He doesn’t say anything, but our lips meet.
In the kiss, there’s the bittersweet taste of what might have been, the quiet acceptance of something like forgiveness for each of us.
But behind all that, there’s more: the promise of flight, of gravity-bound objects moving faster and faster, the world passing by in a blur, until the moment of lift, that glorious beautiful second of finally letting go.
Fifty-Eight
“HOW WAS THE VISIT with Alice’s niece?” Ruby asks from the front seat.
“Here,” I say, pointing to the side of the road. Charlie frowns and gives me an accusing look as the car sinks to a stop in the muddy ditch.
I shrug and turn back to Ruby. “It was amazing. The whole visit was great. Lily, Alice’s niece, was so appreciative, and her son, Jack, was really sweet with Alice. He kept making her pictures for her room.”
“Awww,” Ruby says.
“Oh, and I almost forgot. Lorna and Henry are moving in together.”
Ruby cheers and claps.
“Are they allowed to do that?” Charlie asks.
“Why wouldn’t they be?” I say.
“Because they’re old people?”
“You’re kidding, right?” I turn back to Ruby. “I didn’t even tell you the best part. Harriet’s going to be Miss Peggy’s new roommate.”
“What?” Ruby practically yells.
“I know. It’s literally the worst decision in the history of bad decisions. But Carla says it was their idea.” I shrug. “Come on, this way.”
We start walking through the field and then into the woods, hitting the top of the hill.
I realize it then, as I make my way down the slope: Charlie’s following me. For once, I’m leading the way.
“Here, Roo,” Charlie says behind me, taking Ruby’s hand, the two of them moving down the hill together.
I remember Finn holding my hand the first time he brought me here and feel the familiar shiver of missing him.
The moods pass over me a lot these days, like clouds over the sun.
We’ve talked almost every night since he left. He tells me about the brownstone he’s living in, how he thinks it might be haunted, but with a sad ghost, not a vengeful one. He describes the old man up the street, who every afternoon takes a shirtless nap stretched out on his stoop. He shares stories about his neighbors, a six-year-old boy named Archer who loves web-footed tenrecs and his three-year-old sister, Ramona, who’s going to be a superprincess when she grows up.
In exchange, I fill him in on the dinner party Harriet and Miss Peggy hosted for all of us in their new apartment at Wild Meadows, how I stopped by to see Alice afterward, how Alice is still silent but likes looking at the brand-new picture of her, Lily, and Jack next to her bed. I tell him how Ruby and Charlie and I go swimming at Caesar Creek every Saturday afternoon, how when they’re in the water, I browse the classes for the pre–art therapy certification at University of Cincinnati.
I talk with him about therapy, too, sharing some of what I’m discovering with my family and on my own. Finn tells me he’s talking to someone too, but that’s as far as he’ll go.
After every call, he texts me pictures of New York City—of green leaves in Central Park, old guys playing chess in Washington Square, an explosion of street art in Brooklyn. That’s when I hear his voice the most, when I see the world finally opening itself up for him, the way it always should have, the way he deserves.
But it was the message he sent me last night that’s prompted our visit today.
“Where in the world are we going?” Ruby asks as all three of us come to a stop at the bottom of the hill.
“This better not be some cult compound, Parker,” Charlie says, and I smile to myself.
I walk toward the tunnel, and just like Finn did with me, I pull out a flashlight from the bag on my shoulder. “This way.”
I click it on, step forward, letting the light shine.
I look over my shoulder. Ruby and Charlie are at the front of the tunnel, frozen. His arm is wrapped around her shoulder, hers around his waist, and I’d almost think they were statues except for their faces, heads titled back, eyes taking in the wonder.
“I can’t believe that crap bird didn’t tell me about this,” Ruby whispers, her voice filled with awe.
Charlie looks down long enough to give Ruby a kiss on the top of her head.
I move farther into the tunnel. It’s the first time I’ve been since Finn brought me.
When I reach the back wall, I freeze.
Finn was clearly busy before he left.
In front of me is a mural featuring dozens of sunflowers, some closed tight, others only starting to bloom. Only one is fully open, a small flower standing bravely by the side, and from its petals, dozens of birds are emerging. They’re flying upward, a rush of them, small and large, fantastical and real, a stream of feathered creatures pouring out from the bloom, all rising up into a night sky, a black canvas filled with stars and explosions, space debris and rings.
They soar there, like they’ve found their home, and my breath rushes out in an exhale, lightness moving through me like feathers, like flying.
Above it all, the words YOU ARE HERE.
I give myself a few minutes, taking it all in, the way the sunflower roots meet the real dirt of the tunnel, the way some of the birds look like they’re half creature, half constellation, how the whole thing is more beautiful than anything I could have ever dreamed, how at the same time, it’s as familiar as the lines on my hand.
I catch my breath, wipe my eyes on my sleeve, then squat down at the side of the tunnel, digging out the can of sky-blue spray paint I bought yesterday. I had to ask the guy at Vinchesi’s to get it out of a locked case, probably to make sure people weren’t buying it for exactly the use I’m anticipating.
And then I slide out my phone, clicking on Finn’s latest text.
It’s a photo of a wall somewhere in New York City. It’s night, a streetlight casting a glow on the image, a Dumpster protruding from the left corner. But I don’t spend much time studying that. Instead, I read the message on the brick, all in capital letters and bright-red paint: MAJOR TOM TO CHARLIE BIRD PARKER: COMMENCING COUNTDOWN.
My eyes scan the tunnel in front of me for the perfect spot around the rim. I like how the opening frames the world of color outside.
“I’m ready,” I call out to Charlie. I start shaking the can, the rattle loud.
“Crap, that’s noisy. Why don’t you just call the police already and let them know what we’re doing?” Charlie asks, coming up behind me.
“We are literally in the middle of nowhere.” I stop, raising my eyebrow. “Oh my gosh, are you nervous?”
He frowns. “No.”
“You are!”
“No, I’m not. I just don’t really want to get arrested.”
“You won’t,” I say, savoring the new sensation of helium rushing through me—my heart racing, my palms sweating, the world around me vibrant—and marveling at the gravity I’m seeing in my brother for the first time: the way he keeps looking over his shoulder, checking to make sure Ruby’s okay, the cautious jut of his shoulders.
“Boost me up,” I say.
He cups his hands together, and I use the momentum to leap up, my free hand scrambling for purchase in the stone wall, the spray paint can in the other.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Charlie says from below as I scale higher, finally finding a small ridge on the side, one I can stand upon.
I’m not as nimble as Finn. My message isn’t going to span the width of the entrance, and as soon as I start spraying the paint, I remember there’s an art to it, one that, like throwing pottery on the wheel, I haven’t mastered.
Yet.
But my arm still moves with something like grace, the spray paint taking on a life of its own, as I make the small loops.
I’m breathless and alive, my heart pounding against my ribs, outside of them, completely vulnerable and gloriously open to the world around me.
“Looking good, Parker!” Ruby calls out from below.
When I’m done, I hold the can out to Charlie.
“Heads up,” I say.