you felt the same way when you asked Marco for help three years ago.”

  “I can’t.”

  Marisol sighed. “In less than a week, you’ll be eighteen. You’re going to have to stop hiding your life from your friends. Darcy, no one cares.”

  “I care!” I protested, tears pricking my lashes. “I live it every day. Right now our home is too disgusting, too cluttered, too...everything.”

  She traced our black Sharpie heart and star, nodded. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’re doing your best to push her forward without shoving too far.”

  It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, and I was already exhausted. I glanced up at my unit, then back to Marisol, whispering, “Aren’t weekends supposed to be fun—shocking, I know—or at least somewhat weekend-ish? I’ve got a manager up in my business and even creeping Mom’s work. Besides that, I need to choose my next eBay items when she leaves. And ship off the stuff from last week.”

  “You’re right.” Marisol bobbed up again, piling her jacket, my book, and my keys into her bag. One expert toss, and both our foam cups swished into the trash can. “I’m gonna fix that right now. Fix our Saturday. Come on, I have a surprise.”

  She grabbed my forearm and dragged me out to the street, then folded me and my endless legs into the passenger seat of her SUV before running around to the driver’s side and buckling up.

  “I swear, if you try to give me gum or another juice box...”

  “Not today, babe. I have another plan.”

  * * *

  “This is your plan?” I peered into the large closet in the Robleses’ sewing studio. Inside, two wedding dresses hung on the rack, white satin puddling onto the carpet. “My surprise is looking at used gowns?”

  Marisol grabbed one. “Oh, we’re not going to look. We’re going to put them on and then do something deliciously amusing.”

  “First of all, why? And secondly, they’re your mom’s.” The last thing I needed on an already-sucky Saturday was the wrath of Eva Robles.

  “Correction, they were hers. Mama ordered these gowns from eBay for nothing. Cheap, cheap, cheap.” She pinched the white satin. “And so is this grade of fabric and the iridescent sequins. Shameful. She’d never make something this tacky.”

  “Then why—”

  “See, on Mama’s cutting table? Gowns from this designer and series used a particular embroidered lace trim that she loves. She’s going to rework it onto a mermaid-style gown for a new client.” Marisol lifted the dress to reveal the raw edges along the neckline and cuffs. “The missing trim doesn’t affect the fit, and she has no use for the rest of these gowns. So we get to play.” She eyed me. “Why are you wrinkling your nose?”

  “It’s weird. Wearing someone else’s wedding dress.” Wearing someone else’s fairy tale.

  “Whatever, we’re doing it anyway.” Marisol thrust the gown into my arms and grabbed the other one for herself. “Now bride up.”

  I did, reluctantly, then walked over to the full-length mirror. My eBay bride must’ve been shorter than me, because the satin skirt hung right above my ankles. But the embellished bodice fit perfectly, cinching my waist like Marisol’s leather jacket.

  My friend appeared, wearing the other, similar gown. We bowed. Twirled. And we laughed and laughed at our frosted cupcake reflections in the mirror. “Now for part two, my perfect cure for a sad-faced, mopey Darcy.”

  Five minutes later, I found myself staring at Carlos and Camila’s backyard trampoline. Wearing a wedding gown.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “C’mon, this is going to be epic. Ever since the gowns came in—well, ever since forever—I’ve wanted to do this.” Marisol hoisted herself onto the gigantic round trampoline. “Watch and learn.” She started tentatively, just gentle baby bounces. Her caramel-streaked hair waved as she gained momentum, higher and higher. “Darcy...get...up...here.” She giggled and squealed.

  Marisol certainly seemed to be enjoying it. And I was already zipped into the silly gown. What the hell? I hopped up onto my rear and swung my legs around. Marisol was there with a hand. I began as she had, the black, springy surface warm under my bare feet. I grabbed fistfuls
of satin and jumped.

  Wind and motion grabbed my hair; tulle layers floated, soft and billowy around my legs. Then my smile took flight, stretching its wingspan across my cheeks.

  “Yes! Look at you go, D!” Marisol yelled and spun.

  After a few moments, I was able to jump the world away. A world that always wanted to tether me down with the gravity of responsibility. I leaped away the unbearable secrets and shame. I soared feet above a foolish family, a father’s Thailand letter. My body shed the worry I knew would return tonight. It always did. But for now, life coursed through my limbs.

