Swimming for Sunlight

by Allie Larkin

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Bark ran too fast to greet me and slid across the tile floor into my legs. He righted himself and jumped on me.

  “Buddy! Look at you go!” I said, surprised the loss of traction hadn’t left him terrified. I bent to kiss his head and he licked my chin. He smelled like clean laundry.

  “Where’s Nan?” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Shoot, is she sleeping?”

  Bark pushed his head into my hand for an ear scratch. I listened for signs of Nan. No TV chatter in her bedroom. The lights were off in the living room, and in the kitchen only the light over the stove was on. I found a note taped to the fridge: Back later, leftovers. XO

  In the fridge, another note, taped to a CorningWare dish, said, Eat me.

  Polenta. And more asparagus. I was tired of my pee smelling weird, but after hauling all that rebar, Mo’s mac and cheese wasn’t cutting it. I heated the food in the microwave and got Bark’s dinner ready.

  Bark hopped behind me as I carried both dishes to my room. He was chowing down before I even got the bowl to the floor. No need to sit next to him. “Are you hungry, Barky?” I asked, but he was too busy eating to pay me any mind. I sat at my desk and opened my laptop, shoveling food in my face while I waited for my portfolio pictures from college to load.

  In the time I’d spent working for Edith at the theatre in Rochester, I’d stopped believing in myself. Whenever she told me my designs wouldn’t work it felt like jealous bullshit, but I couldn’t bring myself to challenge her. She was a staple of the community. Everyone in Rochester knew Edith. No one knew Edith’s second-in-command. It didn’t matter that her work was stale, that she didn’t care about historical accuracy or craftsmanship. She’d reuse dresses with 1890s puffy gigot sleeves for a 1940s play, instead of putting an hour or two into alterations. Those things didn’t matter to her, but costuming is completely in the details. I always wanted to work for a better end, but Edith didn’t, and eventually, I started seeing limitations instead of possibilities. Every time I dredged up my feelings of defiance, she’d knock me down. It was easier to lose faith in my own work than carry the anger. If I believed I wasn’t very good I didn’t have to think about all the ways I’d cheated myself.

  I opened the first set of my old portfolio photos. Titania’s costume for A Midsummer Night’s Dream looked like it was made of moonlight, the bodice wrapped in gunmetal blue silk ribbons trailing in uneven lengths over a skirt I’d sculpted from layers of icy organza on top of deep indigo shantung. The top fabric was pulled close in places, gathered in others, so the dress had an amorphous, magical feel. I stared at the photos of the actress in final dress rehearsal and felt awe for my work, like it came from a different version of me. That designer was brilliant. I’d let her down.

  In theory a person could work at the Metropolitan Opera and have a family, but the elements of reality didn’t click together for me that way. I chose Eric and his steady job in Rochester and our house with the nice big yard for kids to play in, on a tree-lined street in a good school district. I chose wrong. Eric wasn’t worth the compromises. We didn’t get to have those kids. And now, when I thought of moving to New York City and starting over, fighting for an apprenticeship, sharing a studio apartment with a Craigslist roommate, it made me tired. I couldn’t go back to being someone who was full of hope and low on expectations. My last bit of durability had worn away. In the absence of a family, in the absence of a big dream, I had no idea what to do with myself. I used to have promise, and I squandered it.

  I clicked on a picture of Titania with Oberon. I’d woven fresh bay laurel leaves into his crown before every show, and his moss-covered vest was actually alive.

  “Hey, Kay,” Nan called, walking down the hall to my room. Bark woke from a solid snooze and yelped. We hadn’t heard Nan’s car pull into the garage. “You got dinner?”

  “Yeah, thank you,” I said, shame twisting like I’d been caught doing something perverse.

  “What happened to you?” she said, and I almost spewed all of my feelings about who I could have been, where I’d lost the narrative, but then she wrinkled her nose and I remembered how grimy I was.

  “I helped Mo with her manatee.”

  “That’s good,” she said in a clipped voice, like she was trying not to let her excitement spill out. “To do art. That’s a nice thing.”

