I recall the pastels in the desk drawer under the left eave that I stole from the supply cabinet in the art classroom on my first day of school. I dig around until I find them. I slide open the box. Slim sticks of dark ruby, violet, emerald, tangerine, gold, gray, black, and brown. I know exactly what to do with them.
The first dark-amethyst rose is nearly the size of my hand, and I stand on my bed while I draw it out on the sloped ceiling. And the next is smaller, the size of my palm in a bright ruby red. Another, larger in sapphire blue. Another in sunset pink. One more in autumn orange. The green vines come next, shadowed in inky-night-blue and black. They form the shape of the Big Dipper, pointing the way to true north, to the true Trix McCabe. Bacon winds himself between my legs as I draw, crooning cat songs to keep me company.
An hour later, the ceiling above my bed is nearly covered, and my hands and forearms are smeared with color, making even my scars seem beautiful.
Twenty-Seven
THERE’S A KNOCK AT THE bedroom door at the bottom of the steps. “Come in,” I call. It’s been at least three hours since Jordan came and dropped his suspicions about my family history at Mia’s feet. I’ve been waiting in the calm before the storm, wondering if Ms. Troy is on her way, coming to take me back to the city, to some group home where I can be corralled until I finish high school. Maybe I’m not blood at all, my fortune some ever-changing, ever-shifting thing that pushes me around like a fallen leaf in a storm. I’m just some girl. Some girl who might corrupt Mia and Jordan’s daughter, steal their valuables, and run off in the dark of night.
I wonder if the farmhouse and the McCabe women are about to become just sketches in my book, like all the people and places that have come before them. But I won’t run away. I’ll wait to hear what Mia has to say. This time, I won’t let go first.
Mia climbs the creaking attic stairs, looking a little sheepish. “Hi, honey,” she says. “Are you doing okay?” She glances up at the ceiling, at my constellation of roses, and lets out a small gasp. “You’ve got such a talent, Trix. It really is amazing.”
I shrug, feigning indifference until she drops the bomb.
“I guess you heard Jordan. I know Auntie and Ember did.”
I wait, focusing my gaze on the roses above us.
“I’m so sorry, Trix,” she says.
I take a deep shuddering breath, waiting for her to finish with, but you have to go.
“You should’ve had a chance to know your father. And Jordan is responsible for that. I had no idea what happened. He never told Connor about Allison being pregnant because he thought you couldn’t be Connor’s. And I understand if you don’t want him at the house again. If Ember wants to see him, I’ll drive her into the city.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, sitting up. “You mean you don’t believe him?”
“Believe what? That he sent your mom away, thinking he was protecting Connor? Sure, I believe it. If Connor had known about you, he would’ve stepped up. He would’ve been a father, even if he and your mom weren’t together anymore. That’s what I could never figure out after we found you—why we didn’t know about you. Connor had his faults, but I know he would have wanted you. All this time I thought it was your mom who kept it from Connor. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, but what about what Jordan said? About how I might not even be Connor’s?”
Mia shrugs. “I don’t care, Trix. You’re my family. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”
“Even if he’s right and I’m not your blood?”
“Even if he’s right and you’re not my blood.”
I grab Mia and hold her, breathing in the chai and lemon. “Thank you.”
Mia hugs me back. “I want you to know,” she says into my dark hair, “I think Jordan is wrong. I do think you’re a McCabe. You’ve got a gift, like the rest of us. You’ve got Connor’s eyes. You’ve got his artistic talent.” She lets me go, and we both look up at the roses. “Although to be fair, I don’t think he was quite as good an artist as you. But I think Auntie’s got some of his sketches in her bedroom. We’ll have to go look. Maybe you’ll want to hang some of them in here.”
“Well, not if they’re not any good,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mia laughs. “Well, yeah. Understandable.”
“But about Jordan. I don’t want to keep Ember from her dad. Somebody did that to me, I guess. But I don’t want to do it to her. That’s not fair.”
