If You Find Me(61)

I see Delaney moving rhythmically in the bed, a smile on her face . . . a smile . . . until she saw me.

Pixie yawns so wide, I see her uvula.

“I was in the study, playing Scrabble with some of the freshman girls. You were the one who disappeared. With Ryan,” she says, teasing me.

I grin, the happier events of the night playing on a loop. Lips. Vivaldi. Snow angels. Lancelot.

She grabs my arm and turns it, checking my watch. I trail her to the coat closet, where she finds her coat easily, slipping it from the hanger, and I help her put it on, like I do for Nessa. She turns to me as she wraps her scarf around her neck.

“This had to be the most amazing night of my entire life. I wish it weren’t over already.”

“Mine, too.” I giggle. I feel like I could hug the world, like a big snow globe wrapped up in my puffer arms.

“I knew he’d kiss you,” she says, leaning in to me.

“I didn’t even know he’d be here.”

“I did. He asked me on Friday if you were going”—her eyes glint conspiratorially—“and I told him, ‘Hell yeah.’ ”

[page]I laugh, realizing how much people underestimate Pixie. She comes in such an adorable package, but she’s really light-years ahead of all of us.

She takes my bare hand in her gloved one. Each finger of her gloves is a different color.

“C’mon. I don’t want my mom waiting too long.”

We wrangle our way to the front door, but I stop and turn when I hear a familiar voice.

“Hey!”

Delaney leans over the second-floor balcony, her perfect hair a perfect mess. One collar blade of her white button-down blouse stands on end, but it’s not that. Something’s different.

And then I see it. Her eyes aren’t defiant, superior, or icy. They’re terrified.

Pixie pulls at me to go. I stare at Delaney for a long moment, waiting for the sisterly braille to kick in. It doesn’t.

I turn and follow Pixie out the door.

“You girls have fun?”

Heat escapes in pockets out of Mrs. Macleod’s open window. Pixie climbs into the front seat. I slide into the back.

“It was awesome, Amy!” Pixie sighs.

“Mom, please.”

“It was AWESOME, Mom! I had the best night of my entire life. We ate birthday cake and danced all night, and the house was huge. There was this glass fireplace in the great room, and everyone was so nice to me.”

“Cake?” I poke Pixie in the back.

“Um-hmm.”

“Seat belts, please.”

Pixie sighs, her face dreamy as she turns to me.

“Thanks, Carey, for the best night of my life.”

“How about you, Carey? Did you have fun?”

Pixie giggles. I nod at Mrs. Macleod, and blush.

“It was quite a night,” I agree, making a face at Pixie, then smiling at her mom, who smiles back in the rearview mirror.

We drive home through the slippery darkness, Pixie oohing and aahing over the Christmas lights strung across the houses, each display different, each amazing in its own right.

I remember Jenessa’s face when we drove through town and she saw the lights for the first time. She thought it was her fairy world come to life.

There have been so many moments when we’ve smacked up against reality, struggling to gain our bearings and find our way clear. But not the lights. The lights are magical. Ness is young enough to make this world her real one, a place where sober people string lights on houses and trees, whole rooms exist for canned goods, and a fat old guy in a red suit leaves presents for children on December 25.

“Wait until we get the tree,” Melissa says, her eyes shining. “A fresh-cut tree, with pine scent wafting through the house!”

“Imagine that,” I tell Jenessa, her eyes wide, unblinking. “A tree inside the house—hung with ornaments and even more lights!”

At our farm, it’s dark and silent as the snow stops falling for the first time in days. Our own Christmas lights, ginormous bulbs of red, green, yellow, and blue, have been switched off for the night.

“Would you like us to walk you in?” Mrs. Macleod offers as I undo my seat belt and zip my coat.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I have my keys,” I pull the ring from my pocket and jangle it, “and it looks like everyone’s asleep. I’ll be okay. Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome, Carey. Thanks for taking Courtney to the party. I know it meant a lot to her.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. She had a good time. We both did.”

“Hello! I’m right here!”

I chuckle as I close the door. Pixie scrambles over the seat and stretches out for a nap across the back, waving good-bye with her eyes closed.

I let myself into the house, shushing Shorty as he bays once, sniffs the party on me, then licks some off my hand. I struggle with my boots, leaving them standing in the mudroom, and pad down the hall in my stocking feet.

The fire in the living room is a pile of dying embers—sad, somehow. I perch on the rug before it, my knobby knees hugged to my chest. Good old Shorty, waiting until he heard the dead bolt click before disappearing up the stairs, back to Nessa.

I pat my pocket, remembering, my fingers closing around two shiny rectangles of paper. When I turn the key of the Tiffany lamp, there’s just enough light to see.