chapter thirty-three
The composer Stephen Sondheim said, “Art, in itself, is an attempt to bring order out of chaos.” As I ran my hand over the finished collage, I decided that he was right. The mess of my life, of Creek View, of the summer, had been transformed into something beautiful.
Marge’s collage wasn’t just a bunch of cut-up photographs I’d arranged on poster boards. Somehow, between the night of the Mitchells’ party and the moment I saw Josh’s leg—really saw it—the collage had turned into a love letter to Creek View. Inexplicably, through the act of photographing, cutting, arranging, and gluing, I’d begun to see my hometown as a place of possibility. Of desire. Of different and unexpected kinds of love. It was as if by really looking at the world around me, I could finally see myself.
I felt like God. I wanted to say, “It is good.”
The highway: it was where Dad had died, but it would also take me away from here so that I could follow my dreams.
The Paradise: the sign itself was an uncut photograph so that it looked like a beacon within the explosion of photo shards. It was whole, the heart of everything.
The strawberry fields and the trailer park, Chris’s house and the creek.
The train tracks and the field where we’d lit firecrackers on the Fourth.
Market and the old gas station, which always went together in my mind after that night when I was hungry and I waited for the sunrise in the back of Josh’s truck.
The orchard where Marge told me about her son, the endless sky, and the sun blazing like fire.
I smiled as I sifted through eighteen years’ worth of memories. True, there were a lot of bad ones. But I was starting to realize that they had all brought me to this moment, as if my sorrows and joys had conspired to birth me.
“That’s badass, Sky,” Dylan said. She was looking over my shoulder while she bounced Sean on her hip.
“Thanks. I hope she likes it.”
“She’s gonna love the shit out of it.” Sean reached out, but she pulled him away. “Don’t drool on Auntie Sky’s art.”
“Can you grab one side, and I’ll get the other?” I asked.
Dylan nodded, and we maneuvered all four feet of it out of my room and across the patio and into the lobby. Marge was sitting at reception, waiting for Amy to come in and take the graveyard shift.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, looking up. She had a stack of new tabloids sitting next to her and a can of Diet Dr Pepper, with one of her colorful straws poking out of the top.
“A decoration for the lobby,” I said.
We held it up so Marge could see it from a distance. It took her a second to figure out what it was, but when she did, she covered her mouth and her eyes filled.
“Sky. It’s … wow.”
I blushed, and Dylan helped me set it on the table.
Marge stood up, and I wrapped my arms around her. “I wanted to say thank you, and this was the only way I knew how,” I whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, Marge. I really mean that.”
She gave me one of her bear hugs while big, fat tears soaked my shirt.
“Right back at you.” She sniffed and hugged me even tighter. “I’m gonna miss the hell out of you, sweet pea.”
“You too,” I said. I pulled back. “But I’ll be visiting all the time.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Marge. You know she’ll be off somewhere with Josh. We’ll be lucky to eat a meal with her,” Dylan said.
Marge laughed. “Don’t I know it.”
“Whatever.”
I rolled my eyes, but I knew she was right. Two weeks together, and already Josh and I were saying words that, not long ago, would have freaked me out: words like always. My life was being planned in sentences that started with we instead of I, yet it felt like the most natural transition in the world.
A dog barked outside, and Sean squealed.
“I’m gonna check his water,” I said. “Be right back.”
I ran out to the side of the motel, where I’d chained the present I’d gotten for Josh early that morning. He looked exactly like the bomb dog Josh had described his unit having in Afghanistan—a black Labrador retriever.
“Hey, boy,” I said.
He jumped up and barked again, tail wagging. I checked his water and scratched him behind the ears, and he licked my cheek.
Perfect. He was exactly what Josh needed.
I heard Josh’s truck roar up the driveway, and I took the Lab off the chain and held on to his leash. He was strong, practically dragging me toward the sound of the truck. Josh parked next to my car, and I waited for him to get out. His radio was crazy loud, as usual. Audioslave pounded out his open windows, and he was singing along, totally oblivious. I felt like I was seeing what he was like when he was in Afghanistan with his buddies. It made me sad that he wouldn’t see most of them ever again and that it would take years for me to piece together a picture of what the war had been like. But we had time.
He caught me watching, and I laughed at his pretend grimace.
“Don’t quit your day job,” I shouted. He did some air guitar, thrashing his head around, and I laughed. God, I was going to miss him.
He turned off the truck, and the Lab barked, like he somehow already knew he and Josh belonged together. Josh leaned across the cab and looked down.
“What have you got there?” he asked.
“Come find out.”
