“Then I’ll stay forever,” Andie said, feeling a clutch of panic in her stomach. Forever.
“What do I get if you don’t stay?”
“What do you want?”
Alice thought about it. “Ice cream.”
“You’ll get that anyway, Alice. Think of something big.”
Alice tilted her head again, thinking hard as her ice cream melted, the striped stocking on her topknot sliding to the side of her head. “That skirt,” she said finally, nodding at Andie.
“My skirt?” Andie swished the blue-green chiffon, watching the turquoise sequins sparkle in the sunlight. Flo gets it right again, she thought, and said, “You’re on. What do I get? One of your necklaces?”
Alice frowned, looking down.
“Pearls?” Andie said, looking at the dingy lavender beads.
“They were my mom’s.”
“Oh,” Andie said, remembering that Alice’s mom had died giving birth to her. The pearls suddenly looked a lot more important. “The shells?”
“My daddy gave me those.”
“The locket?”
“No, I found that. It’s a treasure.”
“You’re going to need the Walkman.”
“It was my mom’s,” Alice said, nodding.
“So that leaves the bat,” Andie said, looking at the dubious piece of cheap metal and glittery stones.
“Aunt May gave that to me.”
“So we’ll think of something else.”
Alice frowned in thought. “No,” she said after some length. “You can have the bat if you stay.” She licked up more ice cream. “But you won’t stay. Carter is never wrong.” She looked at Andie again, frowning. “Are you really going to give me that skirt when you leave?”
“I’m not leaving,” Andie said. “Not without you anyway. But if something happens and I lose the bet, you get the skirt. Pinky swear.”
Alice nodded and went back to her ice cream, still evidently a nonbeliever but now in line to get a sequined skirt, and Andie turned to see Carter regarding her over his own cone, his expression as flat as ever.
“You want to bet?” she said.
“You don’t have anything I want,” he said, and went back to his ice cream.
“Fair enough,” Andie said.
One day at a time, she thought, one day at a time.
One day at a time may have been the plan, but it was the nights that were wearing Andie down. Alice was still having nightmares although not as often, and even when Alice slept through the night, Andie had her own dreams, carnal dreams about North that were so vivid that she woke up shaking, wanting him so much she ached. And she still heard whispers in her sleep asking, Who do you love? She’d told Mrs. Crumb she didn’t want her to bring a tray up to her bedroom anymore, sticking with the spiked tea she made herself, but the dreams persisted. Finally one night she bypassed the tea completely, so exhausted that she was half asleep already, and slid down under the covers to shut out the chill—it was always cold as hell in her room at night—and dozed off, only to sit up again to punch her pillow into shape, and see something at the foot of her bed.
She froze as the vague shadow grew clearer and she could see a young woman, a girl, really, big-eyed and pretty with masses of curly hair, her form translucent and shifting in what looked like a party dress.
Hello, the girl said, swishing her full skirt as she pirouetted, blue in the moonlight.
“Who are you?” Andie said, and her voice seemed dreamlike, as if it were coming from very far away.
Oh, I’m you. The girl laughed. I’m you when you were nineteen. She leaned forward, the illusion of her shadow shifting a few seconds behind her movement so that she disassembled and reassembled as she moved. Don’t we look alike?
“Don’t do that,” Andie said, feeling nauseous now. She didn’t have dreams about past lives, that was entirely too twee, or maybe too Flo. Her mother would be all over this if it were happening to her. She struggled to wake up, but the girl only moved again and disoriented her, and another wave of cold nausea hit, so she stopped.
What happens to me after nineteen? the girl said. Do I have wonderful adventures?
“What?” Andie sank back on the pillows, sick to her stomach.
I want to know what happens next, the girl said. I want to know the future. Do I fall in love? Is it wonderful?
Andie thought of North, and then guiltily of Will. “Yes.”
The girl drifted closer and the room grew colder and Andie shut her eyes to block out the sickening vertigo.
Tell me about him.
