The Truth About Fragile Things Read online

  And then all eyes were on me. Henry spun around from his spot on the floor in the living room, Dave paused with one plate poised above a place mat. It was Melissa I watched most carefully. She turned quickly, but processed slowly. I saw the moment dawn over her face. I wondered if every time she saw me she relived Bryon’s death. And if so, how did it feel to have one husband die in your mind while the other one set the table?

  I wished I could be as petite as Charlotte, duck my head and blend in. But Dave rose to the occasion. “Well, hello, Megan. Good to have you. Are you hungry? I will wrestle up another plate.”

  “Since when do plates wrestle? It’s ‘rustle.’” Charlotte mumbled and dropped into the nearest chair, leaving me stranded standing like a prisoner in front of the firing squad.

  “Charlotte, say something nice or don’t eat.” Melissa’s words were even, calm, clinical.

  “Thank you for wrestling a plate for us. That was very valiant of you,” Charlotte recited.

  “I don’t need to stay,” I stuttered to Dave, who was still looking at me. “I was just walking Charlotte in.”

  “We’d love to have you,” Dave pressed. “Melissa made meatballs.”

  “You’re staying. We’re both starving.” Charlotte pushed out the chair next to her in invitation.

  I forced myself to look at Melissa, promising I would only glance long enough to know if I was hurting her. Her forehead dented with thoughts, but her face was impassive. When our eyes met she forced a weak smile. “I’d like to have you.” The words tilted in the air, didn’t come out strong or straight, but they did come out.

  “Thank you,” I whispered and took a seat.

  “Hi, Megan,” Henry said as he sat down; his smiling, round face as cheerful as Dave’s.

  “Hi, Henry,” I returned the greeting. “Good to see you again.”

  Melissa finished carrying the food to the table. Dave squeezed her hand as they both sat down. I imagined he was saying, It’s all right. She’ll go away soon and everything will be all right. I looked down at my porcelain plate, studying the blues and browns of the rich glaze, hoping if I didn’t speak I wouldn’t do any harm.

  “So three days until opening night?” Dave asked as he poured lemonade into my glass. “We are so excited. We’re coming all three nights.”

  “In case you get hurt and Charlotte has to fill in,” Henry piped up, a dot of red sauce at the center of his chin.

  “That’s not why,” Melissa chided. “There’s just nothing more fun than a play.”

  I found her warm eyes soft, not in spite of the sadness in them, but because of it. “Do you like the theater?”

  “I love it. I’ve never done it, but I love it.” She reached over and wiped Henry’s chin. “I’m so glad you got Charlotte interested.”

  “She’s good,” I interjected, so glad to contribute happy news. “Mrs. Schatz thinks she has a lot of promise. She’s not scared of a stage.”

  “She’s not scared of anything,” Dave laughed, his voice ringing with pride. If you had to have a replacement father, I couldn’t imagine a better one. “I’m looking forward to the day we can see her. We asked if we could come to one of the dress rehearsals, in case she goes over any lines, but she wasn’t keen.”

  “Keen?” Charlotte’s fork clattered against her plate. “People stopped saying that when the Titanic sank.”

  “Tomorrow’s rehearsal will be split between regular cast and understudies. I’m sure Schatz would let you come,” I told him.

  “Maybe Schatz would, but Charlotte would not,” Charlotte announced. “It is my last chance to pretend I have a part and I’m not having my family be the only ones in the audience.” She shoved an entire meatball into her mouth and Melissa winced. “New topic,” she garbled through her bite.

  Melissa obliged by talking about an upcoming business trip to California and that started a discussion on possible family vacation spots for spring break. Charlotte said she would go if they went to the Galapagos, but barring that, she’d stay home. How Dave kept his smile through every snarky thing she said was a mystery. I mentally added one thing to my personal bucket list: be as pleasant as Doctor Dave. Can you put major personality changes on bucket lists?

  We finished eating and I was about to thank everyone and make a fast exit when Dave put an arm around my shoulders and another around Melissa. “Go sit in the den while I get some ice cream,” he insisted, steering us toward the room with the glass French doors. The room with the photos. I searched for Charlotte, but she was gathering up dishes, her hands full. There was nothing to do but force a grin and obey. He released me near a chair beneath the pictures. I didn’t have to face them, but now I felt them looking down at me. The skin on my neck prickled.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I repeated after Dave left us.