Mia sighs. “That’s very big of you. But honestly, Ember’s so mad right now I don’t know if she wants to see him for a while. But I wanted you to know that you don’t have to put up with him if you don’t want to.”
“She’ll want to see him. Eventually.”
“We’ll see. It’s up to her.” Mia swipes at her nose. “I know I don’t want to see him for a long, long time. I think this has cured me of Jordan permanently. No more mooning over what used to be.”
“Auntie will be glad.”
“Yeah. Auntie’s not exactly who I imagined myself growing old with, though.”
“I know a woman who makes an excellent Ardent Apple, and I have it on good authority that there are a fair number of eligible men in Rocksaw.”
Mia laughs again. “Do you think you could talk to Ember, or are you done for the night?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Isn’t she at the game?”
“God, no. She’s in her room. Crying. Convinced you’ll hate her forever for what Jordan did to Allison.”
I sigh. “We need the Bracing Blueberry. Heartbreak is heartbreak.”
“I’m on it.”
I bring two plates of blueberry pie into Ember’s room. She’s sprawled out on her stomach across her bed, still in Grayson’s football jersey, though she’s taken off the leggings, and her long legs and feet are bare.
Auntie’s right. The jersey could be a nightgown.
“Hey,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Brought you a snack.”
“Why are you here? You must hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You should. My dad is a dick. My dad is the reason you don’t have your dad.”
“Technically, I don’t have my dad because he’s dead.”
Ember props herself up on her elbows to glare at me over her shoulder.
“Come on, sit up and take this pie. I’m tired of holding it. Blueberry pie is heavier than it looks.”
Ember sits up and faces me, taking one plate. “Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll take the pie.”
“Thanks.”
We eat the pie without talking, with only the clinking of the forks to fill the silence. Truthfully, I don’t even feel like I need pie. I feel pretty good after what Mia said. Even if I’m not blood, I’m still family. I’m still hers.
Finally, when only the crust is left, I ask her, “Do you feel better?”
“A little better. But I’m still mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I admit.
“Why?”
“I’m kind of relieved, actually. I mean now I know why Mom never talked about Connor. Why she never looked for him or mentioned him to Ms. Troy. She thought he didn’t want me.”
“I don’t know why that makes you feel relieved.”
“I never wondered about why I didn’t know Connor until I came here, but by then it was too late to ask my mom. Now it’s sort of like she answered me.” The phantom pain lessens.
“I guess,” Ember says, but she sounds doubtful.
“I used to wonder why she even had me. Why she kept me. She could have had an abortion or put me up for adoption. But now I know that at some point in her life, she was a mother who wanted me, even if she was the only person who did. She wanted me.” So much of Mom’s past is clearer now. She’d been young. Disowned by her family when she got pregnant with me. Of course she’d done whatever it took to take care of us. She was being a mother in the only way she could.
Ember leans her head on my shoulder. There’s something so comfort
ing about her touch, knowing that there’s someone out there who has seen all my dark places and still loves me.
“You know,” I say, changing the subject to something lighter. “Your dress is finished. You missed the game, but you don’t have to miss the dance. You still have time to get ready.”
“I don’t think I feel like going,” Ember admits.
“What do you mean? You spent weeks on your dress.”
“And yours, and you’re not going.”
“I’m not going back to school until next week.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t go anywhere,” she says, looking suddenly inspired as she grabs her phone.
“Where am I going to go in a dress like that?”
“Just put it on. And meet me downstairs.”
“But I—”
“I put it in your closet this morning. Go.”
It’s dark by the time Grayson arrives to pick up Ember. I’m standing awkwardly in the dress Ember made, which I admit is gorgeous, even if it’s not comfortingly protective like a hoodie. Ember worked her magic to turn that poufy monstrosity into something beautiful. She left off the sleeves after all, and I look down at my scars, wondering if it was a mistake to wash off all the color from my earlier drawing with pastels. But I’m going to be brave like the rest of the McCabe women. I’m going to look down at my scars and know that they point north, past all the things that hurt me, to a future that’s beautiful.