“He’s a writer.” Andie kept her eyes shut, picturing Will, laughing and warm.
Is he exciting? Does he make me crazy for him? Do I want him all the time?
“No.” Andie tried to roll over, away from her. “I’m thirty-four. I grew out of that.”
Terrible. That’s terrible. You never get exciting?
“The first one. Go away.”
Tell me about him.
“I’m freezing. Go away.”
The girl moved back to the window, and the air around the bed grew marginally warmer.
Tell me about the other one.
“I want to sleep now.”
Is he the one you dream about? The hot one?
She thought of North, of the muscle hidden by his suits, the passion behind that calm beautiful face, all of it focused on her in the first months of her marriage, those memories on perpetual replay in her dreams every night. “Yes. But then his uncle Merrill dies, and he works sixteen-hour days at the family firm, and he forgets I . . . we . . . exist, and I leave.”
You left that guy? You should have done something. You should have seduced him again. You should have—
“Hey,” Andie said, struggling to sit up. “I had therapy for this. Sometimes things end. The bastard broke my heart, and I got over it and moved on.”
The girl drew back, alarmed. All right. Andie lay back down, and the girl said, Tell me how you met. How do we meet him?
Andie closed her eyes. It was weird to be harassed in a dream. But she remembered . . . “We’re twenty-four, after too much to drink, we look across the bar and see a man watching us.”
What does he look like? He’s the blond guy in the dream?
“Yes. Almost white hair, cropped short. Tall. Great shoulders.” She yawned again. “Wire-rimmed glasses.”
This guy gave you the head-banging sex you’ve been dreaming about? The shadow sounded doubtful.
“Bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. Classic nose. Beautiful mouth. Women stop to stare at him and he doesn’t notice because he’s looking at me. Us. Are you sure you’re me?”
Yes, the girl said. Although I like guys who are built.
“No you don’t,” Andie said, confused. “You go for musicians and art majors. And your mother tells you to stop chasing water signs and find an earth.”
What?
“Flo. Our mother. You’re not me.” She struggled to sit up again, and the girl moved, and the vertigo sent Andie back to her pillows. She squinted at the shifting shape. “I think my hair was bigger then. Who are you?”
I’m you. You saw him. Then what happened? Did you smile at him?
“I was already smiling,” Andie said, sinking deeper into the bed, trying to get from dream to sleep. “I stopped smiling when he walked toward me.”
And you waited until he came to you. You made him come to you.
“No, I met him halfway. The band was playing ‘Somebody’s Baby.’ It’s hard to stand still when you hear ‘Somebody’s Baby.’ ”
The girl swished her skirt again. It would have been better to wait.
“I don’t wait for anybody.” Andie pulled the covers up over her head, feeling like Alice.
The girl was quiet for so long that Andie was almost asleep when she said, That’s better.
Andie pulled the covers off her face. “What?”
Not waiting for anybody. That’s better. Then what happens?
/> Andie shifted against the pillows. “We dance, and I’m so turned on I can’t talk.”
Dancing is good.
“And he says, ‘Come with me,’ and I do, and he kisses me in the street and it’s the best kiss of my entire life. I want to go to sleep now.”
Then what happens?
“We go to his apartment and have head-banging sex, and twelve hours later, he proposes, and I think he’s crazy, but we go to Kentucky.” Talking about it brought it all back, how crazy happy she’d been, how crazy happy he’d been. Not like himself at all. “He remembered to put Jackson Browne in the tape player, but he forgot a ring and we stopped in an antiques store and got this old gold band that I loved.” Andie pulled her hand out of the covers and looked at it. “A week later, it turned my finger green, and he went crazy because he wanted to get a real one, but I said no.”
You’re wearing a green ring? the girl said, disapproval strong in her voice.
“I cleaned it up and painted and varnished it so the green didn’t happen again. I should get rid of it.” Andie closed her hand so the ring wouldn’t slip off and put her hand under the covers again.
Then what?
