Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(103)

“Well,” Holly begins. And then she remembers there is one picture. A talisman of her own. “Maybe.”

There’s a low buzzing outside the window.

“Bell says we need to go soon,” Eden says urgently. “There’s not much time.”

Jane steps forward. “You get the photo. You’ll need the vial and the cream, yes, in case Jack is injured? Give me the passcode to the safe—I can get those for you.”

Holly tells her the code to the locked refrigerated safe in the office, reminds her the cream is in her bag, then hurries to the storage closet. She slides her fingers through the lining of her suitcase and pulls out the picture of her daughter.

“Here,” she says, once she’s in front of Eden again. In her hand is the photo she’s kept all these years. It’s faded and creased, but in the center, sitting on a low tree branch, is Eden. Her face is a soft blur, because she’s in motion, the way she always was, but there’s no one else it could be. Even with the distortion, anyone can see that her expression is one of pure glee.

“You were two,” Holly says. “We were in Cornwall. Jack was sleeping on a blanket in the sun. It was a good day. I’d turned around for a moment, and when I turned back, you were sitting in the tree. I don’t know how you got up there, but you were so proud of yourself. You made your own joy. You made mine as well.”

“I remember,” Eden says, staring at the photo. “Why did I never remember before?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to remember sorrow than joy,” Holly says. “Sorrow doesn’t hurt as much.” A lifetime of memories stir, just beyond her reach, walled off for more than a decade and with enough power now to overwhelm her: Robert’s large, gentle hands on the steering wheel. The twins shrieking with laughter in the back seat, the windows down. Eden smiling at her from a low tree branch, the hem of her blue dress dancing in the breeze.

These memories prick at Holly, they pierce her, but the pain they cause is nothing compared to the ache of looking at her daughter. It’s almost unbearable, knowing that she has so little time left, just enough to make one more memory. So she makes it the best possible memory she can. She reaches out in an embrace. And when Eden hugs her back, she realizes that her heart, frozen all these years, still has life in it after all. She knows because it is breaking.





Chapter Forty-Two



They stand that way for a long time, only releasing each other when Jane returns. She’s holding a tray with three crystal glasses.

“This will only take a moment,” she says in response to Holly’s look. “And you both must have some. It’s a special vintage I’ve been saving. We may not be together again for a long time, and I’ve some things I must say.”

Holly knows her mother, knows how implacable she can be. There will be no leaving until the drink is gone. So when Jane hands her a glass, she accepts. It’s whiskey, neat. Holly looks at Eden and shrugs. Now, with all that they are facing, does not seem to be the time to worry about underage drinking.

Jane raises her own glass high, and Holly and Eden follow suit.

“To the Darling women. The stars are not only above us, they are in us. May we shine brightly, dream deeply, and fly high all on our own. I am terribly proud to know you both, my darlings,” she says. “Now drink up.”

She tilts her glass and drains it, motioning for them to do the same. The clear liquid is bitter in a way that most of Jane’s vintages are not and burns Holly’s throat. Eden coughs.

“The vial!” Jane says. “My goodness, I left it in the library.”

Holly steps toward the door, but Jane shoos her away. “No, no. Take this moment. I’ll be right back.” She hurries away.

Now that it’s almost time, Holly can’t bear to let her daughter go. Even for Jack. She wraps her arms around Eden again and holds her tight.

“I can’t let you do this,” she whispers. “I thought I could, but I can’t.” The thought of losing Eden makes her dizzy, makes her weak at the knees.

“There’s no time,” Eden says. “You have to trust me.”

“I do. I do. But . . .” Holly’s having trouble finding the words for what she wants to say.

“You’re wrong, Eden dear. There’s all the time. For you and your mother both.”

It’s Jane, at the door. Holly blinks and blinks again. Jane looks . . . She can’t describe it. Different somehow. Golden. Holly rubs her eyes. Why is her vision blurry?

“Are you feeling well? You both look a bit peaked. Come here. Sit for a moment,” Jane says, patting the beds.

It’s true. The weakness in Holly’s legs has increased. Her tongue is numb. She staggers to the nearest bed, reaches out a hand for Eden, who collapses next to her.

“Mother?” Holly whispers. There’s something happening to Jane’s face. As Holly watches, it morphs, changes. Time runs backward. Wrinkles smooth and disappear. Age spots vanish. Jane’s face swims in and out of Holly’s vision until she’s not certain if she’s looking at her mother or her daughter.

“What did you do?”

“I’m sorry, my darling. What I had to. Or did you think you were the only parent willing to risk everything for her child?”

Only then does Holly see the empty syringe clutched in Jane’s hand.