by Elle Tyler
Scout laughed and then winced, hand over chest. “You’d think by now,” he panted, “I would know better.”
And like some tender miracle, a joke bubbled up inside of me. “You break it, you buy it.”
He looked at me in surprise. “I’d totally laugh, but I most definitely don’t want to break it, Dr. Trovatto. Not this one, sir.” And I had to seize every muscle in my body to prevent the anguish I buried from rushing forth. Andy pulled away from my grasp, and I realized I had been crushing his small hand.
“You like Spider Man?” Scout asked him. “The guy who owns Spider Man sent me free comics because some nurse posted my story on Facebook and it went viral. I just got the newest issue. Wanna see it?”
Andy shook his head. “I just wanna give you reasons.” He held up his box full of Everly mementos.
“Reasons to what?” Scout asked glancing between us.
“Reasons to love your new heart.” And my son was suddenly no longer a simple kid. He walked to Scout’s bedside and rested the box on a chair. He gave him a sea shell, an outgrown shoe, a baseball, and a pair of knitted cream-colored gloves.
“Hmmm..., the shell is because she liked the beach but she couldn’t go in the sun long enough to find pretty shells, so, when we had Fourth of July at Grandpop’s beach house, I would look with my dad for shells and we’d bring them back to her. Sometimes we had a whole bucket full. But one time, we only found this one, and she told me it was her favorite because it was like a little lost coin in the dark and me and Pop were good sweepers.”
Scout took the shell and then allowed Andy to explain how Everly taught him how to tie his shoes and toss a ball, and how she slept with gloves on her hands because she had a tickle monster that hid inside of her and might sneak into his room at night. The gloves kept them both safe.
With reserve, he pulled a final item from his box.
“What’s the story behind this one?” Scout asked, as Andy handed him a folded piece of paper.
“It’s a ticket. I made it for you. Well... for your heart.” Scout unfolded the paper and read silently. Andy explained, “It’s not a real ticket, but Pop said he’d pay for us to go on a real train when you’re better.”
Scout looked at him after he refolded the paper. “I’d have to have a doctor’s approval.” They both looked at me.
In that moment, I was not a doctor or a grieving man. I was only a beat trying to once again find a rhythm.
Flashes of lemonade and perfect lilac no longer felt like branding pokers beneath my ribs. I could dream with my eyes open as fate whispered deep into my spirit all the memories of Everly Anne—every last one—all at once. She wasn’t as simple as pictures or nostalgia, secrets or genetic failure. She was the hum in my ears that told me the right thing to do, the quietness in a room when I needed to listen, humor amid tragedy, and most of all—the most important thing—she was absolutely not dead.
Her song played inside the wonderment of a curious heart.
It strummed phenomenal, crippling sadness inside of me.
Danced like fingers on piano keys across star-filled skies.
And as long as all of those memories we’d built remained in my world, so would she, because I could never stop wondering about her or longing for her or looking north and thinking of her and the complete and utter confusion of why love was linked so fiercely to heartbreak. I couldn’t help but to revel a little at how lucky I was to have been able to feel the blunt force of such a hurting; how damn lucky I was to feel.
As Everly’s heart thumped inside a chest of second chances, I watched her smile at me. I felt her arms seal around my shoulders. We rode the subway and hoped with Sunday hymns. We stripped bare under waterfalls and told secrets. The softness of her cheek lingered in my fingertips. And her laughter relocated within a dream and woke up inside a new, smaller heartbeat.
Scout looked at me as if I could offer freedom. And for the second time in my life, I was granted the ability to play along with inchoate destiny as I replied with a heavy sigh, “A train ride? Scout—there couldn’t possibly be anything better for a heart like yours.”
REDEMPTION SONG
39.
I PLACED A HUNDRED-DOLLAR BILL on the counter when a sandy-haired clerk greeted me in a little shop in Montauk. She traded me the bill for a car full of red, heart-shaped balloons, told me they were pretty as she filled them painfully slowly one by one, allowing charm to be bullied by doubt.
Anne.
