Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
JADEN
The orange-red light of the morning sun falls through the treetops of the park to my right, only a few cars populate the street.
My legs are heavy, yet I keep running, farther and farther, to the place where I couldn’t be for so long.
Even though I don’t have to be at work until the afternoon, I’m already wearing my uniform.
In these dark blue clothes I’m an invincible hero day after day, and that’s who I have to be now as well.
It’s quiet, too quiet actually, yet I don’t listen to music.
Instead I march down the street, hear my breath flowing, feel the cool breeze on my skin, and let my thoughts drift.
Back to yesterday’s dance class, to all the memories that surfaced in me.
To Lilly, how she stood in the middle of the street in Buenos Aires, how annoyed I was because she couldn’t tear herself away.
To how I secretly watched her years later when she wanted to practice tango steps in her room but just couldn’t get them right.
How frustrated she was, how disappointed.
For years she hadn’t talked about it anymore, had acted as if dancing didn’t mean anything to her. As if she had forgotten how fascinated she’d been. As if she had given up the dream of dancing tango. At least that was what she let us see.
Inside her, though, it was always alive; she just lacked the courage to live it despite her missing talent. And only when it was too late for her does it seem to have become clear to her that that was a mistake.
My Lilly… little Camee, who could have managed everything together with her Jayjay, but still couldn’t tell him.
Was our connection really that close? Or was it only close for the pranks and silliness we cooked up together?
I bury my hands deeper in the pockets of my jacket and fight against the burning pain in my chest. It stays, but I endure it, just like the thoughts of my sister and of the place that will appear in my field of vision any moment now.
The house, Jaden. When was the last time you were there? As so often since Mom’s call last week, her words are inside me.
Until now I’ve done everything I could to silence them. Today her voice echoes inside me while I fish Lilly’s list out of the breast pocket of my jacket and look for the item Nyla brought up yesterday on the way home.
6. Create the most beautiful garden in the world.
She suggested we tackle that next and told me proudly about her newly discovered green thumb and an orchid that seemed especially important to her. I couldn’t decide, Nyla looked as if she understood, even though she couldn’t understand. After that, she didn’t mention the list again.
Basically, I don’t know why I’m walking down this street, only that I couldn’t sleep and kept thinking about it, that I do know.
That it feels as if I have to come here, maybe because of that one thing I understood yesterday in dance class: I can do this.
I can make Lilly’s dreams come true for her, and although it will certainly hurt again and again, it might also be just as overwhelmingly beautiful again and again as it was yesterday.
Remembering her could be more than just pain. It could also be love. Light. Warmth.
Hope.
Everything on Camee’s list could be hope—even the house.
It’s just around the corner up ahead. I stop, stare in that direction, and remember what happened at this exact spot almost two years ago.
‘Don’t expect too much. It’s pretty old, but the garden has so much potential.’ Camee’s voice is almost cracking with anticipation. I haven’t seen her this excited in a long time. Lately she’s often been tired, has seemed worn out and lost weight. She works too much, and now I have an inkling why.
She needs money for her dream.
‘And it’s really cheap. Yes, there’s a lot that needs doing, but the area is going to boom in the coming years,’ she explains to me.
‘So it's a dump.’ The corners of my mouth twitch.
She lifts her hands defensively. ‘Admittedly, the windows aren’t completely airtight and there might be one or two cracks in the wall.
’ A sigh leaves her mouth. ‘But there’s a stream in the garden, the layout of the house is good, and there are fantastic wooden floors that just need to be refinished, and beautiful old doors. ’
With the paint definitely peeling off them. And the water pipes are most likely rusted through, and switching on the light is practically a suicide attempt.
I can’t bring myself to tell her that. Instead, I smile at her. ‘You’re in love.’
Her cheeks turn pink.
‘With a dump.’
‘With the garden of a dump,’ she replies meekly. ‘Admittedly, right now it’s not a garden yet, but it’s going to be one. The most beautiful garden in the world.’
So much love resonates in her words, and I know she will turn this house—no matter how much of a dump it is—into a dream come true. Her dream.
‘Okay.’ Who could possibly be mad at this woman? She’s my little sister, and seeing her happy makes me happy too. ‘Show me.’
‘First you have to promise me something.’ She looks at me expectantly. I nod. ‘For now, this has to stay our secret.’
‘Our parents don’t know about this? So it’s even more of a mess than I thought.’
She lifts her shoulders, which suddenly seem heavy. ‘Mom would say I’m crazy,’ she says quietly, and she’s probably right about that.
‘I won’t tell anyone.’ Never.
‘Thanks.’ With a relieved sigh, she grabs my hand and pulls me a few yards down the street. ‘You’ll see it in a second.’ Her fingers tremble a little.
I look up, searching, and as soon as we turn the corner, I spot it.
The house stands at the end of the cul-de-sac, lost and dilapidated, as if it had forgotten itself. The facade is cracked, the plaster is flaking off in many places. The window glass is milky, the blinds hang crooked, some are torn.
‘Isn’t it amazing?’ I hear Lilly ask rapturously.
The front yard consists entirely of weeds. Grasses and shrubs are sprouting from the ground, the paving stones lie crooked in the earth.
‘Do you see it, Jayjay, do you see it?’ My sister squeezes my hand. ‘What it could become …’
I put my arm around her, pull her close to me, and kiss her temple. ‘Yeah, Camee, I see it.’
A week later she bought the house. Two weeks later she got her diagnosis. Twelve months went by in which she didn’t set foot on the property, yet she still kept telling me how the garden would look one day, and I encouraged her in her plans. Got her gardening magazines, material and color samples.
I wanted her to keep that dream alive, did everything I could.
Now, almost two years later, I’m standing for the first time at the intersection where I stood with her back then.
Knowing that in the months since her death I haven’t done a single thing for her.
I wanted to forget her. Her and her dreams. Forget at any cost.
My chest tightens—out of guilt, out of pain, out of fear—my fingers tremble, I bury my face in my hands and sense that I’m not up to this.
Not without Nyla. I need her. I need her the way I did last night.
Or would it be better not to see her again? Safer? With her, everything could start all over again, the nightmare of Camee’s time in the hospital could come back.
Hesitantly, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Minutes pass while I stare at the black screen, constantly swinging between hope and fear.
But then I see Nyla in front of me, how she raves about her orchid. I see us dancing tango, see how her eyes shine as we do, and there it is again, that longing that has been glowing inside me more and more intensely over the past few days.
For a life that is more than just this moment. For a future with Nyla, no matter how long it may be, and also for finding some kind of peace with Camee’s death afterwards.
I want to be able to think of my little sister, to remember her, to remember everything we experienced together. No matter whether it was beautiful or painful. I don’t want to keep running away, not from the past, not from the future, and not from this house either.
Camee is going to get her garden. The most beautiful garden in the world. So I unlock the screen and type a message to Nyla.