The Truth About Forever(106)

"It's just what?" He was waiting, genuinely wanting to know. "Explain it to me."

But I couldn't. I'd had to learn it my own way, and so had my mother. Jason would eventually, as well. No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.

"Macy?" he said. "Please. Explain it to me."

I took in a breath, trying to figure out a way to say there was just no way, but then, over his head, coming into the kitchen through the side door, I saw Wes. And I let out that breath and just looked at him.

He was running a hand through his hair, glancing around at the people grouped in the living room and on the other side of the island. As I watched, Delia came bustling in, carrying a trayful of empty glasses. She put it down, kissing his cheek, and they talked for a second, both of them surveying the party. He said something, and she shrugged, gesturing toward the living room. You sure? I saw him ask and she nodded, then squeezed his arm and turned to the oven door, pulling it open. Then he glanced outside, and saw me. And Jason. I tried to keep my eyes on him, willing him to just stay there for another minute, but he turned around and went out the side door, and I watched it fall shut behind him.

"Macy?" Caroline came around the side of the house. "Can you come here a second?"

"Macy," Jason asked. "What—"

"Hold on," I told him. I started across the deck, dodging around groups of people, and went down the other steps, coming out right by the side door. I could see Wes at the end of the driveway.

"Do you know anything about this?" Caroline asked. For a second I thought she meant Wes, until I turned around to see her and her group standing in front of a sculpture.

"What about it?" I asked, distracted. I'd lost sight of him now.

"It's just," she said, looking up at it, "I've never seen it before. It's not one of mine."

"Macy?" Jason came up behind me. "I really think we should—"

But I wasn't listening. Not to him. Not to Caroline, who was still circling around the sculpture, making her Art Major noises.

Not to the sounds of the party floating through the window. All I could hear was the slight tinkling noise of the sculpture as it moved, this new angel. She was standing with her feet apart, her hands clasped at her chest. Her eyes were sea glass, circled with washers, her mouth a key, turned upwards. Her halo was circled with tiny hearts in hands. But most striking, most different, were the things that arched up over her head, made of thin aluminum, cut with strong peaks at the top, sweeping curves at the bottom, lined with tiny bells, which made the chiming noise I was hearing. That we could all hear.

"I don't get it," Caroline said, bemused. "She's the only one with wings. Why is that?"

There were so many questions in life. You couldn't ever have all the answers. But I knew this one.

"It's so she can fly," I said. And then I started to run.



I'd thought it might be like my dreams. But it wasn't. Running came back to me, as easily as anything else that had once been everything to you. The first few steps were hard; it took me a second to catch my breath, but then I found my pace, and everything fell away, until there was nothing but me and what lay ahead, growing closer every second. Wes.

By the time I reached him, I was breathless. Red-faced. And my heart was thumping hard enough in my chest that at first, it was all I could hear. He turned around just as I got to him, looking surprised, and for a second neither of us said anything as I struggled to catch my breath.

"Macy," he said. I could tell he was shocked by my running, by the very fact that I was standing there in front of him, gasping for air. "What—"

"I'm sorry." I put my hand up, palm facing him, and took another deep breath. "But there's been a change."

He blinked at me. "A change," he repeated.

I nodded. "In the rules."

It took him a second: he had no idea what I was talking about. Then, slowly, his face relaxed. "Ah," he said. "The rules."

"Yes."

"I wasn't notified," he pointed out.

"Well, it was pretty recent," I said.

"As in…"

"As in, effective right now."

Wes ran a hand through his hair and I saw the heart and hand slip into view, then disappear again. I had so much to tell him, I didn't even know where to start. Or maybe I did.

"Macy," he said softly, looking at me closely. "You don't have to—"

I shook my head. "The change," I said. "Ask me about the change."

He leaned back on his heels, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Okay," he said, after a second. "What's the change?"

"It's been decided," I told him, taking another breath, "that there's another step to winning the game. And that is that in order for me to really win, I have to answer the question you passed on, that night in the truck. Only then is it final."

"The question I passed on," he repeated.

I nodded. "That's the rule."

I knew, in the silence that followed, that anything could happen here. It might be too late: again, I might have missed my chance. But I would at least know I tried, that I took my heart and extended my hand, whatever the outcome.