Brothers of Paradise Series

I meet her half-smile with one of my own. “Emma loves butterflies. Don’t you, sweetie?”

Emma nods. “I have a butterfly bed,” she says shyly.

“A butterfly bed? Wow.”

“It’s a bed cover with butterflies,” I clarify. Over the past week Mom and I had repurposed the office she never used into a child’s room again. It’s a work in progress, but it means Emma has a space that’s hers and hers alone. And she’d picked out her bed cover herself.

Lily smiles and reaches over to steady Emma’s chin. “I see. What color is it?”

“Purple,” Emma whispers, trying very hard to stay still, “and a little pink.”

I watch as my old best friend, the girl I’ve known since I was Emma’s age, and my daughter talk to one another. Watching the careful strokes of Lily’s brush over Emma’s forehead, drawing swirling lines of a butterfly’s wings.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

“How old are you?” Lily asks.

Emma takes a moment to answer. “Six. And a bit.”

“I have a son that’s almost your age. Well, he’s four,” Lily says, “and I promised to paint him as Spider-Man later.” She focuses on Emma’s cheek, on the pink swirl being revealed. “His name is Jamie.”

“That’s my mom’s name!”

Lily nods, and slowly looks up at me. “Yes,” she says. “It is.”

It takes me a long moment to breathe. To find the movement, the words. I crouch beside Emma and put an arm around her waist. Steadying her, but really steadying me. “I saw your message last week,” I say. “Sorry for not answering.”

Lily shakes her head. Her eyes are trained on my daughter’s face, on the butterfly that’s spreading its wings beneath her talented hands. Her expression is one I know well. She’s trying her hardest not to show emotion, but that’s never come easy to her.

I’ve missed her so much, and the weight of it suddenly feels like a boulder on my shoulders, crushing me down to the dock. We’d been sisters at one point.

“I’m sorry for not answering in the past, too. For being away so long. I’m sorry for all of it.”

Lily shakes her head again. It’s a tiny movement, and I don’t know if it means not here or no need. The brush in her hand trembles, and on her ring finger is a beautiful sapphire, the color of the ocean, resting next to a wedding band. She got Hayden in the end and I wasn’t there to see it.

“Do you want to meet next week? Maybe… go for a walk along the boardwalk?”

“Yes,” Lily says. “I’d love that.”

There’s so much to say. To apologize for, to explain. But it’s a start, and something inside my chest loosens, like a rubber band expanding. Allowing me to breathe.

Emma is doing her best to sit perfectly still, but her eyes are flicking between us. I smile at her. “Sweetie, this lady is one of Mom’s friends. We’ve known each other since we were your age.”

“Really?”

Lily nods, a teasing smile spreading across her face. “Oh, yes. Your mom was a naughty one.”

Emma’s eyes go round. “Naughty?”

“Only sometimes,” I say, and shoot Lily a look.

She laughs. “Only sometimes,” she agrees, “but it was more often than me!”

When Emma is done, she bounces off the chair like she’s been chained to it for days. Lily holds up the mirror and Emma lets out an oooh of joy. She’s a pink and purple butterfly with glitter on her cheeks. Getting her to wash her face tonight will be impossible.

“So pretty,” she breathes.

“Thank you,” I tell Lily and dig through my pocket for money. There’s a donation box next to the paints, the name of a charity on the front. “You’ve made her day.”

“She made mine,” Lily says. “Jamie… I’d love for you to meet my son, too.”

Something feels tight in my throat. I think of all the years I wasted, and all the weeks I’ve been here without making this right. “I’d like that. A lot.”

She smiles again and I leave her to the few children who are waiting for their turn. I’d forgotten, somehow, that this was something she did during the junior regattas. Something she used to do for years.

Emma skips with joy the entire way back to my mother, who’ll stay with her during the race while I work.

The crowds don’t let up, only settle into a hush as the race begins. Mom and Emma come to stand next to me when it starts. No one wants lobster rolls, or face paint, or gelato. Not right now.

There’s fierce concentration on the faces of the junior sailers in the marina, lining up their dinghies. The race is at sea, and out in the bay, there are motorboats stationed in case of emergencies. But these sailors are in their teens, and they’ve been doing this since the age of eight, all across New England.

Parker had won his year.

I put my hands on Emma’s shoulders when the race starts. Together we watch the boats glide out, each one quicker than the last. The boats cut through the water like butter, completely at odds with the frantic skills and hard work put in by the sailors.

Emma watches with bated breath. She’s strung taut, like one of her bubbles, and I know I’ve lost her to the magic of Paradise Shores. We haven’t lived anywhere that’s had this much life and excitement.

“Look,” Mom whispers by my side. She nods toward the other side of the marina. “Lily’s over there.”

My eyes track the group of people standing close together. Even in the distance, I can make them out.

Lily, standing tall on the dock. Hayden is beside her, his hand firm on a small boy intent on leaning over the side of the dock. Beside them is a tall man I haven’t seen since he left for college, not in person, anyway. It has to be Henry. There’s a dark-haired woman by his side and a small girl on his shoulders.

Henry and his wife are here, and Lily and Hayden, and Parker, coming down the dock to join them. Lily’s son bolts toward him and Parker catches the boy around the waist, turning him upside down.

The sun is hiding, now, behind thick clouds that rolled in from the ocean. But I keep my cap pulled low and watch them, instead of the race. I watch Lily’s son. I watch the siblings’ easy conversation and familiarity.

And I let the emotion swell over me, the familiar wistfulness. I knew them all once and they’re still here, still beautiful and golden, with idiosyncrasies and conflicts and love and warmth. I’d been jealous once. Now I just feel grateful.

“Mommy?” Emma asks. “Can I go sailing one day? Please?”

I bend over and kiss her cheek, once, twice, three times. She squirms with annoyed laughter and pushes me away. “Can I?”

“Yes,” I say. “Of course you can.”

And perhaps I should try too.

JAMIE

The house on Greene Street is quiet. It’s the gentle kind, a soft silence rather than the uneasy ones that precede a storm. No one is holding their breath. No one is preparing their apologies in advance.