The Sweetness of Salt (15 page)

chapter

33

We had three biscuits apiece, warm and slathered with real butter, along with several hunks of cheddar cheese and cold slices of apple. It was, I thought as I lay in bed later, one of the most perfect meals I could remember having. The biscuits were ridiculously good, pillows of lightness that melted on my tongue, and the apple and cheese were crisp and flavorful. Sophie was still working downstairs, applying a second coat of primer to the front room. She never stopped. I felt guilty going to bed, but she had insisted and I hadn’t objected.

Now, after lying there, listening to her muted movements beneath the floor, I got up and padded across the room to the dresser. The sketch book Sophie had gotten me was in the bottom drawer, and I took it out. A soft laugh came from somewhere in the back of my throat as I opened it up and stared at the blank page. God. I couldn’t really draw. Drawing was just…something to pass the time. Something that broke up the monotony of studying and thinking and worrying all the time. Though I didn’t have to bury it completely. A lawyer was allowed to sketch, wasn’t she?

I dragged one of the milk crates over to the window and pushed back the curtains. For a moment I just looked out at the street. Ten feet ahead of me, one of the street lamps threw a small pool of light onto the sidewalk below. Beyond that, the Laundromat, the pizza place, and Perry’s sat in the dark.

Suddenly, beneath the street lamp, the squirrel I had seen earlier appeared. It paused for a moment, then sat up on its haunches, nibbling something in its tiny paws. Without thinking, I picked up my pencil and began to draw. First the tiny head and ears. A slightly bulbous stomach, and a thin, bottlebrush tail.

Would I ever be as good a trial lawyer as Dad? Dad had an assertiveness, an arrogant confidence about him that I did not. He’d always said you needed to have self-reliance to stand up in front of a jury. The words you chose could determine the outcome of the entire trial, so
how
you spoke was critical. You had to be staunch. Committed. Fierce. Things that—at least right now—I was not sure I was. Could those qualities be learned? Or did you just have to have it in you, the way Dad did?

The squirrel scampered on, but I kept drawing. The stretch of buildings across the street: the Laundromat, Poultney Pizza, and Perry’s, each one aglow under the street lights. I’d never sketched anything in the dark before. It was thrilling in a way, trying to capture the absence of light.

An hour came and went as I moved the pencil across the page. What if Dad had been a banker? Would working with money have appealed to me the same way the law did? What if he were an electrician? Or a cook? Was it possible that I would have latched on to whatever he did? It was hard to know. God, it was hard to know anything these days.

I held my breath as I heard Sophie coming up the stairs. She paused just outside my door. I sat motionless, wondering if she had heard me. But then she moved on, going into the room next to mine and shutting the door.

I kept my lights off and continued drawing.

Later, I woke to a strange sound. For about ten seconds, I couldn’t remember where I was. My eyes roved frantically around the darkened room, taking in the unfamiliar window and the enormous oak tree, like a peeping Tom, behind the glass. Then my eyes fell on the tiny neon sign blinking in Perry’s window across the street and I remembered. But the sound—what was that? I crept out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to investigate.

The door to the next bedroom was open just a crack. A tiny circle of light from a lamp on the floor revealed Sophie propped up on her elbows on top of a bright blue sleeping bag. There was nothing else in the room except for a wadded up drop cloth in the corner. The single window was bare, its edges chipped with old paint. Behind it, the thinnest sliver of a moon illuminated a circle of coal black sky.

Sophie was still in her T-shirt and overalls, but her shoes were paired neatly against the far wall, and she had taken the bandanna off her head. Her braids had been loosened and her hair hung in smooth, yellow waves alongside her face. She was looking down at something small and flat in between her arms—a book? a photograph? a card?—and weeping uncontrollably.

Suddenly, she picked up the object, pressed it to her chest, and rolled over on her side, away from me. She groaned, as if the movement had caused her physical pain, and brought her knees up against her chest.

I thought of going to her. It was probably something to do with Maggie, something she alone had to come to terms with. Over the last few nights, I’d found myself wishing that I had laid down better ground rules when we made the agreement about talking about Maggie. Something more definite than the “whenever she felt like talking about it” arrangement. It gave Sophie too much leeway.

But maybe leeway was what she needed. Maybe I was the one who needed to be more patient. I stood silently, rooted to the spot for a long time without moving, until the soft cries coming out of Sophie turned into slow, hiccupy breathing. Then I turned around and went back to bed.

chapter

34

The next day, on my usual walk down Furnace Road, the growl of a motor sounded behind me. I turned around and leaped to the side of the road as Aiden came hurtling toward me on an orange moped with black flames painted on the sides. Dust flew out from under its wheels, and the handlebars were as thick as arms. He came to a sudden stop, turning the handles sharply so the back wheels spun and growled. “Hey!” he grinned. “I was hoping I’d run into you today. You wanna go for a ride?”

I looked at the ever-present soft black hat on top of his head. “Where’s your helmet?”

“No helmet,” he said. “We don’t have to wear them up here.”

“Up here?” I repeated. “You mean you can’t get head injuries in Vermont?”