  Melissa sat across from me, her eyes contracted in thought. “You’re welcome.” If Charlotte let herself be gentle she would sound just like her mother. Melissa stroked the arm of her chair. The only thing I knew was where I was, between Melissa and the photo of her smiling husband. The barrier dividing them for the last fifteen years. I would have said anything to help her if I only knew what it was.

  “You do know I don’t blame you, right?” Melissa could only lift her eyes from her wedding ring long enough to graze my face, leaving a pink blush in her wake.

  I shook my head, too ashamed to try to look at her. “You don’t have to…”

  “No, I want to. I want you to know there was no fault that day. Not you or your mother or the driver. The only person who had any control was Bryon. He chose this. And if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been the person I loved.” She shook her head to dislodge her blond bangs from her eyelashes. “We don’t need to talk about it. I just wanted you to know that.”

  I was tempted to accept her offer and stay silent. It was safe. But it was also wrong. “Melissa,” her name was foreign to my tongue, wouldn’t release easily. “You don’t have to blame me because I blame myself.”

  Behind me Bryon kept smiling. In front of me Melissa’s face contorted into regret. Inside of me it all collided and turned to fatigue. I’d never felt so tired. “I’ve always been sorry, but I didn’t have anyone to say it to. I’m glad I can finally say it.” My voice held firm despite the tears threatening my eyes. “I just want everyone to be happy again.” As soon as I said it I shook my head, hating my choice of words. Happy sounded simple, childish, inadequate. I wanted so much more than happy. I wanted restitution. Resurrection.

  Melissa left her chair and sat down on the arm of mine. She pulled me against her and spread her arm over me like a wing, like a shelter, like a home. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so embarrassed how I treated you the first time we met. It was so easy to be angry when I didn’t know who you were.” Her hand squeezed my shoulder. She felt like my mother. Moved like her. Consoled like her. “I am happy. We are.”

  There was a rush of air that jumped from my mouth, full of doubt and challenge.

  “No, I mean it,” Melissa said, standing up. She turned to the wall of photos, her face grew soft and distant. “Once I thought I’d never say that again. Do you know what that day was like?”

  The sword twisted in my lung, so painful it cut my breath in two. I shivered and shook my head.

  “Well, let me back up.” She paced to the ornate wooden desk and braced against it. “Before that day I didn’t realize what happiness was. I’d always had it. It was like light. You get used to it. You don’t even think about it. And that day.” She lowered her voice and I knew she was trying to deal the blow gently. “Happiness blinked.”

  I shut my eyes, waited for her to expound, but already I think I understood.

  “It all went dark. And when it all goes dark you think that you’re blind. You think you lost the ability to ever see light again. You’re convinced you are broken forever.”

  A tear got tangled on my lashes; I felt it hanging, waited in the darkness of my closed eyes for it to fall. W
hen I opened my eyes again it broke free and splashed onto my shirt.

  “Megan, what you don’t know is that happiness blinks all the time. Sometimes it even falls asleep. It goes dark. But it doesn’t go blind. I found happiness again when I was ready to open my eyes and see it. Does that make any sense?” She twisted one finger awkwardly. We both knew it was too much to sit in Dave’s house beneath the picture of Bryon, to speak of death and life between spaghetti and ice cream. Melissa must have sensed the weight of her words and she cleared her throat and tapped the desk. “The truth is no one is as strong as they think. But then again, no one is as fragile, either.”

  I wiped my face dry, nodding, not trusting myself with a single word. I wanted home. I wanted Lauren. When Dave nudged the door open he was holding two bowls of Neapolitan. “Anyone hungry?” he asked. I reached out for the bowl, not sure I could swallow anything. “Come join us in the living room,” he urged and backed out again, in case he was interrupting anything.

  I stared at the feet of Melissa’s empty chair and ordered my tongue to tell the truth. “I,” I paused until I was sure she was listening. “I don’t think Charlotte is happy.”

