Epilogue
Setting down my paintbrush, I take a step back to look at my painting. I’ve been working on it for two weeks in secret because I know that if Lucas catches wind of the fact that I’m painting again he won’t be able to stop himself from sneaking a peek, and I don’t want that. I frown and bite my lip as I gaze at the interplay of light and dark, the texture of the trees just visible in the background, and the figures, one on each end of the canvas. The snow was the hardest to paint by far, and Lucas’s face the easiest. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as our lips parted that night, or the way the furiously falling snow obscured him from view almost immediately as I walked away from him.
In the painting I’ve captured a moment that never happened but should have. Lucas is watching me walk away, and instead of ignoring my heart and leaving him standing there I’m turning back, my head turned toward him as though I know he’s still there on the other side of the wall of snow.
It’s a good effort, considering it’s the first thing I’ve painted in over three months. What I like best is that there’s no sky, just a sea of white. Not a dark cloud in sight.
Leaning forward, I use my smallest brush to paint the title in the bottom-right corner. I’m calling it Firsts.
My phone rings as I’m walking to the kitchen to wash my hands, and I glance at the clock on the microwave.
Shit.
I answer the phone without checking to see who it is, sticking it awkwardly between my shoulder and ear as I soap my hands.
“Where are you?” Mariella says. I can hear a hubbub of noise in the background. “Tell me you already left the house.”
“Of course I did,” I lie, jogging into my room to find a top that isn’t paint-spattered. It’s harder than it sounds. “I’m almost there. It didn’t start yet, did it?”
“No, but it’s about to,” she answers. I wiggle out of my cut-off shorts and into a pink cotton dress I bought last week. I throw the shorts on top of Turner, who is splayed out on my bed. He meows plaintively. “They just came out, and damn your boy is looking fine today. Was he always this fine? Because my oh my—”
“Keep it in your pants,” I interrupt. “Besides, I thought you swore off all white boys.” I check my face in the mirror beside the front door, scratching at a patch of black paint on my chin before grabbing my bag and locking the door behind me.
“I’m an addict, what can I say?” Mariella answers, and I chuckle as I walk through the lobby. “Just hurry up, okay?”
“I’ll see you in five minutes,” I say, and hang up the phone just as I reach the front door of the building. I take a deep breath before I open the door and scan the street to the left and right, but there’s no one there. I grin at the sun-dappled sidewalk as I half-walk, half-run down the block.
It’s been a solid month since the flurry of renewed interest in me due to Brandon’s plea of not guilty at his arraignment. For a while the reporters were camping out on the front stoop again, just like they were in April, and Lucas and I woke up every morning to the sound of Mariella’s curses as she shoved her way to the sidewalk. Luckily they quickly lost interest in my boring existence of summer classes and trips to the recreation centre, even if my basketball coach boyfriend was a total dreamboat. My story wasn’t particularly riveting. I wasn’t suicidal or popping pills or on my way to the nuthouse. I was just a student trying to get on with her life. So, after a while, they seemed to decide as a group to leave me alone, though I’m still a little surprised not to find one or two of them tailing me everywhere I go.
It’s a little strange, not having to look over my shoulder all the time, but I’m getting used to it.
As the park comes into view I feel my bag vibrating, letting me know I just got a text. I plunge my hand in, feeling around for my cell. It feels a little strange in my hand as I pick it up, but I don’t think much of it as I turn the phone over and see who messaged me. I beam.
Em: Ugh. Did I mention I hate flying?
Me: Repeatedly.
Em: I still don’t get why you couldn’t fly home just to fly back to Kingston with me.
Me: Maybe because that’s insane?
Em: Sanity is overrated. Bring on the madness, I say!
Me: Are we still on for tonight? Chinese?
Em: I want to immerse myself in General Tso’s chicken. Only breaded chicken can save this awful day of cross-country travel.
Me: I’m glad you’re back, Em.
Em: Me, too.
