“You came home,” she said to my dad. Then she looked at me and Calder. “Did you find the Thin Woman? McElroy?”
“I did,” Calder said, gesturing at the boat.
The pillar of water twisted like a cyclone and found Mrs. Boyd, who still held Adrian tight. She stood alongside Sophie and Gabby at the rail. Her mouth hung open in awe.
Nadia twisted again, finding me. “You did well.”
I beamed with pride, and Maris let out a howl of betrayal. She flung herself from the water, arching into a back dive that marked her angry retreat.
Calder lunged and grabbed her arm, catching her. He yanked her to his side and forcibly turned her chin to face Nadia. “Oh, no you don’t,” Calder said through gritted teeth. “Stand and face the music, Maris.”
“There is no music to face, sweetheart,” Nadia said to Maris, but based on the beautiful sound of her watery voice, that matter was up for debate.
The pillar that was Nadia curved and bent toward her oldest daughter. “Don’t be ashamed, Maris. It was wrong of me to put so much responsibility on one so young.”
Maris couldn’t look at her mother. She closed her eyes and, still held tightly in Calder’s hands, wrenched her head back and forth.
“I’m better off on my own,” Maris spit through a locked jaw. She clawed at Calder’s hands, trying to pull herself free. “I don’t want to be a family with the likes of these. How do you expect me to look at them and not remember how they hurt you?”
“I’m not asking you to forget,” Nadia said. “I’m asking you to forgive. To forgive them, to forgive me, and to forgive yourself.”
Maris shrieked and sent a shock wave of pain through the water. Calder’s hands flew back. I heard myself yell “No!” And with a flash of white light, Maris made her escape.
41
CALDER
Nadia melted away into the lake, finally laid to rest, her promise to Mrs. Boyd fulfilled. Lily held the pendant in her fingers, looking at it anew. “She’s gone,” she said, but she didn’t have to tell me. I could feel her go. We could all sense Nadia’s relief. The lake stilled to a glassy calm, warmer than it had been all season.
As soon as the water went quiet, Jason raced back home to tend to Mrs. H. He had revived her, just as I had done for the kayaker, but there had never been a proper reinvigoration. None of us knew whether the shock that had killed her would also change the course of the disease. I had my doubts, but only time would tell.
Sophie captained the Pettits’ Sun Sport back to shore with Adrian slung over her shoulder, while Gabby and my mother huddled on the floor of the boat, in shock over what they’d seen. Honestly, I was no less in shock. We would try to explain everything to them later.
Maris was gone for good. We knew that as soon as Pavati and Daniel returned to check on their child, and Pavati said she could no longer hear Maris in the lake—the mental thread that bound them finally cut.
I wondered at the tenuous reunification of our family. Jason’s promise to join Maris meant nothing now that she had severed the familial ties, and I had to admit that Pavati’s actions in the lake made me more inclined to trust her as our new matriarch. The future looked brighter than it ever had.
For now, though, I could barely take my eyes off Lily, as she lay on top of the water, entirely peaceful, basking in the spot where the pillar of water had dissolved. I imagined Lily could still feel the love there.
Shards of pink light radiated from her tail, nearly blinding me. The way I felt brought Lily’s poets back to memory. I was tempted to quote them—something about loving her to the depth and breadth and height my soul could reach. But the words didn’t sound like enough, so I didn’t ruin her moment.
She was the most amazing creature I’d ever seen. Because of her, I was more than I’d ever been before. I had a family. A real family. And it was bigger and better than anything I could have hoped for. I had a past. I had an identity. I was Patrick McElroy. My evolution was complete.
I gave Lily one more look—memorizing the image—before heading to shore.
Later that night, as we sat around the fireplace in the Hancocks’ cozy living room, I watched the light flicker across all the faces I loved: Jason’s, Carolyn’s, Sophie’s, and Lily’s most of all. Mrs. Boyd sat silently, wrapped in a blanket, recovering from the day, holding Adrian.
Lily couldn’t say sorry enough, but Mrs. Boyd … Mom (that was going to be hard to get used to) would have none of it. Seemed she was having trouble connecting her former employee with the memory of the sea monster who had nearly killed her.
After Mom left, making me promise to come see her in the morning, and after Sophie fell asleep, Lily stood up and pulled me outside and onto the front porch.
She rose on the balls of her feet. “Patrick,” she said, kissing me once. “I guess I could get used to calling you that.”
I wrapped my arms around her and laced my fingers behind her back. “It doesn’t matter what you call me, so long as you let me stay.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Oh, I think I’m entitled.”
She bowed her head, gently bumping her forehead against my chest three times. “You know I was right to send you away. How could you doubt how I felt about you?”
