Quinn hung her head, tears dripping onto the rocky path.
“I just—I couldn’t sit there anymore thinking about Riley and my mom and—I’m not strong enough for the silence, Meelie.”
“Then tell someone. Do you see these people?” Meelie asked, gesturing to Aimee and the children. “This is your family, now. Every one of us carries a haunting inside. We’ve been where you are now, bunny. You won’t last a week here if you don’t trust us.”
Quinn nodded.
* * *
No one said much on the way back to the boat or during the sail. Quinn, embarrassed and distraught, shut herself away below the deck. Meelie came down to check on her and bring her up to speed on Riley. As far as Meelie could tell, Quinn’s sister was going to be just fine. In fact, she confided, Meelie was more worried about Quinn than she was Riley. Adjusting to the other realm was tough enough for those with no one to miss. Quinn’s entire history was defined by the slow implosion of family.
Quinn, who had kept her face buried in her knees as Meelie spoke, leaned forward. She was a long way from calling the other realm home, but she knew Meelie was right. She had spent enough of her life carrying the grief of her mother and the fear of her sister. She had plenty of her own to work through, and the people before her were as good as any she had ever met. She let herself be pulled into the embrace. And then, for once, she let the tears fall without a fight.
Chapter Forty
For the third time in as many months, Riley had bounced back seemingly overnight. Dr. Howe was noticeably suspect, but he informed Riley and Jane that he didn’t have cause to keep Riley in the hospital. They had been monitoring her sudden recovery for the past twenty-four hours, during which she had remained stable. He had informed the nurses that she was ready to be released.
“You should be home in time for dinner,” he chuckled.
Riley was excited, but Jane’s concern was evident in her wrinkled forehead and tight-lipped smile.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’ll be okay at home?”
“I can’t guarantee anything, of course, but that’s my belief, yes. Riley is a fighter, and her body seems determined to overcome whatever life throws her way.”
* * *
Though Riley felt better than she had in weeks, Jane insisted that she lie down when they got home. Riley whined that she was sick of hospital beds, and they agreed to a compromise: Riley didn’t have to lie down, but she did need to remain home for the time being.
“That way,” Jane told her, “you’ll at least be able to rest if you feel the need.”
Riley nodded, calling to Butterfly as she skipped down the hall to her room. She closed the door behind her, then opened the window to let in some light and the crisp, evening air. Butterfly was busy sniffing Quinn’s bed, then her desk. He let out a low growl. Riley went to see what he had found that was so upsetting, but the only thing out of place on the desk was a leather-bound journal and a note addressed to her. She opened the letter and read the message. The words scared her. Quinn hadn’t come right out and said she was leaving, but Riley had a sick feeling in her stomach and the sense that she had seen her sister for the last time. Just as she exited her room to ask her mom about the note, Riley heard a knock at the front door.
“Ms. Willow?” a woman’s voice called.
Pause.
“Ma’am, this is Officer Wayne with the police department. I need to speak with you concerning your daughter, Quinn Willow.”
Riley felt her knees buckle. Had something happened to Quinn? She crept toward the end of the hall as quietly as she could and crouched down, hoping that her mother wouldn’t see her when she answered the door. She heard the squeak of Jane’s bedroom door, then the shuffling of feet. Her hands trembled and started to sweat, but her mother walked right past her without looking down. She heard Jane unlock the deadbolt and ease open the door.
“I’m sorry, who is this regarding?”
“Your daughter, Quinn Willow. That is your daughter, correct?”
Silence.
“Can you tell me when you last saw your daughter, ma’am?”
Riley tried to follow the exchange, but her mother’s responses were too quiet for her to hear clearly. She heard the officer asking when Quinn had left the house, where she had been going, and if her mother had talked to Quinn since she left the house. The officer’s voice was measured, but Riley heard a hint of grief. She could recognize the sound of sadness faster than any other tone—the curse of growing up sick. The door creaked open, and Riley heard the heavy thud of boots on the hardwood floor, then the click of the door latch. Her mother must have let Officer Wayne inside. Riley listened as the two women moved into the living room. She didn’t want to let on that she was listening, but her mother and the officer were speaking in such hushed voices. Riley decided to venture into the kitchen. From there, she would be able to listen through the paper-thin dividing wall. If she was discovered, she would just say that she was looking for a snack. Nothing out of the ordinary about that.
