“I think that’s enough research for today. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
She moved the computer from Riley’s lap to the table beside the couch. She left the cord plugged in, but closed the lid, casting the entire room in darkness. They had been so engrossed in the Sodder children that neither one had noticed the sun go down. That meant that Riley had missed dinner, too. Quinn offered to walk to a fast-food place; neither of them was really hungry, though, and they decided that sleep was much more appealing than another greasy meal in a paper bag. Quinn lay down on the couch, spreading one of the rough hospital blankets over her body. She started to say good night, but she could already hear Riley cooing in her bed. She closed her own eyes and rested her head on a fresh hoodie she had balled and wedged into the crook of the sofa.
* * *
Jane stopped by the next morning with breakfast casserole. Quinn and Riley were so hungry after missing dinner that they tore into the meal immediately. Though the dish was easy enough to make, Quinn considered the concoction of eggs, shredded potatoes, and breakfast sausage a real treat. She thanked Jane for the food, but her mother didn’t seem to hear her. In fact, she didn’t seem to see her, either. Every time she looked Quinn’s way, her expression would go flat again. What was worse was that she didn’t just stare through Quinn; she stared at her. Quinn began to feel like she was being studied, scrutinized.
“Mom, are you still upset with me for taking off?”
“What?” Jane responded, looking confused. “Did you go somewhere?”
Quinn wasn’t sure how to answer the question. On the one hand, she didn’t believe that her mother had forgotten her disappearance. On the other, she would rather not have to lie more than she already had about her whereabouts. She decided not to say anything unless her mother pressed.
“Oh,” Jane said, pulling an envelope from her purse, “I finally got around to printing some of the pictures from Christmas last year. Do you want to look at them with me?” she asked, turning to Riley.
“Yeah!”
Jane scooted close to Riley, leaving little room for Quinn to sit with them. She decided to stand. That would at least give her a better vantage point for the pictures. As her mother thumbed through the prints, Quinn was absent from the images. Riley noticed, too.
“How come Quinn isn’t in any of the pictures, Mama?”
“Isn’t she? I didn’t realize. I guess she was doing something else while we opened presents.”
“No. She was there. I remember because she read to me from the butterfly guide from Santa. The words were too big, and you were in the kitchen making gingerbread pancakes with chocolate chips. We wanted to sit by the fire, but Butterfly wouldn’t move his big butt, so we laid on him like a giant pillow, and she told me about the pictures. That’s when I saw the question mark butterfly with the funny-shaped wings.”
Jane suggested that perhaps Quinn had been in the bathroom while she was taking pictures, or that she had gotten up late and missed the first part of Christmas. Quinn distinctly remembered Riley waking her up before her mother, bounding from her bed to Quinn’s pillow with a high-pitched “Eeeeeee! Christmas morning!” The sound was so jarring that Butterfly had left the room huffing. They had decided not to wake Jane until the fire was built—something Quinn had been practicing that winter—and a pot of coffee was brewing. Jane was always more amicable on Christmas when she had a good cup of coffee and a warm perch beneath the mantel.
Quinn could no longer ignore her mother’s behavior, or the fact that she had been looking at Quinn for the last two days like she was a stranger. Her conversation with Meelie echoed in her mind. Going back to the other realm had been a terrible idea, one that Meelie and Aimee had tried to warn her about. As usual, her stubbornness had gotten the better of her. Now, she would have to accept the consequences of her actions. Whatever bond she’d had with her mother, things were different now. The two of them would coexist, but Quinn suspected that they would not snuggle in the easy chair or sit and talk through the tears on the really bad days. She was no longer her mother’s confidant. Selfishly, Quinn was bothered by the fact that her mother would no longer need her. Quinn had spent most of Riley’s life perfecting her role as the protector of the family. Now, Jane sat with her shoulders squared and seemed to carry Riley’s condition with strength rather than grace.
