The Promise Girls

by Marie Bostwick

  Joanie had never been shy about offering advice or opinions to her sisters. With Meg and Avery, she inserted herself, gently she hoped, but a mild intrusion was still an intrusion. Allison had invited her in and Joanie loved her for it.

  Joanie took another step back, carefully studying three patches of paint color.

  “The yellow,” she said finally.

  “You’re sure? I like the lavender too.”

  “So do I. Lavender is great on a sunny day in April, but think about how it’s going to make you feel on a gray day in February. And the yellow will be easier to work with when you’re picking fabrics.”

  Allison pursed her lips, staring at the patch of yellow.

  “You’re right. Thanks,” she said, sounding so much like she meant it that Joanie felt happy all over again.

  Allison squatted down to clean up and Joanie squatted down next to her to help, putting lids back on the pint-sized paint cans.

  “When does the movie crew show up?”

  “Week and a half,” Joanie said. “I want to give Meg a little time to settle in. I mean, physically she seems to be recovering, but still . . . she was unconscious for so long. And after more than a week’s worth of incredibly expensive tests and scans, no one seems to be able to give us a concrete answer about when or if she’ll start remembering, or if there might be any hidden problems that might crop up later. I’m still worried about her.”

  “Well, I’m worried about you,” Allison said pointedly. “Are you sure you want to do this movie?”

  “Want to?” She gave Allison a you-gotta-be-kidding sort of look.

  “So this isn’t about Hal?” she said, looking for confirmation. “It isn’t because he was starting to grow on you?”

  Joanie laughed. “Are you serious? No, absolutely not. Look, I don’t think he’s necessarily a bad guy. For whatever reason, he’s got his heart set on making this movie. And, yes, I did feel a little bit bad about telling him to shove off. But that was his problem, not mine.

  “Except now it is my problem, because Meg and Asher are really, really broke. Even more than I knew. The client they were counting on to get them through spring couldn’t get financing. Asher’s building a house on spec.”

  “On spec? So they’ll use their own money for construction and then hope they can find a buyer when they’re done?”

  “Their money and the bank’s, but yes. But if they’ve got over thirty thousand dollars of debt to the hospital, the bank won’t loan them the money and they can’t stay in business. Bottom line is, we have to do the movie. We have to. I’d rather poke my eyes with a chopstick than reopen the whole Promise Girls can of worms, but it’s the only way.”

  “Joanie,” Allison said, her tone sympathetic but chiding, “why is everything your responsibility?”

  Joanie was about to say because it always had been, but that wasn’t quite true.

  Until her mother got pregnant with Avery, Minerva had definitely been the adult in charge. That was when things started to change.

  Minerva was terribly sick during her pregnancy and so Joanie stepped up, taking care of the house and her little sister. Someone had to. And Joanie discovered it felt good to be needed. She became Meg’s surrogate mother, her protector, counselor, and cheerleader. After Avery was born, Joanie was there for her youngest sister as well.

  After the birth, Minerva was more demanding than ever, pushing them even harder, Joanie especially. No matter what she did or how hard she worked, it wasn’t enough.

  Joanie spent countless hours practicing for her first major piano competition, which was not long after Avery was born. When the prizes were announced and she was awarded the bronze medal, third place, Joanie was thrilled. So was her new teacher, Maestro Boehm.

  But bronze wasn’t good enough for Minerva. On the drive home, she berated Joanie, called her careless and ungrateful for the opportunities she’d been given. She said it was a shame to see talent wasted on a lazy and mediocre mind.

  That was the first time Minerva spoke to her that way, but it wouldn’t be the last. Before long, Joanie started to believe it.

  But oddly, as Joanie came to accept her label as the daughter of lesser promise, Minerva became more dependent on her, bringing Joanie more and more into her confidence, especially when it came to their financial situation. Until then, Joanie had never thought about money. It was always just there even though Minerva had never worked outside their home. When people asked her what she did for a living, Minerva would say, “My girls are my life’s work, my masterpieces.” Now Minerva explained that, for all those years, they had been living on an inheritance that was running out.