Mia takes a photo of Grayson and Ember standing at the foot of the stairs. Grayson’s ears are pink from all of Mia’s attention.
“You next,” Mia says to me. Stand there at the bottom of the steps so I can get one of you in your dress.”
“Don’t forget her date, Mama,” Ember says.
I look up to say that I don’t have one, but that’s when I spot Jasper standing at the screened front door. I bite my lip trying not to smile when he looks so earnest, waiting there for me to notice him.
Mia looks over too, and her smile nearly lights up the room. “There you are, Jasper. Hurry over and stand next to Trix. I need more photos for the mantel.”
Ember laughs. “You’re going to need another mantel soon.”
“Well, there’s plenty of space on the walls, too. We could blow them up bigger for the walls, you know. Poster-size.”
Jasper crosses the living room, holding a small box in his hands. He’s dressed in black pants, a white button-down shirt with a couple buttons undone at the neck, and a black vest. His worn brown cowboy boots have been replaced with shiny black ones.
“I got this for you,” he says, holding out the white cardboard box. He opens it for me so I see two dark, wine-colored roses on a hunter-green band.
“Just now?” I ask.
“Well, I got it this morning. On the off chance you changed your mind tonight.”
“I’m glad you took that bet,” I murmur.
“I am dying right now,” Mia whispers loudly to Auntie.
Jasper laughs and takes the corsage out to put on my wrist like Grayson did with Ember earlier. I know he sees the scars, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stare. He just slides his finger over the last one near my wrist as he helps me with the corsage. His touch is gentle, firm.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He grins at me, the kind that tugs on his scar.
“Okay, look at the camera,” Auntie says. “One hand on her waist. Not too high. And not too low, either,” Auntie warns. “Now Trix, put your hand on his shoulder so we can see the corsage.”
We maneuver ourselves awkwardly until Auntie is happy, and Mia takes a million photos, and then more photos of all four of us together, and then a few more of only me and Ember. “In case you dump these two hot muffins for new ones next week,” Auntie explains.
“Mama, can we go now?” Ember asks, her cheeks glowing with excitement. “It’s getting kind of late.”
“Oh! Yes. Of course,” Mia says. “Just, um, remember to have fun. And be safe. And be home by ten.”
Auntie groans.
“Okay, midnight.”
Auntie groans again. “We’ll leave the door unlocked. Come in sometime before sunrise. And don’t be drunk or pregnant.”
“Got it,” Ember and I say in unison.
Mia sighs this time. “I love you, girls. Have fun.”
“Come on,” Auntie says, pulling her away. “We’ll get out the tequila and make margaritas. And there’s going to be a marathon on my movie channel tonight. Women who killed their husbands. Should be inspiring.”
Grayson and Jasper exchange an uncomfortable look.
“Bye, Mama! Bye, Auntie!” Ember calls.
I could have gotten Cleo’s door open on the first try I think, but Jasper opens it for me. “It’s a date,” he says with mock solemnity. “You have to let me open it for you on a date.”
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask.
“Just wait and see.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Trust me.” He takes my hand, and his touch sends shivers of anticipation through my veins.
Grayson and Ember follow us in his Jeep, a blinding set of headlights behind us as we wind down the country road into town with an audience of cows along the way. The main drag of Rocksaw is quiet, all the little shops closed for the day. There are still streamers and ribbons hanging from streetlamp to streetlamp, puddles of confetti from the parade this afternoon. The trash cans are overflowing with paper cups and popcorn. A mostly destroyed piñata of the opposing team’s mascot, the rhino, hangs from the streetlamp on the corner by the McCabe Bakery & Tea Shoppe.
“Looks like it was a big day,” I comment.
“Oh, it was. But make no mistake, it’s still going strong. Homecoming’s a marathon, not a sprint.” He squeezes my hand.
“I feel like I should’ve trained more. Maybe upped my cardio by jogging up and down Cedar Mountain a few hundred times.”