  Melissa hummed a low note and shifted her weight. I didn’t realize she’d walked closer until she put an arm on my shoulder again. “When she opens her eyes again she will be. She told me about your idea to add to the list.” She hesitated and I braced myself for a scolding, waited for her to tell me that I would never know what her husband wanted to do with his life. “I think that got her unstuck. Before you, the list was about tying up the past and old promises. Now it’s about making something new for the future.” When I followed her gaze I saw she wasn’t staring at the pictures of Bryon; she was looking at the photo in the center, Dave circling her waist in front of a rose bush, her arm around Henry, Charlotte’s mouth just barely lifted into a grin. “Thank you for getting her unstuck.”

  I shook my head, not able to let the words in. It’s not fair to accept credit for a bringing a bandage when you cut out somebody’s heart.

  The door opened and Charlotte leaned into the room, gripping the door jamb for balance. “Everybody done saying sappy things?” she asked. “Because I have math homework that Megan needs to do.”

  “What sappy things?” Melissa fired back. “We were discussing inflation, right Megan?” She sent a fast wink over Charlotte’s head.

  “Gross national product,” I added. “And I’m not doing your homework tonight.”

  “Do you do it other nights?” Melissa asked, appalled.

  Charlotte and I both shrugged, too guilty to deny it. “Maybe we can talk about inflation some other time,” I told Melissa and handed Charlotte my uneaten ice cream. “I have to get home and finish my own homework.”

  “But Callie told you to get fatter,” she protested, following me to the front door.

  “And your math teacher told you to get smarter. We’re just a couple of rebels, aren’t we?”

  CHAPTER 32

  “Stop blinking,” Mackenzie ordered Phillip while her assistant did my eyeliner.

  “You poked me in the eye,” he argued, squirming away from the mascara. There are few things he hates more than stage makeup.

  “I haven’t touched you.” She cupped his chin in her hand, her fingers dug into his skin and went in for another attempt.

  “Megan, she is poking me in the eye.”

  “Shut up, Phillip.” I didn’t have strength for any other words. Crowds were already filling the foyer outside the theater and the buzz of hundreds of conversations filtered through Schatz’s thick door. I fingered the material of my skirt, smoothed out a wrinkle in my tights.

  “Thank you,” Mackenzie cried. “We only have ten minutes before circle.”

  “Megan knows how to do it,” Phillip said, dodging the black wand again. “Please.”

  “She’s not finished with her makeup yet,” Mackenzie pointed out, her voice growing more desperate. “If they can’t see your eyes, they can’t see your expressions. What good is a great actor if no one can see him?”

  “Give it to me.” Charlotte’s low voice came softly over my shoulder. Mackenzie looked up to her and hesitated. “He’ll let me do it,” Charlotte promised. “Won’t you, Phil?”

  He cocked his head backward to look at her. She had braided her hair into a long side ponytail that swept over her shoulder and at the very end was a fresh flower. “What mood are you in?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and took the mascara from Mackenzie. “I’m in a mood to see a show that doesn’t star your understudy because you only have one eyeball.”

  “Sold,” Phillip announced. “That’s the mood I’m in.”

  I tried not to shift too much because my makeup girl had moved on to lip liner but my eyes cut sideways as Charlotte knelt in front of Phillip, her stomach pushed against his knees. I could smell her shampoo as she leaned close and studied his eyes.

  “Careful,” Mackenzie said, but she wasn’t talking to Charlotte. She gently took the lip liner from my girl’s hand and knelt down in front of me. “Megan’s lips point at the top. You have to get it just so.” My warm breath hit her fingers as she gently drew the liner across my lips. “Megan, you have the prettiest lips,” she told me. I couldn’t smile or talk so I hope my eyes conveyed my thanks. But when I looked back to Charlotte all I could think was my lips aren’t as pretty as hers. Charlotte’s were full, pink with gloss, and slightly parted in concentration. Phillip held perfectly still as she swept the mascara over his long, dark lashes.

  “What the freak, Phil?” Mackenzie squeaked. “That is exactly how I was doing it.”