Where Jane had been the empathetic one, the one who was often overcome with joy or grief, Quinn had been the stoic one, rallying the troops after each defeat. Their roles had switched, and Quinn discovered that she wasn’t very well equipped to carry the emotional side of things for her family. How would she ever learn to lean on others? She had walled up her feelings before Riley’s first birthday. Vulnerability was not her strong suit, yet she couldn’t bear for Riley to see only strength. Her sister had to know, had to see, that being overcome by grief or defeat or even joy was a part of being human.
The adjustment would take a lot of work, work that Quinn wasn’t prepared to do yet. Instead, she excused herself from the room and carried her computer to the lobby where she e-mailed her teachers to explain her absence and request missing assignments. Most of her teachers were terrible with e-mail, sometimes not responding for weeks. Still, sending an e-mail was her only option short of calling each teacher individually from the hospital room—that sounded awful. She also appreciated having a paper trail in case some teachers had forgotten arrangements she’d made with them, or never provided the missing work for her to complete.
Most of the e-mails were generic but, with her English teacher, she expounded on all the information she had read about Amelia Earhart and the Sodder children. She also suggested that her presentation would reflect not just one infamous disappearance, but the culture of disappearance. She wanted to use the project to start a conversation about how people don’t want to be remembered as they were, but as they strived to be. For their part, most mourners are happy to oblige, establishing an almost legendary heroism to people who, in life, were often uninspiring or downright cruel. She stayed gone until she was sure that her mother left for work, then bought a few donuts and headed back to Riley’s room. When she arrived, Riley was fast asleep again. Unlike the first heart flower, this one seemed to be taking longer for Riley’s body to accept.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dr. Howe stopped by after lunch. Quinn asked question after question, assuring him that she would report everything back to her mother. He obliged, explaining that he hadn’t seen any further improvement in Riley’s blood oxygen levels, which may explain why she didn’t have much energy or appetite. She was stable, but he was hesitant to release her until her numbers were a little further into the normal range. Of course, he understood that staying in the hospital complicated things for Quinn and Jane, who didn’t have anyone else to stay with Riley during the day. Quinn was grateful for the information, and said that she’d much rather be with her sister than sitting in school.
She actually preferred to do her work alone, so she figured she would be fine as long as she continued to communicate with her teachers. Thus far, only two had written back: English and Physics. Her English teacher was intrigued by the idea of researching multiple disappearances, but she insisted that Quinn’s presentation remain focused on Amelia Earhart because she wouldn’t have time to impersonate multiple characters for parents.
Physics was in the middle of an egg-dropping contest, one that sounded both fun and impossible to Quinn. She was supposed to construct an escape pod out of balsa wood, cotton, toothpicks, and hot glue, then drop the contraption from at least three stories with an egg inside. If the egg survived, she would get an A. If the egg broke, she would get an F. Since her teacher would accept video, Quinn decided that the project would be a fun way to spend time with Riley the next day. She messaged her mom and asked her to bring the supplies to the hospital that evening.
* * *
“Quinn, I meant to ask you,” Jane started, setting the project supplies on the ground n
ear the door, “did you lock Butterfly out of the house when you went home to shower?”
Quinn explained that he had been acting oddly, and she was genuinely frightened by his behavior. This seemed to satisfy Jane, who turned to Riley and spent the rest of the evening talking with her. Quinn felt more and more like the outsider in her family, someone who was accepted but not well-liked. Riley didn’t ignore her maliciously, of course; in fact, she hadn’t shown any indication that her memories of Quinn were fading. Unlike Jane, Riley was also still clearly attached to Quinn. For whatever reason, the effects of her visit to the other realm didn’t appear to have any impact on Quinn’s and Riley’s relationship. She excused herself from the room, not giving a reason for Quinn’s departure. Riley waved, then yelled after Quinn to bring back hot chocolate. Jane didn’t notice her leave. She was too engrossed in the puzzle she and Riley had spread across the hospital bed.
