I rotated the cookies like Atlas had said to do and when they were finished, I pulled them out of the oven. I took one off the cookie sheet and handed it to my father. I hated that I was being nice to him. It almost felt like I was wasting one of Atlas's cookies.
"Wow," my father said. "These are great, Lily."
I forced a thank-you, even though I didn't make them. I couldn't very well tell him that, though.
"They're for school so you can only have one," I lied. I waited until the rest of them cooled and then I put them in a Tupperware container and took them to my room. I didn't even want to try one without Atlas, so I waited until later last night when he came over.
"You should have tried one when they were hot," he said. "That's when they're the best."
"I didn't want to eat them without you," I said. We sat on the bed with our backs against the wall and proceeded to eat half the bowl of cookies. I told him they were delicious, but failed to tell him they were by far the greatest cookies I'd ever eaten. I didn't want to inflate his ego. I kind of liked how humble he was.
I tried to grab at another one, but he pulled the bowl away and put the lid back on it. "If you eat too many you'll make yourself sick and you won't like my cookies anymore."
I laughed. "Impossible."
He took a drink of water and then stood up, facing the bed. "I made you something," he said, reaching into his pocket.
"More cookies?" I asked.
He smiled and shook his head, then held out a fist. I lifted my hand and he dropped something hard in the palm of my hand. It was a small, flat outline of a heart, about two inches long, carved out of wood.
I rubbed my thumb over it, trying not to smile too big. It wasn't an anatomically correct heart, but it also didn't look like the hand-drawn hearts. It was uneven and hollow in the middle.
"You made this?" I asked, looking up at him.
He nodded. "I carved it with an old whittling knife I found at the house."
The ends of the heart weren't connected. They just curved in a little, leaving a little space at the top of the heart. I didn't even know what to say. I felt him sit back down on the bed but I couldn't stop looking at it long enough to even thank him.
"I carved it out of a branch," he said, whispering. "From the oak tree in your backyard."
I swear, Ellen. I never thought I could love something so much. Or maybe what I was feeling wasn't for the gift, but for him. I closed my fist around the heart and then leaned over and kissed him so hard, he fell back onto the bed. I threw my leg over him and straddled him and he grabbed my waist and grinned against my mouth.
"I'm gonna carve you a damn house out of that oak tree if this is the reward I get," he whispered.
I laughed. "You have to stop being so perfect," I told him. "You're already my favorite person but now you're making it really unfair to all the other humans because no one will ever be able to catch up to you."
He brought his hand to the back of my head and rolled me until I was on my back and he was the one on top. "Then my plan is working," he said, right before kissing me again.
I held on to the heart while we kissed, wanting to believe it was a gift for no reason at all. But part of me was scared it was a gift to remember him by when he leaves for Boston.
I didn't want to remember him. If I had to remember him, it would mean he wasn't a part of my life anymore.
I don't want him to move to Boston, Ellen. I know that's selfish of me because he can't keep living in that house. I don't know what I'm more afraid might happen. Watching him leave or selfishly begging him not to go.
I know we need to talk about it. I'll ask him about Boston tonight when he comes over. I just didn't want to ask him last night because it was a really perfect day.
--Lily
Dear Ellen,
Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
He's moving to Boston.
I don't really feel like talking about it.
--Lily
Dear Ellen,
This is going to be a big one for my mother to hide.
My father is usually pretty cognizant of hitting her where it won't leave a visible bruise. The last thing he probably wants is for people in the town to know what he does to her. I've seen him kick her a few times, choke her, hit her on the back and the stomach, pull her hair. The few times he's hit her on the face, it's always just been a slap, so the marks wouldn't stay for long.
But never have I seen him do what he did last night.
It was really late when they got home. It was a weekend, so he and my mom went to some community function. My father has a real estate company and he's also the town mayor, so they have to do things in the public a lot like go to charity dinners. Which is ironic, since my father hates charities. But I guess he has to save face.
Atlas was already in my room when they got home. I could hear them fighting as soon as they walked through the front door. A lot of the conversation was muffled, but for the most part, it sounded like my father was accusing her of flirting with some man.
Now I know my mother, Ellen. She would never do something like that. If anything, a guy probably looked at her and it made my father jealous. My mother is really beautiful.
I heard him call her a whore and then I heard the first blow. I started to climb out of my bed but Atlas pulled me back and told me not to go in there, that I might get hurt. I told him it actually helps sometimes. That when I go in there, my father backs off.
Atlas tried to talk me out of it, but finally I got up and went out into the living room.
Ellen.
I just . . .
He was on top of her.
They were on the couch and he had his hand around her throat, but his other hand was pulling up her dress. She was trying to fight him off and I just stood there, frozen. She kept begging him to get off her and then he hit her right across the face and told her to shut up. I'll never forget his words when he said, "You want attention? I'll give you some fucking attention." And that's when she got real still and stopped fighting him. I heard her crying, and then she said, "Please be quiet. Lily is here."
She said, "Please be quiet."
Please be quiet while you rape me, dear.