  “Mo’s art,” I said. “But, yeah, it was fun.”

  “You’ll shower before you go to bed?” she said, like I was still a little kid in need of nudging.

  “Yeah, Nan,” I said, trying to keep my tone in check.

  She licked her finger and wiped at a spot on my cheek.

  “I’m going to clean up,” I said. “Promise. I got sidetracked.”

  Nan looked at my computer screen and pointed to Titania. “I’m so happy I flew in for that show. When that actress walked on stage in your dress, the whole audience gasped.”

  I tried to settle the swirl of pride and disappointment into something I could manage.

  “You are so full of talent,” Nan said. Present tense. Like it still existed. She ruffled my hair and then looked at her hand, covered with rust.

  “Shower!” she said.

  I marched to the bathroom to clean up before she could complain again.

  Under the stream of hot water, my mind wandered to mermaids. High-waisted tails with sequins and barnacles, 1950s tops studded with fake pearls. Pinup girl spirit ripened to something stronger.

  I raced from the shower, suds in my hair. There was an old notebook and a few colored pencils in the top drawer of my desk. I sat there in my wet towel and sketched until the mermaids on the page looked like the ones in my head.

  * * *

  Before I went to bed, I signed in to Facebook. Quickly, so I wouldn’t lose my nerve, I hit the message button on Luca’s profile.

  Hi, I wrote, and hit enter, sending before I meant to. I scrambled to figure out if I could delete it, but then Facebook told me my message had been read. I waited for a response, staring at the screen until I was too cold to stay in my wet towel. I closed my laptop and went to bed, dozing and waking over and over. At three a.m., I finally caved and checked Facebook on my phone. No message.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “So where are you headed all dressed up?” Nan asked, catching me in the foyer before I left for work the next morning.

  I was wearing a simple linen shift dress I’d made from Bunny’s fabric. I’d pulled my hair into a neat low knot and brushed mascara on my lashes. No lipstick. Lipstick around fabric, especially wedding dress fabric, was asking for trouble.

  “I got my old job back,” I said. “At Isaac’s.” I knew it was ridiculous that I hadn’t told Nan, but when I’d thought about telling her, the texture of the conversation I imagined we’d have grated against my nerves. She’d say it was nice, or she’d say it was unnecessary, and under all of it, I would see her worries about me.

  “I know.” Nan grinned.

  “Then why’d you ask where I was going?”

  “I wanted to see if you’d tell me.” She leaned against the wall and folded her arms across her chest, pleased with herself.

  “You’re worse than Mo!”

  “She learned that trick from me,” Nan said.

  “How’d you even find out?” Isaac was not a hub of gossip, and I hadn’t told anyone else.

  “I ran into Isaac at Publix.”

  “And pried it out of him?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I wanted to be productive,” I said, steeling myself for Nan’s response.

  But she said, “Isaac is relieved to have you back.” She reached out to smooth a hair behind my ear. “It will be good for both of you, I think. It’s fortifying to be around kindness.”

  “Thank you,” I said, relieved she approved.

  “You look great. Did you make that?”

  I nodded.

  “Such a gift,” she said.

  I kissed her on the che
ek, gave Bark a good scratch, and hurried off to work.

  * * *

  Isaac had cookies and a cup of Earl Grey waiting for me. “Happy first day,” he said, smiling.

  I leaned in to give him a one-armed hug, and we both blushed. We sat behind the counter together.

  “Have you been busy?” I asked.

  Isaac nodded. We sipped our tea.

  After a long silence, he said, “I had a young man who helped me for a while. Oh, he is a funny boy!” Isaac’s face fought a devilish smile. “He likes rap music. And I got to like some of it, if you can believe. That Macklemore fellow seems like a good kid.”

  I tried not to laugh.

  “Have you heard Macklemore?” Isaac asked.

  “I have,” I said, trying to picture some kid taking over Isaac’s sound system, swapping out Bing Crosby for YouTube videos.