* * *
The crisp, evening air felt wonderful on Quinn’s face. This was her favorite weather because she could basically live in hoodies. And everything smelled like cinnamon and pears, which made her feel warm even when the evening air cut through her jacket. She decided to walk to the park across from the hospital. The city kept lights strung on every branch year-round, so every night felt like Christmas. The entire park was illuminated, each white bulb mimicking a firefly. Normally she wouldn’t walk through the park at night. Tonight, though, the full moon made the bike and pedestrian paths just as bright, maybe even brighter, as they were at noon.
Quinn considered her last conversation with Aimee, who had tried to explain to her that Quinn must make a choice: either she could go back to the other realm, or she could accept her sister’s condition and spend what time they had left together. Aimee mentioned something else, about the need for balance between the two worlds, but Quinn hadn’t understood what she was trying to say. But how could she possibly know what would happen if Quinn continued to move between the two worlds? She didn’t remember seeing any sort of guide or instruction book in the other realm. Everything she had learned came from two women who had been too scared to leave, or from the strange etchings that sometimes appeared when she was lost. None of the etchings had warned her not to stay with Riley. They hadn’t said anything about not coming back, either.
Her mind spun. She wanted to believe that her friends were wrong, that she could continue to live with her family and heal Riley at the same time, yet she had to admit that Aimee had been right about her family—at least her mother—forgetting her. And Meelie had been right that returning the second time would only make things worse. Did they get lucky, or did they understand the other realm more than Quinn wanted to believe? She couldn’t think of a single answer that would ease her mind. Either way, Jane didn’t look at her with any sort of affection anymore, and Riley was still stuck in the hospital. Quinn wondered if her mother would even miss her if she left for the other realm. Meelie had not returned to this world so that she would be remembered, or at least the best parts of her would be. Would Quinn become a hero to her mother if she left and never came back? Did she even want to be a hero? That question was surprisingly easy to answer: Quinn had no desire to be a hero. If she had, she would have told her family about the other realm and explained why Riley was suddenly getting better, but she hadn’t. Saving Riley was her secret, one she planned to keep to herself as long as she could.
* * *
Back at the hospital, Jane had fallen asleep on the couch. Riley was half-watching a documentary about uncontacted tribes in South America. Quinn carried a chair over to her, pulled a bag of cinnamon-roasted almonds from her jacket pocket, and handed them to Riley. One of the few things the two sisters enjoyed about winter was the smell of freshly roasted nuts wafting through shopping centers. Each year, they lamented about why people refuse to roast nuts and cook with pumpkin after the holiday season.
Riley excitedly snatched the bag from Quinn. “Where did you find these?” she chirped. “I thought those people in the aprons only made them at Christmas.”
“Quiet,” Quinn whispered. “You don’t want to wake mom. Then you’ll have to share!”
Riley snickered.
“How long has she been asleep anyway?”
Riley thought for a minute, audibly sucking the cinnamon and sugar from the almond in her mouth. She guessed that Jane had lain down at least an hour ago because the documentary was almost over, then she went on a tangent about how scared the people on the television must have been when they first saw things like cameras and cellular phones.
“Did they think people were magic?” she wondered aloud. “How else could they explain pictures and videos and sounds coming from tiny boxes?”
Quinn laughed. That was Riley, constantly asking the most logical, unanswerable questions. Her curiosity didn’t match her age. Quinn imagined that she would be curious, too, if she grew up knowing that she only had a limited time to learn everything there was to learn in the world.
“Are you tired, or do you want to help me with some more research? I want to learn more about that Aimee character you looked up yesterday. How long ago did she live, what happened to her, what’s her fascination with boats and water, was she magic—”
Quinn realized her slip as soon as the words left her mouth. She was hoping that Riley hadn’t noticed, but she had no such luck. Riley flipped off the television.
“How do you know she liked boats or the ocean? What makes you think she’s magic? And why have you been so weird, anyway? You and Mom both—like you’re mad or being mean about something. You keep leaving when you see mom, won’t play games with us—I don’t understand?”
