by Kent, Alison
Underneath the Polaroid she found the two gold wedding bands her friends had never got to wear. Sierra’s fingers had been too swollen, and Oscar had told her he’d save wearing his, too. They’d planned to make a big deal of slipping them on. More plans that never saw fruition.
Near the bottom of the box was a photo of Sierra and Oscar together, Sierra’s smile crooked, their heads touching, Oscar’s hand over Sierra’s belly, her hand on top of his. They’d taken it on the front steps of the St. Thomas School before Sierra had chopped off her hair after the ride in Oscar’s convertible that had tangled it beyond saving. Their cello cases were beside them in this, the place where they’d met.
It had been spring, Sierra probably four months along and over the worst of her morning sickness. Still, her face was paler than normal, and though dark crescents smiled beneath her eyes, those close to her should’ve been able to see she wasn’t well. She was losing weight when she shouldn’t have been. Her hair, that first trimester, had been lifeless and lank.
Why hadn’t anyone seen that? Why had no one picked up on the signs? Why had Luna, at seventeen, been the only support the other girl had? Why had any of this had to turn out the way it had? Why wasn’t Sierra here with her now, her ten-year-old daughter running with Francisco through the yard while the two older women—yes, older, Luna and Sierra both—revisited that crazy year?
The sound of the first step Angelo took on the tree house’s ladder brought Luna’s head up. The second had her scrambling to grab everything and shove it all back in the box. The third caused her to stop, and by the fourth she’d given up. She didn’t have time to hide what she’d found, and why bother now, when Sierra’s secrets were no longer at risk? Luna had already spilled them.
At risk were the raw emotions Luna had no time to quell. When Angelo’s upper body came through the open trapdoor, he stopped, his sweeping gaze taking in the box, the folded sheets of paper Luna hadn’t yet looked at, the CD case containing, she was certain, a copy of the music Sierra and Oscar had played at their wedding as well as during Lily’s birth, and the photos. And then his gaze met hers. That was where it stayed as he finished his climb, rolling to the side to let the door slam into place, then crossing his legs to better fit in the tree house’s limited space.
“Been a long time since I’ve been up here,” he said, picking up the CD case from the stack of the contents, but not looking at what he held, at what he turned over and over in his hands, sharp corner to sharp corner, as if keeping the black-backed case in motion would prevent him from seeing it. But he couldn’t keep up the motion forever, and finally he stopped, his throat working as he glanced down.
Luna’s gaze fell to the label. Sierra and Oscar had designed it together, and Oscar had printed it at home. The artwork depicted both a bass and treble clef, and a series of musical notes on a staff. The recording was that of a small-scale piano and cello concerto they’d written.
A part of Luna wanted to listen, and to do so with Angelo. Another part of her wanted to break the CD into dozens of pieces so no one would know the full extent of what the young couple had lost. But they deserved better than denial. She owed them this audience, as did Angelo, and his family, and Oscar’s, too.
Still… “We don’t have to look at this now.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “We do.”
“We can take it back to the house,” she said, feeling this need to put things off.
But he shook his head. “No. Here. The house is empty. But I can still sense her here.”
“Okay,” she said, watching as a frown passed over his face.
He reached for the stack of papers, each addressed to its intended recipient, and shuffled through them, then handed her the one with her name, along with a long gold chain.
“This is my mother’s.” Luna pulled the delicate necklace from the folded sheet, as if fearing it too fragile to be moved, and draped it over her hand, the cross coming to rest in her palm. “I’ll bet Sierra meant to give this back to me. She just never had the chance.”
Angelo looked down, giving her a moment, the big loops of Sierra’s handwriting staring back at him from the papers he held. Sierra’s handwriting. God, he missed his sister.
Missed waiting for her to get her butt in the car after school. Missed tripping over her cello case in the downstairs hall. Missed her giggles coming through her bedroom ceiling. Missed having to go to her concerts wearing his father’s frayed sport coat and extra tie, and sit in the St. Thomas auditorium with kids his age wearing Hugo Boss.
He missed the way she was slow to look up from whatever she was doing, always so intent, so focused, her lids and lashes like a curtain rising to reveal the brightest eyes of anyone he knew. He wasn’t sure he could take this, but he nodded toward Luna’s note.
“You want to read it?”
Luna shook her head. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“You want me—”
She nodded. “Out loud.”
If he could keep his voice steady…
Luna, I found this in my room the day Oscar and I put all these things together for Lily. Or not really for Lily, since we won’t ever know her as more than the greatest gift we could have given away, but to use to tell our parents about her, and how she brought us even closer than we already were. Because of that, she’ll always be part of our lives.
And their lives.
And even your life.
I think I’m as happy about that as anything. You’ve been there with us since the beginning, and I know you would’ve been the most wonderful auntie ever. Auntie Luna. You get the extra ie. I took the letters out of the word friend.
You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re what being a friend means. I hope I’m handing this note to you, along with your necklace, but if you’re reading it without me, it’s because it was easier for me this way. I want so badly to tell you Oscar and I are leaving Hope Springs after we give Lily away, not later, after graduation, like I’d told you, but it’s for the best. It really is. We’ll be able to be together the way we want, no parents mucking up our lives, telling us we’re too young to be in a relationship, or we don’t have time to be in a relationship, or I’m not good enough for Oscar and he’s out of my league.
