“Will you read me something?” Glancing around his apartment, I saw he had taken my advice. Everything he had left from his old life, he’d arranged—books on the shelves, journal nearby with a quality pen, and his two small trophies sat above the TV. Despite the heart breaking over and over inside me, it was almost enough to dry my tears.
Almost.
“Like what?”
“Another poem. Something beautiful.”
“I have one I wrote for a competition. It’s less … emotional, more about pretty imagery and theme. Maybe that one?”
“If you wrote it, I want it.” Breathing was onerous with lead on my chest. I ached as if I had fought an avalanche and lost. Somewhere, the old man with the sack had my mother’s head, and the wind spoke with Cameron’s voice.
This is madness. No. This is Boston.
Hysteria tapped against the glass wall I’d built around this fragile calm. I didn’t let it in. Kian grabbed his notebook and then settled down with me tucked against his side. With a crisp snap, he opened to a page already marked. “My mother loved this one.”
“I’m sure I will, too.”
“It’s called ‘Firebird.’”
“Stop stalling and read.” I put my head on his shoulder.
He huffed out a breath. His shifting told me he was nervous. For some reason, his jitters calmed mine. It grew easier to breathe. I closed my eyes, letting his voice wash over me.
“Pointed beauty, sienna, umber, the sky in autumn rage;
Slim maids weep their hued tears,
a touch of lace, bright mantle of their undress.
Crisp, air a-bite with apples, rich with winter.
Mother’s lament for fled daughter, angry arms,
accusing heaven’s twilight; wispy kiss, mourning mist beneath our boots.
And how should I, walking this old earth, think to tread those paths?
Human, humbled by these elders turning down thin hands,
We stand and breathe, remembering that bird, fluttering
with color in these dark boughs, remembering
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.