“Then we got married. Because I can’t say no to him. Couldn’t say no to him for a whole year. From the minute he said, ‘I’m North Archer and I think we should leave,’ I was done.”
The shadow shifted quickly, moving closer. You were married to North Archer?
Andie woke up at that.
The girl was much more solid now, still translucent but clearer, stronger, beautiful, big dark eyes and mad curling hair, and when she moved, all the parts of her moved together so the vertigo was almost gone. You were married to North Archer and you divorced him? WHY?
“Because the guy I married disappeared into his law office and came out a walking suit.” Andie sat up. “What kind of dream is this? You’re not me. I was never beautiful.”
The room was very clear now, the moonlight almost like sunlight, edges sharp and entirely non-dreamlike, and the place was freezing.
“This isn’t a dream,” Andie said. “You’re a ghost.”
Don’t be silly, the girl said. There’s no such things as ghosts.
She moved toward Andie again, but this time Andie stayed sitting up, staring into the eye sockets of a dead woman.
“No,” she said, and the girl flowed over her, freezing her to the bone, saying, You should get him here. You should bring him here. He should be here to kiss you goodnight, and the nausea swept over her again, a disorientation so fierce that she fell back onto the bed, spiraling down into the dark again.
When she woke up, her windows were full of sun and the room was perfectly normal.
The girl had been so real. I don’t believe in ghosts, Andie thought, especially ghosts in dreams. She shook her head and went to get dressed and deal with Alice and Carter, reminding herself that it was just a dream.
Five
Andie was distracted during breakfast, and Alice took full advantage, scoring cookies with her cereal as she listed all the things she was not going to do that morning. Andie answered her automatically, thinking about the dream, until Alice said, “I should have four cookies,” and she said, “No, you should not,” and took the cookie plate away from her.
There were dreams and there was reality, and reality was stopping Alice before she made herself sick.
“You are mean,” Alice said, scowling at her.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Alice, do you know a woman who has lots of curly dark hair?”
“You,” Alice said, and drank the last of her milk.
“Not me. Really pretty. Wearing a party dress. A blue party dress.”
“No,” Alice said, her nose in her glass.
“Huh.”
“I need another cookie.”
“No. You have to do your reading now. You can have a snack later. And then we’ll mulch your butterfly garden.” She wiped the chocolate from the cookies off Alice’s face, still thinking about the blue girl in the moonlight.
Blue girl. Blue dancing princess.
“Alice, who’s the blue dancing princess?”
“I want to read outside.” Alice got up and left the room, and Andie thought, This is not good.
Alice must be dreaming about the same girl. That brought up all kinds of things that Andie didn’t want to think about and Alice obviously didn’t want to talk about. And when Alice didn’t want to talk . . .
“Come on,” Alice said from the doorway into the dining room. “I’ve got my book.”
“Get your hoodie,” Andie told her. “It’s chilly out.” When Alice came back with her black hoodie zipped up, they headed out toward the pond, a large, green, stagnant surface that looked more like a massive leak in the moat than a planned water feature, which made sense since the moat was equally green and disgusting. Alice walked in front, her black-and-white-striped legs kicking through the fallen leaves and making her black flounced jersey skirt bounce. Cute, Andie thought, and considered telling Alice how good she looked. The last time she’d tried it, Alice had made gagging sounds, but she’d worn the skirt and leggings every day since then.
“Looking good, Alice,” Andie called.
Alice made gagging sounds.
When they got to the pond, Andie shook out the old quilt they used to picnic, and Alice threw her book down and announced, “This is the Sea of Azof. It is the world’s shallowest sea.”
Andie looked at the turgid, green pond. “Okay.”
Alice nodded. “We should go look at the butterfly garden.”
“Now?” Andie said, but Alice was already marching around to the far side of the house, so she dropped her things on the blanket and followed her around.
The garden was pretty bleak in October, most of it dead or dying with only the spiky purple asters still giving it their all.
