Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(73)

But her daughter’s frame is rigid, her jaw set, her arms held close to her body. And when she finally opens her eyes, her expression is wary. So Holly keeps her distance. She takes a deep breath, grips her hands together so she won’t be tempted. Bites back the questions that tumble through her mind—Are you okay? What happened? Where have you been? Instead she tries to make a connection.

“You loved this place,” she says. “We came here often, the three of us. Do you remember?”

“A little.” Eden shrugs. “The water used to be murky. You could never tell what was really down there.” They gaze at the water, now the bright blue of a swimming pool. The statue too has been refurbished since those days, scrubbed clean, the green-gray patina replaced by shining bronze. “I liked it better before. That’s what it really was. Gritty and sad.” Her voice wavers. “But my wishes never came true then, either.”

Holly’s about to ask what she means when there’s a commotion at the other end of the atrium. The strange little woman is lying on the cement bench in the corner, blowing bubbles into the sky with a wand. Both it and the container of soap are a bright fluorescent pink, a child’s toy. Nearby a mother has her arms around a small girl, hustling her toward the exit and throwing furious glances over her shoulder at the woman.

Eden sighs. “Bell’s all appetite,” she says. “She always has been. She used to crave adventure, but what she’s hungry for has changed. She’s bored, causing trouble. We’ll have to leave soon.”

“Wait!” Panic claws through Holly as she focuses only on the last thing Eden said. “I’ve only just found you—what do you mean, leave? Where have you been? How did you get away? And what woke you up?” Her voice cracks. “Eden, I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

At first she thinks her daughter won’t answer. Eden keeps her eyes trained on the woman. “Bell woke me,” she says at last. “I heard her talking for a long time in my dreams, but I couldn’t understand. Her words were so soft, so pretty. Like tiny golden bells. And then something changed. Her voice got louder, more urgent. She told me I was in danger. That Peter was coming, and she couldn’t hold him off much longer. He was going to find me. And if I didn’t wake up soon, if I didn’t make the leap to consciousness, I wouldn’t be able to.”

Bell . . . Holly looks from her daughter to the woman, who is now turning in slow circles, watching the bubbles rise into the sky. Beneath the grime and dirt she seems familiar, but it takes a moment to make the connection.

“Tinker Bell?” she says, horrified. “That’s Tinker Bell?”

“She can’t help what she is,” Eden says coldly. “Peter made her that way. She’s bound to him, to his emotions. And still she went behind his back to rescue me. She risked everything to save me from him. And from you.”

Eden’s words hit Holly like a blow. She can’t breathe, can’t get air. She sags against the railing that surrounds the statue. It’s too much. First Jack, now Eden. Everything she’s done, everything she’s tried to do, has twisted, broken. There’s a cold, heavy stone of dread in her chest where her heart should be.

“Eden,” she manages to say.

But her daughter looks at her with dispassionate eyes. “Did you know I could hear everything? The entire time? And I was scared. When you told me you were leaving, I begged you not to go. But you stopped bringing Jack, and then you moved and left me with strangers. And no one could hear me but Bell.”

“Eden, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. If I’d known you could hear me, if I thought my staying would have made a difference . . . But I left to try and save you. You and Jack.”

“Jack, maybe,” Eden allows. Her lower lip is trembling. “But me?”

Holly looks at her face. Eden is so beautiful. So grown-up and poised. In her face Holly sees Wendy, sees Jane, sees herself. But appearances are deceiving—no one knows that better than Holly. Just because Eden looks as if she’s an adult doesn’t mean she is. Inside, she’s still just a thirteen-year-old girl who thinks she lost her mother.

“You too. Always,” Holly says firmly. Eden’s hand rests on the railing surrounding the statue, and Holly moves her own so that their pinkie fingers barely touch. “Especially you.”

“You took Jack to New York,” Eden whispers. “Not me.” But she doesn’t move her hand.

“You and Jack are different people. You suffered when I brought you to London. New York would have been even worse for you.” Holly takes a deep breath. “I came back as often as I could. I promise. And I never stopped trying to find a cure. Never stopped hoping I could save you.”

“There might be a chance.” Eden looks across the atrium, and Holly follows her gaze. Tinker Bell has abandoned the bubbles. She’s walking behind a stout businessman in a suit, imitating his strut, doffing an imaginary hat to the crowd that is gathering and egging her on. A few people toss coins, and she picks them up, miming exaggerated thanks.

“There’s a place that might fix me. But Bell won’t tell me how to get there. Not yet.”

“Neverland,” Holly whispers.

Eden nods, then gestures to herself, encompassing all of it—the long limbs, the height, the face that even as Holly watches seems to age. “I’m growing too fast. Another six months, a year—who knows how old I’ll be?” Tears fill her eyes. “I don’t want to die before I’ve had a chance to live. I’ve never made a friend, never fallen in love, never even been to school. There’s so much I want to do.”