Ellen, I didn't know one human was capable of feeling so much hate inside one heart. And I'm not even talking about my father. I'm talking about me.
I walked straight to the kitchen and I opened a drawer. I grabbed the biggest knife I could find and . . . I don't know how to explain it. It was like I wasn't even in my own body. I could see myself walking across the kitchen with the knife in my hand, and I knew I wasn't going to use it. I just wanted something bigger than myself that could scare him away from her. But right before I made it out of the kitchen, two arms went around my waist and picked me up from behind. I dropped the knife, and my father didn't hear it but my mother did. We locked eyes as Atlas carried me back to my bedroom. When we were back inside my room, I just started hitting him in the chest, trying to get back out there to her. I was crying and doing everything I could to get him out of my way, but he wouldn't move.
He just wrapped his arms around me and said, "Lily, calm down." He kept saying it over and over, and he held me there for a long time until I accepted that he wasn't gonna let me go back out there. He wasn't gonna let me have that knife.
He walked over to the bed and grabbed his jacket and started putting on his shoes. "We'll go next door," he said. "We'll call the police."
The police.
My mother had warned me not to call the police in the past. She said it could jeopardize my father's career. But in all honesty, I didn't care at that point. I didn't care that he was the mayor or that everyone who loved him didn't know the awful side of him. The only thing I cared about was helping my mother, so I pulled on my jacket and went to the closet for a pair of shoes. When I stepped out of my closet, Atlas was staring at my bedroom door.
It was opening.
My mother stepped inside and quickly shut
it, locking it behind her. I'll never forget what she looked like. She had blood coming down from her lip. Her eye was already starting to swell, and she had a clump of hair just resting on her shoulder. She looked at Atlas and then me.
I didn't even take a moment to feel scared that she caught me in my room with a boy. I didn't care about that. I was just worried about her. I walked over to her and grabbed her hands and walked her to my bed. I brushed the hair off her shoulder and then from her forehead.
"He's gonna go call the police, Mom. Okay?"
Her eyes grew real wide and she started shaking her head. "No," she said. She looked over at Atlas and said, "You can't. No."
He was already at the window about to leave, so he stopped and looked at me.
"He's drunk, Lily," she said. "He heard your door shut, so he went to our bedroom. He stopped. If you call the police, it'll just make it worse, believe me. Just let him sleep it off, it'll be better tomorrow."
I shook my head and could feel the tears stinging my eyes. "Mom, he was trying to rape you!"
She ducked her head and winced when I said that. She shook her head again and said, "It's not like that, Lily. We're married, and sometimes marriage is just . . . you're too young to understand it."
It got really quiet for a minute, and then I said. "I hope to hell I never do."
That's when she started to cry. She just held her head in her hands and she started to sob and all I could do was wrap my arms around her and cry with her. I'd never seen her this upset. Or this hurt. Or this scared. It broke my heart, Ellen.
It broke me.
When she was finished crying, I looked around the room and Atlas had left. We went to the kitchen and I helped her clean up her lip and her eye. She never did say anything about him being there. Not one thing. I waited for her to tell me I was grounded, but she never did. I realized that maybe she didn't acknowledge it because that's what she does. Things that hurt her just get swept under the rug, never to be brought up again.
--Lily
Dear Ellen,
I think I'm ready to talk about Boston now.
He left today.
I've shuffled my deck of cards so many times, my hands hurt. I'm scared if I don't get out how I feel on paper, I'll go crazy holding it all in.
Our last night didn't go over so well. We kissed a lot at first, but we were both too sad to really care about it. For the second time in two days, he told me he changed his mind and that he wasn't leaving. He didn't want to leave me alone in this house. But I've lived with these parents for almost sixteen years. It was silly of him to turn down a home in favor of being homeless, just because of me. We both knew that, but it still hurt.
I tried to not be so sad about it, so when we were lying there, I asked him to tell me about Boston. I told him maybe one day when I got out of school, I could go there.
He got this look in his eye when he started talking about it. A look I'd never seen. Sort of like he was talking about heaven. He told me about how everyone has the greatest accents there. Instead of car, they say cah. He must not realize that he sometimes says his r's like that, too. He said he lived there from the ages of nine until he was fourteen, so I guess maybe he picked up a little bit of the accent.
He told me about how his uncle lives in an apartment building with the coolest rooftop deck.
"A lot of apartments have them," he said. "Some even have pools."
Plethora, Maine, probably didn't even have a building that was tall enough for a rooftop deck. I wondered what it would feel like to be that high up. I asked him if he ever went up there and he said yes. That when he was younger, sometimes he would go to the roof and just sit up there and think while he looked out over the city.
He told me about the food. I already knew he liked to cook but I had no idea how much passion he had for it. I guess because he doesn't have a stove or a kitchen, so other than the cookies he baked me, he's never really talked about cooking before.
He told me about the harbor and how, before his mother remarried, she used to take him fishing out there. "I mean, Boston isn't any different from any other big city, I guess," he said. "There's not a lot that makes it stand out. It's just . . . I don't know. There's a vibe. A really good energy. When people say they live in Boston, they're proud of it. I miss that sometimes."