  It was a lot to unload on a child, but Joanie, anxious for love, was honored by her mother’s trust. For the year when Minerva was writing her book, Joanie took on even greater responsibility for the house and her sisters. Later, when Minerva explained that the success of the book and their financial security depended on the success of the tour, she had gone along with it. For three weeks. And then . . .

  But Allison knew all of that. Allison knew everything about her, things she never had told or would tell anyone else. And even before she asked the question—Why is everything your responsibility? —Allison already had to know the answer.

  Chapter 16

  Meg sat in her hospital bed, drawing a picture of her sister. The bruises around her eyes had nearly disappeared and the stitches along her jaw had been removed, leaving a reddish scar that would eventually fade into a shiny but nearly imperceptible ribbon of white that would show only when the light hit her chin just so.

  Avery sat in a borrowed wheelchair, gazing out the window. Her perfectly coiffed hair sparkled, sprinkled with silver glitter. She had on full makeup, raspberry pink lipstick, and iridescent turquoise eye shadow the exact same color as the scales on her mermaid tail.

  When Owen entered the room, his face split into a grin.

  “Meg! You look great! Rumor on the ward is that you’re ready to go home.”

  “I guess so. That’s what everybody says.”

  “Everybody’s right. You look way too healthy to be hanging around here. But I can see why you’d want to stay. I know how much you’ll miss the food.”

  Owen winked and turned his attention to Avery. “Thanks a million for doing this. You ready?”

  Avery nodded, but didn’t speak. She was concentrating.

  * * *

  It was early. The playroom and halls of the pediatric ward were mostly empty. The young patients were still having breakfast and being readied for the day. But a nurse manning the ward desk, a tall woman in her early fifties, dressed in a purple smock with yellow and pink flowers and with a nametag reading SHARON GARRETT, looked up from her computer and smiled as Owen wheeled Avery down the hall.

  “What have we got here? A mermaid?” She stood up. “I thought mermaids always stayed in the ocean.”

  “Normally, that is true. But on special occasions, assuming an appropriate means of ambulation is available,” Avery replied regally, her hand gliding slowly to the left, as if the speed of her movements was impeded by the weight of water, “we make exceptions. We’ve come to see Lilly Margolis.”

  “She’s awake and in her chair. Not in a very good mood, but I bet a visit from you will perk her up.” Sharon looked at Owen. “This is great.”

  He smiled. “It was all Avery’s idea.”

  “Well, if a visit from a mermaid doesn’t cheer her up, I don’t know what will. Poor baby.” Sharon sighed and looked to Avery. “The father died five months ago, cancer. Now this. The mom is all alone, trying to take care of Lilly and hold down a job. But you’re awfully nice to do this. I sure hope it helps.”

  Owen entered the room first, holding open the door. “Lilly? There’s someone here to see you, a friend of mine. Her name is Avery.”

  Avery wheeled the chair through the door herself, smiling at the little girl with the brown braids whom she’d seen at the un-birthday party and hadn’t stop
ped thinking about since. But this time she was struck by Lilly’s legs, long in proportion to the rest of her body, the legs of a little girl who had once loved to run and never would again.

  Avery pushed the thought from her mind. Feeling sad and sorry wouldn’t help Lilly. The child was paralyzed; Avery could do nothing to change that. But she might be able to cheer her up and perhaps rekindle the flame of joy and imagination that was natural to children but sadly absent in so many adults.

  Avery was a stubbornly notable exception. In feeding her imagination, she had smothered the bitterness, despair, and hopelessness that often mark those who know life’s cruelty acutely and at too young an age. Imagination had saved her. Maybe it could do the same for Lilly Margolis.

  Avery wheeled her chair close. Lilly stared at her with wide and wondering eyes.

  “Are you a mermaid for real?”

  Avery tilted her head to one side. “What do you think?”

  The little one pressed her lips together. Her brow furrowed and her dark eyes grew darker still. In them, Avery saw a battle between disbelief and desire.