Alice looked sad. “It’s dead.”
“We’ll put the mulch down after lunch, and that will keep it warm, and then it’ll all come back again in the spring.”
“I know. But that means the butterflies are gone.”
“They’ll be back in the spring, too.” Andie watched her, trying to see what she saw. “Did you plant this garden?”
“Aunt May did,” Alice said, sadly. “But I helped. A lot. She said it was my garden, too.”
Andie almost said, “In the spring, we’ll clean it all up,” and then she remembered that in the spring, God willing, they’d be in Columbus. “We can plant a garden like this in Columbus.” She tried to remember how much sun the backyard of North’s Victorian got.
“Last year, Aunt May collected seed. From the black-eyed Susans and the coneflowers and I forget what else.” Alice kicked at a bushy serrated-edged plant. “And this stuff takes over everywhere so we have to get rid of some of it.” She sounded like an exasperated adult, and Andie thought, Aunt May said that.
She kicked it again, and a lemony smell floated up to Andie. “What is it?”
“Lemon balm,” Alice pronounced, and Andie pictured a kindly, older woman bending down and saying, “Lemon balm,” to Alice in that same tsking voice, Alice nodding wisely beside her.
“Aunt May really knew her plants,” Andie said.
“These are what butterflies like.” Alice pointed to a stalky-looking plant that looked like giant dead daisies. “Coneflower.” She pointed to another. “Black-eyed Susan. Parsley. Columbine. Joe Pye. Zinnia. Salvia. Milkweed. Bergamot. Aster. Butterfly bush.”
She pointed to each of them, naming them lovingly, with a softness Andie hadn’t seen in her before, and then she stooped and plucked a big, ugly withered plant with a fuzzy stem. “Weed,” she said, disgusted, and threw it away.
“They must be very beautiful in the summer,” Andie said. Now, it looked like a garden of death except for the plucky asters.
“The butterflies are bee-you-tee-ful,” Alice said. “Swallowtails and monarchs and skippers. I’m going to be a lepidopterist when I grow up.”
&n
bsp; “That’s very cool,” Andie said, meaning it.
Alice nodded, accepting the approval as her right. “And sometimes we get hummingbirds, which are also very cool. Aunt May said we could plant hummingbird plants next summer . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and Andie thought, Ouch, and then Alice turned her back on the garden, her face blank, and marched back to the blanket, where she plunked herself down, put her Walkman headphones on, and picked up her book.
Andie sat down beside her. “We’ll make a hummingbird garden, Alice. Either here or in Columbus, wherever we are, we’ll have a butterfly and hummingbird garden. And we’ll put the mulch down to keep these plants warm all winter.”
Alice shrugged and opened her book.
Andie thought, Tell North we need a hummingbird garden, too, and then went back to considering the thing that had been haunting her since the night before: the blue girl. Maybe Alice had inspired the dream. They were telling the Princess Alice story every night now, Alice correcting her and shaping it as they went, but the blue dancing princess was always in there. Maybe she was just dreaming Alice’s story . . .
She smelled something horrible and looked over to see Alice poking at something with a stick. When she looked closer, it was a dead frog, bloated in extinction.
“Alice, don’t do that, it’s dead.”
Alice pulled her headphones off, and Andie repeated herself.
“It only looks dead,” Alice said. “It’ll be okay.”
She poked it again, and Andie took the stick away before she broke it open and released God knew what. “It’s dead,” Andie told her firmly. “Leave it alone.”
Alice looked up at her, her eyes flat. “You don’t know so much.”
“Probably not. But that frog is dead.”
“No, it isn’t,” Alice said, her face screwed up to yell. “No, no, no, no—”
She turned away as her voice rose, and then she stopped, staring across the pond.
“What?” Andie said, and looked, too.
There was a woman there, dressed in old-fashioned black, her flounced skirt motionless in the October wind, her body half-bowed.
“Who is that?” Andie said.
Alice jerked around and stared at Andie for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise.