Please, Pretty Lights (Pretty Lights #1)
Page 33
“No,” she repeated as she took a drink.
He pulled back and looked at her, really looked at her.
“God has someone else,” she said and coughed again, “in mind for you.”
“But—”
“I love… him,” she said. It was a terrible thing to say, but they would be the most important words of her life.
“How?” he asked. His voice caught. He was crying. “How can that be love?”
“It is,” she told him. “It just is.” She just couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. “Namaste.”
“What?” His voice was sharp, desperate. “You said that before. What does that even mean?”
“I’m so sorry, but…Namaste means go away.”
CHAPTER 49
VIA
THE LIGHT in the room was different. Had she fallen asleep again? Had she missed Matt? When would he come back to her?
Two nurses were there, messing with the equipment at her feet.
“Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey,” one of them said. “Dr. Lou is on her way in.”
The other one leaned in and offered a supportive smile. “Hi, honey, I’m Sheila. It’s so nice to see you looking so alert.”
“I’m really sorry about the yelling earlier,” Matt told them from the chair in the corner. Had he been there the whole time? She reached out. And he came to her. She couldn’t believe he was really there, holding her hand. Like everything was going to be okay.
“Whatever works,” Sheila said. “You managed to rile her up. Too bad the other one left in such a huff. His mother is still out there. I told her she could come in after the doctor’s visit. And how’s that arm?”
He wore a cast. “It’s nothing, it’s fine,” Matt said. “When can she come home?”
“Whoa, easy, fella,” Sheila told him with a deep laugh. “At least a few days, more likely a week, but then, I’m not Dr. Lou.”
“Your uncle just called, he’s on his way here from the airport,” Matt told her. He looked down at her. She loved him. He had no idea how much. “Nick and Whitney are dying to see you, Bella too. She’s been drawing you pony pics.”
She gave his sleeve an urgent tug. He leaned in close. She wanted to ask him what had happened to Carlos. She wondered if he was in the hospital too, or jail. What about poor Kaytlyn? Had there been a funeral? Had she missed it? She wanted to ask him how the rest of the concert was, too. But, for the moment, she was overcome with gratitude. She couldn’t hide her tears from him.
“No crying on me now, Isoldey,” he insisted. He leaned down and used his bright white t-shirt to wipe away her tears. “Let’s remember how lucky we are, how we feel.”
He was right. She nodded. She wanted to thank the nurses; couldn’t wait to thank her doctor. But then she noticed something in the chair next to Matt.
“Is that your acoustic?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
He wiped her cheek again before kissing it. “Yes, woman, yes it is.” He leaned over and picked it up with his good hand, then pulled the chair closer to the bed. “I figured I would play you that Sheryl Crow song you requested.”
"I'll have to adjust," he said as he tried to position his casted hand. "It won't be anywhere close to perfect." He offered up that smile she'd missed so much. "But, I'm thinking perfection is overrated."
EPILOGUE
New York City, Six Months Later
VIA
“NO WAY,” Matt said. “This is unreal.” Whispering rose up all around them.
Via couldn’t believe it either, even the experts looked surprised. The auctioneer slammed down his gavel three times and repeated himself for the crowd. “Lot number one-thirty-one, Heartbeat of the Universe, sold for 3.1 million.” He slammed his gavel into the podium again. “This concludes today’s sale.”
She glanced over at her uncle who was standing at the back of the room. He had been too nervous to sit down. He gave her a huge smile and it felt good. Getting to know him hadn’t been easy at first, but as the months went by, they were beginning to feel more and more like family. He gave her a little wave as he made his way out to the reception. Via watched him stop and hug Denise, the woman they’d hired to direct their foundation. They had decided to name it Ingrid’s Wish in honor of her mother. Via had done a lot of research and learned there were thousands of children’s non-profits throughout the country in need of financial support. So, instead of offering its own programs, Ingrid’s Wish would provide grants to community-based services for children and teens affected by domestic violence. She had decided to keep the Rabbotino collection for the time being. There were plans for an Ingrid’s Wish international gallery tour the following year. Initially, both Matt and her uncle had been against her selling Heartbeat of the Universe, but Via had insisted. It wasn’t easy, but somehow it was symbolic. Knowing that it existed—that her father had painted it after all—was all that mattered to her.
Two men came up onto the stage and took the painting away—her father’s last work, now owned by some anonymous phone-in buyer.
“Miss Rabbotino, Miss Rabbotino,” a photographer called to her. “May we get a few photos of you with the painting before they take it?”
“Of course,” she said as she stood up, though she felt conflicted about seeing it up close. Matt rested his hand against the small of her back and gave her a gentle prompt toward the front of the room. At first, the scars from her bullet wounds were hard for her to accept. But Matt insisted those two scars—so close to her spine—were miraculous reminders that she was, indeed, a very lucky girl.
There were two other photographers now—smiling as they waited for her. She hoped that she would eventually get used to speaking engagements and media attention. Her mother’s charity needed a compelling ambassador to bring attention to the plight of children of domestic abuse. Her therapist, Dr. Landers, had encouraged her to accept the part. Via would do her best to grow into the role.
She posed with the painting and offered up a soft smile. Then she turned to face it. What a rush. It was vibrant, glorious. She stood two just feet away, taking it in. Here it was. The reason she was alive. It had been wrapped in white paper with a gold bow. It had called her back behind that Christmas tree for a little peek. Her father had unwittingly saved his curious young daughter from himself.
It was rich in muted red and caramel, such a departure from the ten others he was known for, all cool-toned, methodical abstracts. This one was different. Heartbeat of the Universe wasn’t abstract at all. It wasn’t even a portrait, but a genre painting. It was awash in sentimental warmth. Her mother was in the foreground, sitting at her makeup table, tousling her hair. Her dress was black with caplet sleeves that hugged her shoulders. Her smile was graceful—relaxed and radiant. This must have been how her father had seen her, how she had looked in his reality. Via knew he must have really loved her, even in his erratic mind. He had captured something hopeful in his wife’s eyes. Via had remembered her afraid and hollow. Her father’s version was comforting. He had ensured that she would be young forever.
In the upper two thirds of the canvas lay Via, stretched out on her parents’ bed. She was beautiful, her face angelic. Her eyes were set upon her mother in a vague but pleasant expression and her hair was twisted over her shoulder, hanging in a loose braid. Until seeing it like that in the painting, she’d forgotten that her mother had often braided it that way.
So many details, happy details, had come back to her. Dr. Landers had had a great deal of success with adult children of abuse. Via saw him weekly and meditated daily. She still found it challenging, keeping her mind quiet, but she was getting better. She rarely had nightmares anymore. Dr. Landers told her it was a process.
Matt’s warm lips were flirting with her right ear. She hadn’t noticed him leaning in. “You good?” he asked.
She nodded and felt him step back, but he didn’t go far. He was doing well with his therapy too, though he wouldn’t let her pay for it. They were keeping their fin
ances separate. Matt was making decent money as a sound engineer. He had also sold a few songs to an up-and-coming musician; one of which was being used in a movie. While the bulk of her own money was going into Ingrid’s Wish, she had given Dan a few million to help build schools in Africa. Her friendship with Beth wasn’t always easy, but they both wanted to stick with it. Beth said she wanted to stay close to Via, no matter what, and that felt amazing.
“It’s almost time,” Matt said from behind her. “We can’t keep the epic rock star waiting.” It was already time for them to go meet Nick for dinner. She still couldn’t believe the year he and his new band, Bigfoot Nasty, had been having. She and Matt were lucky to steal him away for a full two hours before he went on the road for a U.S. summer festival tour. She knew Nick would be asking Matt to join them again, wanting him to stand in for their bass player who was too drunk to play half the time. He’d been bugging him for weeks, but Matt kept turning him down. She loved him for it, for wanting to accompany her on her speaking tour, but she wondered if she should encourage him to go. A few months apart wouldn’t hurt them. They were simply too close.
“Thank you, I think that’s enough,” she heard Jennifer say to the photographers. “Please join us in the reception hall for light refreshments.”