  “That one about the thrift store is clever,” Isaac said, smiling. “But Artemis left for college last year. And I haven’t—I didn’t want to get a new kid’s hopes up with a job if I couldn’t stick around.” He flexed his fingers. They didn’t straighten all the way anymore. “I don’t want to get your hopes up either, of course, but it’s different. You could do all of this without me.”

  I saw my own sadness reflected in his face. Except for Mo, the people I loved were so much older, and sometimes that was excruciating. I knew from my father that youth did not provide guarantees, but old age did. Isaac, Nan, Bitsie, and all their friends weren’t going to get younger. Neither was I.

  “Artemis will be home for spring break, I think,” Isaac said. “I hope you’ll get to meet him.”

  “Me too. If you like him, I’m sure I will.”

  * * *

  The bridal party showed up twenty minutes later in a flurry of up-talking and selfies.

  “It’s so old-school in here,” one of the bridesmaids cooed, taking a photo of the giant copper scissors on the wall behind the register.

  The scissors weren’t old. Mo made them for Isaac when we were in high school. It was her first commissioned work. Isaac paid her two hundred dollars plus materials and had a party for the big reveal.

  “Don’t you love it?” Marissa, the bride, said. “I love it.”

  Isaac’s face flushed. He gave me a conspiratorial look, eyebrows low, already overwhelmed.

  “Wow,” I said, smiling wide. “There sure are a lot of you! So here’s the plan. Let’s get your fitting done first, Marissa. There’s a wonderful bakery next door, if you ladies would like to grab a snack.”

  The tall bridesmaid pulled out her phone. “It’s only a three on Yelp,” she said, sighing, and all nine of them followed us behind the curtain, filling the fitting room with noise and body heat. Isaac looked like he wanted to hide under one of the sewing tables.

  “Brittany!” Marissa called from the changing room. The shortest of them jumped to attention and pushed through the curtains. “No!” Marissa shouted. “Other Brittany!”

  The redhead got up and made her way over. There was some breathy discussion, and then both Brittanys came out of the dressing room giggling.

  When I helped the bride step up on the tailor stand, her breath reeked of whiskey. As Isaac began pinning the dress, I ran next door and bought two dozen madeleines for the wedding party to soak up some of the booze. I’d find a clever way to add the cost to the bill.

  * * *

  After they left, Isaac and I split a pizza, eating on the back step to keep the grease away from the clothes. It felt like living in a memory. Evening closing in on the streetlights, air thick with the clean malt scent of dinner rolls in the oven at the bakery next door. Isaac’s perfect posture and the monogrammed handkerchief spread across his lap like a napkin. Being home now that Bunny was gone made me want to memorize everything so I could keep this meal with Isaac, and all the ones before it, forever vibrant in my mind.

  “I forgot!” Isaac said after finishing his first slice. He went inside and came back with a bottle of cabernet and two coffee mugs. “To celebrate!”

  He handed me the mugs and pulled a corkscrew from his jacket pocket. The cork didn’t give easily. His hands shook.

  “Here,” I said, resting the mugs on the step next to me. I took the bottle and pulled the cork, handing the bottle back so he could do us the honor of pouring.

  Then he clinked his mug to mine. “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking a sip. It was good wine. An old bottle. Something he’d been saving.

  “Was it hard for you today?” he asked. “Wedding work?”

  “It was actually fine.” I liked that his question would have made it safe for me to admit if it hadn’t been. “Even with all the chaos, those girls were sweet. Excited. That’s a nice thing, isn’t it?”

  Isaac nodded. “That is nice.”

  “Maybe I can be sad for me, and happy love is out there. Right?”

  “I think that’s true,” Isaac said, drawing his bushy white brows together as he considered it.

  “Do you have a hard time doing wedding work?” I asked.

  “I did,” he said, taking another slice of pizza from the box.

  “After Freda died?”

  “Before.” Isaac took a deep breath. “Freda and I were not very happy.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling bad that I didn’t have the skill to ask questions as kindly as Isaac did.

