The Serpent King(81)
“Me neither.”
Dill gazed at the ground. Lydia pretended to do the same, but instead peered at Dill’s profile out of the corner of her eye, the glowing waltz of fireflies around his head. Her heart ached with the knowledge that every time it beat, it was counting away another second to her leaving and not seeing him anymore.
“Dill?” She put her hand on his knee.
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“I hope we’re always a part of each other’s lives, no matter where we go or what we do.” Let no one accuse me of not cheesing this up, she thought with an inward cringe. But I guess New York City’s going to give me an abundance of opportunities to be cool and unsentimental.
Dill scooted closer to Lydia and put his arm around her. “I’m committed if you are. You’re going the farthest in life.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Don’t count on that. I think the future has a lot of great surprises for you.”
“I hope.”
“Do you regret us—” Lydia started to ask, in a hesitant murmur.
“No. Whatever you were about to ask. I don’t regret anything about us.”
She thought about the things she would miss. She loved the way he cocked his head when he talked to her, to keep his hair out of his eyes; the way he sat, cross-legged, leaning on his hands. He didn’t always look at her when he talked, but when it was important, he looked her right in the eyes, and it made her tingle. And then there were his eyes; incandescent and dark all at the same time. Lightning illuminating a thunderhead.
It was strange to think about him existing beyond her view. She wondered if he had a completely different vocabulary of private gestures. Perhaps he held his head at a different angle. Sat differently. Perhaps his eyes contained a different luminosity and intelligence.
Lydia gave a mournful sigh. “I guess I should say goodbye to Travis.”
She and Dill stood by the grave. Dill put his hand on Lydia’s shoulder. She began to say something, but stopped. Again. And stopped.
“Travis, I miss you.” Her voice quavered. She took a deep breath. “And I’m glad that I got to have you as a friend. I talked about you at graduation in my salutatorian speech. About a month ago, Dill and I went to prom together, and we wished you were there. I hope that you’re happy wherever you are. And you maybe have a cool cloak and a sweet sword or whatever. I’m sorry I don’t read enough fantasy to even know what sort of stuff I should wish you have. I did finish Bloodfall, though, and it was really good. I wish we could talk about it. I’m sorry I gave you so much grief over your staff. I’m sorry I didn’t tell more people sooner that we were friends. I’m sorry I didn’t know how bad things were for you at home. And I’m sorry I don’t have something more clever or profound to say.”
She wiped away tears and turned and hugged Dill. “I feel guilty leaving him behind.”
“Me too.”
They went to the Column, where they stole a few more quiet minutes together, listening to the river wear its way deeper into the Earth, the way people wear grooves into each other’s hearts.
Lydia let him pick the music on the way home. He picked “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division, because he remembered that it was her favorite song. They sang along loudly. In Dill’s case, he sang because it felt like a more acceptable way of screaming in agony, which was what he wanted to do. The effort of trying to keep himself together was making him sick to his stomach.
They pulled up at Dill’s house.
“Well,” Lydia said, her eyes welling up. “I guess this is your stop.”
“Yeah,” Dill said, clearing his throat. “I guess it is.”
He opened the door and got out. He went around the front of the car to Lydia’s side and opened her door. She unbuckled her seat belt, jumped out, and hugged him. Tight. Tighter than she ever had before.
“I’ll really, really, really miss you,” Lydia said, and loosed the floodgates.
“I’ll really, really, really, really miss you,” Dill said, and broke down too.
They hugged that way for minutes, rocking gently, their tears mixing and falling, before either spoke again.
“Remember this, Dillard Early,” Lydia whispered, her voice cracking. “You are you and you are magnificent and brilliant and talented. You’re not your grandfather. You’re not your father. Their serpents are not your serpents. Their poison is not your poison. Their darkness is not your darkness. Not even their name is your name.”
Dill buried his face in her hair. He breathed in its smell—pear, vanilla, sandalwood—while he gathered his courage. At least send her off with every secret treasure of your heart. Haven’t you learned by now that you’re completely naked? You’ve danced with death. What do you have left to fear? You can survive anything. Serpents. Deadly poison. This.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.
Lydia hugged him tighter, pressing her tear-stained cheek to his, but said nothing for several moments. She started to say something, but caught herself. And then she stood on her tiptoes, put both hands on the sides of Dill’s face, and pulled him down to her.
She could taste her tears on Dill’s lips. And she briefly remembered her trip to Nantucket at the end of summer last year and the salt of the ocean on her tongue. That was the taste on her lips at that moment, but like the end of a summer that had lasted her entire life.