Free Nearer Than the Sky by T. Greenwood

heart started to beat loudly when I heard her cussing.
    “Goddamnit,” she whispered. “Fucking weeds. Shit.”
    I thought about turning around and going back inside the house, but she was so close now she would have been able to hear me sliding the door open again.
    I coughed softly.
    “Jesus,” she said, startled, as she appeared from behind one particularly large tumbleweed. She held her hand to her chest as if to keep her heart from escaping.
    “Sorry,” I said. “What are you doing?”
    She shoved the tumbleweed aside and came to the patio. Despite the heat, she was dressed from head to toe in black. Black turtleneck, black jeans, and thick black gloves.
    “Trying to get rid of these damn things,” she said pulling off the gloves.
    I raised my eyebrows at her and motioned to her clothes. “Why are dressed like that? You look like a criminal.”
    “You wouldn’t believe how prickly they are. The first time, I came inside all scratched up. My legs and hands were a mess for a whole week.”
    “It’s one-thirty in the morning,” I said.
    “Did I wake you up?”
    “No. But can’t this wait until morning? Have you slept at all?”
    “I have to wait until nighttime because it’s too hot to dress like this during the day.” She sat down in one of the wicker chairs and cocked her head to the side, to get a crick out of her neck.
    “Lily,” I said. “I’m worried about you.”
    “Don’t be.”
    “I’m serious.You’re all wound up.”
    “I am not wound up.”
    “What about dinner?” I persisted. “Rich and I were just kidding around.”
    “You and Rich are cruel,” she said.
    “It was all in fun.”
    “You think this is fun? You think any of this is fun?” Lily waved her arms toward the house, toward the tumbleweeds, toward me.
    “I’m just saying that sometimes you need to let go for a second.You need to be able to step back. Rich is only—”
    “Rich . . .” she started. “Rich isn’t dealing with this very well.”
    “The stuff with Ma? Come on. He’s been down this road before. This is classic Ma. Making fun is his way of dealing,” I said.
    “Not with Ma,” Lily said, her voice cracking. “With Violet.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Nothing,” she said and pulled off her gloves. Her hands were small and white on the glass tabletop. She looked at me intently. “He thinks I’m overreacting. He thinks it’s not as bad as it is.”
    “I don’t understand,” I said. “He seems very concerned.”
    “He doesn’t come with me to her appointments, he won’t help with her medicine at home. . . .”
    “I’m sure he’s just scared,” I said. I remembered Rich holding Violet right after she was born. At the beach in Maine, he shielded her from the cold wind with his whole body. I remembered the way her small fingers curled desperately around his thumb.
    “And then that crap at dinner. It’s like he thinks everything is a joke.”
    “That was about Ma, Lily. That had nothing to do with Violet.”
    Lily stared into the dark backyard.
    “Besides, they’ll figure out what’s wrong soon enough and then she’ll be fine,” I tried.
    “She really is sick,” Lily said then, loudly. She turned to look at me and something like fear flashed across her eyes. Her hand flew to her lips and fluttered there, a strange, longwinged butterfly hovering in front of her face.
    “I didn’t say she wasn’t, Lily. Jesus.”
    I left her in the backyard and returned to the cold room, cold sheets, cold air spinning over my head. Leaning over and picking up the phone, I knew that Peter would have already left for the cafe. I imagined he was probably deciding which films to show for the day. He might have had Joe mull some cider to ward off the autumn chill. As the phone rang, I closed my eyes and thought about cinnamon and cloves and sharp blue autumn skies. I imagined Jessica, woken from sleep, covering her ears with her paws. But when the machine picked up, I couldn’t think