That was the name on her tag.
***
The beach house was too loud. On the walls, memories of her laughter hung like fine art.
But it was the boat that troubled me the most.
Red balloons were my only companions in the room, even though every part of her gathered just within arms-reach. The sheets still smelled like her... Not detergent, not cotton or silk..., just her warmth. It smelled like the night she’d curled up beside me in my bed, the night she’d rested her chin on my shoulder and told me I was her favorite. To box it all up and hide these memories away was to foolishly dream that it could make it all go away. And the truth was I didn’t want it to go away. I wanted it all to come back.
***
“Ready?” I asked him.
Nick detached the ropes from the ceiling. “Let’s fucking do this, brother.”
With the cover of darkness, while everyone else slept, we snuck the boat down to the beach and hid it beneath the dock.
***
I expected to wake up that year, on the Fourth, with a heavy weight on my chest, but surprisingly, it felt like I was smiling.
Blonde hair blew through my window as I stared into the sunlight, searching for her face. Finally, she turned to me. “Morning, Callum Andrew.”
“Everly Anne?”
“Get up,” she said gently. “Go on, get up.”
“Everly Anne,” I whispered. “Come to me.” I tried to reach for her, but my arms were heavy as stone.
“I’m here, Callum Andrew. Now get up. It’s time for you to go.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere but with you.”
She was suddenly beside me on the bed. I felt the warmth of her hand on my cheek, but she never moved to touch me. I wept in my dream, but my eyes were bone dry.
“I want to see the fireworks,” she whispered. “I need you to show them to me.”
“I will.” I tried to find her hand. I reached for her face, but there was nothing but the electricity of her presence.
“I need to feel, Callum Andrew.” I felt a million feather-light kisses on my face. “I need to feel.”
Fireworks ignited like bombs. Red. Blue. Silver. Boom. We kissed on the beach. Boom. Blue. Red. Underwater. Boom. Goosebumps under my fingertips as I slid them along her ribs. Boom.
“Callum.”
“Everly.”
“Cay-lum!”
Every part of me vibrated as I fought to stay locked inside of the dream. I fought to see her blonde hair shining in the sunlight, the warmth, the memory.
“Callum. Oh, Callum!” Tatum’s hand was on my sweaty head, soothing. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s only a nightmare. Wake up, please.”
“It was a dream,” I panted, blinking my eyes.
“Yes. A nightmare. I was trying so hard to wake you up before Andy—”
I snapped. “No! It was a dream! Why did you wake me up? I was dreaming of her...” My insides twisted.
“You were screaming,” she said nervously. “I didn’t want Andy to hear you.” Tatum took a seat on the edge of my bed. “I also brought you coffee.”
I took the mug from her and sat up straight. My hair was drenched with sweat. “Why are you here?”
“It’s the fourth,” she said cheerfully. “We always spent it together. Good, bad, ugly. Remember?”
“I’m not really... I’m not in the mood to celebrate, Tot.”
“How do you know?” She tore the covers away suddenly, almost making me spill my coffee. “You haven�
��t even gotten up yet.”
“I’m sure it won’t be much different than yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that. You sense a trend?”
“Yes it will. I’m here, so it will be incredibly different. We’ll have fried chicken, burgers, beers—that delicious-ass potato salad Marta makes. You’re gonna get up out of this goddamn bed and watch fireworks with your kid, Cal. You’re gonna have a big-ass smile on your face while you do it, because that’s who you are.” She pushed curtains open, blinding me with the early morning sun. “Callum..., I need you to get up. Andy needs you to get up.”
I slammed my mug down. “I’m up every damn day, Tatum! I make him breakfast, take him to school, pick him up. I haven’t worked in almost a year just so I can be there for him every moment he needs me. I’m doing my fuckin’ job, so don’t tell me what I need to do to be a good father. I’m right fuckin’ here!”
My bedroom door creaked open. “Pop?”
I exhaled my frustration. “Come here, Andy.”
He sat next to me with his baseball mitt and hat on. “I was thinking... about mom.”