Riley had just gotten to the kitchen when she heard her mother begin to crying. Not the controlled tears and quivering lip kind of crying, either; this was the blow-your-nose, wail-like-a-funeral-procession kind of crying.
“Are you absolutely sure?” Riley heard her mother ask, her voice thready and weak.
“Well, no. I’m sorry. I wish I could be more specific. All we know right now is that we found a jacket near the river with your name on a receipt inside. Several people reported seeing a young woman swimming across the river early this morning. We can’t be certain whether or not that person was your daughter. We did find her library card floating a ways downriver. Between that and the way the jacket was pushed up under the rocks—well, we’re not jumping to any conclusions, but I think you should consider the possibility that—that your daughter went out into that river on purpose.”
“But . . . why would she just dive into the river like that? She knows better.”
“We’re still comparing witness accounts, but at least one person seemed certain that she was swimming toward something, maybe a dog or a person caught in the current.”
Riley clamped a hand to her mouth, fighting back tears of her own. A moment later, she heard the women rise from the couch. From the sound, the officer was headed to the front door again. Riley peered out from the kitchen. Seeing her window, she bolted for the hallway. Inside her room, she turned off the lights and climbed under her comforter. When her mother knocked faintly on the door, Riley pretended she was sleeping. Jane called for her, but she didn’t answer. Then, her mother wedged the door open. Riley stayed as still as possible, her eyes fastened shut. She needed time to understand why Quinn had gone into the river, if she had at all. After a few moments, Jane sighed and left the room.
When she was sure that her mother was not coming back, Riley jumped from her bed and ran back to Quinn’s desk. She reread the letter Quinn had left for her, then again. Each time she read the words, they felt more like her sister saying goodbye. Riley slumped to the floor, startling Butterfly, who darted beneath Quinn’s bed. The ruckus caused something to fall from Quinn’s shelf of kaleidoscopes, landing on the desk with a hard thud. Riley picked up the small tube and recognized the design immediately. She was holding the teleidoscope Quinn had worn for as long as Riley could remember. Riley knew that Quinn would never have forgotten to take the teleidoscope with her. Wherever her sister had gone, Riley was sure that Quinn had left it on purpose.
Riley put the lens to her eye, shifting until the light from a desk lamp illuminated the image. She expected to see a fractured montage of stained glass like the geometric images in Quinn’s kaleidoscopes, but instead she saw a single image, clear and sharp as the slides in her mother’s old View-Master. The sky wasn’t exactly dark; the clouds reminded her of the purple stains that blueberries left on her fingers, and two spheres hovered among them. Beneath the sky, Riley saw a hulking shadow with spots of red and yellow flickering
from the center. The hint of firelight reminded her of the camping trip Quinn had planned for her last summer. They didn’t get to the campgrounds; as with most plans, Riley’s health got in the way. Still, Quinn had built a fire in the neighbor’s chiminea, and they roasted marshmallows for s’mores until their mother beckoned them inside.
She let the teleidoscope slip from her eye and settled into Quinn’s desk chair, inadvertently knocking her sister’s leather-bound journal to the floor. She reached for the book, untying the strap and opening the cover. Inside, she found that Quinn had written one of her stories. As she read, she realized that the story was the last one her sister had told her. She had been too weak to follow the story, but as she turned the pages she was transfixed.
Her sister often made a point of putting Riley at the center of her stories, but one thing Quinn didn’t do was make herself a major character. She certainly did make herself out to be a hero. And then Riley remembered the names she and Quinn had researched in the hospital. Both women were in the story. Then Riley came to the heart flower and the red freckle on her chest. Instinctively, she pulled down the collar of her shirt and checked for a red freckle. Sure enough, she saw the spot on her chest, exactly as the story had described. Quinn hadn’t been making up a story at all. She had been trying to keep Riley alive.
