Page 124 of Sterling Stone

It’s . . . awful.

“See,” I say, chewing quickly and swallowing fast. “A fault. I told you I have many.”

Her eyes widen before she chews at the corner of her mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

But she’s smiling again. Not a full smile. Not a sterling, gleaming, Taxi smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Eat your lunch.” I nod toward her plate.

And thankfully, Taxi picks up her sandwich . . . without ketchup on the corner.

41

[Taxi]

While I’d come into the diner ready to burn this whole town down, Stone extinguished my irritation with a breathing exercise, a listening ear, and a grilled cheese sandwich.

But once we ended our meal, I’m apprehensive again. Like walls are rebuilding around me, or bars cage me in.

I wasn’t ready to return to Trudy’s and face my sister.

I heard what Stone said and appreciated his comforting words. My sisters and I were complicated.

We’d scattered to all corners of the world, and sometimes I felt guilty about that as well. Like it was somehow my fault.

They’d lived with Trudy and Carlton most of their young lives. They hadn’t really known Mama or their dad. Trudy and Carlton were their parents for the most part. So why had they left? Why had they gone wherever they went?

A big part of me thought it was because of Mama. An inherent part of our DNA to wander.

Another part reminds me of Simon and his words weeks ago.

You always leave.

Maybe, just maybe, my sisters fled because they felt abandoned by me. My need to disappear. My fear of staying in one place.

I didn’t travel from a desire to see the world. I traveled because my art caused me to move around. I was searching for communities that needed help feeling cohesive. Towns that wanted to show how proud they were of who they are.

A reflection of me, scattered here, there, and everywhere, when I should have been looking in one particular direction.

Sterling Falls. And my sisters.

Did my sisters know I was proud of them? Did they know how much I missed them?

Who’s fault is that, Trudy said about not having a backyard.

So many faults were mine. Because I didn’t stay put. I didn’t build community where it mattered most—with my family.

As we stand on the corner of Corner and Main Street, Stone takes my hand, startling me out of my musing. We cross the street, facing Frederick’s, originally an alchemist shop, then a pharmacy and eventually an ice cream store.

The signature red, blue, and white striped barber’s pole, originally attributed to pharmacies, is still on the corner of the building.

I’m full from my sandwich and don’t think I can handle ice cream right now, but Stone doesn’t stop in front of the shop.

Instead, he walks along the side of it, stopping midway down the walk, and then spins us so we face the wall.

In front of us is a dull red brick building, dirty and weathered, yet in decent condition.

Stone releases my hand and steps behind me, setting his hands on my hips like they belong there. And I marvel at how perfectly they fit.