I ran my fingers through his hair and said, "Well, you make it sound like the best place in the world. Like everything is better in Boston."
He looked at me and his eyes were sad when he said. "Everything is almost better in Boston. Except the girls. Boston doesn't have you."
That made me blush. He kissed me real sweet and then I said to him, "Boston doesn't have me yet. Someday I'll move there and I'll find you."
He made me promise. Said if I moved to Boston, everything really would be better there and it would be the best city in the world.
We kissed some more. And did other things that I won't bore you with. Although, that's not to say they were boring.
They were not.
But then this morning I had to tell him goodbye. And he held me and kissed me so much, I thought I might die if he let go.
But I didn't die. Because he let go and here I am. Still living. Still breathing.
Just barely.
--Lily
I flip to the next page, but then slam the book shut. There's only one more entry and I don't know that I really feel like reading it right now. Or ever. I put the journal back in my closet, knowing that my chapter with Atlas is over. He's happy now.
I'm happy now.
Time can definitely heal all wounds.
Or at least most of them.
I turn off my lamp and then pick up my phone to plug it in. I have two missed text messages from Ryle and one from my mother.
Ryle: Hey. Naked Truth commencing in 3 . . . 2 . . .
Ryle: I was worried that being in a relationship would add to my responsibilities. That's why I've avoided them my whole life. I already have enough on my plate, and seeing the stress my parents' marriage seemed to cause them, and the failed marriages of some of my friends, I wanted no part in something like that. But after tonight, I realized that maybe a lot of people are just doing it wrong. Because what's happening between us doesn't feel like a responsibility. It feels like a reward. And I'll fall asleep wondering what I did to deserve it.
I pull my phone to my chest and smile. Then I screenshot the text because I'm keeping it forever. I open up the third text message.
Mom: A doctor, Lily? AND your own business? I want to be you when I grow up.
I screenshot that one, too.
Chapter Twelve
"What are you doing to those poor flowers?" Allysa asks from behind me.
I clamp another silver washer closed and slide it down the stem. "Steampunk."
We both stand back and admire the bouquet. At least . . . I hope she's looking at it with admiration. It turned out better than I thought it would. I used florist dip dye to turn some white roses a deep purple. Then I decorated the stems with different steampunk elements, like tiny metal washers and gears, and even super-glued a small clock to the brown leather strap that's holding the bouquet together.
"Steampunk?"
"It's a trend. Kind of a subgenre of fiction, but it's catching on in other areas. Art. Music." I turn around and smile, holding up the bouquet. "And now . . . flowers."
Allysa takes the flowers from me and holds them up in front of her. "They're so . . . weird. I love them so much." She hugs them. "Can I have them?"
I pull them away from her. "No, they're our grand opening display. Not for sale." I take the flowers from her and grab the vase I made yesterday. I found a pair of old button-up women's boots at a flea market last week. They reminded me of the steampunk style, and the boots are actually where I got the idea for the flowers. I washed the boots last week, dried them, and then super-glued pieces of metal to them. Once I brushed them with Mod Podge, I was able to line the inside with a vase to hold water for the
flowers.
"Allysa?" I place the flowers on the center display table. "I'm pretty sure this is exactly what I was supposed to do with my life."
"Steampunk?" she asks.
I laugh and spin around. "Create!" I say. And then I flip the sign to open, fifteen minutes early.
We both spend the day busier than we thought we'd be. Between phone orders, Internet orders, and walkins, neither of us even has time to take a lunch break.
"You need more employees," Allysa says as she passes me, holding two bouquets of flowers. That is at one o'clock.
"You need more employees," she says to me at two o'clock, holding the phone to her ear and writing down an order while ringing someone up at the register.
Marshall stops by after three o'clock and asks how it's going. Allysa says, "She needs more employees."
I help a woman take a bouquet to her car at four o'clock, and as I'm walking back inside, Allysa is walking out, holding another bouquet. "You need more employees," she says, exasperated.
At six o'clock, she locks the door and flips the sign. She falls against the door and slides to the floor, looking up at me.
"I know," I tell her. "I need more employees."
She just nods.
And then we laugh. I walk over to where she's seated and I sit next to her. We lean our heads together and look at the store. The steampunk flowers are front and center, and although I refused to sell this particular bouquet, we had eight preorders for more of them.
"I'm proud of you, Lily," she says.
I smile. "I couldn't have done it without you, Issa."
We sit there for several minutes, enjoying the rest we're finally giving our feet. This was honestly one of the best days I've ever had, but I can't help but feel a nagging sadness that Ryle never stopped by. He also never texted.
"Have you heard from your brother today?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "No, but I'm sure he's just busy."
I nod. I know he's busy.
We both look up when someone knocks on the door. I smile when I see him cupping his hands around his eyes with his face pressed to the window. He finally looks down and sees us sitting on the floor.
"Speak of the devil," Allysa says.
I jump up and unlock the door to let him in. As soon as I open it, he's pushing his way inside. "I missed it? I did. I missed it." He hugs me. "I'm sorry, I tried to get here as soon as I could."