Waves of Light Page 6

  Accepting the situation. Dad’s words tumbled around in my head. How was I supposed to accept the fact that Mom would never be well? Never. As in never, ever? How could a person be fine one day, and then the very next day be sick with something that would last the rest of her life? For every holiday, every birthday, my graduation. Maybe even my wedding day (if I ever had one).

  Thoughts of weddings made me think of Andrew and Annabelle, and now I did toss my covers off. I lay back, letting the cool night air hiss against my skin. Andrew’s necklace burned against my neck. I flung it onto the bedside table and lay back, willing my mind to stop spinning. I wouldn’t wear it anymore. Not ever.

  I needed to pray. But what would I say? God, help me accept the fact that Mom will be sick forever and that Andrew loves Annabelle? Help me accept that Vivian’s house is gone and she has to start all over with her artwork? I didn’t want to accept any of those things. I closed my eyes and breathed until my heart slowed enough for me to fall into a toss-and-turn sleep.

  I woke up a little later with my skin still on fire and my sheets a messy tangle. Tomorrow, I was supposed to go to the Tree House and spend the day working on set plans. Penny had scheduled the performance for one month from now, so the set pieces couldn’t wait forever. We needed a music box and a cart, but I didn’t know any of the other particulars. I shouldn’t have cut Andrew off this afternoon. I just couldn’t stand listening to him gush about Annabelle and how wonderful she was.

  I rearranged my covers and opened my sketchbook, deliberately flipping past all of my prayer-pictures. From now on, I’d use the book to sketch set pieces. Business only. If God wanted to destroy Vivian’s house — or allow her house to be destroyed — then I didn’t feel like asking him for anything else. Talking to God seemed to lead to disasters, one way or the other. And I’d had more than my fair share of disasters. So much for God not giving me more than I could handle.

  I tried not to picture Annabelle as I drew designs for the music box. It was supposed to be ornate and look like something that belonged to a king. So I’d need to find gold or silver paint. I’d pair whichever I found with deep red. Or maybe green. Apparently the messenger was poisoning the girl with lies, so maybe poison green would be appropriate. Drawing only stirred up all of my frustrations, so I got out of bed and turned on my computer. Maybe Pips had answered my email.

  From: Sadie Douglas

  To: Pippa Reynolds

  Date: Thursday, April 12, 1:55 AM

  Subject: Re: Talk to him!!

  I know. You’re probably right, Pips. I just don’t know how to ask him about Annabelle without sounding dumb. But I promise I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow. Today, actually. I should be in bed, I know.

  Thank you …

  P.S. I’m sorry that Alice is acting weird about you going to church. I guess she just misses you when the soccer team practices or plays on Sunday mornings? She’ll get used to it eventually. We all know Alice doesn’t like it when things change. And she doesn’t like to feel left out either. Could you invite her to go to church with you sometime?

  From: Sadie Douglas

  To: Frankie Paulson

  Date: Thursday, April 12, 2:01 AM

  Subject: Re: Harder how?

  I promise to tell you everything soon, Frankie. Maybe I’ll call you later today. Don’t ask why I’m up now. Long story.

  Chapter 12

  Annabelle

  Inside the ring of girls, Annabelle leapt and spun, her hair golden in the sunlight against the green background of trees and forest. She whirled to a stop, laughing, and held her hands to her head.

  “Makes you dizzy.” She grinned at the girls’ doubtful expressions around her. “But I promise you can all do it.”

  Everyone was mesmerized. I was mesmerized. I’d woken up feeling low but not sick anymore. And since I’d promised Pips I’d try talking to Andrew, I’d convinced Dad I felt well enough for rehearsal. So far, I’d holed up in my set-design station — a tarp and a picnic table near the Tree House — painting wooden crates to make them look old-fashioned. Penny promised that after rehearsal she’d talk me through other set pieces we’d need. For now, these crates would give actors places to sit while they watched Annabelle sing and dance. As far as I could tell, the play might as well be called “The Annabelle Show.” She’d taken over everything, and she’d been here only a few days.

