Lily had tossed a random novel from her bedside stack into her bag when she packed yesterday. She hadn’t even glanced at it then, but now she pulled it out and saw that it was The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury. Aunt Judy had given it to her. She opened it, but she couldn’t focus on the words. She felt as if her mind had been turned off, and all this was happening to someone who looked like her but couldn’t possibly be her.
After the train started moving, and after the conductor came through to check their tickets, Uncle Francis went to the lounge car for a coffee. Once they were alone, Aunt Judy turned to Lily.
“I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but I need to tell you something,” she said. “Please listen.”
Lily didn’t speak, but she closed her book.
“I really am trying to do what’s best for you,” Aunt Judy said.
She put her hand on Lily’s arm, and Lily tried not to stiffen in response. Her aunt’s thin gold wedding ring glinted in the light from the window.
“I know it feels like the end of the world now, but it’s not,” Aunt Judy continued. “In a few months you’ll graduate from high school, and your whole life will be ahead of you.”
My life is right now, Lily wanted to retort, and she raised her gaze to her aunt’s face to say it, and was stopped short by the expression there. A pleading look, straightforward and earnest. The bright bubble of tears in her eyes.
“I don’t understand what you’ve been going through,” Aunt Judy said, “but you’ll just have to put up with me until I do understand.”
Aunt Judy squeezed Lily’s arm, and then she let go. Lily nodded slightly, just enough for Aunt Judy to notice, and it felt like wrenching a door open the tiniest crack. It was all she could do just then, and she had to turn away to look out the window to avoid seeing the hope on her aunt’s face.
Lily watched the city of Oakland roll by, brick buildings and chimney stacks and the chrome glint of crawling traffic. She wondered where Kath was. She wondered if Kath could sense her, sitting here on this train as it took her away. Perhaps it was possible, if she closed her eyes and sent out her thoughts along the steel track like a message along a telegraph wire.
I love you. I love you.
The train swayed gently beneath her, and she leaned against the window to feel the cool glass against her cheek, and she was sure that Kath had heard her, she was sure.
* * *
—
Later, Uncle Francis returned with a newspaper that he split with Aunt Judy. Lily kept her book closed on her lap as she gazed out the window. After Oakland, they passed through suburbs and small towns, and then there was a flash of water—the end of San Francisco Bay, glittering beneath the cloud-scudded sky. The train stopped for a while in San Jose, just long enough for the passengers to stand and stretch and think about dashing into the station, and then it continued onward.
Lily pulled out the bag of steamed buns her mother had given her and shared it with her aunt and uncle. Lily raised one to her mouth and took a bite, and the taste jolted her: the caramelized edges of the meat, the fluffy softness of the bun, the savory-sweetness where the sauce had soaked, jamlike, into the dough.
Rounded green hills dotted with live oaks went by, and all of a sudden the clouds that had been dogging them since San Francisco were gone, and the sky was robin’s-egg blue. A hawk soared overhead, riding a draft of wind on widespread wings.
Lily realized she had never been this far from San Francisco before, and a fleeting thrill went through her. This was the world.
One Year Later
EPILOGUE
It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, and Vesuvio’s was mostly empty. Lily looked past the long wooden bar with its few patrons, past the colorful paintings hanging from the upper walls, and toward the rear of the room. A row of small tables with cane-back chairs lined the wall across from the bar, and there at the end, in a shadowy corner, she saw her.
Kath saw Lily too, and stood up.
All last year, through letters and long-distance phone calls, Lily had imagined her, but now she realized her imagination had left out all the important details. As Kath stepped out from behind the table, Lily remembered the way she stood, hands nervously hidden in her pockets. As Lily came closer, she saw the familiar, slightly shy expression on Kath’s face, and the same patches of color in her pale cheeks.
“Hello,” Kath said softly.
“Hello,” Lily replied. They were separated by only a few feet now, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to greet her. Shaking hands seemed ridiculous, and she couldn’t kiss her on the cheek as if they were merely friends.