Before turning, Via took one last look at her mother. It still hurt. It always would. She had a thousand what-ifs, but she would do her best to leave them in New York. Via had come to accept that her mother had desperately wanted her to survive. Via knew her own happiness would be the best tribute—and with that attitude, the donations and public speaking didn’t feel like burdens. There could be no shame and only occasional embarrassment—like when the podium at the Met toppled over or when she’d spilled orange soda all over her gown at the governor’s ball.
“Remember, Dr. Landers said it would be a process,” Matt was saying.
Via knew he was right. Life was so good it felt uncomfortable sometimes. Dr. Landers told her that, with time, she would get better at feeling good. She was struck with a profound sense of her place in the world. She was learning so much about manic depression and domestic violence. There were so many misguided stereotypes about both. Labels that were keeping people from getting help.
She knew now that her father had not only been violent, but also intensely sick. What he did was evil, but he wasn’t evil. That was a powerful distinction for her because it provided a place where his love for her could live. She could forgive him, and herself, because she understood it wasn’t anybody’s fault. It wasn’t fate. It wasn’t ironic. It was just something senseless that had happened. Just like what had happened to Kaytlyn. Via hadn’t been able to go to the funeral, but she thought about Kaytlyn every day. Of all the regrets she had about her one-hundred-day suicide attempt, Kaytlyn’s death was by far the worst.
Those last minutes with Carlos had been a blessing in disguise. She had seen with her own eyes that in his state of mind he had been intent on death and despair; the same had probably been true of her father. If so, there would have been no chance of saving her mother.
The time she had spent with Bella had been particularly rewarding. Thoroughly into fairies, Bella went through art pad after art pad, drawing delicately winged fairy friends. She made up stories about strong, feisty fairy sisters who went on mystical adventures. In Bella, Via could imagine her own young self. She could see herself growing up through Mama’s eyes.
Whitney loved being a nurse and had taken a job at Harborview. She and Bella were spending the summer holding down Fort Daney while Nick toured and Via and Matt were traveling. Bella and G-Dane were becoming thick as thieves.
She sensed Matt watching her and turned to see him paused, waiting. His eyes were entreating her to come to him. Just one more look, she promised with her eyes. There were photos, of course. But she knew she would never get so close to it again. She didn’t dare touch it, but mentally hugged it. Her father’s last work was full of love and life; the sound of Verdi celebrated throughout her heart.
She turned around and made her way down the aisle toward Matt. He was blushing, though she had no idea why. She thought about the countless little Violettas out there—the kids she hadn’t wanted to think about before.
“Nick will be waiting to tell us all about his new life,” he said, coming in for a hug. “You ready now?”
It was finally all clicking together. Her life had a purpose after all. Every life had a purpose and she promised herself that she would remember that. She felt more valuable than any painting, more hopeful than any high, and prettier than any lights.
She rested her cheek against his chest and said, “Forever is now.”
“Exactly, Isoldey. Exactly.”
PLEASE, PRETTY LIGHTS SETLIST (IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE):
“Comfort Eagle” Cake
“Breed” Nirvana
“Enter Sandman” Metallica
“Nice Guys Finish Last” Green Day
“Skills to Pay the Bills” Beastie Boys
“Stir it Up” Bob Marley
“I Can See Clearly Now” Jimmy Cliff
“Island in the Sun” Weezer
“Rock-and-Roll Lifestyle” Cake
“All the Small Things” Blink 182
“Bad Fish” Sublime
“Suck You Dry” Mudhoney
“Gotta Get Away” The Offspring
“The National Anthem” Radiohead
“Everlong” Foo Fighters
“Royal Oil” Mighty Mighty Bosstones
“Songs for the Dead” Queens of the Stone Age
“Magic Fire Music” Richard Wagner/The Ring Without Words
“When the Angels Sing” Social Distortion
“Corduroy” Pearl Jam
“Song 2” Blur
“Welcome to Paradise” Green Day
“Santa Monica” Everclear
“Strong Enough” Sheryl Crow
Un De Felice Giuseppe Verdi/La Traviata
For more information about Ina Zajac including upcoming releases, book club visits and author events go to:
www.inazajac.com
Twitter: @InaZajac