“Did it ever fit?” I asked softly. “I mean, did it ever start to become real?”
Aiden nodded slowly. “I went down to the gorge and camped out by myself for a week. I had to get away from Dad. He was a mess. He’d come home with his pockets filled with all those rocks, you know? He wasn’t making anything out of them then; just collecting them. He’d come home and empty hundreds of them out of his pockets onto the dining room table and then sit there with his head in his hands for the rest of the night. It was making me crazy. So one day I just packed up my shit and went down to the gorge.”
“And being there, down by the water, made it real for you?”
“Not right away,” Aiden said. “It was October, so for the first three or four days I just sat in front of the fire, freezing my ass off and telling myself that I was cool with everything.” He paused, starting the wheel a little, cupping his hands protectively around the little piece of clay. “And then on the last night, I was lying in my sleeping bag, looking up at the stars, which was something my mom and I used to do all the time. Except that I couldn’t see any stars. Not a single one. It was cloudy, so they must’ve all been hidden.” He shook his head. “It was just so dark. Like all the lights in the whole world had gone out. I have never in my life felt so alone. And right then I felt my mother’s absence for the first time. I knew that night that she was gone. For real.”
“Oh, Aiden.” I put my hand on his arm.
“No, it was good,” he said. “It was what I needed. Before, I was walking around in a kind of cloud. Not really seeing or feeling or hearing anything. None of it was real. When I felt that…thing rip through me like that, I knew I was going to be okay again. Because I could feel it. Even though it hurt, I could feel it. And that was so much better than not feeling anything at all.” He laughed. “I went a little wacky after that, too, running under the waterfall, howling up at the moon like a wolf, screaming and yelling like a banshee.” He winced a little. “I don’t know. Realizing she was gone hurt more than anything in the world, but it felt good to get myself back too.”
A silence settled in between us then; the only sound was the soft whir of the pottery wheel.
“How is your dad with it now?” I asked finally. “I mean, was he able to come to grips with it too? Like you?”
“He’s…better.” Aiden frowned, thinking. “I think the stone things he makes helps him. My mom used to collect little things like that, especially when we went to the beach. She’d take these long walks and come back with the front of her shirt filled with pieces of beach glass and shells and things.” He shrugged. Something passed over his face and then disappeared again. “We haven’t been back to the beach since she died,” he said. “But I think it helps Dad to keep collecting things for her.”
I had to restrain myself from reaching out and hugging him.
Instead, I picked at the skin along the edge of my thumb and didn’t say anything more. Neither did Aiden.
The late afternoon light waned along the horizon, a pale curtain settling over the curve of blue. And when the shadows lengthened across the road and the church bell sounded its evening knell, I said good-bye and walked back to Sophie’s.
chapter
40
I took a long bath that night, soaking in Sophie’s claw-foot tub with the raised sides and curled edges. It wasn’t very clean, and the metal soap dish was rusted on the bottom, but the water was warm and sudsy and smelled good, like coconut cream. My mind drifted back to Aiden, and the conversation we’d had earlier. “It felt good to get myself back too.” What a concept, getting yourself back. What did that even mean? And why, if I didn’t understand it, did it keep resonating so deeply with me?
I slid under a pile of suds as a faint knock sounded on the door. “Julia?”
“I’m in the tub!”
“I know you’re in the tub,” Sophie said. “I heard you running the water. Can I come in?”
I leaned forward, scooping more suds over the exposed parts of my body, and then sat back again. “Okay.”
Sophie walked in. She was holding a plate of something that looked like pale brownies in one hand. “I just made a batch of blondies. I want to sell them in the store, but I need you to tell me what you think first. I’m not sure I added enough chocolate.”
I took a small bite of one as Sophie settled herself into a corner and set the plate down next to her. “Ooh, I love them!” I took another bite. “Why do you call them blondies?”
Sophie pulled out her cigarettes. “They’re the same idea as a brownie, except reversed. Less chocolate. More cake.”
“Well, I want another one. And if you had these in the store, I would buy at least two dozen.”
“Awesome.” Sophie grinned and offered the plate to me again. I took two this time.
“Aren’t you going to have one?” I asked.