Wider than the Sky

by Katherine Rothschild

  Blythe gave him a scowl. “She does.”

  Kai’s brows drew down in confusion. He shook his head, his eyes clouding with guilt. “You said it would be okay.” Kai looked at me like he wasn’t sure who I was.

  I shrugged. “I thought it would, and it may still.”

  “It won’t be,” Blythe said. “We’re going to have to move far away.”

  “Wait,” Kai said, pushing Emma from him. “We did all that because you want to move away from Thornewood?” I tried to shake my head, but I couldn’t deny that I’d wanted to get away not just from the house, but from Thornewood and everything it had been to my dad. Kai looked at me for a long time, his eyes growing hard.

  “Yes,” I said. “But I didn’t want to leave you.” I thought that sounded okay, but his face fell as if he’d just been handed a costume contest participation prize.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you wanted to leave,” Kai said, his voice gravelly. “I wouldn’t have helped you if it meant you were just going to leave Thornewood.” He turned back to Emma, holding her close as she cried. I thought of the day in the rose garden, when his stare made me feel like I was on fire, when all I wanted was to kiss him. And I almost did, even though I knew Emma cared about him, and that he might care about Emma. It was unfair of me to let the way he made me feel take over. Unfair to Emma. Unfair to Kai. Because I could see now . . . even if Kai had feelings for me, maybe it would always come back to the two of them.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, but the words were breathy, hollow. I felt my sister’s hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged her off. I tried to shove my hands deep in my pockets as Emily’s words flitted through my mind, like they had wings. But, like birds, I couldn’t keep them caged. I swept my thumb over my lower lip. “If I can stop one heart from breaking.” My fingers, as if my hope bird had come alive beneath my skin. “If I can stop one heart—if I can—I will stop my heart from breaking, I will stop your heart from breaking—”

  Blythe hissed. “Stop the poeting! It’s not cute. It’s crazy.” I broke off and shoved my hands back into my skirt pockets, feeling like I might be shrinking. The pounding music waned. The lights bent away. The students swayed more slowly. I could feel Kai’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t meet them. I couldn’t be with him. Wanting him had made me a liar, had made me mean and thoughtless. I should let him go back to Emma. If I wasn’t here, maybe he would want to be with her. I took a step back. Then another one. Then I turned, and I rushed toward the door.

  Kai’s voice sliced through the silence in my head. “Sabine!” I didn’t turn around. I hurried outside into the cool air. But I stopped, for the same reason I’d called Mrs. McMichaels. I stopped because I was overwhelmed by how much I wanted to be with Kai. So I gave him one long moment to find me, to keep me from leaving. I already missed the feel of his hand in mine; I already regretted rushing out. But it wasn’t Kai who followed me. It was Nate.

  “Do you need a ride home?” He held his wig in his hands. His black hair staticked out from his head like Einstein. I felt a pinch of humiliation in my heart. Kai wasn’t coming.

  I scowled at Nate. “Why do you wear your hair so weird all the time?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “I rotate through decades.” He didn’t look offended that I’d asked. “I include a speculative future.”

  I barked out a laugh. “You and my sister are perfect for each other.”

  “I agree. Will you let me take you home? I don’t mind.” Nate held his wig over his heart, looking more dashing than his costume gave him the right to. I shook my head and stepped into the night.

  I passed two chaperone moms, who waved at me. I waved back, but they didn’t try to stop me, or ask me where I was going. Then I was in the parking lot, and then I was halfway down the hill toward Magnolia Street.

  Suddenly, trick-or-treaters swarmed from a front porch and surrounded me, pulling me into their revelry. I slowed my pace and stepped aside to let them run ahead as their parents followed, wishing I’d hear feet stomping after me. I wanted so much to hear the sound of my name from Kai’s lips. But I kept my eyes straight ahead. He wasn’t there. I’d let him go, and he wasn’t coming after me.

  If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain. It didn’t feel like my heart was breaking. It felt like I was keeping it from breaking. My hope bird was very quiet as I walked down the road, weaving in and out of trick-or-treaters, silent and dry-eyed.

  25

  ONE SISTER HAVE I IN THIS CRAZY HOUSE

  I walked into the pocket park on the corner of our street to escape the stream of costumed kids. I sat down on a bench and fluffed my feathered skirt, pretending I wasn’t about to cry. I totally got why Emily Dickinson never left her house. I checked my phone, but there were no messages. Why did I mess everything up so badly? It was almost as if I wanted things to go wrong—as if I were pushing to see if they would. But I needed to tell the truth, not matter what. Still, I wished I hadn’t left the dance.

  For the first time in weeks, I wished my dad were there.

  I wished so hard that on this night of spirits he would appear, tuck my hair behind my ears, and tell me how I would meet a wonderful guy someday. How, if it wasn’t Kai, there would be someone better. I could hear his voice like he was beside me. I could almost see him through the mist. I shivered.

  Then I remembered the tiny piece of him I’d hidden in my pocket. His letter. I pulled it out, running my fingers over the crumpled edges, afraid to open it. Then I took a deep breath and lifted the envelope flap. My dad’s handwriting scrawled across the page. I lifted the letter close to my nose and breathed in. Old Spice and manila folders. I held his words, looking them over but not reading. Would his letter tell me he’d been the dad I thought I knew? Or if he’d been someone I never knew, and now never could?

  Or maybe it was another letter about mediation.

  Dear Charlie,

  It’s a strange thing, parenthood. I wish we could do it together. But the girls need their mother so much. This weekend Blythe got her period. I know, I know. You wouldn’t believe the commotion. Not because of girl issues, but because Sabine wants hers, too. She cried and slammed the door over and over. I told Maryann I was going to take their door off its hinges if she slammed it one more time, but Maryann just looked at me. It reminded me of the way you look at me sometimes. Like—Oh, please.

  Of course she’s right. They need autonomy. They should probably even have their own rooms. But don’t you know, it was really me who wanted to cry and slam a door.

  My little girls are growing up. I want to believe that I’ll be around to tell them everything will be okay. Be there when they get married and have kids of their own. But I worry that I won’t. Maybe all parents have that same fear. I can hear you saying, Don’t fret—you’ll be there. I hope so. And I hope that by then, you’ll be there, too.

  Maybe all kids need three or four parents. The job is too hard for just two people. And you’d make such a great dad. I know someday they’ll love you like I do. And that they’ll be better for knowing you and Maryann both—my two great loves. They’ll be better for being part of our dreams and part of our love. Slammed doors and all.

  Mick

  My face burned. Charlie knew about the time I screamed and kicked because Blythe got her period before me? Why would he write something so embarrassing? I crushed the letter, my cheeks sparking flames. That was what he wrote to Charlie? How I’d gotten mad and slammed the door? I covered my mouth, laughing. I had slammed that door so hard the paint chipped off. He was so mad.

  I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath. Then I reread the letter. And my stomach sank when I got to the ending. He wasn’t pretending to be a dad. He was our dad. He wasn’t some stranger. He was the father I’d loved. He always was. My hope bird burrowed into my heart as tears pierced the corners of my eyes. What would Dad think of what I’d done?
Charlie had every right to hate me. Blythe was disgusted with me. Emma was probably planning to poison me. And I’d walked away from the only person who’d let me try to explain. I might not have bought number six Magnolia, but it was my fault we were going to lose it. To lose Dad’s dream.

  I thought of our pink room, with its view of the willow tree and its wide glass windows. Of the pink chaise that was my favorite place to study. Of how when I looked at the tall redwoods lining our driveway, I thought of the day I met Kai. And I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to go.

  A boom and a cackle came from down the street, and I jumped. The trick-or-treaters screamed, and I craned my neck to look. A burst of strobe light shone through the trees, and a little kid’s high-pitched Muppet voice cried out: “Mr. Pumpkinhead!”

  Mr. Pumpkinhead. The neighborhood association guy? What had Mrs. Costello said? Just go by? Maybe I could. Maybe . . . he could help. At least I could say I tried.

  I stuffed the letter back in my pocket and pushed the tears out of my eyes. Around the corner, a line of kids led to a little in-law cottage beside a much larger house. I almost turned away, because 1) clearly Mr. Pumpkinhead was busy tonight, and 2) what could really be done now? Would he know anything I didn’t already know with my city hall snooping? But I still followed the crowd down the well-lit path. I was pretty curious about this famous Mr. Pumpkinhead.

  “BWAAAHAHAHAAAA!” I jumped as a giant pumpkin head lit up and flashed, cackling. “I see we have a ninja, and a fairy, and are you a ghost? Boo!” I looked around. Clearly, this guy could see us and was talking into a mic or something. It was pretty cool.

  “And Iron Man has come, too. What an honor. And I see a swan princess—a little old to be trick-or-treating, ha ha ha, but Mr. Pumpkinhead welcomes all ages—wait. Sabine?” The mic cut off, and the door flew open.

  It was Monsieur Cade.

  He shoved a basket of candy at the kids, saying, “It’s okay, take two,” but his eyes stayed on me. When everyone had their treats, Monsieur Cade gestured me to the door.

  “You’re crying.” He motioned to where my mascara had probably smudged beneath my eyes, and I quickly wiped my face. “Why aren’t you at the dance?”

  “I was. I just left. I—are you Mr. Cade?” I kept tripping over my words, thinking I should be speaking in French. “I know you are Mr. Cade. But are you the head of the neighborhood association?”

  “Mais oui.” He handed me a mini candy bar. “Sorry. No French. Do you want to come in?” I’d never been inside one of my teacher’s houses before. It was surreal. I almost expected there to be chalkboards everywhere. But his walls were white. And bare. He saw me noticing. “I’ve been living here for three years, but I have no talent for design. Not like you.”

  I smiled. “My mom’s an interior designer.”

  “Yes. The lovely Maryann. I met her last week at the school board meeting. But you were telling me why you left the dance?”

  “That’s a long story. I’m actually here because I was wondering about the neighborhood zoning vote on our house? Number six Magnolia? It didn’t pass. I just wondered what happened.”

  “Oh yes. It was housing, right?” He sat on the edge of a stiff-looking couch. “Something in conjunction with a well-regarded charity. The community concerns were noise and parking—of course. But at the meeting, Mr. Parker addressed those issues. Everyone seemed satisfied. I thought it had a good chance of passing. But it’s hard to get an eighty-five percent vote. Some people just don’t want change.”

  “Is there a way to get a new vote?” I asked.

  Monsieur Cade sighed. “On the same issue? Not for five years. Thornewood has very strict rules.”

  That was two years from now. Maybe we could hold off Mrs. McMichaels with legislation, until we could have another vote. “Is there a way to find out why people voted no? To address any issues?”

  “I didn’t collect the vote myself, though it is my job. Mrs. McMichaels was happy to help.” He spread his hands on his knees. “Maybe folks let her in on their concerns.”

  “Mrs. McMichaels?” My knees buckled. “She collected the votes? And tallied them?”

  “Oh yes.” He stood as the doorbell rang repeatedly. “We’re so lucky to have her.” So lucky. So, so lucky. I swallowed the candy and unwrapped another. “The votes are kept at city hall with the permit applications,” Mr. Cade said. “You won’t find names, but if folks made comments, they’re public record.”

  “Okay,” I said. But if there’d been a bunch of votes with our file, I would have seen them. Emma and I went through every piece of paper in there. I suddenly wanted to personally check with every neighbor. To ask them how they voted. I knew it was crazy—the Historic District was a square of five blocks. And Mr. Cade was probably right: some people just didn’t want change. But . . . even if everything Mrs. McMichaels did was legit, maybe her math was off?

  I thanked Mr. Cade, and he gave me another candy bar before I waded through the group of kids looking wistfully at the quiet pumpkin head.

  “Sorry!” Mr. Cade’s amplified voice boomed over my shoulder. “Mr. Pumpkinhead needs potty breaks, too!” The kids giggled, and I headed toward the street, wondering how long it would take to ask all of our Historic District neighbors how they’d voted. All night, I guessed. I stopped to make way for a cluster of superheroes. I scanned the street—every light was on except for ours. Every neighbor was home, handing out candy. Everyone. There might be no better night to meet our neighbors.