  It felt something like freedom.

  After long minutes, we couldn’t manage another jump. We collapsed, our bridal bodies stretched out side by side on the trampoline. Lacy chests heaved. Sweat glistened across my forehead, misting underneath the itchy white bodice. Flush-cheeked, I stared at the sky, pretending the earth had flipped us upside down. The wide-bowled sky lapped like an ocean, white clouds cutting across the blue like boats to faraway kingdoms.

  My fantasy cracked when the screen door smacked open. High-pitched screeches trailed along the yard. Carlos and Camila rushed the trampoline, springing up to us like tiny gazelles.

  “Mama! Darcy and Marisol have the big dresses!” Camila laughed and jumped by my legs. “The white wedding ones like you make.”

  Carlos ran the perimeter in sock-covered feet until Marisol tackled him, dragging the kicking, giggling boy on top of her. “You guys are home early.”

  “We didn’t get to go to the park or Target to get toys. ’Cause we didn’t do good at the food store,” Carlos said, panting.

  “Carlos y Camila, vengan, por favor.” Eva Robles stood in the kitchen doorway.

  The twins obeyed. They hopped off and ran to their mother. She bent low to speak between their bright faces, then moved so they could run back inside.

  I cringed at Marisol as Mama Robles crossed the patio onto the lawn, one hand on her hip. She looked me over, then her daughter. “Por Dios.” Her chin quivered, soundless laughter rippling her chest. “I’m going to make you the chilaquiles now.”

  Alone again, we snickered. My mouth watered, already tasting the steaming dish made from salsa-dredged chips, eggs, and beans, topped with cheese. “Okay, time to change. No way I’m spilling food on this satin snow castle. But this was actually...fun.”

  “Never doubt me again.” Marisol grinned when I turned my head.

  “Lesson learned.”

  She raised up onto one elbow. “Good, then you can also not doubt the next part I’m about to say.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you could try more than being goofy with tacky wedding gowns. Part of taking care of yourself is letting some people in once in a while.”

  My breath skipped, knowing exactly which people she meant. But how could I? I sat up and looked through the doorway into the Robleses’ warm and vibrant home. I thought of my own home. How could I open that door and let him see the messiest part of me?

  “I get it, but I can’t tell Asher. Not yet.” And I couldn’t tell her why. I had to remember I was invisible. Most of all, I needed to abandon a story that could only have a tragic ending.

  Marisol flopped down. “Okay, okay. Will you at least promise to think it over? You know, consider him?”

  I faced my sweet friend and spoke my clearest piece of truth that day. “I will.”

  Some things, I couldn’t jump away.

  Seventeen

  Much Ado About Something

  “There was a star danced, and under that I was born.”

  —William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

  As we rounded the corner toward the Jefferson High auditorium for opening night, I realized Marisol wasn’t the only designer contracted for Much Ado About Nothing. “It’s beautiful,” I told my friend, spinning a slow circle. Thousands of white fairy lights twinkled from tree branches, and a musical trio, decked in Elizabethan garb, played brisk tunes on lute and piccolo.

  Marisol pointed toward a short row of booths offering crafts, meat pies, and mulled cider. “So cute!” More costumed hosts and hostesses sold tickets and passed out programs. “We can pretend all this pomp and swag is for our birthdays.”

  I guffawed, shaking my head. Technically, her birthday wasn’t for a few more hours, but we were well into mine.

  We heard them before we saw them—the brass-tipped laughter and animated speech usually accompanying the Robles family. Marisol’s parents and Natalia bounded up to us.

  “Feliz cumpleaños, cariña.” Eva Robles drew me close for a floral-scented embrace. Her husband kissed my cheek.

  “I didn’t know you guys were coming,” I said.

  “¡Claro!” Mama Robles waved one hand. “We want to see Marisol’s designs on the stage. And...” She motioned toward her younger daughter. Natalia produced two identical pink boxes topped with curly sprigs of white ribbon.

  Marisol’s father continued, “Since it’s your big birthday, we wanted to do something special for you two.”

  I accepted my box and turned to Marisol. “Did you know about this?”

  She took hers and shook it. “Not a clue.”

  We unraveled the ribbons and lifted the box lids together, a lively jig sounding from the musicians. Tears pricked the corners of my eyelids as I pulled out the daintiest gold necklace I’d ever seen. A tiny gold star hung from the chain.

