Garden of Stones - By Sophie Littlefield Page 0,67

Her lower lid canted down, the scar’s northern reaches stopping just short of the outer arc of her brow (how many times would Lucy have to endure Dr. Ambrose reminding her of her good fortune at not losing the eye?); sometimes she felt that eye water when the other did not.

Finally Lucy held the compact away from her, trying to see her entire face, but the surface of the glass was too small and she managed only about two thirds. Regarding herself this way, it was difficult to believe it was truly her. She switched to her good side, and there she found herself. Her expression was unfamiliar, true, but it was her eye, lip, nose, chin. Moreover, it was also her mother, captured there in the glass, her spirit, her memory.

“Thank you,” she said, snapping the compact shut and handing it back to Aiko, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Oh, Lucy, please don’t be sad, please don’t—”

“I’m not,” Lucy lied. “I’m fine. It’s what I expected.” Also a lie. Because hadn’t she endured these painful weeks by tricking herself, convincing herself that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?

Pathetic, Lucy now realized, and weak. She wanted to throw something, throw the mirror and watch it break into a million sharp pieces.

“I’m just so tired,” she said instead. “I think I need to rest now.”

Aiko looked as though she was going to cry herself. “We’ll visit again soon. You’ll be moving to the Children’s Village, the nurses say, and we can come every weekend.”

“That would be nice,” Lucy said, pushing her hands under her blankets so Aiko couldn’t see the way she squeezed them into fists, turning her knuckles white and leaving half-moon marks on the tender flesh of her palm with her nails.

Mr. Hamaguchi made a sound in his throat as Aiko bent over Lucy’s bed and kissed her gently on the forehead. Lucy suddenly realized that no one was likely to ever kiss her cheek again, not even when it was healed and didn’t hurt anymore. She reached her arms up and circled Aiko’s neck, pulling her closer, pressing the good side of her face against hers. She knew she was giving in to weakness she couldn’t afford, but she closed her eyes and tried to pretend everything was the way it used to be, even if just for a moment.

“We’ll be back again soon,” Aiko said as they turned to go, but her embrace had felt a lot like goodbye.

* * *

The day dragged slowly on. Lucy hoped Sister Jeanne might make an exception to her usual schedule and visit early. Lucy had no intention of confessing to having borrowed the mirror, because she wasn’t sure she could take much more overt kindness today, but it would be a comfort just to have Jeanne’s company. The ward felt even lonelier than usual, the little girl with the measles sleeping fitfully and the weekend nurses scarce.

Late in the afternoon, Lucy was dozing when the feeling of being watched tugged her out of some instantly forgotten dream. She opened her eyes and discovered Jessie standing over her.

For a moment she wondered if he was part of the dream, invoked by her longing. His hair had been cut since the last time she saw him, and he stood with both hands in his pockets, the way he often did when he waited for her after school. “Jessie?” she whispered tentatively. “Is it really you?”

“Hi.” He spoke quietly, as if he was in a church.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Awhile.” The smile he gave her was tentative, almost a little afraid. He was wearing a shirt she recognized, blue with white stitching. She had once put her hand on that shirt and felt his heart beating underneath. “My mom thinks I’m at dinner... She thinks it’s too soon for me to come see you. But I didn’t want to wait.”

Lucy’s joy at seeing him was tempered by the knowledge of what she looked like. She lifted a hand to her face, pressing it against the worst of the scars. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” she said, eyes downcast.

“It’s all right.” He thought for a moment and added, “It’s not like I thought it would be. It’s still you, but different.”

“I’m not pretty anymore.” It was the first time she’d said it out loud, the first time she’d acknowledged it completely. “I’m... I’m going to be a freak.”

“That’s not true.” Very gently, he put his hand over hers.