Quinn took a deep breath. She hated lying to Riley, but she knew she had to. She told her sister that she had argued with their mom one night after Riley went to bed, and that Quinn had sneaked out after they fought so she could clear her head.
“That’s why I didn’t go to school the day you got sick, and why she couldn’t find me . . . if she even looked for me. Anyway, things just feel weird right now. I’m sure they’ll get back to normal when we leave the hospital. You know neither of us is really cut out for the all the people and sounds here. I promise. Everything will be fine when we get you home.”
“What if I never go home?”
“You will,” Quinn said, squeezing Riley’s hand. “One way or another, you will.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m your big sister, kid. Nothing in this world or any other is going to keep me from taking care of you.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Riley had trouble sleeping that night, so Quinn suggested that they do more research for her project. Reading about strangers was a welcome distraction for Riley, and Quinn still wanted to know more about the mysterious Aimee. She had very few details to get them started, so they spent quite awhile scouring the Internet for information. To start, she typed in the phrase: Aimee + disappeared + ocean.
“There’s something!” Riley exclaimed, pointing at an entry for a woman named Aimee du buc de Rivery.
“Looks like she lived in the eighteenth century, the 1700s. She was from a wealthy French family who lived on an island, and she went to school in France,” Quinn read aloud. “When she was nineteen, she was traveling back home from France, and her boat disappeared.”
“That’s all the page says?”
Quinn returned to the search results and clicked on the next link, which took her to an article discussing several theories about what happened to de Rivery after her boat sank.
“Looks like folks are split on what happened next. Her boat definitely sank. No one seems to disagree about that. Some people believe that the boat was attacked, and that Aimee was kidnapped by pirates and sold as a concubine.”
“What’s that?”
Quinn wasn’t sure, so she typed the word into a new window. The definition was too much for Riley, so Quinn paraphrased.
“Basically,” she said, “a concubine is like a female slave.
But a lot of historians have been unable to find any evidence to suggest that Aimee was even captured, though, so maybe she got away.”
Quinn knew what had happened, or at least Aimee’s version of events, but she couldn’t tell Riley without explaining her adventures in the other realm. Instead, she told Riley that she would rather believe that Aimee was the type of person who couldn’t be captured, who would sooner go down with the ship than live under someone else’s control. Riley wanted to know more about pirates, so Quinn told her some of the stories she had read when she was younger, but the image of crazed men jumping onto ships and waving swords scared Riley. She changed the subject, asking Quinn to describe the ocean instead. The family had hoped to take a trip to the coast one summer; however, Riley’s health had forced them to stay close to home. Quinn had gone with her mother once before, when Jane was pregnant. She tried to downplay the majesty and immensity of that much water, but Riley knew what she was doing and pushed her to just be honest.
“I might not get to see the ocean. That’s okay. I just want to know what the waves feel like, how the sand feels on your toes, if you can see fish swimming around. Mama talks about the smell of the ocean when she lights her candles—does the water smell different than bath water or rivers? Remember when we went to the river, and I said the air smelled funny, then you pointed to all the fish and said they were taking a bath? Is the ocean like that?”
The truth was that Quinn had been afraid to get in the water as child. Besides, where they had gone the water was murky and green. She hadn’t been able to see anything. The shells on the beach hurt her feet. She was hot almost immediately. From what she remembered, her first trip to the ocean had been a disaster. But Riley wanted majesty, and that’s exactly what Quinn gave her. She described the water in the other realm, how the whole surface glowed purple. She spent a long time talking about the sharks there and the way every living thing turned incandescent when the two moons rose. Riley hung on every word, getting especially excited about the sharks. She was almost as fascinated with sharks as she was with butterflies. That night, they fell asleep watching a show about sharks that glow in the dark. Naturally, Riley wanted one for herself.
The Kaleidoscope Sisters Page 17