The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(93)

“No?” he said. “What do you believe in?”

I almost smiled, but the magnitude of what I believed at just that moment was too sobering. As were the consequences.

“Choices,” was all I said. I pulled the rubber stopper in the sink and the water began to drain with a sucking sound.

His towel froze for the merest second. “You decided, then.”

The window above the sink looked out on the meadow behind the cabin. In the dark, the trees had disappeared except for the snow coating their limbs, etching them in white.

“I can’t tell you how much I love this place,” I said. “But you know that.” I turned to him. “Laurel, too, because here she has people who love her. Protect her. That’s something I didn’t do.”

He moved toward me. “Sweetheart—”

“No, please. Let me finish.” I took a step back, away from him. “I’ve been offered a rare thing, right? You said it yourself—not everyone gets a second chance, so there must be a reason. These things can’t be random, can they? At the Begays’, the birthday party, Trang turning sixteen . . . I think about Laurel, and what I want for her is real birthdays. Growing up, growing older. Learning about the world, making her way in it.”

“That can happen here,” said Simon.

“I’m sure. In its way. But it would always be . . . an imitation, wouldn’t it? No—an echo.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not right, either—at least an echo begins with the real thing. She hasn’t had that. She never will. And she had no choice in this. Any of it. This was . . . forced on her. Because I failed to make the right choices back in Wheeler.”

I paused, struggling to untangle a knot of feuding emotions. Simon waited for me to continue.

“And Jim. He won’t let us alone—not even here. He’s invading this place, our dreams. It’s like we’re fused somehow. Or maybe we’re bringing him with us because we can’t let him go. I even saw him one night in Laurel’s room—or a vision of him—standing over her while she slept. You said there are risks here—even here—remember? I’m her mother. I’m supposed to protect her. Maybe I do that by going back and getting it right. Doing what I should have done, or just doing things differently. Maybe that’s what Olin meant. Maybe that’s my truth.”

Simon was watching me as if he was dealing with his own feuding emotions. I willed him to move, to speak, but he didn’t. Or wouldn’t. Above all, I didn’t want to leave him. Didn’t want to disappoint him. And I didn’t want the three feet of empty space between us to turn into a chasm that couldn’t be bridged, ever.

I moved to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in his shoulder, holding on for dear life. The tears started, dampening his shirt.

After a moment, Simon coaxed my head up and brushed the hair from my face. He kissed the tears on my cheeks.

The truth was, I might not understand Morro—its physics or how we ended up here—but I did understand it was a sanctuary for us. But sanctuaries aren’t forever—that’s their nature.

“I told you I fit here, and I do,” I told him. “I fit with you—I’ve never been more sure of anything. But not like this. Not . . . yet.”

He kissed my lips, then leaned toward the radio and turned the dial.

“You asked me once about my favorite song,” he said.

“And you said one day you’d tell me.”

He stopped on a ballad, low and slow. A woman’s voice. An old song from when crooning was popular.

His arms were around me again, and we began to sway to the music. The song was from the 1940s, but I knew it. Redone . . . how many times? It made me think of Manhattan nightclubs, swing bands and cigarette smoke, tear-filled good-byes at train stations, soldiers shipping off to war half a world away.

I pulled back just enough to look into Simon’s face. And at last I saw none of the guardedness he could slip on like armor. No careful neutrality. His eyes shone the deepest grays and blues, and his whole heart and soul were in them.

“This isn’t good-bye,” I said. “I’m coming back.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ll be here.”


*

At the farmhouse, Laurel was tucked into bed, Tinkerbell curled beside her. Olin had ducked outside to the kitchen stoop, stealing his last cigarette of the day.

I stood outside on the porch, hugging my coat around me.