The House in the Cerulean Sea(98)

“Can they?”

“Yes! And though it may not seem like it now, things can change. Talia said that you told her in order to change the minds of many, you have to first start with the minds of a few.”

He smiled. “She said that?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think she was even listening.”

“Of course they listen,” Linus said, exasperated. “They listen to every single thing you say. They look to you because you are their family. You are their—” He stopped, breathing heavily. He shouldn’t say it. It wasn’t right. None of this was. It wasn’t—“You are their father, Arthur. You said you love them more than life itself. You have to know they feel the same about you. Of course they do. How can they not? Look at you. Look at what you’ve made here. You are a fire, and they need to know how you burn. Not only because of who you are, but because of what they have made you into.”

Arthur’s expression stuttered and broke. He lowered his head. His shoulders shook.

Linus wanted to console him, wanted to take Arthur in his arms and hold him tight, but he couldn’t get his feet to move. He was confused, all his thoughts swirling in a storm in his head. He latched on to the only thing he could. “And when—when I go back, when I leave this place, I will do my best to make sure Extremely Upper Management knows this. That the island—”

Arthur’s head snapped up. “When you go back?”

Linus looked away. “My time here was always going to be short. There was always an end date. And while it came much quicker than I anticipated, I have a home. A life. A job. One that is now more important than ever, I think. You have opened my eyes, Arthur. All of you. I will be forever grateful.”

“Grateful,” Arthur said dully. “Of course. Forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Linus looked up to see him smile, though it seemed to tremble. “Anything you can do to assist us will be more than wonderful. You … you are a good man, Linus Baker. I am honored to have known you. We’ll have to make sure your last week here on the island is one you’ll never forget.” He started to turn, but then paused. “And I promise you, the thought of using you for anything has never crossed my mind. You’re too precious to put into words. I think … it’s like one of Theodore’s buttons. If you asked him why he cared about them so, he would tell you it’s because they exist at all.”

And then he was up the stairs and into the night.

Linus stood in the cellar, staring at the space Arthur had left behind. The air was still warm, and Linus swore he could hear the crackling of fire.





SIXTEEN


If Linus’s life were a drama, the last week of his stay on Marsyas would have been cold and rainy, the gray clouds shifting overhead to match his mood.

But it was sunny, of course. The sky and the sea were cerulean.

On Monday, Linus sat in on the children’s classes, listening as they discussed the Magna Carta in the morning and The Canterbury Tales in the afternoon. Sal was quite vexed the stories were unfinished, which led Arthur to bring up the The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Sal vowed to read it and come up with his own ending. Linus thought it would be marvelous and wondered if he would ever get to read it.

On Tuesday from the hours of five in the afternoon to seven, he sat with Talia in her garden. She was fretting slightly over what Helen would think when she visited next week. She worried that Helen wouldn’t like what she’d grown. “What if it’s not good enough?” Talia muttered in Gnomish, and the fact that Linus understood her barely crossed his mind.

“I think you’ll find that it’s more than adequate,” he replied.

She scowled at him. “More than adequate. Gee, Linus. Thank you for that. I feel so much better already.”

He patted her on the top of the head. “We do need to keep the ego in check. You have nothing to fear.”

She looked around her garden doubtfully. “Really?”

“Really. It’s the most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen.”

She blushed under her beard.

On Wednesday, he sat with Phee and Zoe in the woods. He’d forgone a tie, and his shirt was open at his throat. He was barefoot, the grass soft underneath his feet. Sunlight filtered through the trees, and Zoe was telling Phee that it wasn’t just about what she could grow, but about cultivating what was already there. “It’s not always about creation,” Zoe said quietly as flowers bloomed underneath her hands. “It’s about the love and care you put into the earth. It’s intent. It’ll know your intentions, and, if they’re good and pure, there is nothing you won’t be able to do.”

That afternoon, he was in Chauncey’s room, and Chauncey was saying, “Welcome to the Everland Hotel, sir! May I take your luggage?” and Linus replied, “Thank you, my good man, that would be wonderful.” He handed over an empty satchel. Chauncey hefted it over his shoulder, his bellhop cap sitting crooked on his head. After, he made sure to tip Chauncey handsomely. It was what one did after having received first-rate service, after all. The saltwater on the floor was warm.

It was late afternoon on Wednesday, and Linus was starting to panic, a feeling settling over his shoulders like a heavy cloak that this wasn’t right, that he was making a mistake.