I heave a sigh of both relief and happiness as I stare down at the screen, falling still for a second. Things between my sister and I have been a lot better lately. I don’t think we’ll ever be the same as we were, but I’m also always reminding myself that I don’t want us to be. I’m completely honest with her now, and she is with me, too. At the beginning of the summer every conversation we had was just one long fight as she dug up every lie I’d ever told her and threw it in my face, and I struggled not to scream at her for being so oblivious to my pain. Eventually we started talking about everything I’d never told her, how I’d felt then and how I felt now and how she felt about everything. There were a lot of feelings flying around for a while there. Slowly she started trusting me again, and as August approached she took back her threat to transfer to another school and booked her flight to Kingston. When she told me I cried, because I knew then that I hadn’t lost my sister after all.
Starting up the path through the trees, I turn the phone over and my heart skips a beat as I see the sticky note on the back of it. I let my eyes run over the words written on it, then stuff it back in my bag and charge the rest of the way to the court at the center of the park.
The grass slopes upward away from the cement and there are people sitting in clumps on all sides. I spot Mariella right away, sitting with Sally and Anita. I’m guessing Melissa is running late again, which is sort of gratifying. I can always count on Melissa to be later than me.
“Finally!” Mariella exclaims as I join them on the grass.
“I just got a text from Em,” I announce as I dump my bag on the ground next to them. “Her plane just landed.”
“Yay!” Anita says, clapping her hands, but Sally is too busy craning her neck to check out the group of boys sitting to our left.
“Look at that one,” she says. Following her gaze, I notice the boys are all wearing bright red camp t-shirts, which means they’re definitely too young for Sally. They look to be about fifteen, if that.
“Ew, Sally,” I say. “Can you say jailbait?” She gives me a confused look.
“What?” she says. “There’s no harm in looking, is there?” Anita and I exchange a glance as Sally and Mariella giggle together, pointing at a different guy sitting at the front of the crowd. As I watch Sally whisper something in Mariella’s ear, I shake my head and wonder if introducing them was a bad idea. Sally is a handful all by herself. Add in Mariella and we’ve got trouble on our hands.
“Did you finish it?” Anita says in a low voice, and I grin, giving her a little nod. She squeezes my arm.
“I’m going to go say hi,” I say as I get to my feet. “Keep them away from the underage boys.” I jut my chin at the terrible twosome.
“I’m all over it,” Anita says with a wink.
I pick my way through the crowd to the front where there are more campers sitting in rows. The day camp officially ended last week since school is about to start up again, but they’re all wearing their camp t-shirts for the occasion. Since the campers were the ones playing sports all summer while the counsellors coached and taught, the kids made them promise to play one exposition game for them at the end of the summer, which is what today is all about. First up is basketball.
Gazing out at the court, I watch Lucas do a perfect layup, to the delight of the crowd. My stomach hitches just looking at him, not because he’s so fine, as Mariella would say, although he is looking pretty hot in a form-fitting gray t-shirt and black basketball shorts, but because he looks so at ease. This will be his first time playing a real game since last fall, and I was worried about how he would react to being out on the court again, actually playing instead of watching his campers play, but I see now that all my worry was for nothing. He’s in his element with the ball in his hands. As I watch him faking left, then right before shooting for the basket, it’s impossible not to see that he’s having a great time and making it all look so easy, which I’m sure is terrific fun for the other team.
Someone tugs on my dress and I turn around to find Ethan looking up at me, wearing his oversized bright yellow camp shirt. At his sides are two other boys about his age. I think the blond one’s name is Davey.
“Do you think Lucas’s team will win?” Ethan asks, and I see the other two staring up at me eagerly. I spent so much time at the rec centre over the summer that all the campers know I’m Lucas’s girlfriend.
I crouch down beside them. “Well, I don’t know,” I say. “He’s been missing his free throws lately.”
Davey shakes his head scornfully, looking out at the game. Ethan’s eyes are wide with worry. “Oh,” he says, his shoulders slumping.
“But look at those other guys,” I say, nodding at the court. “They’re shrimps! Lucas is at least a head taller than every one of them, and you know he’s got the moves.”
Ethan nods his head enthusiastically at my change of tone.