  Brown paint dripped off my brush as I watched Annabelle, totally caught up in her smile. She radiated light, beautiful in a way I couldn’t begin to describe. Partially it was the way she looked, but it was something deeper too. I wanted to watch her forever, study her until I learned how I could be beautiful like that.

  And then I looked over at Andrew. He smiled that quiet smile, the Annabelle smile — a smile with all sorts of stories behind it. He’d known her for years. No one could say she was like a sister to him — not if they had eyes.

  Annabelle slowed down the steps of the dance, showing them one at a time as the other girls followed her movements. Ruth was one of the dancers, her feet and arms gracefully bending and curving to mirror Annabelle’s movements. I turned away. The other girls’ movements were still jerky and clumsy, but Ruth seemed to melt under Annabelle’s spell. My best friend and Andrew. Gone. Or nearly gone.

  Focus on the painting, Sadie. That’s your job.

  As I finished one crate and reached for another, a hand touched my shoulder. I blinked a few times before turning, not wanting whoever it was to see me brush tears away. Pain burned in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  When I finally did turn, Ruth looked concerned. “Sadie, what’s wrong?”

  When I shook my head, she frowned. “We’re all upset about Viv, Sadie. But she doesn’t expect us to sit around moping. Take a break and learn this dance. It’s fun, I promise.”

  Moping. As though I could change the way I felt, just pull myself together. If I spoke, I knew my words would come out in embarrassing sobs, and I didn’t want to cry in front of Ruth — not when she was in this good of a mood, glowing and totally caught up in the Annabelle trance. But I needed to ask someone about Annabelle and Andrew. Ruth should be the easy choice.

  She leaned in close. “On my way over here, Cameron stopped me. Do you know what he said?”

  I shook my head.

  “He said my dancing was beautiful. He said it quiet and a little shy, like he really meant it. Beautiful, Sadie. He’s never said anything like that to me before.” She glanced over toward Andrew who was now laughing with Annabelle as she showed him a leaping turn and he tried to mimic her. “Come meet Annabelle. She’s been talking about meeting you all day.”

  I dipped my brush into the paint and went back to my work.

  “You can paint later, Sadie.” Ruth tugged on my arm.

  I bit down on my tongue to keep the tears from spilling over.

  “What’s wrong, Sadie?”

  The tears spilled over anyway. I ran — not caring that paint dripped off my paintbrush — all the way to the sanctuary and into the bathroom. I locked the stall door, put down the toilet lid, and sat on top of it, wrapping my arms around my knees. Paint dripped through my fingers and onto the floor. I wouldn’t have cared except the paint drips would be a total giveaway, and I didn’t want anyone to find me. I set the paintbrush on the toilet tank and buried my face in my knees to muffle my sobs.

  Annabelle. Annabelle. Her name pounded in my head, and her laughing face swum in front of my eyes. The horrible feeling burned in my chest, choking me, making me feel like I’d burn up from the inside. Later, they’d come into the bathroom and find a pile of ashes, all that was left of me.

  A fresh wave of tears boiled out, a storm of feeling I couldn’t sort through. After watching Annabelle for two seconds, seeing the way laughter bubbled up out of her and how she patiently reviewed a dance step with one of the younger girls, I knew she wasn’t mean. And that made everything worse. She was just better than me. Better at dancing, sure, but better at being h
appy, too. Everyone wanted to be close to her. They couldn’t help themselves. I would never be anything like that.

  My mouth opened on its own, a soundless sob, and I couldn’t stop the waves of misery rolling out of me, racking my body, making me shake with the pain of them.

  Suddenly, I was on my feet, my fists slamming into the metal stall door. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”

  I didn’t care who heard me now. I didn’t care if they all laughed and talked behind my back, or if they all thought I was jealous of Annabelle, or whatever. The problem was inside of me — deep inside — and I couldn’t get it out. Mom. Vivian’s house. Annabelle. Frankie was right: Why should we believe things will get better? Real life proves the opposite is true. Just when things seemed to be finally working, disaster struck. If I’d learned anything this year, you’d think I would have learned to expect disaster.

