for being nearly January. Why had her mother left so much of her grandmother’s stuff in the house? The thought of all that would have to be done exhausted her. Without intending to, she slept.
The fireworks woke her. They flared above the river and ignited into patterns of light with such ferocity that the panes of glass shook. A sheet she recognized as having been on a table in the hallway covered her, and the lantern was gone. She stretched and walked to the windows. Placing her hand against one of two rock-sized holes, she looked out and saw that Isobel and Elyse had wrapped themselves in blankets and were sitting at the edge of the bluff watching the celebration. She must have been asleep for hours and wondered what her cousins had done with themselves and why they hadn’t woken her.
Outside, it wasn’t as cold or as deserted as she expected. A rowdy group of young people had set lawn chairs in the vacant lot next to the house. They waved to her and offered best wishes on the start of a new year. Lizzie returned their greetings and then faced the river, sitting down next to Elyse and putting her head on her cousin’s shoulder. “We brought you food,” Elyse said, sliding over a Styrofoam container.
Lizzie opened it and then closed it without looking at the contents. Without discussing it, she understood that it had been decided that they’d stay in the house that night. The wind blew sporadically, carrying hot ashes one moment and murmurs of awe from the crowd in the park below the next. She stared at the flat gray water until a mirror image of the explosions in the sky appeared in the river. She felt like that—as if she were a blurry reflection of herself. Her eyes drifted to the bulky brace wrapped around her right leg. Before the fireworks concluded in a bombardment of color and sound, headlights illuminated the asphalt lot adjacent to the river park. Determined to beat the traffic, eager fathers hurried children into cars and gunned their engines in a bid to be the first to leave. Her own father, or rather stepfather, mocked such pragmatism. He preferred to wait for the park to clear, wrapping the children in blankets and naming the few stars visible against the wash of city lights.
He’d use those waiting moments to teach his children to tell time by drawing an imaginary clock around the position of the big dipper. “The stars are proof that we’re never standing still,” he’d tell them. Scratching an itch on the back of her calf, Lizzie wondered why they’d never watched the fireworks from the bluff before. She supposed it was her mother’s doing. Most everything that didn’t make sense to Lizzie could be traced back to her mother.
The vacant-lot revelers called to them as they tromped off the land, blowing noisemakers and swigging the last of their alcohol. One last firework, launched well past the finale, exploded behind them and the sound of it pressed in on Lizzie like all the losses from the previous year.
As if sensing her thoughts, Isobel raised an invisible glass. Elyse followed, then Lizzie. “To our very last year,” Lizzie said.
“To the Triplins,” Isobel offered.
Elyse ducked her head and then cleared her throat. “May the most we wish for in the coming year be the least that we get.”
January 2012: Memphis
L izzie unplugged her phone and put it inside the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. What was it they said about insanity? Repeating the same action and expecting different results? She knew what her trainer and her coach had told her before she left Los Angeles, and yet she’d still expected them to tell her what she’d wanted to hear this time around. The fact was, they didn’t know her. Neither one of them had been there the first two times she busted her ACL. A year . It hadn’t taken her but six months to get back on the field the first time. Lizzie knew there were other messages about other problems on that phone, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to
The fireworks woke her. They flared above the river and ignited into patterns of light with such ferocity that the panes of glass shook. A sheet she recognized as having been on a table in the hallway covered her, and the lantern was gone. She stretched and walked to the windows. Placing her hand against one of two rock-sized holes, she looked out and saw that Isobel and Elyse had wrapped themselves in blankets and were sitting at the edge of the bluff watching the celebration. She must have been asleep for hours and wondered what her cousins had done with themselves and why they hadn’t woken her.
Outside, it wasn’t as cold or as deserted as she expected. A rowdy group of young people had set lawn chairs in the vacant lot next to the house. They waved to her and offered best wishes on the start of a new year. Lizzie returned their greetings and then faced the river, sitting down next to Elyse and putting her head on her cousin’s shoulder. “We brought you food,” Elyse said, sliding over a Styrofoam container.
Lizzie opened it and then closed it without looking at the contents. Without discussing it, she understood that it had been decided that they’d stay in the house that night. The wind blew sporadically, carrying hot ashes one moment and murmurs of awe from the crowd in the park below the next. She stared at the flat gray water until a mirror image of the explosions in the sky appeared in the river. She felt like that—as if she were a blurry reflection of herself. Her eyes drifted to the bulky brace wrapped around her right leg. Before the fireworks concluded in a bombardment of color and sound, headlights illuminated the asphalt lot adjacent to the river park. Determined to beat the traffic, eager fathers hurried children into cars and gunned their engines in a bid to be the first to leave. Her own father, or rather stepfather, mocked such pragmatism. He preferred to wait for the park to clear, wrapping the children in blankets and naming the few stars visible against the wash of city lights.
He’d use those waiting moments to teach his children to tell time by drawing an imaginary clock around the position of the big dipper. “The stars are proof that we’re never standing still,” he’d tell them. Scratching an itch on the back of her calf, Lizzie wondered why they’d never watched the fireworks from the bluff before. She supposed it was her mother’s doing. Most everything that didn’t make sense to Lizzie could be traced back to her mother.
The vacant-lot revelers called to them as they tromped off the land, blowing noisemakers and swigging the last of their alcohol. One last firework, launched well past the finale, exploded behind them and the sound of it pressed in on Lizzie like all the losses from the previous year.
As if sensing her thoughts, Isobel raised an invisible glass. Elyse followed, then Lizzie. “To our very last year,” Lizzie said.
“To the Triplins,” Isobel offered.
Elyse ducked her head and then cleared her throat. “May the most we wish for in the coming year be the least that we get.”
January 2012: Memphis
L izzie unplugged her phone and put it inside the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. What was it they said about insanity? Repeating the same action and expecting different results? She knew what her trainer and her coach had told her before she left Los Angeles, and yet she’d still expected them to tell her what she’d wanted to hear this time around. The fact was, they didn’t know her. Neither one of them had been there the first two times she busted her ACL. A year . It hadn’t taken her but six months to get back on the field the first time. Lizzie knew there were other messages about other problems on that phone, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to
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