“Something like that.” Aiden grinned again. “Come on. This is just a quad. It’s not like we’re on a motorcycle. And I won’t take you out on the road. We’ll just stick to the dirt trails in the back.” He held out his hand.

I looked down at my shoes.

“Come on,” Aiden said. “I’ll go real slow.”

I looked up.

“Promise.” He held up a palm. “Scout’s honor.”

I took a step forward and swung my leg over the back part of the seat behind him.

“Hold on around my waist,” Aiden said, turning slightly to talk to me. His breath smelled like warm coffee. I put my hands tentatively on the sides of his jeans. “Tighter,” Aiden said. “Come on, hold on.”

“I thought you said we weren’t gonna go fast,” I said.

“We’re not. But you still have to hold on. Otherwise you’ll go flying backward.” My nervousness evaporated when he said that, and I adjusted my hands, threading three fingers on each through his belt loops. “Atta girl,” he said. “Okay, here we go.”

Aiden veered off Furnace Road almost immediately, hurtling through brush and leaves until we reached a dirt trail. After the initial heart-stopping sensation of moving forward and my fear of being thrown off the vehicle whenever he turned the wheel disappeared, I sat back as we sped along and actually looked around. We were riding through an entire forest house, it seemed, with walls made only of trees, and a carpet of dirt and pine needles. Up ahead, there were more trees, their leaves green as jade, with pockets of blue sky peeking through, and then more trees after that. The smell out here—mowed grass and sun-drenched hay—was new to me. Aiden’s back curved slightly over the handlebars, but I could feel the heat of his skin next to my arms. I closed my eyes, feeling the sun on my face, and wished for a moment that we could just keep going.

We didn’t, of course. The quad emerged suddenly from inside the forest house, spinning into an enormous yellow field. Tightly rolled haystacks, thick as tractor tires, dotted the field in a haphazard checkerboard pattern, and overhead the sky was as blue as a marble.

“Want to sit for a while?” Aiden asked, getting off the bike without waiting for an answer. I followed him as he walked over to a patch of grass and sat down. “I love it out here,” he said. “Sometimes I run out and leapfrog over all of those haystacks. Just for the hell of it, you know?” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s harder than you think.”

I smiled. “It’s pretty out here. So quiet.”

“And the light,” Aiden said, stretching out his hand. “Look. It’s perfect. Right now, especially, when the sun’s low like this.”

I’d never really looked at light before. But now, as I watched a few insects swoop lazily through the air, I realized that Aiden was exactly right. There was a clear, amber sort of hue to it, like looking at honey through the bottom of a glass. “I can tell you’re an artist,” I said.

Aiden looked at me. “How so?”

“The light and everything. You noticing it like that. Regular people don’t notice the way light looks.”

Aiden stared back out at the field. “You gotta pay attention,” he said softly. “To all of it. Otherwise, you might miss something. Anything can change your life. You never know. You just have to be patient. And watch.”

We sat there for a few minutes without saying anything.

“I think I’m waiting for my life to change,” I said suddenly. What? Where did that come from? “I mean, kind of,” I finished.

“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” Aiden said.

“Do what?” I felt a surge of impatience. He always seemed so sure of himself. It was borderline cocky. Not to mention annoying.

“You don’t want to wait for your life to change,” Aiden said. “That’s a huge mistake.”

“You just said…”

“No.” Aiden cut me off with a raised index finger. “I did not say to
wait
for your life to change. I said to pay attention for something that
could
change your life. There’s a huge difference. If you want to change your life, do it. But don’t wait for it to change or you’ll be waiting around forever.”

I bristled for a moment. The only thing worse than annoying, cocky people was when they were right. “You know a lot for only being twenty-four,” I said finally.

Aiden pulled his hat down low over his ears. “I’ve lived a lot for being twenty-four,” he said. “You pick up some things along the way.”

“How’ve you lived a lot?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I blushed. “Well, it seems like whatever you picked up has worked.”

“Maybe,” Aiden said. He grinned. “You ever leapfrog over a haystack roll before?”

“I’ve never even seen a haystack roll before,” I said, gazing out at the field. “Those things look like gigantic cinnamon buns.”

Aiden was already a quarter of the way across the field by the time I caught up to him. His slender legs cut through the tall grass, and I watched in amazement as he jumped up and straddled a haystack. He cleared it with ease, landing neatly on the other side, and then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Your turn!” he shouted. “Give it a big running start!”

I’m about as athletic as a chess player. And those haystacks were a lot bigger up close than they had appeared from a distance. Still, I ran like hell. And when I soared over the top of that haystack, flying through the air like a sack of arms and elbows, and made it to the other side, I couldn’t help it—I screamed like I had won some kind of Olympic medal.

“You okay?” Aiden said, standing over me.

I was flat on the ground, trying to catch my breath. “Yes!” I said, letting him pull me to my feet. “I want to do it again!”

chapter

35

Sophie was upstairs folding laundry when I got back. “Hey!” she said. “How do you feel about a movie?”