  “Sadie?” Penny’s voice echoed in the bathroom.

  I caught my breath.

  So maybe I did care if someone heard me. I didn’t want to talk, but I knew Penny wouldn’t let me off the hook.

  “Sadie, I know you’re in there. Open up.”

  I rubbed my eyes with my sleeve, and sticky paint smeared across my face. Still, I’d rather have paint streaks than tears. I opened the stall door, but I didn’t step out.

  “Any chance you want to talk in my office?” Penny asked. “I can lock the door so no one comes in.”

  Come to think of it, Penny’s office was a better option than having someone walk in on us here. I followed her down the hall.

  Chapter 13

  Thunderclouds

  As promised, Penny locked the door and then she handed me a super-sized box of tissues. I hesitated before sitting. No one wanted brown paint on their office furniture.

  “It’s okay. That’s water-based paint. I’m not worried about it,” Penny said.

  I collapsed into a chair and held the tissue box close, glad for something to do with my hands. Penny sat on the desk with her feet up on the chair.

  “This isn’t just about Vivian, is it?” Penny asked.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t tell her it was about Annabelle. Even without talking to the girl, I was totally unhinged over her.

  Penny rested her elbows on her knees. “How’s your mom doing at the spa?”

  Another touchy spot, but not the one that hurt most right now. A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. I was more upset over Andrew than I was over Mom practically having a heart attack last night. What kind of crazy person was I?

  I shrugged.

  “You know, you’re right. Life isn’t fair. Sometimes the unfairness grows so big, it feels like we’re drowning in it.”

  Penny was trying to help; I knew that. But she couldn’t understand how my particular kind of drowning felt. It was selfish and rotten because all I wanted was for Annabelle to go away, to stop messing up my life and stealing all my friends.

  “So, I promised to tell you more about the play.” Though it seemed like a change of subject, Penny twisted and untwisted her fingers, like she was about to tell me about something important, something relevant.

  “I wrote that story a long time ago, back when I was sixteen and away at summer camp. That year was full of disappointment. I’d trained as a gymnast, but at the meet where I tried to qualify for the Olympic team, I fell and shattered my leg in twelve places. Poof. Olympic hopes gone. Then while I was still in my cast, I came down with mono. So I was super sick, miserable, and ready to jump out of my skin with frustration. On top of all that, the boy I liked gave up on me because I was such a mess.”

  This wasn’t making me feel any better. She was only proving my point: you couldn’t count on anything or anyone — not even yourself. In the end, everything always fell apart.

  Penny continued her story, “Then just before summer began, my grandma had a heart attack and moved into an assisted living facility. I’d been living with my grandma, so I had to move. My only other relative was an aunt, who ran a Christian summer camp up here, so to camp I went. I hated everything about it. All the campers seemed so sure that God was on their side, helping them; I couldn’t stand all of their sureness. Not when I felt so confused.

  “Early one morning, I had to get away. I ignored the distant rumbles of thunder and headed out to the woods on my crutches. I was deep in the forest when the rain started to fall. Then lightning cracked open the sky. I was trapped, alone, and terrified. I found a dry space underneath an overhanging rock, and I curled up to wait out the storm. While I laid there, the storm battering all around me, this story arrived fully formed in my mind — as if someone whispered it into my ear.”

  Penny stopped twisting her fingers. “Can I show it to you?”

  The dead quiet after her question caused me to look up. I could see in her face that she hadn’t shown the story to anyone else.

  “I told the others the cleaned-up version of the story. It’s still a good story, but I think you might like to see the version I wrote as soon as I got out of that forest.” She took a water-stained journal off her shelf and handed it to me. “Keep it for as long as you need to.”

  I set aside the tissues and took the book. “I don’t think …”

  “I’m not trying to convince you that life is fair. We both know it isn’t fair most of the time. All I’m saying is that even when we can’t see how, God takes the hard things in our lives and turns them into something beautiful.”