  “I thought mermaids could swim.”

  “Of course. But I can’t swim without water, can I?”

  Lilly shook her head, assenting to the logic of the statement.

  “My friend,” Avery continued, casting her eyes to Owen, “told me he knew a little girl named Lilly who he thought might make a fine mermaid. Is that you?”

  “I’m not a mermaid. I can’t swim. I can’t even walk.”

  “I can’t walk either. That’s why I’m in this,” Avery said, glancing down at the wheelchair. “As far as swimming, I couldn’t do that either. Not until I learned how.”

  “Mermaids don’t have to learn to swim. They just know.”

  “Some know. Mermaids who were born mermaids. Others, those who become mermaids, have to learn.”

  Lilly shook her head, doubt crowding out the faint flame of hope. “You can’t just decide to be a mermaid.”

  Avery reached up and swept her hair over her shoulder, made a show of arranging her luxuriant locks. “Of course, you can,” she said nonchalantly. “I did.”

  “How?”

  “Just like you start doing anything, by deciding. First you decide and then you learn. I learned how to swim, how to talk to fish and sea creatures. Dolphins are the easiest to understand,” Avery said informatively, “and the most interesting to talk to. Urchins are awfully dull. They just sit there like lumps, complaining about the weather and trying to prick passing seahorses with their spines. It’s very rude.”

  Avery clucked her tongue in a scolding sort of way. A smile tugged at Lilly’s lips.

  “Mermaids have to learn to sing too. That’s part of how we attract handsome seafarers.” She glanced toward Owen once again, looking up at him briefly beneath the fringe of her lashes. “But it can’t be just any song. It has to be all your own.”

  “Like something you made up?” Lilly asked uncertainly.

  “Exactly. Would you like to hear mine?”

  Lilly nodded and Avery began, lifting her voice to a clear and lovely middle-range soprano, singing in a melodic minor key that was full of mystery and longing for things just out of reach.

  I float to the surface, drawn by the lights,

  Of the worlds of men and the stars at night

  I frolic with seals and surf on the waves,

  In search of a soul mate, a sailor to save,

  With a heart that is pure and a love that is free,

  A man among men, with eyes that can see

  To the depths of deep, to what’s wondrous and strange,

  Whose heart speaks to mine, who won’t ask me to change,

  Who wants me as I am, which is how I want him,

  With a love that endures till the stars shall grow dim

  It was a new song for her, composed in the moment, definitely not her best. As she sang, she kept her gaze fixed fully on the child. But she could feel Owen’s eyes on her and the knowledge made her heart beat just a little faster.

  “That was pretty,” Lilly said. “What else do mermaids know?”

  “Oh, a lot of things—how to identify the different kinds of kelp, how to bite through fishermen’s nets to free trapped sea turtles, how to explore sunken shipwrecks while avoiding angry sharks, that sort of thing. How to imagine and to dream—that’s very important, probably the most important of all. And how to grow your hair.”

  Lilly looked skeptical. “That’s silly. You don’t have to learn that. Everybody knows how to grow hair. It just happens.”

  Avery shook her head. “Not everybody. Haven’t you ever seen a bald man?”

  “My doctor is bald.”

  “See? But I’m not just talking about regular hair. Mermaids have long hair.”

  “I have long hair.”

  “You do?” Avery said, feigning surprise. “Let me see.”

  Lilly pulled the elastic bands from the ends of her braids and combed through her hair with her fingers. Avery gasped.

  “Oh my! You do! You have beautiful long hair! No wonder my friend thought you had mermaid potential. But there’s just one thing missing.”

  Avery reached beneath her sequined mermaid tail and withdrew a little glass vial with a silver cap. She opened the vial, shook a small mound of silver glitter into her hand, and sprinkled it carefully over the child’s long brown hair.

  “Much better,” she said, taking out a small, mother-of-pearl hand mirror and holding it up to the little girl’s face. “Don’t you think so?”

