Its conviction of passage—it must fly or die.”
“Beautiful. I love it. It’s about the foliage turning in the fall,” I said. “And how much you wanted to be free.”
He nodded, closing the book. “Now, I know it’s an illusion. Nobody ever truly is. There are prices to be paid, obligations to meet.”
I met his gaze, sure of only one thing. “That’s not true. When the time comes, we have to be like that bird. Fly or die, Kian. Promise me.”
He kissed me instead of answering, but if I had to drag him over the cliff with me, so be it. Whatever it takes, we’ll fly.
WHAT IS GONE BECOMES REALITY
There was no holiday those four days.
My dad dealt with the practicalities, and Kian tried to do Thanksgiving with lunchmeat turkey slices and instant potatoes, bought at a convenience store. Along with canned peas and white bread with butter, it was pretty much the saddest feast anyone ever tried to eat. I didn’t cry until he busted out the weirdest dessert ever—some kind of cookie layered with pudding. Then I hid in the guest room until I calmed down because it should’ve been my dad doing the cooking while my mom and I set the table.
Kian tapped lightly. “I’m sorry. I tried.”
“It’s not the food. You weren’t planning to have guests for Thanksgiving.” Or ever, from the look of his cupboards.
“I usually go to my aunt and uncle’s house.”
“Are they worried about you?”
“I told them I’d be with my girlfriend. I think my aunt was … relieved.”
I frowned, wiping at a trickle of tears. “Why?”
“I’m a reminder of the old scandal. She never liked my dad and she hated having me in the house. For my uncle’s sake, she pretended I was welcome, but…” He shrugged. “She wasn’t sorry when I graduated and moved to Boston.”
“Why did you?”
“Wedderburn called me here,” he said simply.
I tried to imagine getting my diploma and then learning the deal I’d made was now worthless, and that the bright future they’d hinted at was no longer viable, therefore I could expect to spend the next sixty years in servitude. It was like being a spy, only without the satisfaction of knowing you were risking your life for the greater good. This was blind obedience with no hope of escape or understanding.
“How was that?” I asked.
“By that point, I didn’t care. My senior year when Tanya died, I went numb. And I stayed that way until the first time I saw you.”
I ducked my head. “If you say stuff like that, I will shatter into a million pieces and you’ll have to sweep me up.”
He sank down on the bed beside me, but I was conscious of my dad in the other bedroom. If he came in, I didn’t want him to think … anything. So I stood up.
“Living room?”
“That’s fine. I can put on a DVD.”
“Do you have Casablanca? That way, if I cry, I can blame the movie.”
“Not a problem.”
We settled in to watch and partway through, my dad joined us. I could tell he had been weeping, too, but nobody acknowledged it.
The weekend went slowly. I missed some school days for my mom’s funeral. The whole university showed up, which was nice for my dad, less so for me because of all the hugs I got from strangers. My eyes were dry that day; I had wept myself out at Kian’s place. I bought a new black dress and I hated it, but I wore it with black tights because everything was black. Except the sun. It had the nerve to shine, after days of rain, and I hated it, too.
Davina and her mother came to the service; I was grateful, but it also reminded me that she still had a mom. The knife dug in and twisted, around and around, until it was an effort to hold my smile in place. I imagined it had been carved into my face, blood trickling from my mouth, and my cheeks ached. I hugged another stranger.
Kian held my hand through the prayers, songs, and speeches. I clenched hard when the minister started talking about the afterlife. We had never been a religious family, and my mom would laugh over his talk of being called home. I tuned everything out, until Kian tugged on my arm, telling me it was time to stand up and say good-bye. For obvious reasons, it was closed casket, pictures arrayed on top.
Like Brittany.
My dad grabbed my other hand, and they flanked me as we approached the coffin. It was high quality; my dad picked it out. I flattened my hand on top of the box that held what was left of my mother. Beside me, my dad did the same and Kian stepped back, letting us grieve. Then we took our places by the door, so the pallbearers could do their work.
Kian drove us to the cemetery. God knows what my dad and I would’ve done without him. Taking a taxi seemed disrespectful; so did public transportation. An hour later, there were more words, more prayers, and a handful of dirt raining down. She’s really gone. Someone put a flower in my hand and I pitched it into the grave. I stumbled on the green carpet, meant to look like grass so the gaping hole didn’t hit so hard.
People said, “It was a lovely service,” as they filed past.
I nodded but I didn’t see them. They all wore the bag man’s face. Dad and I stayed until everyone had gone. Mom’s headstone was in place, but nothing was carved on it. That seemed so very wrong.
“We should go,” Dad said finally. “We can come back after the engraving’s done. Leave some flowers for her.”
“She hated cut flowers,” I muttered.
It was true. I remembered her saying it was cruel to snip and put them in vases, laying waste to their beauty. Better to let them bloom and die, as they’re supposed to. Did that mean my mom believed in fate? I wished I had told her about the bargain, about my place in the timeline, but I had been ashamed of my weakness, boiling with guilt. Now it was too late. Repeatedly, I reminded myself that she was a scientist, and if I’d spilled everything, she wouldn’t have been on guard; she would’ve put me in a mental ward, so I’d be locked up and she’d still be gone.
“What verse did you choose?” Kian asked.
My dad turned to him, probably grateful for the distraction, as we walked toward the car. “‘Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children.’”
My throat closed. I recognized the quote at once; I had been reading about Einstein obsessively since I was a little girl. The tears spilled over as Kian wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I squeezed my eyes shut until the urge to sob passed.
“That’s perfect,” I whispered. “She would l-love that.”
Dad couldn’t smile. He tried. The glint of his own tears shone through the lenses of his glasses. He took them off, polished them on the sleeve of his coat. “I don’t know what we’ll do without her. Everything … will break down.”
“Then we’ll fix it. I’ll learn.”
But she won’t teach me. All the moments we might’ve had together, they’re gone now.
“There’s a cleaning crew coming to … sort things out.” To scrub up her blood. Dad went on, “The police have released the apartment, but we can’t live there. I asked around, and we—I—have a colleague at the university who knows someone willing to sublet to us, half a mile from the old place. I know it’s not ideal, but—”
“No, that’s fine. Do we need to pack?”
“Mr. Lewis volunteered to help us. If Kian doesn’t mind, we can swing by for the boxes and…” Trailing off, it was clear he had no idea what to call the move. It wasn’t something either of us wanted.
“Get settled?” Kian offered.