I waited to let go of the leash until Josh came around the truck.
“Go get him,” I whispered to the Lab. He bounded up to Josh, tail going nuts. Josh’s face broke open with this wide grin I hadn’t seen since before he deployed, and he knelt and let the Lab sniff him and lick his fingers. He was laughing and letting the dog jump all over him—it was the happiest I’d ever seen Josh.
“He likes you,” I said.
Josh looked up at me. “Did I tell you about Buddy—the bomb dog my unit had?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Looks just like him.” He ran his hands down the Lab’s flanks, talking quietly to him.
“Did one of the guests bring him?” he asked.
“Nope.” I walked over to him and put the leash in his hand. “I thought you might need some company while I’m gone this semester.”
He looked at me, confusion turning to sudden understanding. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack,” I said, using my favorite Marge-ism. I couldn’t control the goofy smile on my face. “I remembered what you said—about Buddy and the therapy dogs. I didn’t expect to find a black Lab when I went to the shelter in Bakersfield, but he was there, looking up at me like, Can we go home already?”
Josh gazed down at his dog, then at me. “Unbelievable,” he said. “You know that? You’re fucking unbelievable.”
Then he was kissing me, and the dog was barking, and Dylan was catcalling, and it was so great and so awful at the same time because I didn’t want to leave him or Dylan or Marge or Mom or this dog who had already wormed his way into my heart.
I checked the time on the new cell phone I’d gotten to replace the one that had been destroyed in the ditch. “I better go,” I said. “See you tonight?”
He brushed my lips with his. “Can’t wait.”
We hardly spent any time apart, nights included. I blushed at the thought of what those two words—can’t wait—promised.
Josh wrapped his arms around me in a quick hug. “You gonna be okay over there?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Mom said Billy would be out all day, so I think it’ll be good.”
“Okay.” He looked like he was going to kiss me again, but pulled away when we heard Dylan’s voice.
“Hello! Some of us want to see her before she goes,” she said.
Josh sighed. “Fine, but I get her back by seven.”
“Eight,” Dylan said, a hand on her hip.
“Seven thirty.”
“Fucking jarhead.” She gave him a grudging smile.
“Fine. Seven thirty. But only because it’s my little man’s bedtime.”
She whirled around and went back into the Paradise with Marge laughing behind her. This was the nature of Dylan and Josh’s relationship—aggressive joking around. It took her a few days to look at the whole Jenna Swenson thing in the way I’d decided to look at it, but I think it made her feel better to inform him that if he ever pulled, and I quote, any shit like that again, Dylan would personally castrate him with a rusted butcher knife.
“I’m going to pretend that I wasn’t just auctioned off like a cow,” I said to Josh once Dylan and Marge were back inside.
“It’s more like child custody than an auction,” he said.
“And now you’ve reduced me to a six-year-old. Sexy.”
He kissed my mock frown, the kind of kiss that made me really disappointed when he pulled away. “Bet you’re glad I got that extra half hour now, huh? Just think of the possibilities.”
I shoved his shoulder. “Dumbass.”
“I love you,” he said, somehow playful and serious at the same time.
This could be my life, I thought. Wake up next to Josh, do my own thing, know I’ll see him later, then fall asleep and do it all over again the next day.
I kissed him—otherwise I’d tell him to start unpacking the car because I wasn’t going after all. He’d insisted on driving me to San Francisco, even though we both knew it’d be harder to say good-bye once we got there. It would be so easy …
The Lab whined and butted his head against us, and I pulled away. It felt like we were already saying good-bye.
“Go play with your dog.”
Josh gave me a little salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
When I turned around, he slapped my ass, then laughed at my pretend scowl and pointed at himself with an innocent shrug. “Jarhead. What did you expect?”
I rolled my eyes and left him to do whatever stuff Marge needed before we left for San Francisco in the morning.
When I went back inside, Marge was back at the desk and I could hear Dylan at the end of the hall, changing Sean’s diaper in the bathroom.
Marge gave me a long look. “You did it, you know.”
“What?”
“The right thing.”
I looked out the window, at Josh wrestling with the dog. It was horrible, just imagining what I’d be feeling right now if I hadn’t gone looking for Josh at the train tracks. No matter what hell we’d have to go through in the future with everything life would throw at us, it was worth it. I knew it was.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I did.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “I know Josh will never be … I mean, no one can replace your son. But you’re family to him. And to me. I hope you know that, Marge.”
She held on to my hand and nodded. “I do, sweet pea.”
