it’s too late. I grab an old rag off the floor, and stoop to wipe up the mess when Iris says, Listen . . .
I go still and immediately recognize the lullaby Addie is singing. It’s the song on the music box, I tell Iris. You used to hum it to me at bedtime when we were little. It’s not so strange that Addie knows it. It’s a well-known song.
Yes, Iris hisses, sounding urgent and confused. But I remember it on a violin. Did you play it?
You know I can’t play the violin, I silently remind her, baffled by the strange question. It must’ve been Mom, I say.
Then why does the music seem to flow out of me instead of in?
She starts humming along with Addie, and suddenly the tune transforms in my mind. Notes cry out from vibrating strings and quiver inside of me, the sound as clean and airy as morning light. A hazy image appears. A hand holding the bow as it flies across the strings. Long, feminine fingers so much like mine. Mom’s fingers when she was younger, I think, yet it’s as if I’m looking down at them like they’re my hands, not hers.
“Oh, Lily! Your jeans!”
Addie’s voice breaks my trance. I startle and glance down. I’m still stooping, still clasping the rag in one hand, the paintbrush in the other, but now purple droplets dot one knee of my jeans. “Ohmygosh, I’m sorry! I’ve made a mess all over your baseboard, too.”
Setting the brush in the pan beside me, I rub the rag across the wood, my hand shaking. Iris, you’re freaking me out. What are you trying to tell me?
I think I’m channeling your memories.
Coldness sinks into my bones. They aren’t mine.
I’m at the door of the Blazer ready to drive home, when Wyatt steps onto the porch holding a box stamped with Snowflake Bakery’s logo.
“I’m almost a week late, but here you go.” He comes down the steps and hands it to me. “Happy birthday, Lil.”
Inside are a half-dozen red velvet cupcakes—my favorite—the white icing covered with sprinkles. I flash back to my text-message conversation with Wyatt on the morning of my birthday, before my world fell apart. Looking up at him, I blink back tears.
“Double sprinkles,” he says quietly. “Just like you ordered.”
“You only promised me one.” I manage to smile.
“You don’t really think I’m going to let you eat cupcakes without me, do you?”
Raindrops suddenly start to fall. We run to the covered porch and sit on the top step beneath the eave, side by side. The rain comes down softly, clearing the air, making everything fresh and new again. “This is a much better gift than the minnow bucket you gave me last year,” I say with a laugh, biting into a cupcake.
Wyatt licks icing off his finger and sends me a sideward glance. “You know you loved it.”
“Yeah, right. Just what every girl wants.”
“You aren’t like other girls.” His voice drops as he says the words, stroking intimate awareness through me. Holding my gaze, Wyatt lifts the box. “You want another one?”
I laugh at him, my heart pattering like the rain. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about food, Lil, you know that.”
Shrugging, I say, “They are my birthday present, and I don’t want to be rude.” I smile and reach into the box.
Just as quickly as it appeared, the awkwardness between us subsides, and as dusk creeps in, Wyatt and I eat another cupcake, knowing that Addie will scold us for ruining our dinner if she catches us. Laughing and whispering like we used to when everything was easy.
I don’t tell Wyatt that Ty came to work for us, or that I found Winterhaven, Massachusetts, on the internet. I don’t mention the vision that gripped me less than two hours ago while we were painting. I let all of that go. I want to enjoy being just us. Right now, that’s enough.
Mom has enchiladas in the oven when I arrive home, but I’m not hungry after the cupcakes. She eats only a few bites herself before walking toward the door using her cane, explaining that she’s working on a sketch.
“You’ve been sketching a lot,” I say, anxious to stop her, to keep her here. “I’m glad your hands are feeling better. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to do your artwork. More than a year, right?”
She opens the door and looks back at me, blinking too fast. “Something like that.”