  But he didn’t seem to mind. He talked like he was happy to free the memories. “We married because it made sense. Her father knew my father. She did well in school and so did I. It was a suitable match, and that was the most we believed we should want. But she always felt a little like a stranger. We were on the same ship, but we wanted to steer it in different directions.” He paused like he needed to collect more words. “Sometimes, when a groom came in to get his wedding suit fitted, he’d have this way about him. This joy. It was hard to see that and then go home to feel out of place.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I took a sip of wine and kept my eyes on Isaac. I wanted him to feel comfortable telling me.

  He looked at me carefully. “We get second chances,” he said.

  “Do you think there’s such a thing as real love?” I asked, buoyed by the wine, but also because I wanted to know what he thought. “Not true love like a fairy tale. But real, like you belong?”

  Isaac nodded. “I wish I’d looked for it sooner.”

  “It’s not too late,” I said. “You’re a good catch.”

  Isaac smiled and took a sip of his wine. “This is a good bottle,” he said, and I felt foolish for talking so deep.

  “It is good. Thank you.”

  “Keep trying,” Isaac said, giving me a look so hopeful, I found myself fighting tears. “For belonging.”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t tell your grandmother about the pizza. She’d kill me for feeding you cheese.”

  I touched my hand to my heart and held it up. “I won’t. Swear.”

  “I don’t eat like this anymore,” he said. “But I got nostalgic. Like old times, huh?”

  His white hair glowed gold in the parking lot lights. Chipped coffee mugs. His impeccably polished shoes. Grease stains on the pizza box. I would remember everything.

  “Yes,” I said. “It is.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After dinner, Isaac dropped me at Nan’s. I could have used the walk home, but he insisted.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Nan called from the kitchen when I walked in the door.

  Bark ran to greet me, holding a stuffed elephant in his mouth. He threw it in the air, pouncing as it hit the ground. I hoped he hadn’t co-opted a toy that Marta’s granddaughter left behind.

  “Is Bark supposed to have this?” I asked, walking into the kitchen. Bark followed with the elephant.

  “I bought it for him,” Nan said. “So I could wash that blue thing.”

  “Murray,” I said.

  “Murray smells like old socks.” Nan pulled a tray of potato
wedges from the oven. “I felt bad taking it away without giving him something else to play with.”

  “You don’t have to buy him toys,” I said.

  Bark shook his head, elephant still clutched in his teeth, like he was trying to knock it senseless.

  “I wanted to,” Nan said. “Look how happy he is!”

  “Thank you. That was really nice of you.”

  “Hungry?”

  “I ate already.”

  “You know,” Nan said with a sigh, “you could tell me when you’re not going to eat dinner at home.”

  “I’m sorry.” My cheeks flushed. I’d said the exact same thing to Eric in the exact same tone a zillion times over. “Isaac ordered food, and I—”

  “Oh.” Nan softened. “That’s nice. He’s such a kind man.”

  “He is.”

  “What did he order?” she asked, sprinkling nutritional yeast seasoning over the potatoes.

  “Salads,” I said. “They were good.” And then I went to my room to check Facebook before Nan could ask any more questions.

  * * *

  No messages from Luca or Woo Woo.

  In a fit of self-destruction, I checked Nikki’s page. She was ruining my hardwood floors. I’d spent weeks liberating the living room from yellow shag and overzealous carpet tacking, sanding every inch with a small orbit sander, because I was afraid of renting a full-sized one. I stained and sealed the wood with all the windows open in forty-degree weather. And Nikki was using wall paint to apply a black chevron pattern over my pristine finish. She hadn’t even sanded down the gloss. The paint feathered under the tape like lipstick on a smoker. Her lines were crooked and they would peel and scratch in no time. But there she was, red handkerchief tied in her hair, smiling at the camera Eric must have been holding.

  My new project!

  And all her friends were cheering her on in the comments.

  Yur so crafty! And Come do my floors when ur done!

  Nikki wasn’t going to cry about imperfection or obsess over what she could have done better. She exuded a level of pride over her job done poorly that I didn’t allow myself for even my most careful work. I’d never been more jealous of a person in my entire life, and it wasn’t because she stole my husband, it was because I wished I could let go like she could.