We turn toward the high school. “Well, you might get your chance tonight,” Jasper says.
“We’re not going to the dance, are we?” I ask as we drive through the packed high school parking lot. My chest feels suddenly tight thinking of trying to endure all the pitying looks, the sincere apologies that I’m not ready to accept without crumbling a little. I just want to be happy tonight. “Ember said we weren’t.”
“We’re not. No huge crowds. Just friends.”
We turn up toward the football field, which still has its lights on. The stands are empty, the concession stand closed up. At the edge, Jasper turns again toward the practice field, and I realize where he’s going.
“Cedar Mountain?” I ask.
“Look,” he says, pointing toward the top of the massive hill. I can make out a small flickering orange light.
“Is that a bonfire all the way up there?”
“And I have it on good authority there’ll be hot dogs. And marshmallows. And terrible, terrible music.”
I remember what Jasper said about partying there with his brother, the bonfires they would have with friends. And I know that he is giving me a little piece of that. A piece of him that is wounded and scarred. When he parks the truck, I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of him, cinnamon gum and the faded pipe tobacco smell that lingers in the truck.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Don’t thank me until you sit through one of Grayson’s songs,” he whispers into my hair, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer.
I tip my face up and kiss him.
When we hear Grayson’s Jeep pulling up behind us, Jasper takes my hand and helps me out of the truck. In the back he’s got extra lawn chairs and blankets, and he pulls them out as Linc clambers down the hill with Ramani. Linc’s shoulder is out of the sling, and when Ramani stumbles in her pretty shoes, he reaches out lightning quick and keeps her from tumbling down the hill. He doesn’t let go until they reach the bottom of the hill.
“Oh, you made it,” Ramani says, running up and
seizing me in a hug. “Thank goodness. I was worried I was going to have to listen to Linc rehashing the game by myself all night.” She and Linc are both in their homecoming finery, and I realize that they all gave up going to the dance tonight for me.
Linc helps Jasper carry the chairs and blankets, and Grayson and Ember emerge from his Jeep. Ember’s face is suspiciously pleased. Grayson’s hair is a little messy, and he’s got his guitar, and Ember’s holding some of the afghans from the farmhouse.
We climb up the hill, everyone carrying something. At the top, the bonfire is dancing columns of gold and red, and there’s already a cooler with a few sticks leaned up against it for roasting marshmallows and hot dogs.
Jasper arranges our chairs around the fire, with Ember and Grayson sitting to one side of us and Linc and Ramani on the other. Two empty seats are across from us, so I assume Adalyn and her girlfriend, Maya, will be making an appearance later. For Adalyn to ditch the events she’s been planning for months is pretty impressive.
Ramani starts roasting marshmallows and feeding them to Linc, who’s burning five hot dogs on one stick. Ramani wrinkles her nose at them. “How can you eat them like that?”
“They’re best when they’ve been completely charred,” Linc says. “It adds texture. Trust me.”
Grayson helps him eat them, and I decline everything but a couple of marshmallows. Something about hot dogs burned on a stick does not appeal to me. I guess I haven’t acclimated to Rocksaw quite that much yet. Jasper pulls out a bottle from the cooler to pass around. Everyone partakes a little except for Ember, who takes one sniff and wrinkles her nose, passing the bottle along while the guys laugh at her reaction.
After a few swigs of bourbon, the fire shimmers and the stars above us seem to flicker, too. Everyone is laughing and recounting old memories, stories they’ve told a million times that are part of a shared history going back as long as they’ve known each other.
Ramani tells a story about when Jesse skipped school to go to a rock concert and, ironically enough, got caught there by one of Rocksaw’s Catholic priests. Grayson recounts the tale of how he won his guitar in a bet with a guy from Buffalo Hills who thought there was no way he could drink a gallon of milk in under a minute. Jasper tells about the time we were chased by a naked man at Mitzi’s Love Shack. And I know that someday this bonfire will be a story that we all share, a chapter that’s the same in every book.
A Constellation of Roses Page 26