A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(15)

“Hear, hear,” said Emma. “What am I wearing this swimming costume for if we’re not going in the blasted water?”

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Bronwyn shouted, then took off running, which sparked a race for the water’s edge.

Miss Peregrine and I stood and watched—I had my mind on other things and didn’t feel much like swimming. But Miss Peregrine, despite all our talk of trouble and complication, didn’t seem weighed down at all. She had a lot on her plate, but her problems—what I knew of them, anyway—had to do with growth and healing and freedom. And that was something to be grateful for.



* * *



? ? ?

“Jacob, come and join us!”

Emma was shouting to me from the water’s edge, holding up a starfish she’d plucked from the surf. Some of my friends were splashing around in the shallows, but others had dived right in and were swimming. The gulf in summer was warm as bathwater, nothing like the stormy Atlantic that lashed Cairnholm’s cliffs. “It’s magnificent!” Millard cried, his body a person-shaped vacuum in the sea. Even Olive was having fun, despite sinking three inches into the sand with every step.

“Jacob!” Emma called, waving me over as she bobbed through a wave.

“I’m wearing jeans!” I called back, which was true, but really I was happy just observing; there was something so sweet about watching my friends enjoy themselves here. I could feel it melting a patch of ice that had formed over my idea of home. I wanted them to have this whenever they wanted it—this uncomplicated peace—and maybe there was a way they could.

I had just figured out how to deal with my parents. It was so simple, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. I didn’t have to concoct some airtight lie. I didn’t need an expertly crafted cover story. Stories could be contradicted and lies could be found out, and even if they weren’t, we would constantly have to tiptoe around my parents, always nervous they might see something peculiar, freak out, and blow our uncomplicated peace to bits. What’s more, the idea of indefinitely hiding who I was from them sounded exhausting, especially now that my normal and peculiar lives were colliding. But the heart of it was this: My parents weren’t bad people. I hadn’t been abused or neglected. They just didn’t understand me, and I thought they deserved a chance to.

So I would tell them the truth. If I revealed it gradually and gently enough, maybe it wouldn’t be too traumatic for them. If they met my friends in a calm setting, one by one, and my friends’ peculiarities were introduced only after my parents had gotten to know them a bit, maybe it would work. Why not? My dad was a father, and son, of peculiars. If any normal should be able to understand, it was him. And if my mom was slow to warm up, Dad would pull her along.

Maybe then—finally—they would believe me, and accept me for who I was. Maybe then we would feel like a real family.

I felt a little nervous about suggesting it, so I tried to bring it up to Miss Peregrine without the others hearing. Most were still swimming or beachcombing in the shallows. She was being followed by a flock of tiny sandpipers, pecking at her ankles with their long beaks.

“Shoo!” she said, sweeping her foot at them as she walked. “I’m not your mother.”

They fluttered off in a wave, but kept following.

“Birds love you, don’t they?” I said.

“In Britain they respect me—and my personal space. Here they seem downright needy.” She swept her foot again. “Go on, shoo!” They skittered into the water.

“We were due for a chat, yes?”

“I was thinking. What if I just explained everything to my parents?”

“Enoch, Millard, stop that roughhousing!” she shouted through cupped hands, then turned to me. “And we don’t wipe their memories?”

“Before I give up on them completely, I’d like to give it one good try,” I said. “I know it might not work, but if it did, things would be so much easier.”

I was afraid she would shut me down right away, but she didn’t—not exactly.

“That would be making a big exception to a long-established rule,” she said. “There are very few normals who are privy to our secrets. The Ymbryne Council would have to grant special approval. There’s an initiation process. An oath-taking ceremony. A long probationary period . . .”

“So you’re saying it’s not worth it.”

“I’m not saying that at all.”

“Really?”

“I’m only saying it’s complex. But in the case of your parents, it could be worth the trouble.”

“What could?”

Horace had come up behind us. So much for keeping this between me and Miss Peregrine.

“I was thinking about telling my parents the truth about us,” I said. “To see if they can handle it.”

“What? Why?”

That was more the reaction I’d been expecting.

“I think they deserve to know.”

“They tried to have you committed!” Enoch said. Now the others were coming out of the water and starting to gather around.

“I know what they did,” I said, “but they only did it because they were worried about me. If they had known the truth—and were okay with it—they never would have done that. And it would make things so much simpler any time you guys wanted to come visit, or when I want to visit you.”