Without you to see me through the crazy that was St. Thomas, I never would’ve made it. But the thought of going away and being without you saddens me so deeply, even while I’m thrilled my husband and I will be starting our new life together. It’s going to be weird, I know, being high school seniors, married and on our own, and Oscar’s trust fund keeping us from begging for scraps on the street. New York, Luna. NEW YORK. You know what else is in New York? JUILLIARD! Keep your fingers crossed Oscar and I both get accepted. I’ll call and write. And I hope I end up telling you in person about this latest adventure in the theme park of my life. Maybe we’ll sit in the tree house and cry together about being apart.
But in case I don’t find the courage, these are the things I need you to know.
He stopped reading, needing to clear his eyes, and his throat, and he looked up at Luna, who he was certain couldn’t see anything at all through the wash of tears that had to be blinding her. “Did you know they were leaving?”
“After graduation, yes,” she said, shaking her head. “But not then. Not after the baby. Did you?” He said nothing, and Luna went on. “Why wouldn’t she have told one of us? Just because it was too hard?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they were afraid one of the parents would find out somehow,” he said, because he had no other words, and then he lifted the letter. “You want me to go on? Would you rather read this later? When I’m not around?”
“No. You read it,” she said, and a shudder ran through her. “It’s almost like hearing her voice when you do.”
The tree house was small, the space close, the warmth nearly suffocating. He wasn’t sure he could breathe to keep reading. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He feared he’d be listening for Sierra�
��s voice to echo back at him. He’d never thought they sounded the same…
No one has ever understood me the way you do. I love my family dearly. I love Oscar with so much of my heart I want to burst. But if two people could be made into one, I think maybe two people could be made from one, and that’s what happened with you and me. We used to be the same, and something happened, and we found each other again by luck or by fate.
You know what I’m thinking. You know what’s best for me. You don’t finish my sentences because that’s just creepy, but sometimes I don’t even have to say anything because you’ve said it first. And usually better. Because you’re braver than I could possibly be. You know yourself, when I knew nothing until I found music, and Oscar, but I still learned most of everything from you.
So you’re the better half of our whole. But I think you need me, too.
“Stop.” Luna didn’t say the word; she sobbed it. “How can she say I was braver? She was going away with Oscar, and ten years later, I’m still living at home. And I wasn’t better. I’ve never been better. Look what I’ve done since she died. I’ve hurt the people I love. The people she loved.” Another sob. “I haven’t told anyone the truth—”
“Luna—”
“No,” she wailed, and doubled over, the chunks of her hair falling forward, but too short to cover her face. He wondered if she regretted cutting it, if she missed the shield. She had nowhere to hide. And he had nothing to keep him from seeing the extent of her suffering.
Scooting across the floor, he sidled up to her, stretching out his legs and lifting her onto his lap. She curled against him like a broken doll, limp and damaged. Her face was wet where she rubbed her cheek against his chest, and the dampness was chilling here in this room above ground, the two of them alone, suspended as if in a bubble. As if on a cloud.
“I’ll let you finish reading this later,” he said, but she was already shaking her head.
“No. Please. I need to hear it. I need to know. Please,” she said, melting into him as if she needed his strength.
He didn’t even bother trying to clear his throat.
Without me, you would think too much. Worry too much. Which you probably don’t believe, but I see it. You’re going to have a permanent frown if you’re not careful. Those ugly wrinkles like road humps on your forehead. I saw them in the cafeteria when you Cheeto-ed the Jennifers. And that first day, when Angelo drove up and honked and your eyes went all angry, insulted, don’t-even-think-about-it LUNA because he was being disrespectful. That was Angelo. Shrug. I’m used to it and love him. That sibling thing. But I love you, too.
You’re the best champion any underdog could ever have. I’m happy you’re my friend. I would never have made it through being pregnant if not for you. Thank you for the crackers. Morning sickness. Gah. If I didn’t want so badly to have a family with Oscar, I wouldn’t mind if this was the only baby we had, because I don’t ever want to go through months of puking up my guts again. I know labor will be worse, but a day or two of pain? Okay. Ninety days of wanting to die? No, thanks. (Remember this later, when you think about having kids.)
“I can’t—” he said, and she took the letter from his hand, smearing the moisture from her eyes on the back of her wrist, then blinking to focus, and pushing out of his lap to sit beside him while she read the rest out loud.
He likes you, you know. Angelo. He likes you a lot, even if he won’t say it. When I told him I knew you two were together, he clammed up. I think the two of you would make an even better couple than Oscar and I do. Can you imagine being my sister for real? Please never forget me. And when Oscar and I come to Austin on tour (because you know that will happen… me and Oscar and Yo-Yo Ma), make Angelo bring you to hear us. I want to look out in the audience and see your beautiful face, and all that long hair, and play something just for you. Something that will be our secret, our song. We’ll have to decide on one now, so later, when you’re in the crowd and I’m up onstage, we’ll know that I never would’ve made it without you.