  An echo of what I’d said to Frankie. I realized I had the same argument she’d had.

  “I don’t want to believe in a God who ruins people’s lives.”

  “Me neither,” Penny said. “But bad things happen, regardless of what God desires. I want to believe he creates hope afterward.”

  I must have looked skeptical because Penny added, “You don’t have to take my word for it, though. Just promise me you’ll pay attention and stay open, okay? Miracles can’t come into our lives if we shut them out.”

  I stared down at the notebook. Could an old story that Penny had written a long time ago help me? I had no idea how, but I wanted to believe it could. Right now, I needed some fresh air. I needed space. I needed to draw.

  On my way outside, Andrew caught my arm. “Hold up, Sades.”

  Since Penny had been with me, I should have realized that rehearsal was now over. Of all people, why did Andrew have to be the one to stop me?

  “Why didn’t you learn the dance with the other girls?” he asked. “Annabelle said she hasn’t met you yet.”

  “I was working on the crates.” Right, genius; he could see that for himself.

  Andrew’s face creased in an unasked question. “Sadie …?”

  I stepped back. Being here with Andrew was too much. I’d start crying again, and then I’d be furious with myself, and everything would be worse.

  “You’re not wearing your necklace,” he said, and then looked like he wished he hadn’t.

  I stared at my feet, willing him to go away. Promise or no promise, I couldn’t ask him about Annabelle. Not when I felt like this.

  “Look,” Andrew said, “Mom asked me to invite you and your dad over for dinner on Sunday. She wants you to meet Annabelle’s family, and she figures your house is kinda empty right now. Will you come?”

  “You’ve already got guests.” Another genius comment. Had someone switched off my brain?

  Andrew hooked his thumbs in his back pockets, starting to look uncomfortable. “Are you upset about something?”

  It took all my will power not to sigh.

  Andrew must have seen the look cross my face. “I mean, I know there’s a lot going on right now, with Vivian’s house, and Frankie moving, and your mom …”

  And apparently, he’d fallen for Annabelle in the meantime. Or maybe Annabelle was always his girlfriend when she came to town. Maybe I was the winter substitute because she wasn’t here. I went back to staring at my feet.

  “Annabelle really wants you to come ov
er,” Andrew tried again after a long silence. “I’ve told her all about you.”

  Now I looked him straight in the eyes. “Really? Those must have been excellent conversations.”

  Andrew winced as if I’d slapped him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” I turned to go. I couldn’t bring myself to ask:

  So how long have you and Annabelle been a thing?

  Andrew caught my shoulder and pulled me around to look at him. “Sadie, if you’re mad at me, just tell me. Tell me what I did, and we can work it out.”

  Images from this past year — skipping rocks, feeding the bears, drinking hot cocoa in the woods — flashed through my mind. I hadn’t been pretending he liked me, right? Why was he so confused by my reaction?

  “Maybe we should start with what you didn’t do,” I said.

  Anger stormed across his face as he folded his arms. “Just tell me what’s going on, Sadie.”

  “Yeah. Get mad at me, even though I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who suddenly has a girlfriend you never bothered to mention to me before.”

  His eyes hardened. “That’s what you think? Really? That’s what this is all about?”

  My turn to fold my arms. No way he was throwing this back on me. Maybe I’d made up his feelings for me because I wanted so badly for him to like me. But I had no doubt about his feelings for Annabelle.

  Dad honked the horn from the parking lot, and relief flooded through me. No more of this terrible conversation.

  “I’ll see you around, Andrew.”

  He stayed close on my heels as I headed out to the Jeep, and then he knocked on my window so I had to roll it down. “Mr. Douglas, my mom asked me to invite you both to dinner Sunday night.”

  “Wonderful,” Dad beamed at Andrew. “We’d love to come.”

  As though I wasn’t even there, Andrew and Dad talked over me for a bit until Andrew finally stepped back from the window. “See you tomorrow.”