  Charlotte smiled without pausing her careful strokes and when she smiled so did Phillip. She finished his eyes, but neither of them moved for a minute until he reached up and took her braid in his hand, fingering the daisy at the end. “Megan doesn’t like daisies,” he said absently.

  “I don’t like roses,” Charlotte countered. “Do you want me to finish his face?” Charlotte asked Mackenzie as she put down the mascara.

  Mackenzie studied him and must have decided that she didn’t need any more Phil. “Make it look good. We have five minutes,” she ordered and left with her assistant to inspect the rest of the cast.

  “You both look really good,” Charlotte said when we were alone. Phillip was about to answer when she slid her finger up his cheekbone, blending the blush. He decided against words. “I decided on my thing for the list,” she whispered as she turned his head with her hand, studying it in the light. His rich color was hard to get right. His cheeks yielded against her small fingers.

  “What is it?” I asked, resisting the urge to help her with his powder. She was doing a fine job without me.

  “I don’t mean this to sound rude, but I can’t tell you yet. I will. Soon. But I just wanted you to know I figured it out.”

  “I hate it when people do that. Why do girls always do that?” Phillip asked, his voice indignant as he tried not to move beneath her working hands.

  “I think I have mine, too,” I admitted. “I don’t know if it’s really good or not.”

  “Spill it,” Phillip ordered.

  I lifted a mirror from the table and checked my hair, digging a bobby pin in a little deeper. “I want to go to a cathedral. A real one. An old one.”

  Phillip didn’t move. “Oh, you’re done? That’s the whole thing? What do you want to do there—steal a relic?”

  “Pray.”

  Charlotte’s hands stopped navigating his face, grew still and suspended. “Pray?” she repeated as if she’d heard me wrong.

  “Pray. I want to go somewhere where people went hundreds of years ago with all their problems and I want to do what they did when they didn’t know the answer. I want to pray.”

  Phillip’s eyes shifted from side to side. He likes to talk about religion as much as he loves to discuss death. “Is this some awkward conversion moment?”

  “No,” I insisted. �
��It’s just a human thing to do and…”

  “You want to pretend you’re human?” Charlotte finished with a smile. “I’m kidding. I think I like it. I don’t know if I’ll pray,” she said it like I’d suggested drinking cod liver oil, “but I’ll go. Don’t we have to fly to France or something?”

  “Surely there’s an old church somewhere in America that could at least hold us over. Something good enough to count.” I tried to ignore Phillip as he sighed and slumped in his chair. “Don’t even start with me, Phil,” I warned him. “You want me to watch you throw balls across a gym. This is definitely better than that.”

  “So we could do anything we wanted and we ended up with basketball and a prayer,” Charlotte summed up as she straightened Phillip’s face so she could trace his forehead lines with a brown pencil. “We’re just too awesome to live, aren’t we?”

  “Well, you haven’t told us your grand plan,” Phillip reminded her.

  “Because…it’s not…ready.” Charlotte spoke in time with her hand, pausing when her pencil paused. “You both need to be in character in five minutes so we can finish this later. Does that look good?” Charlotte leaned back, assessing her work.

  I wrinkled my nose at Phillip’s plastered face. “Stage makeup never looks good, but you did it as well as anyone can,” I assured her. “Now we have to get to the band room and turn into a bickering, married couple.”

  “Oh, I just totally figured out why she cast you both. You don’t even have to try.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes but smiled. The daisy bobbed as she cocked her head to the side.

  “Circle time,” one of the cast members called out. I swallowed, aware again of the buzz and press of bodies swarming outside the door. Phillip didn’t speak as we marched quietly to the band room where the entire theater department was gathering in various states of panic.

  Two loud claps called us to attention and Schatz thundered out, “Circle up, people. This is it.”

  Phillip had meandered away from me accepting scattered wishes to break a leg. When Schatz made her announcement he looked up, his eyes passed over me and didn’t pause. It was when he found Charlotte that he crossed the room and took her small hand, engulfing it in his. She bowed her head, her dark lashes fanning over her cheekbones, her smile small, almost demure. He’d tamed the wild Charlotte with the touch of his fingers. I wasn’t sure I liked her domesticated.