“Got it.”
“Visualize it in your mind. I’ll be back before they line you up.”
“Okay.”
I can hear Birdie repeating my words back as I enter the hustle and bustle of pageant girls and moms, dipping out the back door and hurrying along the side of the building. Spectators are still filing into the entrance, trying to combat the Florida heat by fanning themselves with their tickets. I say a quick prayer that the side entrance is unlocked, but it’s not. Someone inside hears me jiggling the handle and opens it for me, though.
“I promise I’m not sneaking in without paying,” I reassure the grandmother wearing the Cayleigh is My Shining Star T-shirt. “Just trying to find someone…”
I spy Jason leaning against the back wall about twenty yards away. His arms are crossed over his mighty chest, and Lord, if he doesn’t look more uncomfortable in his surroundings than a bear at the opera. As if sensing me, his gaze cuts in my direction and stays there. He doesn’t wave, smile or come to meet me. We just watch each other through the excited conversation of the crowd. It goes against everything inside me not to run to him, but I understand what he’s trying to communicate. Last night was our goodbye. No sense in making it any harder.
My legs are unsteady beneath me as I turn back toward the side exit and shove through, out into the heat. It raises the temperature of my chilled skin somewhat, but nowhere near enough. My only hope is I appear confident as I rejoin Birdie in time for the director to start calling names.
“He’s against the back wall. Just to the right of the entrance.”
Birdie exhales. “I knew he wouldn’t sit.”
“He’s fine. Focus on the intro.”
Watching Birdie walk through the curtain from the side of the stage minutes later is almost surreal. She’s wearing black workout gear with silver studs running along the seams…and a pair of red Converse. On stage, the spotlight bathes her and she smiles radiantly into the white beam while her name is trilled over the loudspeaker, along with her hometown, her age, her hobbies—avoiding organized social activities—and the fact that it’s her first pageant, which draws murmurs from the crowd. When Birdie told me she’d omitted any mention of her sister in the paperwork, I worried it would be a mistake. That she’d want that recognition for Natalie when the time came. I can see now why she did it. Why she decided to hold that mission close to herself. It’s too sacred to share with a room full of people who didn’t know the weight Natalie carried. They would forget it by tomorrow.
True to my own word, the next hour is a blur. After the introductions, we strip Birdie out of her fitness outfit and zip her into an asymmetrical, black and purple sequined gown with a retro vibe. I comb her hair to one side and clip it, curling the ends while she reapplies eye shadow, completing the look. Some of the girls in the room have a hair stylist and makeup artist, in addition to their mothers, but I think Birdie would have gone crazy with that many cooks in the kitchen. Or at least I tell myself that so I don’t feel so woefully inadequate.
“Jesus. You need a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.”
At Birdie’s words, I take my first breath in what must be an hour. “You know my drink of choice, too?”
“Jason stores the case of wine he had delivered in my closet.” She blots her lipstick. “Probably so you won’t see it and realize he’s been a goner since your job interview.”
Time slows down, my pulse walloping me at all the crucial pressure points. “Why did you have to go and tell me that?”
“You’re right. That was mean.” She visibly braces when her name is called from the stage entrance. Not for the first time, I notice Birdie seems kind of distracted, instead of nervous. Like she’s trying to work out a puzzle. “Um. Okay, coach. We are go for the evening gown portion.”
I snap back to the here and now, just as the music begins to pump in the theater loud enough to shake the walls. Little pockets of cheers go up as contestants begin walking the stage and Birdie rushes to the stage entrance to wait in line. “Dazzle them,” I say lamely, trying furiously not to think of the fact that Jason ordered me a case of wine. What is the deal with my composure falling apart over wine? Honestly, Naomi.
Before I know it, the evening gown portion is over and we’re backstage, changing Birdie’s dress once again for the question and answer round. Her dance partner, Turner, has texted me that he has arrived and is waiting in the area designated for men, so I tick that item off my list of things to stress about. He might have been kind of a jerk, but at least he’s completing his end of the bargain. Probably because I have his final payment in my purse.
Around me and Birdie, mothers quietly read practice questions from flash cards while daughters shake out their limbs, close their eyes and try to get in the zone. It’s so familiar to me, I get a knot in my throat and I give myself a moment to look around. I enjoy this world. It’s a lot like me, in a way, isn’t it? Pretty, frivolous and kind of silly on the outside, but behind the scenes, there’s a whole host of insecurities and pressure to say the right thing, be what everyone expects. Most of the girls scattered backstage have flawless grade point averages and interests that extend far beyond pageants. They’re here to rack up scholarship money and if people find that frivolous then they can go stuff a sock where the sun doesn’t shine.
Against my will, I think of conducting practices in a space designed and decorated by my own hand. Tasteful white walls with silver and bright poppy-red accents. Gleaming red wood floors and gauzy curtains that would float around during consultations, letting the girls dream of their shining moment on the stage…
I swallow hard and command myself to focus and stop being fanciful. It’s so hard to do that now that I’ve let myself imagine possibilities, though. Imagine more than a life of following the dictates of others. Showing my face where I’ve been asked to show it. Making phone calls to assist local Charleston charities, but not really putting in the time and effort to personalize them. To put my own unique stamp on something. Isn’t the effort behind Birdie’s pageant what will make it worthwhile?