“Sure.” I leaned against the doorway, watching as she rolled up a pair of jeans and then threw them into her drawer. She did the same thing with her shirts and her overalls, even her underwear. Mom would have a heart attack if she saw how Sophie kept her clothes. She’d spent a good deal of time showing us both how to match up our seams and fold things in thirds.

Sophie pulled a sweatshirt over her head. “We have to drive to Rutland; Poultney doesn’t have a theater. It’ll only take about twenty minutes.” She looked at me strangely. “Were you rolling around in a haystack or something?”

I brushed off a few loose pieces of hay. I hadn’t told Sophie about Aiden, and for some reason, I didn’t want to yet. “No, I tripped and there was a pile of grass and stuff.”

Sophie threw me a sweatshirt. “You’ll need one of these. It gets cold here at night. Even in the summer.”

I drove. It was the first time I’d been back in the Bug since arriving in Poultney. It felt weird. It felt stranger still to have Sophie next to me in the passenger seat.

“You eat yet?” Sophie asked as we made the turn at Castleton Corners. A sign for Rutland indicated that it was only ten more miles down the road.

“No. Did you?”

She shook her head. “Nope. We can stock up on popcorn and candy, though. Eat till we’re sick.”

“What kind of candy do you like?”

“Oh, I have a very deliberate strategy when it comes to movie food,” Sophie said. “I never deviate it from it, either. Large popcorn with extra butter and a box of peanut M&M’s, which I sprinkle…”

“On top of the popcorn?” I finished. “Me too!”

Sophie looked at me and grinned. “You’re kidding! I’ve never met anyone else who did that.”

“Oh, it’s so good! All that sugar and salt combined?” I grinned, watching a pair of red taillights in front of me. “Hey, did you talk to Goober? She’s coming home soon, right?”

Sophie sighed. I felt myself tense, waiting for bad news. “She wants to stay another week, Julia,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Did you tell her I’m here? I mean, does she know I’m in Poultney, staying in her room?”

Sophie nodded. “She knows.”

“Well…” I struggled for words, at a loss. “I mean, can we go up there? To Greg’s? We can…”

“She’s not there.” Sophie’s voice was sharp. “I told you, Jules. They’re camping.”

“They’re still camping?”

“Yes!” Sophie nodded her head. “They’re still camping. This is what they do. It’s their thing. Especially in the summer, all right? Jesus.”

“Okay.” My hands were gripping the steering wheel. “God, you don’t have to bite my head off.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Sophie leaned her head back against the seat rest and she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

I glanced over at her. She did look paler than usual. The veins in her neck stood out like thin cords, and her eyelids were the color of a faint bruise. Even her hair looked limp and exhausted. “You’re working too hard,” I said. “You need to take a break, Sophie. Seriously.”

“Mmmm…” She did not open her eyes. “That’s why we’re going to the movies.”

“No, a real break,” I said. “Like, a few days off from working so you can sleep and do nothing kind of a break.”

“Oh God.” Sophie opened her eyes. “I don’t have a few days. I’ve got to get this house in shape and the bakery opened before the summer’s over. I have to start making some money.”

“Well, you’re not going to get anything up and running if you’re falling down from exhaustion,” I argued. “Why don’t you at least sleep in tomorrow? You don’t have to get up at five every morning. Seriously. You’ll work better and more efficiently if you’re well rested.”

Sophie was looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “You sound like Dad sometimes. You know that?”

“Dad?” A green Rutland sign came into view. “Do I turn here?”

“Yeah,” Sophie said. “The movie theater’s right down the block.” She paused. “Sounding like Dad isn’t a bad thing. It was just an observation.”

I snorted. “Any observation you make about Dad tends to be a bad thing.”

Sophie sat up straighter. “That’s not true.”

“It is true. You never have anything nice to say about him. Mom either, for that matter.”

Sophie’s face creased in the dark. She looked at me for a moment, as if to say something, and then sat back again. “Well, it’s hard. We have a lot of…history, the three of us.”

“I know, I know.” I pulled the car impatiently into the parking lot and turned off the engine. A group of kids were outside the theater, huddled in small groups, punching each other and laughing. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get in there before they do.”

Sophie was looking at me.

“What?” I asked.

She blinked. “Just…don’t make light of it, okay? Don’t say things like ‘I know, I know,’ when I tell you we have a history. It makes it hard for me to say anything when I hear that kind of impatience in your voice.”

“All right.” I nodded, feeling my face get hot. “I won’t.”

She stared straight ahead, watching the teenagers. A few of the boys were wearing hoodies, and the girls, in thin T-shirts and jeans, were underdressed for the cool night. Their teeth chattered as they laughed, and they hugged their arms tightly around themselves.

Sophie’s teeth worked the inside of her lip, and her eyes squinted against the parking lot lights. Suddenly, she put her hand on the door. “Okay, let’s go. I need to pig out and turn my brain off for the next two hours. None of this heavy shit tonight. You ready?”

“Ready,” I said, getting out on my side of the car.

We were settled in our seats with extra-large buckets of popcorn, peanut M&M’s, and a liter of soda when I leaned over in Sophie’s direction. “I’m sorry,” I whispered in her ear. “About sounding impatient.”

She turned and kissed me on the nose.