The Sky is Everywhere(23)
Author: Jandy Nelson

Pacts. So many between us, breaking now. And what about the unspoken ones, those entered into without words, without pinky swears, without even realizing it? A squall of emotion lands in my chest. Forget talking to the picture, I take out my phone, punch in Bailey’s number, listen impatiently to her as Juliet, heat filling my head, then over the tone, I hear myself say, “What happens to a stupid companion pony when the racehorse dies?” There’s both anger and despair in my voice and immediately and illogically I wish I could erase the message so she won’t hear it.

I slowly open the desk drawer, afraid of what I might find, afraid of what else she might not have told me, afraid of this rollicking bananas pact-breaking me. But there are just things, inconsequential things of hers, some pens, a few playbills from shows at Clover Repertory, concert tickets, an address book, an old cell phone, a couple of business cards, one from our dentist reminding her of her next appointment, and one from Paul Booth, Private Investigator with a San Francisco address.

WTF?

I pick it up. On the back in Bailey’s writing it says April 25 4 p.m., Suite 2B. The only reason I can think of that she would go see a private investigator would be to find Mom. But why would she do that? We both knew that Big already tried, just a few years ago in fact, and that the PI had said it would be impossible to find her.

The day Big told us about the detective, Bailey had been furious, torpedoing around the kitchen while Gram and I snapped peas from the garden for dinner.

Bailey said, “I know you know where she is, Gram.”

“How could I know, Bails?” Gram replied.

“Yeah, how could she know, Bails?” I repeated. I hated when Gram and Bailey fought, and sensed things were about to blow.

Bailey said, “I could go after her. I could find her. I could bring her back.” She grabbed a pod, putting the whole thing, shell and all, into her mouth.

“You couldn’t find her, and you couldn’t bring her back either.” Big stood in the doorway, his words filled the room like gospel. I had no idea how long he’d been listening.

Bailey went to him. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve tried, Bailey.”

Gram and I stopped snapping and looked up at Big. He hulked over to the table and sat in a kitchen chair, looking like a giant in a kindergarten classroom. “I hired a detective a few years back, a good one, figured I would tell you all if he came up with something, but he didn’t. He said it’s the easiest thing to be lost if you don’t want to be found. He thinks Paige changed her name and probably changes her social security number if she moves…” Big strummed his fingers on the table – it sounded like little claps of thunder.

“How do we even know she’s alive?” Big said under his breath, but we all heard it as if he hollered it from the mountaintop. Strangely, this had never occurred to me and I don’t think it had ever occurred to Bailey either. We were always told she would be back and we believed it, deeply.

“She’s alive, she’s most certainly alive,” Gram said to Big. “And she will be back.”

I saw suspicion dawn again on Bailey’s face.

“How do you know, Gram? You must know something if you’re so sure.”

“A mother knows, okay? She just does.” With that, Gram left the room.

I put the card back in the desk drawer, take St Anthony with me, and get into bed. I put him on the nightstand. Why was she keeping so many secrets from me? And how in the world can I possibly be mad at her about it now? About anything. Even for a moment.

Bailey and I didn’t talk too much
about Gram’s spells,
what she called her Private Times
days spent in the art room
without break.
It was just a part of things,
like green summer leaves,
burning up in fall.
I’d peek through the crack in the door,
see her surrounded by easels
of green women, half-formed—
the paint still wet and hungry.
She’d work on them all at once,
and soon, she’d begin
to look like one of them, too,
all that green spattered on her clothes,
her hands, her face.
Bails and I would pack
our own brown bags those days,
would pull out our sandwiches at noon,
hating the disappointment of a world
where polka dotted scarves,
sheets of music, blue feathers,
didn’t surprise us at lunch.
After school, we’d bring her tea
or a sliced apple with cheese,
but it’d just sit on the table, untouched.
Big would tell us to ride it out—
that everyone needs a break
from the routine now and then.
So we did—
it was like Gram would go
on vacation with her ladies
and like them
would get caught somewhere
between here and there.

(Found on a piece of paper in Lennie’s clarinet case)

Len, you awake?
Yeah.
Let’s do Mom.
Okay, I’ll start. She’s in Rome—
She’s always in Rome lately—
Well, now she’s a famous Roman pizza chef and it’s late at night, the restaurant just closed and she’s drinking a glass of wine with—
With Luigi, the drop dead gorgeous waiter, they just grabbed the bottle of wine and are walking through the moonlit streets, it’s hot, and when they come to a fountain she takes off her shoes and jumps in…
Luigi doesn’t even take off his shoes, just jumps in and splashes her, they’re laughing…
But standing in the fountain under the big, bright moon makes her think of Flying Man’s, how she used to swim at night with Big…
You really think so, Bails? You really think she’s in a fountain in Rome on a hot summer night with gorgeous Luigi and thinking about us? About Big?
Sure.
No way.
We’re thinking about her.
That’s different.
Why?
Because we’re not in a fountain in Rome on a hot summer night with gorgeous Luigi.
True.
Night, Bails.

(Found on a piece of notebook paper balled up in a shoe in Lennie’s closet)

The day everything happens begins like all others lately with Joe’s soft knock. I roll over, peek out the window, and see only the lawn through the morning fog. Everything must have been moved back into the house after I’d gone to sleep.

I go downstairs, find Gram sitting at her seat at the kitchen table, her hair wrapped in a towel. She has her hands around a mug of coffee and is staring at Bailey’s chair. I sit down next to her. “I’m really sorry about last night,” I say. “I know how much you wanted to do a ritual for Bailey, for us.”

“It’s okay, Len, we’ll do one. We have plenty of time.” She takes my hand with one of hers, rubs it absent-mindedly with the other. “And anyway, I think I figured out what was causing the bad luck.”