  “Oh!” Marisol held an identical necklace with a heart pendant. “Look, Darcy. There’s an M engraved on one side.” She flipped the charm. “And a D on the other.”

  “On mine, too,” I said before my best friend and I enveloped her parents in a shower of thanks and hugs.

  While her family explored the craft booths, Marisol and I took turns fastening our gifts. Then we entered the buzzing auditorium and found seats near the stage. I glanced down, lifting the gold star. “I can’t believe they did this.”

  “Even more, that they managed to hide them from me.” Marisol grabbed my wrist. “Speaking of accessories, your mom did good this year.” She flicked one of the silver charms on my new bracelet.

  “I hate saying I’m still shocked.” My thoughts rewound to my first waking minutes of eighteen. Mom had gotten up early, thrown on sweats, and cleared off just enough of our dining room table. A cinnamon bagel with cream cheese from my favorite shop was waiting for me when I woke up. And even though a black gift box sat next to the plate, my greatest gift needed no wrapping paper and pretty bows: CPS could no longer investigate my mother, or take me away from her.

  “Happy birthday, honey.” Mom enveloped me in a strong hug.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I rubbed sleep from my eyes.

  She pulled away, splaying both hands over my cheeks. “Amazing girl.” Mom stepped back and reached for the black box, nodding for me to open the lid.

  Inside was a thick silver link bracelet with a handful of beach-themed charms. I fingered a seashell, a crested wave, and a sand dollar. Then a detailed sandcastle and a wavy-haired mermaid. The final one, a sun with spiky rays. “It’s so pretty. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t know what to get you.” She glanced down for a beat, then up at my eyes. “I thought you’d enjoy something to remind you of your childhood.”

  Memories flashed—skipping along the surf and digging with shovels, bunches of mermaid-hair seaweed. I wanted to tell her that what I really wanted, more than beautiful jewelry, were all the beautiful parts of her again. I knew they were still there, buried under useless items. I knew she was still there.

  “Room for one more?”

  My eyes snapped sideways, cursing my insides for instinctively jumping when I saw Asher beside our row. “Sure,” I squeaked.

  Marisol waved, scooting one seat to her left and pulling me to do the same.

  Asher took my place at the end. He stared briefly at the small bouquet of roses he’d brought before resting them on his lap. The colors popped against his dark jeans. Pink, red, and ivory petals. “Hey
, happy birthday, by the way.”

  “Um, thank you.” He remembered? I’d told him about my birthday sharing the same day as opening night more than a week ago.

  Asher leaned behind my head to Marisol. “And you, too. Eighteen, huh? Big time.” He split his gaze between us. “You guys have to spill your birthday bucket lists. What does one pack for a Darcy-Marisol eighteenth birthday extravaganza, anyway? Night-vision goggles and rappelling rope? Or passports, wigs from Tops, and knives hidden in lipstick tubes, James Bond style?”

  My smiles always came too easily around him. “Hardly.”

  “We had school today, so the mountain-scaling and highway robbery is gonna have to wait,” Marisol said.

  “We did treat ourselves to our favorite Asian bowls before showing up at this joint.” I held up both hands, wiggled my fingers. “Whew! Epic, huh? Alert the paparazzi.”

  Marisol shrugged. “I dunno, mostly it feels like just another day. We were talking about this at dinner. How we’ve been thinking about turning eighteen for months, and that everything would magically change.” She flipped through her play program.

  “Maybe you built it up too much?” Asher said. “Few experiences live up to their hype.”

  “Is flying one of them?” Flying. I frowned instantly, wishing I could reel it back in. What was wrong with me? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine. Really,” he said, then warmed the entire theater with a smile. “And yes, flying is definitely one. Among other notable things.”

  I swallowed hard as a lanky figure swept down the aisle.

  “Marco!” Marisol called, waving the program like a flag.

  Marisol’s brother halted and spun a one-eighty. He looked sharp in a black dress shirt tucked into gray jeans. His dark hair was slicked back, still damp. “Ahh. I ran into Papi outside.” My eyes widened at the two identical bouquets of colorful roses he was holding.

  “I was hoping you’d make it.” Marisol scooted left again. Marco gave a quick nod to Asher and crab-walked into the empty space.