I love you, Luna Meadows. Best friends forever.
She finished, and she folded the letter, then smoothed it, her shaking hands causing the paper to crackle. She said nothing as she placed it back in the box, as through her tears, she said, “Here,” handing him the folded sheet addressed to him. “I shouldn’t have cut my hair. She wanted to see my hair.”
He took the letter with one hand, threaded the fingers of his other into her short, choppy locks. “Your hair is gorgeous. She would’ve loved it. I love it. It was time and you know it.” And then it was his turn to share his sister’s words for him.
You were right not to come when I called. If you’d come, and I’d told them, I would never be able to go to New York. I would be staying home, raising Lily, loving Lily, missing Oscar while he’s away at school, and eventually hating my life because such a big part of it is missing. I want it all. Oscar. Lily. AND music. I know Momma and Daddy are counting on me to make something of myself, and the thought of disappointing them is too hard to take. Going to New York with my husband will give me that chance. Oscar and I can study without having to worry about working our way through school AND without having our parents trying to keep us apart. I know it’s weird, doing this as seniors, but it’s what we want for us. And Lily will have such a good life with her new family. I had the attorney make sure they are NOT musicians.
I’m sorry my music has taken so much away from you. And from Isi and ’Milio and Teresa and Felix. I owe all of you such a big apology. I don’t have it in me to make right now (mostly because there’s no room with all this baby, ha), but soon I will. Somehow. I’ll make it up to all of you. Please don’t beat yourself up, because I know that’s what you’re doing. Let Luna convince you. She may not know it, but she loves you, too.
And that was it. His sister’s last words meant to be read once she was living the life she wanted. But she’d never made it back to Hope Springs, and her words had been stored away for ten years, no one knowing of her plans, the sacrifice she had made to see her dreams come true. He leaned against the tree house wall, broken, hollow. Gutted.
“What now?” he asked, because he had no idea.
Luna looked over at him, her damp eyes solemn, the gears in her mind obviously whirring to an inevitable conclusion. “Now I show these things to Oscar’s family. And then we should show them to yours.”
I show them to Oscar’s family, she’d said. Then we show them to yours. He wondered if she realized she’d made the distinction. “Why? What good will it do now?”
“They have to know. They deserve to know. We can’t…” She paused, shivering where she still sat close, then reaching for one of his hands and bringing it to her cheek. “This is bigger than my vow to keep Sierra’s secrets. And I know how you feel about what you said to her when she called—”
“You’re right,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Orville and Merrilee Gatlin lived on the far east side of Hope Springs, where the neighborhoods were gated, the lots professionally landscaped, the houses the size of small mansions. And then there were the cars. The cars always got to Luna. Oscar’s high school ride had cost as much as the sporty number she drove now, courtesy of Patchwork Moon. In high school, she’d had a ten-year-old Toyota Corolla, and that only because she’d saved four years of babysitting money and her father had gone in halves.
Still, her nonprofit would not be where it was today without the donations and support of the area’s inhabitants. These were the homes of doctors and lawyers and technology moguls, many whose offices were in Austin, an hour away. They had the best of both worlds, really. The small-town peace and quiet offered a respite from the hustle and bustle of the state capital, while Austin’s proximity provided Hope Springs’s residents easy access to good food, good drink, top-notch entertainment, and college football.
Orville Gatlin was one of the few on the east side who wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer or
a mogul. He was a renowned metal sculptor, his work shown in galleries nationwide. He worked in a warehouse in Hope Springs’s old textile district, the same area where Luna had bought her loft. He didn’t try to hide his celebrity as Luna did hers, but then, having Jay Z, Kate Hudson, and Robert Downey Jr. wear her scarves meant she didn’t have to be the face of her art.
Today the three doors to the Gatlins’ garage were closed, only Oliver’s BMW parked in the driveway. Of course, he would have to be here when dealing with his mother was going to tax every bit of Luna’s nerves. She pulled her Audi far enough forward to reach the paved walkway to the front door. With her hands gripping the steering wheel and her forehead pressed against it, she gathered her thoughts and tried to remember to breathe.
This day had been a decade coming. Now that it was here, she ached for it to be over, her whole body trembling, regrets tumbling down and piling at her feet like anchors to moor her. She’d promised to keep Sierra and Oscar’s secrets until they were ready to tell all. She’d just never thought those truths would be told posthumously, or that she’d be the one to reveal them. And even then, she hadn’t known all of what they’d kept to themselves.
What would’ve happened had she found the letters sooner? If, once her hip had healed, she’d climbed the tree to cry for Sierra? If she’d braved facing the Caffeys to feel the spirit of her friend? If she’d done that, returned to the place where they’d hoped and imagined and dreamed, and not lost herself in Angelo instead, how much heartache might she have saved?
Wishes aren’t horses, Luna. They’re really, really not. Exiting her car, she pressed Sierra’s box to her chest, the weight of it growing with each step she took toward the Gatlins’ front door. Once there, she lifted her chin and reached for the big brass knocker. The door opened two minutes later. Luna spoke to the well-dressed young man who answered it with a polite, “May I help you?”
“I’d like to see Mrs. Gatlin, please.”
“Is she expecting you?”