“But not close up like me. No sir! Wowee, she gave it to that clerk! You should have seen his eyes.”
Mira only heard the words I gave to the clerk. She didn’t see the hundred-dollar bill I slipped into his palm. Much better than a commission, and I knew he wouldn’t want to be caught in a lie. But for a hundred easy dollars anyone can muster some creative explanations. Besides, I contributed to Mira’s humiliation as much as he did. It should cost me something too. My tab of borrowed money is growing.
Mira models her shoes, turning one way, then the other, trying to catch all possible perspectives herself. “He said these were the last pair. Probably set aside for another customer, which is why they weren’t where they should be. But he said he was sure no one was coming for them.” She shoots me a quick sideways glance. I watch her, smoothing out the wrinkles, the way she does at Hedgebrook, so no one is wrong, everyone is right, so everyone is happy. Forgiving even me. In the space of twenty minutes, she has managed to turn her world around and move on. Shoes or not, she would have done the same. No grudges. No looking back. Or maybe looking back in a way the rest of us can’t see.
24
THERE IS SOMETHING TO BE SAID for not looking back, but it has never been my strong suit. I look back every day. Sometimes other people do too.
“Will you be staying, Destiny? Or shall you turn your world upside down once again?” Mrs. Wicket was the first to ever phrase it quite that way. Or perhaps it was the tone of her voice. Or maybe it was just who I was and where I was at that moment in time that made it sound different. Will you be staying? Like I was a guest who might check out of a hotel. Like it was my own choice and perhaps the sheets were not quite to my liking.
The incident that brought about this meeting in her office was the trimming of Camille Preston’s ponytail. I had asked Camille quite civilly to stop flinging it in my face. True, it had never actually touched me, but it came close. Wasn’t the worry of it all enough to justify its departure? And the way Camille carried on. You’d think her golden tresses were actually made of the precious metal. I never saw so many tears over one silly rope of hair. As penance, and to expose her shallow preoccupation with appearances, I chopped my own hair off to within a half inch of my scalp, uneven spikes going every direction. I shoved the black locks into a lace handkerchief and gave it to her as a gift. I thought it might squelch the drama and bring forgiveness, but it only landed me back in Mrs. Wicket’s office.
Of course, Mr. Gardian, as usual, had already taken care of the main problem. Camille’s parents agreed that a check for next year’s tuition was probably sufficient to make the whole nasty affair disappear. And my seat was changed so I no longer sat behind Camille and her distracting hair in civics. But the chopping off of my own hair seemed to distress Mrs. Wicket just as much as the cutting of Camille’s.
“And now this.” She gestured at my new haircut and shook her head. “I know you’ve been here for quite a while, but I was hoping this time you might stay longer than your past schools. Look back, Destiny. Is leaving what you really want? Look back.”
I already had. I looked back as I do every day of my life. As I always must. But my vista is entirely different than Mrs. Wicket’s. I see things that no one else can see.
“Destiny? Are you listening? Will you be staying?”
Again, as though I had a choice. But she didn’t know my parents. No one ever has.
“It depends if my parents will let me.”
She sighed, knowing this was a useless road to go down. And that was the end of the matter, but before I left, I turned and said, “If it helps, I’ve retired my scissors. No more haircuts.” She smiled and nodded. It was the least I could offer to someone who cared whether I stayed or left.
25
ACROSS THE STREET ON THE NEXT BLOCK, the busyness of Langdon opens up onto a vast green expanse, a city park with towering mature trees and wide winding paths. Part of a lake can be seen through the trees. I listen to the click click click of Mira’s heels on the sidewalk. What does she mean, she knows my life has been hell? I’ve never told her anything. She’s wrong. It hasn’t been hell. It’s simply been purgatory. A limbo existence of waiting.
“Great park,” Seth says. “Did you come here when you were a kid?”
“Of course,” I say, wanting to sound as though at least some portion of my childhood was normal, but in truth, I am not sure I have ever been here at all.
And then I see it. The white split-rail fence that borders the walking path near the lake. The uneven timbers I climbed as a child. The fence that made me clutch my stomach when Mr. Gardian sent the brochure of Hedgebrook. “Of course,” I repeat, not even sure if I have said the words out loud. I cross the street and hear the others following behind me.
“There’s cars coming!”
“You can’t just walk out into the middle of traffic!”
“What about our real lunch? And Lucky’s ball?”
“Just follow her!”
I kick my Mary Janes off as soon as I reach the grass. The blades are as cool and soft as I remember them to be, and I dig in with my toes. I used to come here with my aunt Edie on her brief visits before I was sent away for good. Of course Mr. Gardian accompanied us as well because Aunt Edie was not to be trusted. At least that is what I heard him whisper over the phone to someone—perhaps Mother and Father off on one of their never-ending jaunts. He said Aunt Edie was wild and impulsive and had to be watched constantly. But she always behaved herself as far as I could tell, and her shocking red hair was always tamed into a dutiful bun when she came. Mr. Gardian kept a respectful distance so we could visit but was never too far away. She used to sit on the split-rail fence with me, our balance precarious, and we would pretend about all the places and all the people we might really be. She talked enough for both of us, because I wasn’t speaking then, but I listened to every word. I imagined, right along with her, that I was the princess in a tower, the cowgirl on a horse, and the trapeze artist in a circus. And even on my own, I imagined I was Humpty Dumpty, an unsteady egg ready to fall, and no one could put me back together at all. I was clever even then.
Mira spots a fountain, points, and I hear Seth say something, reaching into his pocket and putting coins in her palm. Handing over Lucky’s leash. Words to Aidan, something like Go. Go now. Other sounds too. A child laughing somewhere far off. And music. And Aunt Edie . . . laughing and telling stories. But not laughing too loudly so that we draw Mr. Gardian’s attention.
“Des?”
I look at Seth. We are alone. There are two creases between his brows. Where did those come from? “Want to sit down?” he asks. His words are slow and careful like I am a small child who might not understand.
I look around. “There?” I point to the white split-rail fence that borders the lake.
* * *
Seth tests the rail with his hand to make sure it will hold his weight.