But I don’t want to wait anymore.
Helen yanks my arm and pulls me into a fancy lingerie store. “Well, if that’s what we’re preparing for, what you wear underneath the outfit is just as important!”
“Helen!” I plant my feet firmly just inside the door. We are surrounded by lace, by things it would never occur to me to put on my body. “It’s not like he hasn’t seen me!”
She pulls harder, dragging me to a rack of pale-pink, flimsy—what are they called, teddies? “It’s not like that matters!”
“There is no way I’m wearing something like that.”
Helen bats her eyelashes with exaggerated innocence. “And why not?”
“I can see through it!”
“Exactly!”
“No, Helen. No way!”
“Oh, Marlena,” Helen sighs. “If you are going to end up naked anyway, then what does it matter if Finn can see through what you’re wearing before you take it off?”
“I don’t know?” I cover my mouth and start to laugh. “I guess maybe it doesn’t?”
Helen drags me to another rack. “Finally, you are talking sense!”
I look at all the complicated black lace, and try to figure out how a person is supposed wear whatever is dangling from the hangers. “That looks so uncomfortable.”
Helen is admiring something satin and shiny. “You aren’t supposed to wear it all day.”
“Do you put on this stuff for Sonia?” Ever since the party Helen and Sonia have been dating.
“Sonia loves me in lingerie.”
“Does Sonia wear it for you?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m the lingerie girl in the relationship.”
“Well, what does Sonia like then?”
Helen tears her eyes from the rack to look at me. “The better question is: what does Finn like?”
“Me?”
“Of course, you. You’re not exactly helping me help you, here.”
I think of the colors I see when I’m with Finn. “What about pink? Just not that pale washed-out color you showed me before.”
“Finally.” She leads me over to another rack.
At some point, while I’m trying things on, I text Finn, in my still very slow and labored tapping of the screen.
Me: You will never guess what I am doing.
Finn: Tell me.
Me: I’d rather show you when we go away.
Finn: Gulp. Stop killing me, Marlena.
I smile at this and put the phone away.
In the end, I get something simple, but pretty, and I am grateful when we return to dress shopping. After hours of looking, I find the perfect one. It is a bright, silvery green, with a halter that ties around my neck and a skirt that reaches to my knees.
“What do you think?” I ask Helen, when I emerge from the dressing room.
She looks up from her phone and smiles. “I think that’s the one.”
“Me too.”
“Well, then, buy it, so we can go to dinner. My feet are killing me!”
Later, when we are seated in a booth, waiting for our pizza, Helen asks me about my decision to be with Finn, and I ask her what it’s like to have sex with Sonia, and what made her decide she was ready.
Helen takes a sip of her Coke. “It was easy. I knew I wanted to, and she wanted to, so we did.”
“No regrets?”
“No way.”
Our pizza arrives, and we each pull a piece from the steaming pie.
Helen waits for hers to cool so she can take a bite. “Promise me I’ll get the full report, Marlena.”
I pick up a fork and knife to avoid getting burned and cut a piece, blowing on it a little. “I promise,” I tell her, and our attention turns to eating.
My road trip with Finn turns out to also involve a boat trip. We drive to a ferry, then drive the car onto the ferry so it can take us to an island disconnected from the mainland. There are no bridges or causeways. It makes it seem like Finn and I are heading across the ocean to be in a completely new world that is all ours.
The inn where we are staying is across the street from the beach, near a little downtown with shops and restaurants. It is so much like the town where I live, but so unlike it. This town, for instance, has never sold souvenirs with my image, and I can walk down its Main Street without fear of being recognized. And I can do it with Finn and not worry about being judged.
We head into the foyer of the big old house. “What do you think?” Finn asks.
There are little couches and nooks to sit and read, and a pretty porch visible through the windows. “I love it.”
When we get to our room, I feel shy. I’ve spent so much time with Finn, just Finn, but there’s something different about going away with a boy. It feels grown-up, in a way I’ve never been. In my bag, I’ve packed my perfect dress, and the underwear I plan to wear underneath it. When Finn runs out to the car for something he forgot, I put everything away in the closet and drawers. I don’t want him to see what I’ve brought just yet.
Finn and I go for lunch at a takeout place on the docks. We buy sandwiches and eat them sitting in the sun, our legs dangling over the water. Afterward, we drive all over the island, looking at the old houses, trying to decide which one is our favorite. Which one we would buy. If we got married someday, I think. All afternoon there is a flutter in my stomach about our dinner ahead, and about what will happen after dinner.
In the end, when it does happen, I’m not wearing the special dress or the lingerie Helen made me buy. It isn’t even at night after we’ve eaten, and gone back to our room, as I’d imagined.
When we return from our drive, the two of us go upstairs so I can put away the souvenir I bought in one of the shops. A little framed postcard of the exact spot where Finn and I ate lunch. I set the bag on the floor and begin digging through my suitcase for a hair tie. Finn is sitting on a chair next to one of the windows, flipping through the novel he bought at a bookstore where a cat was sleeping on one of the table displays, which made us laugh. I find the tie for my hair and put it up in a knot. Then I go to Finn and sit on his lap. He closes the book and sets it on the table. Finn turns me so I am facing him, my legs on either side of his waist. He leans in for a lingering kiss.
