Joe pulls me in to his side and wipes my cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll be up there again soon.”
“I don’t know?—”
“Not hearing it. This watered-down Ryan can stay for a while, but sooner or later the real Ryan is going to come back to us, stronger than ever.”
“She might be gone forever.” I sniff, curling closer to his warmth.
“Only if you want her to be.” We sit in silence like that, watching the skydivers float down to earth. Joe shoos me back to my side and starts the car. “I know what you need: some good old-fashioned fun. I need it too. I’ve missed you. You game?” When I stare at him blankly, he whispers, “The right answer is . . .”
I blink the tears away. “Always.”
“That’s my girl. Let’s go.”
Sixteen
WE PULL UP at Joe’s house. The patch of lush green grass in front curls my toes with want. My mother says it’s the Caribbean in us that makes our skin forever thirsty for green.
“Hello, Mrs. Lawrence,” I greet the petite woman who’s bent over a table, gluing colored shards of glass into a bright mosaic. She wipes her hands on her apron and hugs me tightly.
“What’s this Mrs. Lawrence business, honey? Now, you come right in and sit down. Tell me how you’re doing.”
“I’m okay, I guess.” Her shrewd brown eyes scan my face, my hands. She’s watched me grow up, and I can see in her eyes that she knows how I’m doing just by looking at me. I’m getting used to that disenchanted downward flick of the eyes that says I’m less now. “I’m a mess, right?”
A weak smile. She’s good enough not to deny the truth.
Joe grabs my hand and pulls me. “That’s why we’re here. Ma, do you have a robe we can borrow?”
“A robe? I need a robe for good old-fashioned fun?” I ask into his shoulder.
“Honey, no fun is gonna start with you?—?and I say this with complete and utter love?—?looking like you’ve been sleeping with bears on the Pacific Crest Trail for a month.”
Joe scurries around, making lemon water, bringing me a plate of fruit and cheese, and running a bath overflowing with frothy bubbles. He unwraps a travel toothbrush and tosses it on the bed next to me with a look that says, Scrub the ass out of your mouth this instant.
I change into the robe and sit in stupefied silence at how he cares for me, and for the first time in a while I’m embarrassed by how I look, especially as Joe stands in front of me and assesses my hair. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with that gnarly ’fro of yours,” he says, with his hands on his hips. “The fact that you’ve let it go like this worries me more than anything else. Let’s start with the basics like water and shampoo and go from there.”
“Can we cut it?” I ask, surprising myself.
His eyes widen. “You want to hack at that glorious mane of curls you’re so vain about? That doesn’t make me question your sanity at all.”
He takes me by the shoulders and walks me to the bath, slipping the robe off as we go. I smell how rank I am. I clutch the robe to me, and he laughs. “Modesty? You?” I bite my lip and step toward the tub. The scent of ginger wafts around me as I sink into the white blanket of bubbles. “Lean your head back.” He pours a pitcher of water over my head. Having fingers massage soap into my hair feels luxurious and decadent. There is a cat deep inside me, purring with delight.
Joe leaves for a bit to assemble some kind of “suitable” outfit for me to wear. My scalp tingles. I wash the rest of me, thinking of the vulnerability Gran must feel every time I’ve had to bathe her. I haven’t given myself much consideration lately. My body is foreign to me. Sticking my legs out of the bubbles, I admire the elongated power of my thigh muscles, the length of my legs, which stretch out beyond the end of the tub onto the white wall of the shower. I run my hand over my sinuous arms, even my long toes. Everything about me is stretched and strong.
The inside used to match the outside. Even Joe misses the old Ryan. He said so at the airport. It’s the first time I can remember him wanting something I couldn’t give. I’m so lost. Makes me want to snap my fingers and be that Ryan again, but I don’t know how to begin. Perhaps it is time to skydive again. Something to jump-start myself.
My skin is tender around the healing cuts, so I gently pat myself dry and try to pull my fingers through my tangled hair. It’s hopeless. “Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“Get the scissors.”
His brows crinkle. “I’m not so sure?—”
“You do it, or I will.”
Snap.
He holds up his hands in surrender, but his pleased smile tells me he likes seeing a spark of my previous fire. “Fine, fine. It’s only hair. I’ll be right back.” He returns moments later with a chair and scissors, and positions me in front of the mirror. I fist a hunk of my ringlets and clip them off, all the way to the scalp, in one snip. Cold air swirls around me. We are not alone in this tiny bathroom.