“Chalk it up to a lifetime of insecurity. But you’re right. I should never have doubted you. From the first time I met you I knew you were something special. You’ve proved that to me over and over again. I guess, when you told me Nadia was talking to you, I was just too scared to believe it.”
“Well, you don’t have a monopoly on fear, but … I think that part is over for now.”
Lily led me off the porch to our hammock. She had me get in first before crawling in, curling her body to mine.
“So,” she said.
“So?” I asked, running my fingers up and down her spine. She shivered and pulled herself closer to me, which was, of course, the desired effect.
“Maybe we can get back to that conversation we were having?” she suggested.
“Which conversation was that?”
She tipped her head back and looked at me with a serious expression. “The one that was so rudely interrupted.” Her silvery eyes shone in the moonlight, and I sucked in my breath at their intensity.
I tangled my fingers in her long hair and reveled in the return of the happy pink light that shimmered from her shoulders, the tip of her nose, the curve of her ears. Even though I knew what she was talking about, I played dumb. “You lost me.”
Lily blushed and looked out toward the lake. “You know the one. The one about our future.”
A small laugh rumbled low in my chest. “Oh, that. Well, I had plenty of time to think about that while I was out on my own. It was probably a stupid idea. Just the result of an impulsive moment—”
“Calder!” she said, slapping my chest with her palms.
I grabbed her wrists and held both her hands between our bodies. “But …,” I hedged. “I’m known to be impulsive. I’m sure the moment will hit again someti—”
“If you won’t do it, then I will.”
“No … wait … I think I feel something coming on.…” I released her hands and reached into my pocket. With only a second of hesitation, I took out the circle of braided copper and slipped it on her waiting finger. The polished surface of the banded agate shone in the lights from the kitchen window. “I’m not perfect,” I said.
She kept her eyes on her hand.
“But I’ll try really hard to be that perfect Tennyson merman you’ve always wanted.”
“Maybe I’d believe that,” she teased, “if you could say it in rhyme.”
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her as close as I could without crushing her. “Now you’re pushing your luck.”
We lay there quietly, listening to the muffled voices of Lily’s parents in the house, waves crashing on the shore, pine boughs groaning overhead, the occasional pop of an errant firecracker goin
g off at a faraway campfire.…
“So you forgive me?” she asked.
“Let’s see … for sending me away to find my mother, only so you could try to kill her the first chance you got?”
I could see Lily pale in the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t funny. You have to know I could never live without you. I need you with me.”
“Need?” she asked. “Or want?”
“Is there a difference?” I asked.
“Slight,” she said. “After what happened on the water yesterday”—she swallowed hard, remembering—“I understand what you mean by need, but it’s not very romantic somehow.”
“Then I want you, Lily Hancock. Always. Forever.”
She smiled, and I could feel our heartbeats quicken in perfect synchronicity.
“And about the other thing?” she prompted.
“And yes, I forgive you for everything that happened. I was just as much to blame.”
She sighed, and the light spiraling out of her mixed with the electricity in me. Together, it hummed like an aurora borealis light show between our two bodies, starting with our locked gazes and traveling across our collarbones, then down our arms and tangled legs.
“What’s that thing you told me the first time we lay in this hammock?” I asked.
“Forgiveness,” she said. “It’s the thing that frees the heart.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Whew. We’ve come to the end, and I’ve been so humbled by the experience. When I woke up in the middle of the night with Calder White’s voice in my head saying, “I hadn’t killed anyone all winter, and I have to say, I felt pretty good about that,” I had no idea where that one line would take us. This series would not have been possible without the enthusiasm of readers, librarians, teachers, and bookstores. Thank you! I also have to thank, in no particular order, Françoise Bui, Rebecca Short, Paul Samuelson, Sonia Nash, and Random Buzzers; my wonderful agent, Jacqueline Flynn; Beta Readers Heather Anastasiu, Lauren Peck, David Nunez, Li Boyd, Carolyn Hall, Nina Badzin, and Kristen Simmons; and the Apocalypsies, Michelle Krys, the helpful staff of the Thunder Bay Public Library, my parents, and all the talented and inspiring kids at SAHS and SJHS. Finally, thank you to Sammy, Matt, Sophie, and Greg. Fire up the grill. It’s time to celebrate!
ANNE GREENWOOD BROWN is the author of Lies Beneath, Deep Betrayal, and Promise Bound. She is terrified of high places, deep places, falling from high places into deep places, and fish of all sorts. Other than that, she’s game for anything. You can find her here: annegreenwoodbrown.com; and here: facebook.com/annegreenwoodbrown; and sometimes here: @AnneGBrown; but most often with her nose in a book.
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