“This isn’t fair,” I say, when I can’t seem to pull away. “You know all my secrets.”
“And I’ve loved finding out every one of them.” His fingertips run up my back underneath my shirt and my cardigan.
“I was just going to sit here for a minute.”
“Well, I think you should stay longer.”
I kiss Finn’s neck, once, then again. “I know all your secrets, too.” I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. When I look up at him, his eyes are far away. “Where did you go?”
Instead of answering, he starts unbuttoning my shirt.
“I thought we were going to the beach for a walk before dinner,” I say, as Finn is sliding my shirt and sweater open, over my shoulders and down my arms. He undoes the clasp on my plain cotton bra and suddenly I don’t want to leave the room for anything.
“You really think we should go for a walk? Right now?” he asks as I lift his shirt up. He raises his arms so I can slip it off and toss it to the floor.
“No.”
I press myself against him. I love the feeling of my bare skin against his bare skin. We’ve been so careful not to be completely naked together—Finn’s rule. One of us has been, but not both of us. Not at the same time. Finn seems to have decided it’s my turn today.
He lifts me off him and I let him undress the rest of me, my jeans, then my underwear. “This really isn’t fair,” I tell him.
“I was naked last time,” he says, kissing my shoulder.
“Is this another one of your rules? We have to switch back and forth?”
“Maybe.”
He kisses my mouth and there is no more talking. Our kisses are like waves, swelling slowly, then rising more forcefully until we are a tumble of hands and limbs an
d mouths. His fingers on my skin, my back, my hips, my thighs, are a beautiful torment, his lips on my shoulders, my neck, my breasts, make it impossible to breathe. Like always, I want to be closer, closer to Finn, like I can never be close enough, pressing myself against him like I really could find a way to press through him.
When we slow down again, Finn laughs, soft and low. “We were going for a walk?”
“What walk?”
He leads me to the bed and pulls me down on top of it. He trails a finger from my knee to my thigh and over the curve of my hip and the swell of my breast. Finn replaces his finger with his lips and it is dizzying. I shift onto my back and close my eyes. “I can’t believe I might have lived my whole life without this,” I whisper.
“I can’t believe it either, Marlena,” he whispers back.
I reach for the buttons on Finn’s jeans.
“It’s too tempting if both of us are naked,” he says. “You know that.”
“But what if I need it to be both of us?”
He pulls back. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I say, undoing his top button as I say it. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” I undo another one, and Finn’s breathing speeds up. “Are you going to tell me no?”
“No,” he says. “I mean yes. Yes, I want to.”
“I think it’s time.”
“Me too,” he says.
The two of us look at each other for a long time, taking this in. I stare at this boy I love, who loves me back, in every way, at his beautiful eyes that are all for me, that are full of me, the bright-red and pink hues of love that color my vision. They are all that I see. Finn is all that I can see. It is the most beautiful vision of my life.
“I love you so much.” These words are the glorious petals of a peony flower in bloom.
“I love you just as much,” Finn says, as he lets me undress him.
When we are both naked, I study the tattoo on his arm, something I have done a dozen times at this point, but this time seems different. I brush my fingers across the lines of it, and the shadows. “I could never forget this part of you, Finn. You are my heart. And I am yours.”
THIRTY-TWO
I stare up at the wall of my room on this first day that feels like fall. There is a new painting hanging there. The entire canvas is a bright, beautiful red, touched with a glaring, swirling pink. Slopes of white curl through it. It is abstract, but if you stare at it long enough you might make out that the swirls of red and pink come together to make peonies. A trail of them. My vision, a portrait of what it is like to love and be loved by Finn. I am brimming with love, carrying it all around like a pail of overflowing water at the beach. Like with my healing visions, I wanted to make it tangible.
I reach up and touch the rough edges of the canvas, glide my fingers over the paint, now dry and brightened by the light of the sun coming through the windows. Evidence that what I have with Finn is real.
Maybe someday I will give this to him.
I turn away from the painting and head downstairs for some coffee. The heat of the mug warms my hands. It’s strange how the chill of fall came so fast; from one day to the next the temperature must have dropped twenty degrees.
Through the kitchen window I see a car I recognize parked in the white pebble driveway. Angie is walking up to the door.
What is she doing here? Did she come to see the artwork of my visions?
I race to greet her before she can ring the bell, but I’m too late. The door swings wide, my mother blocking the view. My mother is wearing heels, dressed up, even though she’s been in the house and it’s morning.
“So you are the woman who’s taken my daughter away” is the first thing she says. “Poisoned her mind.”
“Mother,” I hiss from behind her. I wish I could say I’m surprised she would speak this way to Angie when they haven’t even been introduced, and while Angie is still standing outside on the front steps. But I’m not.
“I have taken no one’s daughter,” Angie says, sounding offended.
I push past my mother and stare at Angie, wanting to tell her, Run, run while you can! But after barely a nod to me, Angie’s eyes are stuck on my mother.
“I am the one who made the decision to speak to Angie,” I say, cutting into their staring match. “I am the person who decided to take this break from healing. Angie had nothing to do with it.”
