Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) (30 page)

Jason catches me racing past the garden office, headed
straight for the willow. “Hey! Wait up!”

“Jason! Sorry. I didn’t see you. Sorry, I can’t stay today.”
 

“No worries. Just wanted to make sure everything’s okay with
you. Everything’s okay with you, right?”

“Everything is…fine.”
That sounded convincing.

Jason looks me over and asks again. “Are you sure you’re all
right? You look a little...distracted. Or something?”

The thought that has burned in my mind since I left Lagan
slips off the tip of my tongue, one word at a time. “I’ll be...back.”

“Excuse me?” Jason’s eyes widen like I spoke in Swahili or
something. “You okay? Going on a trip or something? You said that like you’re
not even sure.”

My silence speaks for itself. I can’t speak if I want to.
I’m not okay. And I’m not okay talking about it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry, T.” Jason shuffles his feet and
makes his way back toward the office, talking to me over his shoulder. “Didn’t
mean to pry. Back to work I go.”

And just like that, my window of opportunity to say more
dissipates like a popped soap bubble.

I lift my feet and move slowly to my waterfall cave,
accepting more and more that the only safe place until I see Lagan and Jesse is
a secret shelter.  

Before I move under my willow, my silent friend speaks
inexplicable peace as the wind dances among her branches. I run my fingers
along the outside of her flowing arms, little pink and yellow blossoms sailing
to the floor with my touch. I only wish her arms were human and could wrap
around me with the strength of Lagan’s arms. An embrace I wish I were more
familiar with now. Sigh.

The gardener is here. I know. But I can’t lie. I need arms I
can feel right now. I need heat, and pulse, and unmistakable squeeze. I’m
alone. Waiting and wanting.

I keel over to my knees, now under the willow. My fists hit
the dirt floor, and I beg the invisible voice once more for arms that will hold
me again. And Jess’s legs to run, and run free. And for the first time, I think
about Dad. And it’s not for his death, for once. Just tears. I weep with my
willow for the man in my life who has probably never shed even a single tear
for me.

My promise to Lagan to never go back to the man or my house
rings like an alarm to remind me I can’t stay here. Reluctantly, I shake my
shoulders and rise to my feet. It’s time to move on. To walk away. Through the
garden. And keep my promise.

The train ride back to the city is packed. Everyone’s
getting off of work and heading home.
Home
. There’s a word that’s about to undergo an address change.
I look down at my watch, then out the window as the sun begins to set behind
the bustling train. The sun falls below the horizon, leaving dark red streaks
across the darkening sky. Even the sky bleeds tonight.

As the train draws me closer and closer to my destination, I
rehearse my story. Lagan is the first person I ever told. The only person.

“Who will believe me?” I wanted a way out.

“I believe you.” He never failed to remind me.

And that’s why
I’ll wait for you.
And SUS.

Soon, come
already.

The address appears just as the Google map I memorized
earlier had it laid out. Caddy corner to the Starbucks, next to the Rite Aid on
Wacker
Drive. The front door appears as any other
office suite, with numbers and names on a chart behind a glass-encased frame. I
double check the suite number and begin my trek up the stairs. The elevator
will take me to the sixth floor too quickly. Still not sure I know what to say.
 

Opening the stairwell door, I’m greeted with the name,
Hope
Now
, painted in simple,
solid blue letters across the door. I push, but the door doesn’t budge. An
intercom system buzzes, and a female voice sounds from the small speaker built
into the wall to the right of the entrance. “Hope Now. This is Diana speaking.
How may I help you?”

Deep breath. “My name is Talia. I’m hurt. My dad hurts me. I
need help. I, uh, I was wondering—”

A click sounds the release of the locked door. I turn the
handle as the voice on the intercom welcomes me. “We’re so glad you came, hon.
Come on through.”

EPILOGUE

My mind refuses to stay anchored, always wandering, like a
hot air balloon cut from its tether. The invisible winds of
what
if
lift me from
what
is
now. I frequently float
away to cloud ten—cloud nine is for traditionalists—and find myself
looking past his eyes while nodding my head. He thought I heard him. In the
beginning, I did. Just not totally. Not selectively either, because that would
imply choice. And I’m more convinced than ever that if I had a choice, I would
never have chosen this divided existence. It is simply exhausting.

Jesse walks. Jesse runs. And Jesse flies in my dreams, a
fire blazing behind him. Back to me, swoops me up, and we sail away together.
Through the clouds of yesterday. Today. And tomorrow. I count the clouds as
they roll by the shelter windows, wondering when I will see my little brother’s
face again. Clear blue skies make waiting especially hard.

I hear the voices of the other women around me fade as I
walk through the motions on this first night at the shelter. When the last
light dims, I lay down to sleep, and my mind takes flight to visit Lagan,
returning to that time that happened and didn’t happen. All that was and could
have been and might never be. Somewhere between my memories and my dreams.

I close my eyes as my mouth spills out details in an attempt
to tie up another story. He gently slows my words with two fingertips running
down my forehead, over the bridge of my nose, down to my soft, perfectly
curled, lower lip. There he rests them. Until my lips come together. I like his
fingers on my lips. He leans forward till our foreheads kiss and whispers, “To
be continued,” and we part ways.

I open my eyes.
Now
offers me three door prizes for showing up. One I can’t let
go of and the other two I keep tucked under my pillow: cold wrists,
peppermint-flavored Trident, and Lagan’s last yellow Post-it note:

me + you = us
three

He always did love math.

I once asked him, “Why Sticky Notes?”