Together, we looked at the collage lying on the table. Josh would put it up for her later that day, I was sure, and then there’d always be a little part of me at the Paradise. It was bittersweet, the idea of the collage being there when I wasn’t. I was finally putting down roots, just when I was getting ready to leave.
JOSH
It’s been almost a year since we walked onto that field. But I won’t let that be my last memory of you. Instead, this is what I see: It’s the first real day of spring and we’re patrolling on foot and the mountains surround us, giant and snowcapped, and you turn around in a circle with this huge fuckin’ smile on your face and you shout, Look at this beautiful world! And then I take the picture that’s sitting on my desk right now. That’s what I’m gonna think of from now on, every day, when I see that smile on your face. Look at this beautiful world.
Ma’a salama, brother. See you on the other side.
chapter thirty-four
Dylan dropped me off at the trailer, after making me promise I’d come to her house for some ice cream and, as she put it, “lady time” before I went back to the Paradise. The car my mom and I shared was in the driveway, newly fixed by Blake and Josh. She was using it until she left, and then Josh was going to drive it up for me if I wanted it at school.
For a minute, I just stood outside, staring at the faded paint and the dry grass. I’d spent my entire life in that trailer, with the exception of the last month at the Paradise, but I knew my separation was complete when I realized that I was a visitor now and would probably be one wherever my mom lived, for the rest of my life. I tried to imagine another family moving in. It hurt.
I remembered sitting on the front steps with my dad, looking at the stars, or running through the sprinklers with Dylan and Chris from June to October. I’d had my first kiss in front of the rusted barbecue—Aaron Fisher, eighth grade. I smiled, thinking about the pumpkins my mom and I used to carve and then line up in a row leading to our door on Halloween or the Christmas lights Dad would string up. I thought of all the summer evenings I’d spent sitting in the chairs under the trees beside the trailer, reading books that helped me escape Creek View, at least for a little while. Magical kingdoms, Russian love triangles, and the March sisters couldn’t have been further away from the trailer park.
I heard the clank of pots inside—the kitchen window was open, and Mom must have been washing dishes. I walked up the stairs and, for the first time in my life, knocked on the door. I heard her turn down the TV and then the door was open.
My mom beamed. “Sky!”
She wrapped me in a hug, still smelling like her apple-scented shampoo. I breathed her in, missing her even though my arms were around her. She sat me down at the kitchen table and fluttered about—was I thirsty? Hungry?
While Mom got me a glass of water, I looked around. She’d cleaned. I could smell the Windex and Pine-Sol, but I wasn’t sure if it was just for my benefit or if she and Billy were actually capable of playing house together. Even though nearly everything was boxed up, there were a few things that announced Billy’s presence—a leather La-Z-Boy, man-sized work boots by the door, a toolbox.
Seeing Billy’s things in the house, as if they belonged there—and I supposed they did, now—made it seem like Dad was finally and truly gone. It was another change the summer had brought to my life, a gradual letting go of the need to remember him all the time, to strain for his presence. I didn’t know if that was Josh or just growing up.
Mom seemed to know what I was thinking. “You know, I still love your dad,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.” I thought about the thrill I got from seeing Josh’s clothes strung about my room or his toothbrush standing in the plastic cup by my sink, leaning against mine. I wondered if Mom felt that way about Billy.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
She made little circles with her finger on the tabletop, a soft smile playing on her face.
“I am.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “I know I put you through hell, and I’m real sorry about that. I never wanted things to be … the way they got.”
I held her hand in both of my own. “I know.”
Mom laughed her smoker’s laugh. “Seems like you’ve got yourself a boyfriend too.” She pointed to my neck. “Those his dog tags?”
I fingered the thin metal chain under my shirt and nodded. He’d given them to me the night before, placing them over my neck. Other than Nick’s chess set and Vonnegut book I was pretty sure they were Josh’s most prized possession.
“Hon,” she continued, “if you don’t mind me asking … isn’t it sort of hard being with a guy like that?”
I tried not to bristle at the “like that”—it sucked how everyone wanted to give Josh labels instead of just accepting him as he was.
“No,” I said. “He’s just … Josh. You know?”
I wasn’t being entirely honest, but I had begun to guard Josh’s privacy even more than my own. I wasn’t going to tell her about the nightmares he still sometimes got—although he told me he’d been having them a lot less since we got together. And I didn’t want to get into how I’d had to find ways to adjust to t
he days when he just needed to be alone or how he’d get depressed or really pissed off about his leg or something that reminded him of Nick. Sometimes I felt like I had to walk on eggshells around him, but usually I just tried to be real and blunt and loving. That worked most of the time. He did the same for me.