The Way We Rise

by Cassia Leo

  I turn to Kenny, smiling through my tears. “Hallie and I got into a lot of trouble here.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  I look at the house a minute longer, trying to see if I notice an ivory envelope tucked into a bush or lying on one of the steps, but I see nothing. And of course they wouldn’t leave a paper envelope out in the yard while it’s pouring rain.

  “Where’s the envelope?” I ask.

  “You have to knock on the door.”

  I nod as I wipe away the tears so I don’t frighten whoever answers. “I’ll be right back,” I say, sliding out of the car.

  I race across the concrete walkway and up the steps to the door I’ve opened a million times. I can’t just walk in anymore, so I press the doorbell and my heart stutters when I hear the clear chimes coming from within the house.

  Ding-dong-ding.

  I used to get so excited when I heard that sound, knowing it was usually Hallie coming over to rescue me from my boredom. The doorknob begins to turn and my heart races as I anticipate receiving the next page in the story, but when the door opens, it’s not at all what I expected to find.

  “Mom?”

  For a moment I think that maybe she purchased the house back. Then she smiles as she pulls the door wide open, revealing a small elderly woman with a back as crooked as a fishhook.

  “Honey, this is Beverly,” my mom says. “She’s the new owner of this house and she’s very excited to meet you.”

  Beverly looks up at me, smiling brightly. “I’m sleeping in your old room,” she says. “I don’t like that big master bedroom.”

  I laugh as I reach my hand out to her. “It’s very nice to meet you, Beverly. I’m Rory.”

  That’s when I notice Beverly’s hand is tucked behind her crooked back. She looks up at my mom and her smile widens as she brings her hand forward, brandishing an ivory envelope.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Rory. This is for you,” she says, looking very pleased with herself.

  “Thank you so much, Beverly,” my mom says, giving her a hug.

  “Anytime, honey. You two are welcome here anytime.” Beverly turns to me, then stares at the envelope. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

  I laugh as I lift the flap and pull out page two.

  “Ava?” I barely speak the word in a whisper, but Beverly hears me clearly.

  “She’s just around the corner,” she says proudly. “I think she skipped her daily walk today. Must have had something pretty important to do.”

  “Thank you, Beverly,” I say, leaning down to give her a gentle hug. “Thank you so much.”

  She pats my back. “Go on now. You don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  My mom gives Beverly a kiss on the cheek, then we head out into the storm. I signal to Kenny, who’s still sitting in my car, that we’re going around the corner on foot. He seems to hesitate for a moment, like he’s wondering if he should take the car. He decides to walk with us to Ava’s house.

  We turn the corner onto 10th Street and arrive within seconds. It was always convenient having Hallie just around the corner and two houses down. It meant the corners of our backyards almost touched, which helped when we wanted to sneak out together without the nosy neighbors seeing us leave through our front doors.

  When Ava opens the front door, her eyelids are a bit pink and puffy, though her cheeks are dry. She’s been crying recently.

  She takes me into her arms. “He’s been through so much,” she says, her voice cracking. “But I’m so happy to know you’ll be there to get him through whatever else may come.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll always be there, for him and for you. You know that, right?”

  “Of course.”

  She holds on a bit longer before she releases me and hands me the envelope that rests on the table in her foyer. God, it’s the same table she had when Hallie was still alive. But it’s the framed picture of Hallie on the table that siphons the breath from my lungs.

  Ava must look at this photo every day, but this is the first time I’ve seen this picture in more than six years. I take the envelope from Ava’s hand, but my gaze is still fixed on Hallie. It’s her senior class photo. I remember the day she took this photo, we were laughing like hyenas because Hallie had painted a big black mole on her nose before taking her picture. When Ava got the proofs, she asked the photographer to retouch the photo to take out the mole before he printed them. Hallie and her mom had a big fight over whether Hallie had the right to mess up her class pictures. In the end, Ava won.

  Now I look at the retouched photo and I can’t help but smile. We all remember people the way we want to remember them. I remember Hallie as the funniest, most selfless and stubborn sister I’ve ever had. And that’s how I want everyone else to remember her.

  “Hurry up. The suspense is killing me,” Kenny urges me on.

  I open the envelope and wipe the tears from my face as I read the third page.

  “Hallie’s Hope.”

  Ava smiles. “I think you know who’s waiting for you there.”

  “My dad?” I reply with disbelief. “Is my dad in on this, too?”

  “The surprises just keep getting bigger,” my mom says with a smug grin.

  I don’t say it aloud, because I want to find out where this scavenger hunt ends, but I’m pretty certain my mother played a larger role in this than anyone else. Who could write a fairy tale based on my life with Houston other than the one other person who read my book? And suddenly, I find myself feeling guilty for all the ranting and raving I’ve done over the past few weeks. The tantrums I’ve thrown because my mom won’t let me see her book.

  “I guess we should get going,” I say, tucking the envelope into my back pocket.

  “I’ll go get the car,” Kenny volunteers enthusiastically.

  We all pile into my Toyota and head to the Hallie’s Hope office in the Pearl. Kenny and my mom spend the one-hour drive chatting about fall fashion, while Ava and I discuss work, carefully avoiding the topic of all the burning questions I have about what other surprises await me today.

  Kenny is able to find a parking spot on the street not far from the entrance to our building. When we head up to the second floor, we find the door to suite 201 wide open. Upon entering, my jaw hits the floor when I see that the front office is completely set up with brand-new furnishings. Off to the right is a play area for children, and straight ahead is the door to the back office area. Just to the right of the door is a window looking onto the receptionist’s desk, where my father stands wearing a proud expression.

  We all head through the door to the back office.

  Right away, my dad hands me a key. “Sorry I’ve been giving you the runaround with this key the past couple of days, but we weren’t ready yet.”

  I laugh as I think of how frustrated I’ve been that my dad has been putting off getting me an office key ever since I called him to tell him mine wasn’t working. “Thanks,” I say, tucking the key into my pocket.

  “This is your desk for now,” he continues, indicating the receptionist’s desk. “But your office is already set up and waiting for you down the hall once you hire someone to run the front desk.”

  I sigh as I turn to my dad. “Thank you, but I’m not here to get a tour of the office, am I?”

  He smiles as he steps forward and takes both my hands in his. “Houston came to me about a week ago to tell me his plans, and to ask for my blessing.”

  “He came to you?” I reply, my voice cracking as I realize this really is a proposal. And not just any proposal. This is Houston setting aside all his pride and resentment… for me.

  My dad nods solemnly. “Yes, he came to me, and I was just as surprised as you probably are right now. The truth is, I should have been the one to come to him. But you know how guilt works. It’s a great deterrent to getting things done.” He takes a moment to compose himself as his eyes begin to water. “Houston’s a good man, sweetheart. And if I have to hand
my little girl over to anyone, I’m happy it will be him. I have every confidence he’ll take care of you the way you deserve to be taken care of, like a princess.”

  He takes me in his arms and we both comfort each other for a while, because even though this whole day has been planned as a new beginning, something else is also ending. The brief moment in time when my father rose to the challenge, giving me an opportunity to save me from myself, has ended. Now it’s Houston’s turn to rise to the challenge of ruling my unruly soul. God help him.

  My dad finally lets me go and reaches into his back pocket. He hands me the envelope and I take a deep breath before I open it up and read the fourth page aloud.

  “The Reflection Garden? At the museum?”

  “He’s probably waiting there right now,” my dad replies.

  My heart races as I remember the last time Houston and I went to the Reflection Garden. The only time Houston and I went there. It was the day Hallie died. The day of our first hug, our first kiss, and the first time we made love. Just the thought of going back there, to where it all began, fills me with throbbing dread. But I guess if Houston and I are going to make peace with our past, so we can have a future together, there’s no better place to do that than the Reflection Garden.

  My father insists on driving us to the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art in his BMW, claiming it has more space to fit three people in the backseat. And I make no attempt to object. But when we reach his car on the parking-garage level, Kenny is the one who begins to act up.

  “Patty can sit on my lap,” Kenny says with a wink.

  My mom shakes her head, though I can see her blushing through her makeup.

  “Over my dead body,” my dad says, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Patricia, you sit up front.”

  “Nonsense,” my mom says, pursing her lips as she opens the back door. “Don’t listen to him, Kenny.”

  I stand next to the passenger door, unsure if I should sit shotgun or give it to Ava.

  “Rory, your mother sits in the front,” my dad insists in the same authoritative tone that used to scare me into doing my chores. “Now get back there so you can keep Kenny in line.”

  I try not to laugh as Kenny watches my mom and me switch places. She slams the door after she takes the front seat and Kenny waits for me to get in, expecting me to sit in the middle.

  “I can’t sit in the middle. I’ll get carsick,” I protest.

  His eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to make me sit on the hump?”

  “I thought you liked sitting on the hump.”

  He gasps. “You dirty girl.”

  “Okay, kids. Enough fighting. Get in the car,” my dad calls to us over his shoulder.

  “Get in.” I push Kenny toward the backseat and he smacks my hand away.

  “Daddy, she’s pushing me,” Kenny whines.

  “That’s enough,” my dad replies. “Be nice, Rory.”

  Kenny sticks his tongue out at me as he slides in next to Ava and I sit on his other side, forming an awkward Kenny sandwich. I shut the door and Kenny leans in to kiss my cheek.

  “Love you, sis.”

  I roll my eyes as I pretend to wipe away the cooties on my cheek. “I guess I love you, too.”

  The thirty-minute drive to the university is excruciating. Between the thunderous pounding of my heart in my ears and Kenny’s insistence that we need to sing “Wheels on the Bus,” my anxiety skyrockets to a level I’ve never experienced. It’s so bad that I beg my dad to drop me off near the loading dock behind the museum before I vomit in his car. Thankfully, the clouds have parted and the rain has ceased in this part of Oregon. I hope that’s a sign.

  Kenny, Ava, and my mom get out of the car with me while my dad sets off to look for parking. It takes a few minutes for my anxiety and my stomach to settle, which gives my dad enough time to park the car and meet us near the security entrance in the back to get a parking permit. With the permit secured, we head around toward the front of the building to the main entrance.

  “Are you okay, Rory?” my mom asks.

  I nod, but I don’t say anything. I suddenly feel as if I’m walking toward a gallows, which is ridiculous. I’ve wanted to marry Houston since I was eleven years old. It’s not the impending proposal that has me so anxious.

  “Wait!” I shout, stopping at the base of the stairs that lead up to the museum entrance.

  Everyone stops and looks at me, their eyes and mouths gaping with confusion.

  “I have to go in there alone,” I continue. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, dear,” my mom assures me.

  Ava looks a bit disappointed, but she puts on a smile. “We understand. This is a special moment for you two. We’ll be out here waiting to celebrate when you’re ready.”

  My dad kisses my forehead. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  I climb the damp steps toward the museum entrance slowly, my chest tightening as my mind flashes back to the last time I climbed these steps. When I enter the museum and reach the ticket counter inside, I try to hand the attendant my money, but the woman working the counter informs me my entrance fee has already been paid for. Then she smiles and hands me my ticket.

  As I walk through the museum, memories of the day Hallie died come racing to the forefront of my mind. I recall the way Houston and I drifted through the halls of the museum like a couple of zombies, as if we were the ones who died that day. And if someone had told me back then that we were doomed to walk the earth with an insatiable hunger that could never be fulfilled, I would have believed them.

  My memory serves me well, and I find the Reflection Garden on my first try. Beyond the concrete pillars and green foliage surrounding the reflection pool, Houston stands lost in thought, right next to the statues where we stood more than six years ago. I watch him for a moment, wondering what he’s reflecting on. Is he thinking about the day Hallie died? Is he troubled with doubt that I may not show up today?

  As if my questions have been sent to him in ripples across the reflection pool, Houston looks up at that moment and our eyes meet.

  The Reflection Garden is an open-air courtyard in the center of the museum. A shallow rectangular pool runs down the center of the interior courtyard, with lush greenery running the length on each side. Behind the greenery, the garden is enclosed in a waist-high brick wall, atop which concrete pillars prop up a ceiling that covers the exterior courtyard, where visitors can take shelter from the storm.

  But I know a secret no one else knows. The storm has passed.

  I’ve been waiting patiently at the east end of the pool for more than an hour, a silent sentinel watching over the dribbling stone fountain, which is flanked by two statues of children playing archaic instruments. I guess it’s called the Reflection Garden for a reason. The beautiful green foliage and sparkling blue pool, the calming sound of the trickling water, and the sweet fragrance of the blooming camellia shrubs all amount to an atmosphere that is ripe for reflecting.

  I’d like to think there’s a simple reason why people visit reflection pools. When you look into one on a clear day, you see your own mirror image. When there’s a storm, and the rain is splashing the surface, or the wind whips the water up in rippling waves, it becomes impossible to see a clear image of anything. It’s easy to feel as if you’re lost in the storm.

  But storms don’t last.

  If I had one wish in this world, it would be that I could have convinced Hallie of this.

  As I stare at the water flowing out of the seashell-shaped fountain spout, I feel a strange humming in my chest, a ripple like those on the surface of the pool. I look up and turn my gaze to the west entrance. Rory is standing there wearing her army-green anorak and black skinny jeans that are ripped at the knees. Her auburn hair is pulled into a messy ponytail that droops a bit from the humidity, but I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.

  I step away from the statue, toward the exterior courtyard, and she begins to jog toward me. When I reach the
end of the corridor, I widen my stance a bit and hold my arms out as she leaps into my arms. I chuckle as the force almost knocks me over, but I manage to hold my balance as she coils her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips.

  “You scared the shit out of me!” she scolds me, her voice thick with tears. “I thought you were cheating on me.”

  I laugh as I tighten my arms around her and bury my face in her neck. “You should know better than that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She pulls her head back, leaning her forehead against mine as I carry her toward the fountain. “You’re the sneakiest person I’ve ever known, and I love you for it.”

  I smile and kiss the tip of her nose before I set her down next to the statue. “I think I won the right to say I love you more.”

  She shrugs as she wipes tears from her pink cheeks. “For now. I may have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, then I reach up and grab the Sierra Nevada box, which rests on top of the statue’s pedestal, just under the lip of the seashell fountain. The moment she sees it, she shakes her head as more tears begin to fall.

  “I was going to put page five of the story in here,” I begin, “but then I realized that spelling out the happy ending in plain English would completely defeat the purpose of the fairy tale.” I smile at the mild confusion on her gorgeous face. “You see, in real life, there are no happy endings, because real life, real love, has no ending. So all of this… This is our happy beginning.”

  Her mouth curves into a smile that could knock the earth off its axis. “Happy beginnings are my favorite.”

  Then, both her hands come up to cover her mouth as she watches me slowly lift the lid of the tin box just enough to loosen it, but I don’t lift it off enough to reveal the contents. She waits for me to continue, but she soon realizes this is as far as I’m going.