“Because they’re compact, square, and...sticky.”

I think he hoped his words would stick with me. They do. I
have a slideshow of every last one in my head, reminding me of those first
days. When words were few, opportunity scarce, and we lived out our fairy tale
under a waterfall willow.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Excuse me while I pull out
my speech.

First
of all, I’d like to thank God. Without God, I would have no dreams. And without
those dreams, there’d be no stories.
 

To
my parents, thank you Mom for teaching me that it is sweeter to give than to
receive. I love you for laughing at my stories and generously supporting my
dreams to be a writer. You’re my Super-Mom, and I’m so blessed to be your first
princess.

And
Dad, you’re my inspiration. You taught me the very art of story-telling with
all your anecdotes you told me as I was growing up. Thank you for reading my
stories and challenging me to never stop learning. Daddy’s girl, yes, I am.

To
Amma
, my second Mom and story-telling friend. I love
that we became friends when I fell in love with your son. Thank you for your
daily help and your love for reading and writing. You inspire me! And to
Appa
, my second dad, I know you always dreamed of writing a
book. Your stories will always stay with me.

To
my baby sis and best friend, Sandi, my sounding board on so many
days—thank you for laughing with me and crying with me. I cannot imagine
going through this life without you. Love you so much and thank God for every
day of good health he continues to give you. Like my morning cup of coffee,
yes, you are!

To
my princesses—Hannah,
Nitha
, Lydia and
Sarah—thank you for letting Mommy write, giving me so much material, and
cheering me on. Mommy knows no other place I’d rather be than with you four in
my arms. You’re my jewels, my treasures, my most precious gifts from God. Don’t
ever forget:
You is smart. You is kind. You is
important.
 

To
Roopa
, my BFE and first official reader. Where do I
begin? Even if you didn’t like chocolate or laugh loud or love to read, I’d
still love you. Because you tell me the truth. And you love me. And I don’t
know that many people discover this kind of friendship in their lifetime. Just
so thankful I found you. And we got through the awkward, high school, she’s so
different from me, roadblock. You are the green in my life! :)

To
my Literary Agent, Chip MacGregor: Chip, thanks for that first email, when I
freaked out after sending you a message with a typo, and your response was, “
Reelly
? I didn’t
notic
. :o)”
Seriously, thanks for taking a chance on me. For looking past that fumbling
introduction and believing in my writing. For reminding me to be patient and
making time to answer my one hundred and one questions about all things
writing.

To
the late Miss
Trosko
, my high school English teacher,
for giving me an F in English but telling me I had potential. And for giving me
the courage to pursue my passion.

To
my late grandmother. For making me laugh and telling others, “
Kamali
kuri
nae
kamali
kiana
lickna
.” Translated, “Of course a crazy girl like you would
write crazy stories!”
Biji
, I miss you so much.

To
Stancy
, Roy, and Anna—for the countless hours
of babysitting. Thank you for loving the girls and freeing up time for me to
pump out the pages. You all are family. Love you so much!

To
my family, Uncles, Aunts, Siblings, Cousins, Nieces and Nephews—all of
you contribute to some of the best chapters of my life.

To
Pat
Matuzek
, my first editor. For all the work you
put into making this story cleaner and stronger. And Kyle
Waalan
,
my second editor, for the finishing touches before I sent my first baby out
into the world.

To
my
crit
group, Renee, Liz, Emily, Selene and Lisa.
You ladies Rock! You’ve helped me to develop thicker skin and made me a better
writer. Thank you for challenging me to answer the hard questions and inspiring
me with your stories too.

And
to the Playlist Fiction crew: Jennifer
Murgia
, Laura
Anderson
Kurk
, Laura Smith, Stephanie Morrill, Amanda
Luedeke and Sandra Bishop. You took a chance on this newbie writer, and I am so
grateful. And the Playlist Fiction Street Team! Thanks for investing in our
team and enthusiastically introducing us to the world! Bonus for me—I
discovered some pretty cool authors and made some new, fun reader friends.

Finally,
to Peter and Liz at the GLY cafe. Thank you for taking care of me while I camp
out and type away for hours. I’ll never forget the day I had my Goldilocks
moment, finding the perfect table and chair to write at in your coffee house.
And the quinoa brownies...yum to the yum!

This
Thank You Note is also to
You
. Really, It is!

You
know that moment when they call your name at the Oscars, and all you can think
is, I hope I don’t trip on the red carpet as I strut up in my floor length
evening gown. And I really hope I don’t forget to mention my mom. Because then
she might move and leave no forwarding address. And that would be bad. Really
bad.

Yeah,
me neither. (Love you, Mom!)

Truth
be told, I’ve been dreaming about this “thank you” list for years. Decades,
really. I think I rewrote the list several hundred times before I wrote my
first book. Because I am huge on saying, “Thank You!” Simply, because you don’t
journey the madness of this life alone. You weren’t made to. We were meant to
walk—together.

So,
at the risk of sounding cheesy and
We Are the World
-
ish
, I
sincerely want to thank anyone and everyone who made my little dream a big
reality. If you’re holding this book because you heard from a friend of friend
that its a must-read, or you just clicked the download button by accident, and
it was too late to hit cancel, this book is dedicated to you too. Because, I’m
not all about karma, but I do believe that things happen for a reason. And
you’re here now, and I’m so glad you came.

So
dive in. Hang out. Linger when a line makes you think. And share if you feel
compelled. Happy swimming, all. Because as surely as the sun rises each and
every day, we all have our clouds. But we can swim through them. Together.