I sipped coffee to buy time, to mask the burn. “What about her?”
“She liked Sunday dinner. Today is the Fourth, but it’s also Sunday.” We shared a silence. “Does... Does that make you sad, Pop?”
I told the truth. “No, I loved that about your mom. She was adorable, making her biscuits.”
“Can we do that today? Have Sunday dinner like we used to when Mom was here?”
“Would it make you happy?” I asked.
He lit up, nodding. I capped his head and smiled back. “Then we should do that.”
Tatum extended her hand to him. “Why don’t we get started while your dad gets dressed, kiddo?”
He shook her words off like a case of fleas. “Zia Tati, I’m not a kid. Not even close.”
“Hey,” I gently warned, “first, don’t ever talk to girls like that. It’s rude. Second, you are a kid, and if you want to really do something for your mom, stay a kid. There’s no point in growing up so fast. No reason at all, Peter Pan.”
I nodded for him to follow Tatum, and he listened. In the quietness of solitude, I stared into the rays of the sun until I saw nothing but blonde hair blowing in the wind.
***
There was this song that she swore was the worst country song ever composed, and to prove that fact, she sang it all the time, so much that what started out as a joke became a theme. She didn’t cook often, but Sunday was sacred to Everly Anne. We’d dress up for New Church, which consisted of T-shirts bearing the logo of Our Lady of Hope. Nearly two hundred hot meals were dished up every Sunday for families in need, and Everly Anne Brighton was the finest member of the Georgia Peach Outreach Society. And when we came home, she’d make fluffy biscuits, her body positioned in a wonky way, her back arched with her hips pulled away from the stove, guarding her stomach and legs from being burned, oven mitts stuck to her hands as she waited for them to bake. Two deep breaths before she opened the oven door then she’d bravely pull the hot tray out, set it proudly on the counter.
“Why no, I don’t knead your help, Callum Andrew,” she’d teased, lifting on her toes to kiss me. “But I love you for asking.”
I’d brush flour from the tip of her nose away. “We must be married. You’ve gone from sex jokes to bread jokes.”
“Still love you,” she returned. “Still want to feed and...?” She’d lace her arms around my neck, raising her eyebrows.
“Still love you, too,” I’d say. “Still want to...” I raised my eyebrows. “So very, very much. Move the mixing bowl.”
“Andy is just outside play—”
Sometimes, Sunday dinner was less burnt and served a bit hotter than others.
***
As we gathered around the table for Sunday Fourth of July dinner, per Andy’s request, everyone was silent as the one empty chair stared at all of us like a giant elephant in the room. Marta bowed her head in prayer, and then my father, Tot, Nick, and their daughter Ava followed.
Andy looked at me, silently questioning with his eyes, “Is this all right, Pop?” But he found the answer inside of himself, folded his hands, and lowered his head.
I stared at the food, knowing it would only taste like a charade.
I wasn’t praying, but to be respectful, I bowed my head... until... I heard Andy quietly recite the words of that damn country song when his turn for prayer came around. And as he thanked God for his chicken fried, cold beer on a Friday night, and a pair of jeans that fit just right, I was swept away by the power of charm and the braveness of fifty-three pounds.
And the magic of that bravery and charm was infectiousness. The food tasted like the best memory, and the laughter, for once, didn’t lead to sorrow.
***
I handed Nick a corked bottle.
He shook it around. “Is that...?”
“It’s a lock of Everly’s hair. Make sure it stays in the boat.”
“Whatever you want, Cal.” He tucked it into his shirt and then climbed down the dock. It was just before sunset, and the kids hadn’t come out on the beach yet. I lined the shore with the red balloons just like every other year, except this Fourth of July, they were going to get a real show.
Shannon didn’t have any fanfare when she walked out on the beach this year. She didn’t even come over to me. But I pulled Everly’s collector’s edition of Peter Pan from a bag, and walked over to her.
“Look what washed ashore this morning,” I whispered. “I think it must have been in the ocean for a long time. Look how old and crinkly the pages are.”