I shake myself. “Want to run through some practice questions?”
Birdie is staring back at her reflection in the mirror.
“Birdie.”
“Huh?”
“Is everything okay?” I hunker down beside her chair. “You’re doing incredible out there. If I didn’t know this is your first pageant, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Thanks.” She nods and sits up straighter. “Yeah, I think it’s going well? Hard to tell. I can’t see anything out there. Just vague outlines of heads.”
“Every pageant is different. Some of them don’t have spotlights.” My forehead tugs with a frown. “Maybe we should have—”
“Rented a spotlight for practice? Jason would have loved that expenditure.”
Hearing his name sends a wave of longing down my back. “So. Practice questions?”
“Bristow.”
Birdie and I trade a smirk at the director calling her name. “Too late.” She doesn’t seem to realize she’s rubbing the bracelet between her thumb and forefinger. “Here goes nothing.”
My pulse pounds thickly in my ears minutes later as I watch Birdie approach the microphone, pose and smile at the host. To strangers, she probably doesn’t appear timid, but I can see the fingers out of view from the audience rubbing at her skirt.
“Miss Bristow. Where do you see yourself in five years?”
I slap a hand to my forehead and somewhere in the back of the theater, I swear I hear a low, disbelieving chuckle. Silence ticks past. One second, two. Oh my God, she isn’t going to answer. I should have forced her to answer this practice question. Why didn’t I—
“It’s important to have plans. Goals. It’s just as important to know when your plan needs to change, though. Life…requires change. Five years ago, I wasn’t planning on competing in a beauty pageant. I don’t even like wearing dresses.” The host and audience laugh. “You have to decide what’s worthwhile
and adapt, even if it’s new or you didn’t expect it. Maybe it’s just as productive to live without a five-year plan. Or to start with a five-day plan and see where it takes you.”
The buzzer peals.
Birdie’s words strike deep, but I’m all about her as she glides toward me and falls through the curtain into my arms. “Shit. Did that even make sense?”
“Yes. Yes.” I squeeze her tighter. “Perfect sense.”
A full minute passes. The next contestant takes the stage, but Birdie still doesn’t let go. “I thought I would feel her,” she whispers. “I thought there would be some part of Nat here, but there’s nothing. It’s just a microphone and lights and…” She steps back with a hiccup. “I just wanted her to be proud or close. Just close one more time. But she’s not. She never will be again, will she?”
This is why she’s been distracted. She was waiting for a full circle moment and it hasn’t come. “That’s not true.”
“Please don’t tell me I carry her in my heart.” Birdie moves past me in a rustle of fabric and I catch the sheen of moisture in her eyes. “Can you get Turner? Let’s get the dance over with and go home.”
Defeat weighs me down as I turn to do what Birdie asks…but something stops me. Birdie’s words echo back from that first run we took together. Natalie was the one who brought everyone together. With friends and family. Both. She’d put on a silly play or throw a board game on the floor and whine until everyone picked a talisman. She was the glue. Everything…everyone is apart now because there’s no glue.
An idea occurs to me. A crazy one.
I have one shot to make this pageant what Birdie needs, though. Who cares if we win? It was never really about winning, was it? No, it’s about family.
After throwing a quick glance at the clock, I sprint out the backstage area, urgency pumping my legs faster than I thought possible. On the way out of the exit, I pass Turner and skid to a stop. “Uh…you can go home. I’ll mail you the check.”
He salutes. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“It’s been real,” I shout over my shoulder, then throw the metal door open and run smack into Jason. He catches me by the elbows, not budging a single step even though I’ve essentially just hit him with my full weight. All the breath in our bodies seems to escape at the same time, softening every line of where we connect. Then he stumbles a little, his arms sliding up to my shoulders, into my hair. Oh God. How am I going to survive without him?
“What’s wrong?” He searches every inch of my face, tilting it for a better look. “She seemed a little off in that last round.”
“She is.” With a willpower I didn’t know I had, I untangle myself and ease away. “You have to dance with her.”
No reaction. “Say what now?”
“Birdie. The waltz. It has to be you.” I make a frustrated sound, knowing I’m getting ahead of myself. “She wanted to honor Natalie with the pageant, yes. But it was more. It was about feeling your sister again. Connecting to her in some way. You’re that connection she needs. To make this pageant about Natalie, all of you, and nothing else. This is Natalie bringing you together, the way she used to. That’s where Birdie is going to feel her.” I grasp his forearm. “Please. You’re the only one who can do this.”
“Naomi…” He scoffs, but understanding is dawning in his face. “I can’t. This is crazy.”
“You can. You can be her hero.”
Whatever protest he was going to make next dies in the wake of my words. He pushes a hand through his hair and laughs without humor. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
If I wasn’t already leaden with love for Jason, I would be now. Lord, would I ever. “The reason they couldn’t get that final turn is because Birdie has a tendency to lead. There’s no time now for a practice run. If she takes the lead, just let her have it. Considering the circumstances, maybe it’s for the best. But you do know the steps. I’ve watched you count them off in the church basement. I know you can do it. Jason, even if you screw up spectacularly, it won’t be for nothing. It’ll be for everything.”
