Chapter Thirty-Eight

April unlocked the door to their apartment, and Sierra headed straight to her room. April called after her, but the bedroom door closed and the lock clicked. April knew from experience she wouldn’t be coaxed out.

The night was long and fitful with little rest. At dawn, she heard Sierra’s feet padding down the hallway, and April made her way into the living room.

Sierra stood staring at the wall of tiles. She just stood there, her fists at her sides, until she leaned her forehead against one of the Hebrew squares. In the hazy light, her daughter looked weary and old.

“How could you have done it, Mom?” Sierra turned to April.

At last. April ought to be relieved Sierra was talking to her. But a knot in her stomach stubbornly refused to go away.

“How could you keep his suicide a secret? Dad was mine, too, you know.”

April swallowed. “You’re right. He was. I had no right to keep it from you.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

April shook her head. “Don’t do what?”

“Act all smooth. You stole him from me. You wouldn’t talk about him, and I couldn’t even remember him—the things he said and did. You can’t just say you had no right to do it and expect it to be okay.”

April inched toward Sierra, which earned her nothing but a glare. She wanted to tell Sierra how numb Gary’s death left her, how scared she’d been Sierra would hurt herself, too.

She let her hands drop to her sides. “I failed you. I failed you when you needed me most. I could tell you all the things that went through my head, the reasons I didn’t tell you the truth. But really, what I did was still wrong. What is there to say but sorry? And you’re right. Sorry is a pitiful little word against the lie I let you believe.”

Sierra looked away and began to pace. It was a frantic pace. She clung to her pajamas, then wiped her hands through her hair, sending it into short spikes. Her face was pinched. April wished she would let her hold her. But they were beyond the days when a hug and a kiss could make it all better.

Sierra marched back to the wall, stood rigid, staring at the tiles with a ferocity April had never seen in her.

“I think I knew,” Sierra said.

“Knew what?”

“I think I knew he killed himself. A pedestrian accident. How likely is that? And I knew what he was like.” Sierra let out a pained whimper and turned to April. “I think I made sure it was too hard for you to tell me. Because if you didn’t tell me, it wouldn’t be true.”

Sierra looked up at a crack in the ceiling. “Crazy me, huh?”

April moved closer. “Not so crazy.”

Sierra backed away from the wall, narrowed her eyes. And then, with a fast reach of her hand, she pulled a tile off the wall and threw it at the floor in the middle of the room. And another. And another. The tiles flew, one after the other, making a dull thunk as they hit each other.

“Mah tish-to-cha-chee nafshi? Va’the’heh-mee a-la-ee?” The strange guttural chant coming out of her daughter’s mouth sounded like a curse. A chill raced down April’s spine.

Sierra turned to face her, her arms spread wide. “It’s Hebrew. ‘Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?’ Dad would have liked that one, wouldn’t he?”

Sierra crouched and punched her fist into the pile until something cracked, either tile or bone. April wasn’t sure. She held back a sob. She wanted Sierra to express herself. She did, but this?

“How could he have done it, Mom? How could he just walk away from me like he was crossing the street to heaven? He didn’t even say good-bye.”

April stood and came close, not close enough to touch, just close enough for Sierra to feel her presence. “He wasn’t …”

He wasn’t thinking straight, she wanted to say. Sierra waited for her to finish, but she couldn’t. She was through making excuses, through with imaginary rainbows. Gary had been thinking straight. He’d had enough. Enough despair, enough of being a burden to his family. He’d simply given up. But there was no way she was going to say that to Sierra.

When April didn’t finish, Sierra buried her head in her hands. Finally, she lifted her head.

“He didn’t just take himself when he died. He took the biggest part of me. How could he not know that?”

Sierra huddled into herself. She clearly wouldn’t accept April’s touch, but without reaching out to her, what else could April do?

April yanked a tile from the wall and found some satisfaction in the crash it made as it hit the others.

Sierra looked up and their gazes locked.

April took a step toward her. “I want it down too. There’s a lie in here, isn’t there? And I’m so very tired of lies.”

April pulled a second tile off. “We can’t make it all better with a beautiful wall of art. And we can’t bring him back with the words he loved.”

Sierra pulled the next one off. Together, they pulled them all down, hurling them into the pile, pausing for each clunk until their arms ached. By the time they were done, the wall was bare except for the nails and center tile. The stack of cracked tiles in the middle of the floor created a small mountain.

Sierra leaned down, hands on her knees as if she’d been running.

April had to catch her breath and, half hysterical, started to laugh until tears ran down her face.

Sierra sank to the floor and pulled a broken tile to her. She sat staring into space before she whispered something unintelligible.

“What?” April said.

A little louder, Sierra repeated herself. “By day the Lord directs His love, at night His song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.”

April shot her a quizzical look.

Sierra looked away and then back. “That’s what the rest of the psalm says. My soul is disturbed within me. Deep calls to deep. But His song is with me.”

April nodded and started stacking the broken tiles, not sure what to make of the words.

“He was with us, wasn’t He, Mom?”

April swallowed. “Yes, baby. God was with us.”

She looked around the room for the song. Not a sound. And yet. As she took in the mound of tiles, she could feel the song playing, not with musical chords, but in the chords of the dawn. As if He were filling the room with Himself. She’d grown so used to feeling that God must be absent.

 

It was past noon when April straggled into the kitchen. She searched the pantry for something to cook. Was it breakfast or lunch? Oatmeal or grilled cheese? She rolled her shoulders, working out the kinks, still trying to think through what happened. It was so surreal. She’d never wantonly destroyed anything in her life. But it had been cathartic. All the throwing and cracking left her feeling lighter. She thought it had done Sierra good too. And that psalm at the end.

A movement in the living room startled her. Sierra lay curled on the sofa with something wrapped inside her hands. She ought to be at school, but April had let her go back to sleep after their talk.

“What have you got?” April slid onto the sofa next to Sierra’s feet.

Sierra slid farther into the corner of the sofa and opened her hands. It was April’s Nikon. “I found it in your boxes with the photo albums.”

April didn’t say anything, just inspected the camera from afar like an exotic animal that wandered into her apartment. She studied her little girl, who didn’t look so little anymore. Sierra handed it to her, and April took it, holding it lightly. She moved it into the sunlight, inspecting its solid form.

“Why did you stop taking pictures?”

Nick’s version of Truth or Dare came to mind. She was so used to protecting Sierra from dark thoughts. “I was afraid of what I would see. The camera always picked up things the way they were. Light or dark. Shades of gray. Dad’s hurt. But even with people I didn’t know, I could see all their insecurities and regrets so much clearer when I was behind the camera.”

Sierra opened and closed her fist. “You didn’t like taking pictures?”

“I did like taking them, strangely enough.” It was Gary who’d commented on the dark emotions in her pictures. And she’d felt the need to keep the light streaming in for him. Only happy thoughts and optimistic images allowed. But she couldn’t blame Gary. He never asked her to stop taking pictures. Or to be his source of sunshine.

April ran her hand along the controls on the back of the camera. Her daughter hadn’t taken an interest in what April did for a long time. Not since Gary’s death.

Sierra pulled her arms around her knees. “Mr. Foster said even deep, dark rivers have a place to flow. I guess there’s a place for sad pictures too.”

April looked down, gratitude welling up in her for Nick. He knew what to say to Sierra. Not an impossible be happy. Just there’s a place for you.