* * *
Riley listened for her mother’s bedroom door to close that night, then got out of bed and retrieved Quinn’s journal from under her mattress. She read the words over and over, trying to memorize every detail. Her plan was to convince her mother to visit the butterfly garden the following morning, then search for the note mentioned in Quinn’s story. If she found the note, she would know for sure that the story was real. And if the story was real, maybe Quinn wasn’t in trouble at all. Maybe she had just gone back to the other realm.
By the time her mother woke up, Riley had read through the journal five times. She hurried to the kitchen as soon as she smelled Jane’s coffee, pouncing on her mother even before she sat down at the table. She rattled off all the ways she felt better, then lamented about how cooped up she had been feeling the last couple weeks. Then she closed in, begging to see the butterflies in the garden. She could see that her mother was distracted, probably thinking about Quinn and the visit from Officer Wayne, but she also saw a glimmer of relief when Riley mentioned the garden. Her mother agreed, then shooed Riley away while she finished her coffee.
Riley could hardly contain herself as they walked to the garden. She felt bad for her mother, who didn’t speak for the entire walk, but she was also hopeful that she would find the note by the pond. One question remained: if she did find proof that Quinn had been visiting another world, should she tell her mother? On the one hand, she knew that her mother was upset that Quinn had gone missing again; on the other, Riley didn’t know if Jane would believe her even if she showed her mother everything. They were close to the garden, and Riley skipped ahead, trying to put distance between herself and her mother so that she could investigate without being noticed. Inside, she ran to the pond, only to find a family taking pictures in front of the fixture.
“Riley?” her mother’s voice called.
“Here, mom!” she called back. “By the pond!”
Riley didn’t want her mother standing over her while she searched for the note, but she hoped that her words might usher the family along more quickly. Her instincts were correct, and the parents pushed their kids farther down the path. She knew that her mother would be making her way through the garden any minute. She darted into the bushes surrounding the pond and scanned for any hint of paper.
“Where are you?” Jane called.
Riley ignored her, rifling through the foliage.
“Damn it, Riley, answer me!”
This time, Riley heard a tremor of panic in her mother’s voice. She poked her head from behind the bushes and laughed.
“I win!” she exclaimed.
Jane flashed a forced smile. “I didn’t realize we were playing hide-and-seek,” she answered. “Do you want to hide again?”
Riley nodded, then told her mother to turn her back and count. That would buy her at least a few minutes to continue looking for the note. She tiptoed back into the bushes, listening for her mother’s voice. Jane was already halfway to one hundred. Riley would have to poke around very quickly or she’d be found out. She pushed closer to the pond. Right on the edge, almost completely buried, Riley saw a small, white piece of paper. She pulled the note from beneath the bushes and brushed off the dirt. On the outside, in Quinn’s handwriting, was Riley’s name. The message was simple: Find Riley a new heart. So the story was true. And if the story was true, that meant that the pond was a doorway to another world. Riley pushed up her sleeve, then felt for the bottom of the pond. She was so distracted that she didn’t hear her mother finish counting.
“Riley, get away from there right now!” Jane shouted.
Riley shot up and stuffed the note into her waistband.
“Sorry, mom. I saw this butter—”
“I don’t care what you saw, Riley. What were you thinking? You have no idea how deep that water is, and with Quinn—”
Jane’s eyes got wide. That was the first she had mentioned anything about Quinn’s disappearance to Riley.
“I mean—you just need to be more careful! Come on. This was a bad idea. We’re going home.”
Riley started to protest, but Jane grabbed her arm and pulled her back onto the path. She continued to scold Riley until they had nearly crossed the park. Jane was on the edge of a breakdown, while Riley was fighting the urge to scream that she was being unreasonable, that Quinn was okay. In the end, she stayed silent, letting her mother turn her anguish onto Riley because that’s what Quinn would have done. Riley knew that if Quinn wasn’t coming back, she would have to be the strong one for her mother.
