Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(106)

Holly’s eyes widen in surprise. She’s about to respond when sirens thread the air. Still a ways off, but growing closer.

“Decision time,” Jane says, nodding toward Eden.

Holly lets go of Jane’s hand and crouches in front of her daughter. Gently brushes the hair back from Eden’s face and tucks it behind her ear. “What do you want to do?” she asks.

Eden untangles herself from Jack and sits up. The faintest smudge of color is returning to her cheeks. Her body responds so fast to injuries that the cut on her wrist has already started to heal. Yet somehow she looks older than she did when she came through the window this evening.

“I want to stay,” she says, biting her lip. “But I think . . . I think I have to go.” She looks anxiously at her mother.

If Holly asks, she knows that Eden won’t leave. They’ll stay right here, in London, or maybe go to Cornwall. In a few months or a year, the neighbors will wonder who the old woman is who loves to jump rope, who chases soap bubbles and feeds the birds and has the most infectious laugh they’ve ever heard. They’ll marvel at how patient Holly’s son is with her, how he spends hours sitting on the garden wall listening to her talk. They’ll shake their heads at seeing an elderly woman up that high. “Does she think she can fly?” they’ll ask. “It’s such a long way down.”

A year. Maybe two. Holly will keep working, keep trying to find a cure, but in her heart she knows the odds are against her. The only gift she can give her daughter is the hardest one of all—that of letting go.

“I think so too,” she says as steadily as she can.

Jane pats her back, her hand small but strong. “Well done,” she whispers so only Holly can hear. And then:

“How would you feel about a companion?”

Eden, Jack, and Holly all turn to gape at her.

“Grandma?” Jack says.

“Well, she shouldn’t go alone. And I certainly can’t stay here,” Jane says, gesturing to her body. “Not like this.”

“The serum will wear off . . . ,” Holly begins.

“Yes. But that’s not what I mean. Tonight . . . the danger, the excitement, even the night sky . . . what if Peter wasn’t the one I was waiting for all these years?”

“I don’t understand,” Holly says. “You think there’s someone else?”

“Yes,” Jane says simply. “Me.”

No, Holly wants to cry. It’s too much. To lose both of them on the same day . . . But as she looks at her mother, Jane’s words from earlier in the evening ring in her head. I’ve never regretted it. She finds the strength to nod.

“I’ll keep her safe,” Jane says. “I give you my word. And if we can, we’ll return.”

“You could come,” Eden blurts. She takes Holly’s hand, tugs her to the window. Holly breathes in the early-morning air and wonders what it would be like. New adventures, new places no one—or almost no one—has ever seen.

“We really are made of star dust, did you know?” Eden says. And when she says it, Holly can see those stars, winking out behind the morning sky. No longer visible, but still there. Places she could almost touch.

But then she thinks of Jane, always chasing the next wonderful thing, when so many wonderful things were right in front of her. Of Jack, who is looking at Eden with such grief on his face, grief she knows he’s struggling not to show. He is still far too pale. And, like this, he might not survive whatever Peter left behind in that far-off Neverland.

She remembers Ed, who is already star dust, and Nan, who may never see the stars again unless someone is there to help her navigate her way through the dark. And a very small part of her thinks of Christopher, of blue-black eyes in a scarred face. Of a single kiss and a gaze that’s infuriating, challenging, yet tender. Her heart pulls in two, but she shakes her head.

“If I come with you, who will watch the stars?” she says. “Besides, it’s not an adventure if there isn’t someone waiting to welcome you home. Isn’t that what mothers are supposed to do?” She says the last with a look at Jane.

Jack has struggled to his feet and joined them. He cocks his head. “Listen,” he says. And over the noise of the traffic, over the sirens, they can just make out tiny bells. Joyous bells. They lift Holly’s spirit despite her grief.

“It’s time to go,” Jane says. She takes Eden’s hand and steps to the window. “The house and everything else is in your name. Use it as you see fit.”

But Holly knows she’ll stay here. She could never sell—how would Eden and her mother find her? Every evening she’ll be right here in London with Jack, gazing up at the stars.

The bells are louder, closer, and then there’s a light at the window, a tiny sparkling thing. It perches on Eden’s shoulder, nuzzles at her hair. “Bell said to tell you, do you know that place between sleep and awake? The place where you can still remember dreaming?” Eden says. She’s clutching the photo of herself tightly in her hand. “That’s where I’ll be every night.”

“Then that’s where I’ll look,” Holly says. The tears behind her lashes make everything look softer, as if she’s already in a dream.

“We have to go,” Jane repeats. She blows a kiss to Holly, to Jack. For the first time since Eden cut herself, Holly looks—really looks—at him. There’s something different, more solid somehow, about him. Could what Peter gave him, whatever bit of magic he used, combined with Eden’s blood, have changed him? Healed him more thoroughly than anything she’s tried before now? He catches her gaze and, to her surprise, reaches out a hand to her, just as the wind picks up.