I put my arm around him. “He’s got it in the bag,” I say and I can’t help but laugh as I watch the three of them shoot back to their spots on the grass, reporting my assessment to the other kids like I’m some kind of oracle.
The game breaks up for what I’ve learned to identify in recent weeks as halftime, and I step through the last of the campers and linger by the edge of the court. Lucas spots me almost right away and flashes those unbelievable dimples. He wipes his face off with a towel then jogs over to me, and my breath catches, just a little, as I watch him. Even now I sometimes can’t believe he’s all mine.
“You’re late,” he says, his warm hands grasping me by the waist, contradicting his scolding tone.
“Nothing important ever happens in the first half anyway,” I say flippantly, and Lucas chuckles. A whole summer of watching sports has taught me a thing or two, though I still usually spend most of the time sketching, except when Lucas has the ball in his hands. Because nothing is more mesmerizing than watching him play.
“Are you working for the other team?” he says. “Because that dress is pretty distracting.” He likes this dress because it’s sleeveless and shorter than any other dress I’ve ever owned. I like it because it makes him look at me the way he is right now.
“What, this old thing?” I say, and then I lean in to whisper in his ear. “If you win the game I’ll let you take it off me.”
I feel him exhale against my cheek, his fingers squeezing my hips, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing. This game cannot end soon enough.
“You know I never would have gotten here without you,” Lucas says, pressing his forehead to mine. “You really are my hero, Katie.” Distantly, I hear his teammates calling him back to the game, but they seem very far away.
“Right back at ya,” I reply as he pulls away, readying to dive back into the action.
“Hold on a sec,” I say, calling him back. “I was told I’d be rewarded if I made it here by halftime.” I hold up the sticky note and Lucas grins as he steps toward me again.
“Found that, did you?” he says, taking me in his arms. My body tingles as his chest presses against mine.
“So where is it?” I demand, looking up at him. “Am I getting the pony I always wanted?”
“Nope, just this,” he says. His lips meet mine, sweeping me up into a kiss that’s so much better than any present he could have bought me. I lean into it, taking his face in my hands.
“Oooooohhh,” the campers chorus before collapsing into giggles all around us. A high-pitched whistle directs my attention to Oleg, who waves at us from his spot in the crowd, sitting between Brit and Eric. As we wave back, I realize all eyes are on us. I am kissing Lucas Matthews, after all, former Golden Gaels MVP and all-around stud. Half the campers have raging crushes on him, and most of the female counsellors, as well. I know I should be blushing at the spectacle we’ve made of ourselves, but I can’t really bring myself to care. Reaching up, I plant one more generous kiss on him before smiling into his lips.
“Knock ‘em dead, or break a leg, or whatever the proper term would be,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says, kissing me again, and again, until all the counsellors are calling his name and he really has to go. “Watch closely, Hero,” he says just before he lets me go, “because the next basket is for you.” I smile like a lovesick idiot as he walks back to his team and the game starts up again.
When we were little, Emily and I liked to imagine what it would be like if we switched lives. It wouldn’t have been very hard, we thought—after all, we were identical—but we always lost interest when she realized she didn’t like the way my crayons stained her hands and I didn’t want to wear any of her frilly clothes. After Tommy died, when I was in high school, I used to spend whole days dreaming of the lives I could have if I was someone else, someone who wasn’t miserable all the time, someone who could stand to look at herself in the mirror, someone who’d never known Tommy or Brandon, or hurt, or lies.
Now, as I watch Lucas make a spectacular slam dunk—just for me—I realize how much things have changed. For the first time in what seems like forever I don’t want to be someone else. I like the life I’ve painted for myself, full of rough edges and bright colours, dazzling sunshine and dark shadows, a life filled with pain, but also love. These days, when I look at myself in the mirror, I see a girl who’s not quite in focus, a girl in transition, with wild hair and fingers spattered with paint, haunted eyes and a big smile. I’m looking forward to the day when that girl will be glued back together, when she’ll stand tall, when she’ll be whole again.
I think it’s coming soon.
The End