  Lilly examined herself, moving her head from left to right to see how the movement made her hair sparkle. The door opened and Sharon stuck her head into the room, pretending to be surprised when she saw Avery in her wheelchair.

  “My goodness! What do we have here?”

  “A mermaid,” Lilly reported.

  “Really? I don’t think we’ve ever had a mermaid at the hospital before. How exciting! Lilly, I hate to break up the party, but it’s time for your physical therapy.”

  “I want to stay here,” Lilly protested.

  “I know,” Sharon said sympathetically. “But Cindy will be waiting to help you with your exercises. You want to get stronger, don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m never going to walk again anyway.”

  Lilly’s tone was matter-of-fact, resigned rather than wheedling, the voice of a person who had given up. The fact that it came from a child who had yet to blow out seven candles on a birthday cake nearly broke Avery’s heart.

  “Feel this,” Avery said, placing the little girl’s hand on the upper part of her arm, bending at the elbow, making her bicep bulge under Lilly’s little fingers.

  Lilly’s eyes went wide with surprise. “You’ve got ginormous muscles!”

  “Mermaids have to. You can’t swim if you don’t. Or push yourself up on coral reefs or rocky shores to wave at passing ships. Mermaids have to be strong.”

  Lilly thought about this for a minute. Finally, she sighed. “Okay. I guess I’ll go. Will you come to see me again?” she asked.

  “Of course. Until then, I’ve got something for you.”

  Avery pulled out a blue hardback book she had tucked in the wheelchair and handed it to Lilly.

  “Can you read yet?”

  “Not very good,” Lilly admitted. “I’m only in first grade.”

  “You’ll get better. It takes practice, like anything else. And this book has lots of pictures of fish and other sea creatures. See?” Avery flipped to a two-page layout of an underwater seascape, teeming with life. “You can learn the names of the different fish, read about where they live and what they’re like. And then, when you’re asleep, you can dream of being there yourself, swimming far and free under the waves, having conversations with dolphins—”

  “Or lumpy, grumpy urchins,” Lilly added, bowing her lips into a smile that was spontaneous and sunny and wide, like any normal six-year-old.

  “Exactly,” Avery
said with a laugh.

  “Maybe you could come back and read that book to all the children,” Sharon suggested. “I bet the kids would love to meet a mermaid. Don’t you think so, Lilly?”

  Lilly bobbed her head, still grinning.

  “Yes? Well, I think I’d like that too,” Avery said, and matched Lilly’s smile with one of her own.

  * * *

  Traveling in her full mermaid regalia presented a number of logistical challenges. Owen made it easier by offering to drive Avery home. As he wheeled her from the main entrance of the hospital and through the parking lot toward his car, drawing many stares from patients, staff, and visitors during their progress, Owen couldn’t seem to stop talking about their successful morning.

  “Seriously, Avery, that was amazing!” Owen enthused yet again as they approached the car. “Nobody on staff has been able to make Lilly smile, let alone make a joke. And you made her believe you; she absolutely believed you were a mermaid. For a minute there, you made me believe it! You were fabulous!”

  He looked at her with momentarily shining eyes, then clicked a button on his key and busied himself with opening the door. Avery’s face felt hot. She put her palm to her cheek and smiled, flushed with pleasure under the warmth of his admiring glance.

  “Oh, well . . . People want to believe in what’s magical. Even adults. But it’s easier with children. They still remember how to pretend. Kids have faith. That’s our natural mind-set, the thing that makes poets pen verse and inventors invent. But somewhere along the way, most grown-ups default to doubt. It’s still in there, though—the need to believe. That’s what I try to tap into.”

  Owen checked the passenger seat, making sure it was pushed back as far as it could go. “Well, I don’t know how you do it, but it’s pretty awesome, whatever it is.”

  Avery scooted forward in the wheelchair, trying to figure out how she was going to get into the car without falling.

  “Hold on,” Owen said. He bent his knees, slid one arm behind her back and the other beneath the crook of her knees, and lifted her up. Avery looped her arms around his neck. She felt her cheeks get even hotter.