  I headed down Magnolia, glad I’d decided to wear flats. Maybe we would still have to move. Maybe it didn’t matter what I did tonight. But at least I could tell Blythe that I’d tried—I wasn’t just thinking of myself. I was thinking of our family. And of Dad.

  I knocked on the first door I came to. I asked a different question from the one they were expecting, but our neighbors were ready with candy, and with answers.

  Seven Baby Ruths, three Butterfingers, five Reese’s peanut butter cups, and sixteen unacceptable candy options later, I was still knocking on doors and inquiring as to our neighbor’s voting records. I was so busy, I didn’t check my messages once in three hours.

  It was after eleven when I tiptoed into our room, thinking Blythe was already asleep. I tried not to imagine the fun she’d had while I’d canvassed the neighborhood, getting blisters and ruining my secondhand Dior ballet flats. As quietly as I could, I brushed my teeth then began to look over my notes as I slipped on my pajamas and climbed into bed. I’d collected forty-two names and forty-two yes votes. Yes, yes, yes. No one I spoke to said they’d voted no—not a single person. I closed my Notes application with a smile. There had been three dark houses that clearly didn’t want to be bothered, but even counting those as nos . . . Mrs. McMichaels’s math was suspect. Wasn’t it?

  I got my phone back out to calculate. And that’s when I saw fourteen missed messages from Blythe. I looked over to her bed and realized she wasn’t in it. I threw back the covers and got up.

  “Blythe?” I swallowed hard. Where was she? She should be home by now.

  There was a commotion, and snuffling. I turned on a light as Blythe’s armoire door swung open. Blythe sat there, her face illuminated by the yellow harvest moon that shone fat and round through the window. She hiccuped.

  “Why are you in your closet?” She was still in her cat costume. Her whiskers were smudged across her cheeks. I knelt down, but she just kept crying quietly. When she didn’t move, I sat down on the floor beside her. “Are you okay?” I looked for blood or bruises, but she wasn’t hurt. Not that I could see. “Did something happen?” She tried to speak through hiccupy sobs as I rubbed her back, but she couldn’t get a word out. If Nate had upset her, I was going to tie him down and pluck every hair from his head. “Hey. Take a breath, okay? You’re freaking me out.” When she still couldn’t speak, I felt panic rise. I’d left her behind at that dance�
�something Mom was always saying not to do. Stay together was her one big rule. If something had happened—

  “I didn’t—I didn’t . . .” She took a haggard breath and swallowed, wiping her nose. “I didn’t know where you were.” She gestured to her dripping nose, and I got her a tissue. “I looked everywhere for you. I tried your phone. I sent so many messages.”

  I dug my thumbs into my palms. “Does Mom know I missed curfew?” I was in enough trouble already.

  She shook her head. “When we got home, you weren’t here. And you didn’t answer your phone.” Her eyes were wide and shining. “And Emma and Kai didn’t win the contest, that boat did, and everyone was mad and crying. And where were you?”

  “I was . . . talking to the neighbors.” I bit my lip, thinking about how upset Emma would be. I didn’t think Kai would care much, but I knew it would wreck Emma. Blythe stopped hiccuping and drew her leotard sleeve across her nose.

  “What? Why?” Her cat ears were lopsided.

  “I was asking about the neighborhood vote.” I took her headband off and pushed her hair back behind her ears. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  She slumped against the side of the armoire, her hanging clothes falling over her face. She pushed them off and wiped at a fresh set of tears. “The vote? Sabine. I thought you’d finally listened to something I said and left.”

  “I didn’t leave.” I would never leave my sister.

  “I didn’t back you up tonight.” She bit her lip, hard. It looked like it hurt. “And I called you crazy.”

  “Yeah.” I dug my thumbs into my hips, trying not to be crazy right this second. “That was uncool.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re not crazy.” She sniffed. “But the poems . . . They remind me of him.” When I just looked at her, she shook her head. “Of Dad. They remind me of Dad.” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe she remembered the poems, too. Had she found the words inside her, too, like flowers growing in a garden? She wiped her nose again. “Did you really talk to the neighbors?”