My mother is shaking her head, the purple bruises of sleeplessness under her eyes darker than ever. They make me wonder if my mother has slept at all. She points to me and looks at Angie again. “This girl here”—my mother’s gaze swipes from my head to my toes, from my bright-green top to my jeans and my loud, obnoxious flip-flops—“is no longer mine.”
For the first time, I see anger on Angie’s face, a tightness in her jaw, a clench in her teeth. “Mrs. Oliveira, that is a choice you’ve made about your daughter that has nothing to do with me, to the detriment of yourself, I might add.” Angie reaches an arm out to me. I see the quiver of protection in it. But the devastation on my mother’s face stops me short from leaning into the crook of Angie’s elbow.
“It is not just me who is suffering,” my mother goes on, as if Angie hasn’t spoken. “You’ve taken everything from my daughter, her gift, her purpose, her sacred touch, even her virginity—”
“Mother!”
My mother is far from done, ignoring my protest. “From the moment you entered Marlena’s life you started her down a path from which there is no turning back. The entire town has seen her prancing around with that boy and knows she is ruined.” My mother’s eyes flicker upward, one might think toward the beautiful fall sky, but she is looking toward God. “God knows she is ruined and that is the worst of it. Lives will be lost because of you.”
Angie is trembling. “Mrs. Oliveira.” She keeps her voice slow and steady. “I did not come to speak with you, though it is obvious you have things you’d like to say to me. I’m happy to come back another time for that conversation. I’m here because I have important issues to discuss with your daughter.” Angie glances at me finally. The way she looks at me, her normally bright laughing eyes so grave, a frown on her lips, nearly makes my knees want to buckle. What could be wrong?
My mother huffs. “What could you need to tell Marlena that you can’t say in front of me? That you’ve officially proved her a fraud?” Her eyes finally shift to me. “Oh, Marlena, do you think me stupid? This town is full of gossips and I’ve heard about the inquiries your scientist has been making about your gift.” Her gaze slides back to Angie. “What then? Tell us both why you’re here.”
The tremble in Angie’s body subsides. “Marlena, do you have somewhere we can talk in private?”
My mother is unmoving in the doorway, but I beckon Angie past her. “Follow me.”
As Angie and I go upstairs, my heartbeat seems to have slowed, like it is resisting my moving forward. I usher her inside my room. It is still mostly bare, apart from my bed, my reading chair, and a stack of books on the table beside it. The only thing that brightens it is the new painting on the wall.
Angie goes straight up to inspect it. I sit down on the edge of the bed and put my hand to my chest to feel the pulse of my heart and make sure it’s still there.
“You told me you painted your visions,” Angie says finally. She is still studying the canvas.
“I do.”
“But there’s only one painting here. Where are the others?”
I can’t tell if Angie is genuinely curious or if she is stalling. Maybe the scientist in her wants to see my art as evidence, additional resources, for her study. But the person in her is using them to distract from the real reason she is here. “All the paintings from my visions are stored away.”
She turns to me. Her blue eyes are worried. “You said all. And this one? It’s not about a vision?”
“It’s about Finn,” I say. “It’s about how I feel when I’m with him.” I pause for a breath. “I know you know about us. He to
ld me.”
Angie comes over to the bed and sits down. “What did he tell you, exactly?”
“That you didn’t approve of us.”
Angie’s eyes drop into her lap. “I see.”
“I know he works for you and that a relationship with me might be inappropriate—”
“Marlena, no. That’s not the issue. Well, it is an issue, but not the one that has me disagreeing with Finn.”
“Then what is it?”
She sighs heavily. “Tell me something first. And be honest.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
Angie is watching me with a strange look on her face. “Do you love him?”
I glance at the painting and smile the tiniest bit. I can’t help it. When I think of Finn my happiness overflows.
“Oh, Marlena,” she exclaims. “You do love him.”
I nod. My smile fades because Angie takes my hand and her eyes are sad. No, they are panicked. She doesn’t even hesitate when she touches me. I swallow. “What?” The word gets caught in my throat. “You think it’s a bad thing that I’m in love with Finn?”
Angie’s fingers squeeze harder. She doesn’t shake her head yes or no. She just keeps saying, “Marlena.” Then, “I told Finn that he has to tell you. That if he didn’t that I would tell you.”
I search her eyes while she is searching mine. “What?”
“You really don’t know? Not anything?”
What don’t I know? I race through everything I do know, every thought and feeling related to Finn. About his photographic memory and his estrangement from his mother and his desire to be a veterinarian when he was small. Then my brain sharpens to a single point. On it is a half-formed vision from before my healing break, its colors pale and faded, Finn walking away from me at some later date, walking toward a place I will never reach. “Say it now, Angie. I can’t take this.”
Angie breathes deeply. Then she starts. “Finn is sick.”
I shake my head. I feel my hair brushing along my bare shoulders. “No, that can’t be.” The words seem like they are from someone else. An image, bright and clear, appears to me. The tattoo on Finn’s arm. The way it’s always seemed like there was something else to it, something he wasn’t telling me. That he wasn’t quite ready to share. “It’s his heart,” I state.
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