She gazed up at me. “You found it on the beach?” She touched it. “Why isn’t it wet?”
“I dried the pages with a hair dryer,” I lied. “Here, take it.”
She took the book and held it to her chest. “Do you think it was that mermaid’s? What was her name?”
“Topolina,” I answered. “Her name is Topolina.”
“Some say it’s not true, you know.”
I kneeled down to meet her height. “Who says?”
“My mom. I heard her saying you only did it for Andy’s mom.”
“Well.” I sighed. “Sometimes grown-ups stop believing in things because they are, well, too grown up. You’re not all grown up yet, are you?” I made a face at her.
She smiled. “Not quite.”
“Good. Because in order to read that book, you’re gonna need the eyes of a kid who refuses to grow up.” I looked at the ocean. “And to see Topolina, you’ll need those kind of eyes, too.”
“So it is made up? I mean, Peter Pan is a story, so that means Topolina is just a story, too.”
I looked at her. “That word is very dangerous, Shannon Elizabeth Patterson. Don’t go using it so carelessly.”
“Sorry.”
I thought for a moment. “Topolina is a story, yes. But she is not just a story—she is a legend. You know the difference?”
“Not quite,” she replied.
“A story can be rewritten. A legend lives on in remembrance of what someone lived for.”
She stared at me. “What did Topolina live for?”
“Love. She lived for love.”
“That’s a good thing to live for,” Shannon said.
“It sure is, Shannon Elizabeth Patterson. It sure is.”
Suddenly a loud POP POP POP sounded over the water. Shannon jumped into my lap.
“What in the heck is that?” she yelped.
Andy came running over to my side and sunk into the sand. “Why are you sitting on my dad?” He laughed as she moved away, shaking the sand from her shoes. “Uhh,” he stammered, “you look pretty tonight, Shay.”
She smiled shyly. “Um, thank you, Andy. But it’s Shannon.”
He shrugged, grinning at her. “I like Shay.”
“Fine, but I’m gonna call you Andrew if you call me Shay.”
“Fine.” He laughed. “I like my friend Ava better than you anyw
ay. She lets me call her Ave Maria. And I sing to her at church. Do you go to Church, Shan-nun.”
He was Everly Anne to the bone.
“Watch out for this guy.” I tucked him under my arm like a football. He began to laugh and beg for release. “He’s nothing but charm and trouble. Stay far away, Shannon Patterson.”
POP POP POP. The dock completely fell over. I tried to keep a straight face as the kids started screaming. And then I really had to pray hard as Nicholas emerged from the water, covered in sea weed, tugging a long rope with an old wooden boat attached to it. He waved his hand at the kids on the beach.
“I found her boat! She tried to get me, but no one of land nor sea will ever take down Sergeant Petros!”
“Oh my gosh!” Shannon jumped up and ran to him, along with a gaggle of other kids, their poor parents horrified. “Look! He has treasure!” They dug inside of the boat, picking out random items I’d taken from Julep’s wardrobe collection from her plays. Fake jewels, gowns, props. And then Nick pulled out the bottle from his shirt.
“Ah, are you Shannon Elizabeth?” he asked.
“How do you know my name?”
“This bottle has your name on it,” he explained. “Topolina only let me go because I promised to find you, if I made it back to shore. She wanted you to have this, and for me to tell you your devotion has not gone unnoticed all these years.”
Shannon took the bottle from Nick and ran back to me. “Look!”
“I see that. Looks interesting. What’s inside?”
She held it up to the light emanating from the houses behind us. “It looks like... Oh my God! It’s hair. And...” She jiggled the bottle. “A ring. A ring with emeralds! It’s...” Her face froze, and then she looked at me. “Oh my gosh. It was her, wasn’t it?”
“Who?” I asked, playing along.
She lowered her voice. “Topolina was Miss Everly. This is the ring she wore! And her hair. Her pretty blonde hair.”
I only winked at our secret.
“Really? Andy’s mom was a mermaid?”
“She’s a legend, Shannon Elizabeth. Topolina is a legend.”