Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(27)

She shakes her head. “I’m not sure,” she says honestly. She’s thought about selling Grace House a dozen times over the years, but what would she have done with Eden? Move her to London, to a nursing home that would ask too many questions? Take her to the States, where someone might make the connection between Jack’s injections and his forever-sleeping sister? No, this was better.

“I guess I was holding on to it,” Holly says, surprising herself. “Holding on to those memories from before, even if I couldn’t bear to actually think about them.” Eden’s never been the only reason she’s kept Grace House. She’s just been the only reason Holly could admit to.

The sound of the bells and the rustle of the grass in the graveyard are louder now, as if the ghosts from Holly’s past have decided they’ve been silent far too long, that now is the time to speak. They’re swirling around her; they’re calling out to Jack; they’re wanting to be heard.

But Holly won’t let them. To talk about Eden here, to remind Jack that his father and brother are buried around the corner from where he’s standing—it’s too much. All she’s ever wanted to do for Jack since the crash is to protect him, to take away the pain of those dark years and keep him safe. But the truth is, by not talking about them, she’s been protecting herself too. And she’s not ready to stop.

“Can I go inside?”

Holly’s been lost, listening to those voices. But now, as if on cue, Maria comes out the front door carrying a cup of tea. Holly offers a brief prayer of thanksgiving that Maria’s not in nursing scrubs today but regular street clothes. She holds up a hand to forestall her.

“I’m sorry, give me one moment,” Holly says. She puts an arm around Jack’s shoulders, physically moving him farther from the house so no one can overhear.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” she says quietly. “Not today. I’ve been renting to a family and . . . their daughter is quite sick.” She hesitates, then piles on to the lie. “They’re interested in purchasing it, actually. That’s why I came by today. But listen. There’s a beach around the corner where you used to play. That little path behind the house leads to it. Why don’t you go check it out? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

Jack doesn’t move at first. But then he catches sight of Maria’s expression. She’s clearly miserable. He nods and starts down the path Holly points out. She steels herself, then crosses the lawn to the front steps and to Maria.

“What is it?”

“Ma’am,” Maria begins, then licks her lips and starts again. “Dr. Darling. There is one place I had not looked. One place we did not check.”

“Yes?” Holly wants to reach out and throttle Maria to make her hurry.

“The safe. I did not check it because we had no need, without Eden, to go into it. But while you were talking to Tala, I remembered. And went to check.”

The safe is the same as the one Holly has in her lab at home. It’s a refrigerated, secure container. Every two months—the same amount of time the Red Cross requires between donations—the nurse on duty is supposed to take 470 milliliters of blood from Eden. Maria then places the blood in the safe. She is the only person, aside from Holly, who has the code.

“And?” Holly asks, although she already knows the answer.

“The blood is gone. All of it.”

This is what Holly forgot to check yesterday. The most important thing. Without these samples, all she has left for Jack is what’s left in her New York lab. It’s not enough. And it’s too far away if there’s an emergency.

“Are you sure?” she asks helplessly.

Maria nods. “There were three full bags when I opened it last. There are none there now.”

Holly’s stomach contracts as if she’s been punched. For one wild moment, she thinks that Maria must have done it. She must have seen something, figured out how valuable Eden’s blood is. But in her heart she knows. The fail-safes she’s put in place make it almost impossible.

There’s only one other person in this world who would know how to benefit from Eden’s blood. One person who could move so lightly no one would notice, one person who could slip in and out of a window without being seen.

In the distance, she swears she can hear a rooster crow, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It’s ridiculous; it’s only an animal. But as she leans against the front door to catch her breath, she sees, under the tree, a flash of something red. As if she’s sleepwalking, she walks over.

Impossible, she thinks. Just like a summer shadow on a spring day. Or the feeling of being watched from a remote second-floor window. But she bends to pick it up anyhow. A red feather. She turns and looks around the space. There is nothing else. It’s a message. And a threat—to her, to Eden, and to Jack.

She knows where she has to go. To London. To find Eden’s father.

Impossible as it sounds, to find Peter Pan.





Chapter Ten



There’s another, less-traveled path behind the house than the one Jack took to the beach. Holly uses it now. Despite her urgency, she can’t help but brush her hands against the hedgerow that lines the way, can’t help but stop at the top of the hill for a second and breathe in the scent of damp, of moist earth and oldness and new-mown grass that she associates only with this place.