I take his hand and lead him through the back exit, stopping him before he enters the changing section. “Wait here.” Moving at a clip, I find Birdie our designated spot, holding up a staying hand when she starts to ask me where I’ve been. “Change of plans.”
“Change of plans,” she sputters. “Oh my God. Did that asshat not show up?”
“He did. I sent him home.” I tug her through the throng of harried contestants—including one gymnast and two clarinet players—and reach Jason a few moments later. “Here is your new dance partner.”
Jason executes a sweeping bow, making my heart go splat. “I’m as surprised as you are.” He nods. “Let’s do this, kid.”
Birdie lets out a small sound, one that makes her seem so much younger in an instant. Then she covers a watery laugh with her hand. “They could have upped the price of admission for this.” She’s clearly trying to hide her happiness, but the smile she can’t control tells me I did the right thing. Thank God. “Try not to step on my toes and crush them to dust.”
He holds out his hand and Birdie takes it. “I make no promises.”
“Bristow.”
“Go go go,” I manage after a gasping breath, shooing them toward stage right. “You’re up next.”
It all happens so fast. A river is rushing in my ears as I deposit Birdie and Jason in the waiting area at stage right. I make a mad dash to inform the pageant director of the change in partners, and thank heavens I buttered her up earlier, because she doesn’t make a stink—and that is why you arrive early to a pageant, folks. By the time I return to Birdie and Jason, they’re being called to the stage and I don’t even have a chance to say good luck. They’re already gone, although Jason sends me a look right before the music begins. I don’t know what it means, only that it wraps around me like a warm hug and makes my knees weak at the same time.
“I’ll miss you, Blackbeard,” I whisper to myself when he looks away.
Because I’m already gone.
There’s no reason to remain once the dance starts. I can see that right away. Birdie’s expression is pure, open joy. A kind I haven’t seen her wear before—and I know. I know as she smiles up into her brother’s face and he nods back, executing the dance moves like a bull in a china shop, that Birdie found the sense of togetherness she was looking for. Even I can feel the spirit of their sister, never having met her. They honor her with every awkward turn and subsequent laugh. An unguarded melody mixed with a low rumble.
It’s beautiful. I’ll never forget it.
I’m in my car with the engine started before the last note plays.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ConspiracyCrowd.org
Username: UrDadsMyFave69
Ding, ding, ding. We have a wiener.
That’s a woman who has been getting the business for two months.
I accept accolades in the form of Tom Hardy GIFs.
Naomi
If I’ve learned one thing over the last seven days, it’s that punishment comes in many forms. For example, this morning I’m a pincushion. And the entertainment.
The morning after I arrived back in Charleston, I immediately set out on my apology tour, hitting the wedding planner, catering company and pastor in the space of two hours. My closest relatives and bridesmaids each received a phone call and a wine basket. When it was all over and my list had been—mostly—checked off, I collapsed into bed and didn’t get up.
It took me until today to leave my room again and I was immediately scheduled for a dress fitting. With three weeks to go until my mother’s charity ball, I need some practice acting normal. I hate how weak I became at the drop of a hat, but it took all my strength to leave St. Augustine behind and drive back to Charleston. To walk through the door of my childhood home and have all the positivity of the last two months mean nothing to anyone but me. Did any of it really happen?
Right now, st
anding on a pedestal while the seamstress yanks my bodice tighter, it doesn’t feel like any of it was real. I feel bloodless and half-asleep. Around me in a semi-circle, my mother’s friends sit on cushy chairs sipping mimosas, suggesting different materials, new styles, dashes of bling here or there. Among them, my mother sits like a cat who caught the canary, allowing me to be on display. The object of curiosity.
“Naomi, you’re looking so skinny,” says Doris, one of my mother’s oldest friends. “Maybe I should run away for two months.”
The ensuing laughter carves another chunk out of me. In the mirror, I watch my mother calmly sip from her champagne flute, her eyes daring me over the rim to be anything but gracious. To do anything but fix the damage I’ve wrought by my absence. Oh yes, punishment comes in many different forms.
“You’re perfect the way you are,” I murmur to Doris. “There’s no need.”
“Speaking of running away…” says another woman while setting down her drink. Clink. It sounds like a starting gun. “Well, I’m sure we’re all aware of the theories, but I’d love to hear it from you, dear. How were you occupying yourself in Florida?”
I was falling in love.
My tongue protests when I bite down on it too hard. Four minutes. That’s the longest I’ve gone without thinking of Jason in weeks. I plummet back to the drawing board now, wishing I’d risked another lecture through the door from my mother and stayed in my room. What would Jason do if he walked in right now? He would pretend mimosas were for sissies, but he’d drink one, anyway. No, that’s not right. He’d get these stupid pins out of me, one by one, and kiss any spots left behind. He’d kiss my mouth, damn the crowd. Everything would be all right if he was here. Birdie, too. She would kick up her heels on my mother’s antique coffee table and demand some spikes be added to my dress. God, I miss Birdie to death.
They were real. They were real.
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