“I can’t lose two daughters. I just can’t. You have to be smarter, Riley. I can’t lose you, too.”
“What do you mean?” Riley pried.
Jane stopped walking and sat down on a bench at the far end of the park. She patted the seat next to her. Riley tried not to notice her mother’s red-streaked eyes. Jane relayed the conversation she’d had with Officer Wayne.
“The weird thing is,” her mother continued, “I keep trying to picture her face, and I—I just can’t. That upsets me more than her being gone. I know she was the perfect daughter. She was a hero to us both, really. She sacrificed her childhood to take care of you when I couldn’t, and I remember so much about her, but I can’t remember her eyes or the way she smiled. She did smile, didn’t she?”
“Of course she did, mom. She was always positive.”
“I tried to have her thrown out of your hospital room. Did you know that? She walked in while I was sleeping, and I didn’t even recognize her. She kept telling me over and over, ‘I’m your daughter,’ but I didn’t listen. I felt as though my mind had been emptied. The very next day, she disappeared. Do you think she left because of me? Do you think—”
Jane began to sob. Riley moved closer to her mother, putting an arm around her.
“My sister would never just leave. If she’s gone, you can bet that her reason was about helping someone else.”
Her mother rose, smoothing her jacket and wiping the runny mascara from her eyes. She reached for Riley’s hand, then led the way back home. There, they sat without speaking. Riley wanted desperately to tell her mother about Quinn, yet something prevented her from speaking up, something about the way Jane had spoken about Quinn. The two had been at odds for months. Maybe believing that Quinn was gone had wiped that tension away. As much as Riley wanted to make her mother feel better, she wanted Quinn to be the hero Jane had described. She was that hero, even if the things her sister had done sounded too fantastic to be real. She decided to keep the note and the story and the red freckle to herself, at least for the immediate future. Her mother was already grieving. Hope would only disrupt that, and Riley had no way of knowi
ng if Quinn would ever return.
Riley slept in her mother’s bed that night nestled under Jane’s arm. She smiled to herself when she heard her mother coo. They had spent so much of Riley’s life looking toward the next doctor’s appointment or surgical procedure that neither one of them had taken the time to get to know each other. Riley was seven years old. For anyone else, that might mean that she was too young to know much about who she was or what she valued. But Riley had a big sister who was honest even when she shouldn’t have been. Riley was no ordinary first grader. She understood things that even her teacher couldn’t grasp, like the way a loved one’s hand grows lighter and more tender the closer you are to dying, not because they’re afraid of hurting you, but because the body imagines a world without you. The lighter the touch, the closer those you love most are to letting you go.
That night, Riley clung to her mother, and her mother clung to her. Nothing in this world or any other could break their grasp.
Chapter Forty-One
Quinn had spent the last two weeks learning what she could about the other realm, an arduous but necessary task. The most basic questions had been easy to answer: essentially, everyone in the other realm lived like they were camping. They had no real need for electricity since almost every living organism emitted light, and plumbing was a luxury that most of the missing hadn’t been familiar with before coming to the other realm. As such, they developed a crude system of makeshift toilets in small crannies throughout the caves, always in areas where the waste would be immediately carried off by underground streams. The small community lived in relative harmony, playing to each other’s strengths and using the collective experiences of hundreds of people who had lived over more than a thousand years to solve problems as they arose.
Quinn still missed her family immensely, but she had found solace in Meelie and the children. Betty was a welcome spirit, and she reminded Quinn of Riley on an almost-daily basis. The others would take more time to understand. Maurice, in particular, made Quinn uncomfortable; he was nice enough and remarkably poised, but his role as a surrogate father to his younger siblings forced Quinn to think about her own father, something she had made a point of suppressing for half of her life. Without her mother around, she no longer had a reason to pretend that her father had simply stopped existing, but she also didn’t have any way to answer the many questions she had about his exit from their lives.
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