by Natalie Lund
“Do the honors,” he said.
Nate poured the fluid, tossed a match onto the wood, and watched the fire flare up, hot and bright, before it settled into a small glow. Someone clapped.
He spied Janie’s red hatchback as it parked along the seawall. She got out slowly, walked over to the meter, studied it for a moment, and pulled out her phone. Her hair was loose and wet, wrapping around her neck in the breeze as she finished paying the meter. She pulled blankets out of the back seat of the car and stacked them in her arms, watching her leather sandals as she climbed down the stairs. As she hit the bottom step, Janie looked up hopefully, still pinning the blankets with her chin.
I don’t deserve her.
I don’t deserve anything but pain.
Nate crouched down so people couldn’t see what he was doing, and grabbed one of the logs at the edge of the fire. It seared—a firework of red in his brain—and the inner voice fell quiet. He looked at his palm and poked the red welt. Another firework. Another moment of silence. It felt like relief.
* * *
• • •
When it was dark, Nate sat on a cooler next to Marcus and Tien, who were roasting hot dogs. He pushed the skewer into his toes, trying to keep his face still while the prongs pierced his skin. This way, he could keep his head clear enough. He could make it to the plane and take it for himself.
Someone stepped between him and the fire. It took Nate’s eyes a moment to adjust, to make out the hair dried to a nest of flyaways, the loose T-shirt with oversized lettering: CAPTAIN OF MY OWN SHIP.
“Why are you ignoring me? Is this about the other night?” Janie said loudly.
Nate stood abruptly, grabbed her elbow, and drew her away from the fire.
She yanked her arm back. “You invited me here. I thought things were going to be different.”
“I can’t escape it,” he said. Even now the thoughts were there, slinging themselves against his skull: I don’t deserve her. I’m nothing.
“Escape what?” He could see the fury rising in her cheeks, the tiny capillaries on her nostrils becoming redder. “This double life you’ve built?”
“I’m scared,” he managed.
“Of what?” Her eyes were searching his face like his mom’s had at dinner.
He had to push her away. Keep her safe from him. She’d be hurt, but maybe it would protect her from a bigger heartbreak.
“Of what people will say,” he said, looking down so he didn’t have to see the pain on her face.
“I can’t pretend anymore,” she said. She sounded tired but not weak. “I’m done.”
He wished he could say goodbye, but he knew it was better this way.
“I understand,” he said.
She turned and marched toward the liquor.
He tilted his head back and found Orion’s Belt and Sword. Could she leave if she knew she wasn’t coming back? he’d asked her before they’d kissed.
Now he had to ask himself the same question.
And something else, too: Could he do it alone?
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
SHANE
One day before; the day of
SHANE HAD STUDIED the hangar combination lock and ordered a lock cutter online. He’d carefully observed Brad attaching the tow bar to move the plane and had figured out which set of keys belonged to which plane. The plan was for Nate and Shane to wait an hour while Israel flew, in case he couldn’t find the doorway and they needed to sneak the plane back into place. If he didn’t return after that hour, they were supposed to head back to the party without him and pretend they didn’t know where he’d gone.
The theft would be the easy part. The harder part would be seeing Cass.
Once they settled the keg Meg’s friend had bought for them into the sand, Shane tried to be the host he’d been at his pool for so many summers: he teased his teammates, flirted with underclassmen, poured drinks. But as soon as Cass skipped down the stairs, her hair springing and lit gold in the setting sunlight, he felt like Humpty Dumpty again, teetering right on the edge of the wall.
She wore her black bikini with a white, slouchy-neck tee over it, torn jean shorts, and beaded sandals, which she kicked off as soon as she hit the sand. She didn’t seem to notice where they landed—a surprisingly carefree move for Cass, even a happy one.
Israel jerked his head in her direction. “Go say hi,” he said. “Or you’ll end up obsessing all night.” Shane thought he’d probably be obsessing about her all night whether he greeted her or not, but he still walked over.
As he approached, she dug through a cooler and withdrew a can of soda, flicking the can sweat off her fingers as though she were doing a spell.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She looked like she might be about to smile, but she bit her lip instead.
“How are you?”
“Okay,” she said. It was an overly bright okay, a puffed-chest but empty okay. “How are you?”
“Okay,” he said back, hoping she knew it meant I understand.
Izzy appeared, eyes narrowed. Before he could say more, she took Cass’s hand and spun away with her. Cass glanced over her shoulder once, a quick under-the-eyelashes flit, and every part of Shane lifted because he knew at least she had loved him, at least it hadn’t been fake.
Unlike the rest of the night.
For now he had to play the part of old Shane. He organized a hot dog–eating contest—roasting up to five on a skewer at a time and shouting a count as people smushed them into their mouths. He let Marcus talk him into a keg stand and then a game of flip cup. He shotgunned beers with Israel and Nate, chucking the tabs into the ocean for old time’s sake when they were finished.
When it was dark, his friends turned off the speakers and splintered into small groups to listen to music on phones. The island police department—ten middle-aged men who Shane wouldn’t trust to investigate a candy bar theft, let alone anything bigger—usually ignored beach parties as long as they avoided noise complaints and kept off the roads.
He swam on beer through pockets of tinny cell phone music, through humid clots of bodies dance-kicking sand into the sea. No matter how much he drank, he was always aware that he was in a fish bowl—watched by everyone—and that Cass was perpetually swimming on the other side.
Nate had fallen asleep outside the firelight. Shane wasn’t sure how he’d done it, with so much laughter ringing out, with the crash of waves, with all that was before them that night. Perhaps because he wasn’t obsessing over an ex-girlfriend like Shane.
* * *
• • •
It was three a.m. when Israel roused Shane with a bottle of water in hand. Nate was already awake, his head tilted up toward the stars. The beach was silent, the fire almost dead. Shane could make out the mounds of sleeping bodies under towels and blankets. He had fallen asleep in the open, and he could already feel bites rising on his cheeks. Nate pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt. His hair was matted, but he looked more alert than he had during the party. There were dark rings under Israel’s eyes, like he hadn’t slept at all—or ever, really. In the light from his phone, he looked terribly worn, and Shane realized for the first time that he actually believed his friend: Israel had lived a whole life before.
Nate was silent on the ride to the airport. Shane drove, and Israel sat in the passenger seat, reciting the same questions they’d already gone over.
“What happens if there’s an alarm system?”
“There isn’t. Nate checked.”
“Cameras?”
“Negative.”
“What if we can’t get the garage lock open?”
“It’s a cheap lock. We’ll be fine.”
“What if we can’t figure out attaching the tow bar?”
“YouTube.”
“What happens if someone is there?”<
br />
“We run.”
Nate’s forehead was pressed against the window, but Shane caught his eyes once in the rearview mirror. His friend smiled, that old smile that was hardly a smile at all.
There were no streetlights, so they drove with their brights, casting the fences and sporadic trees in an eerie white-blue light. When they turned off the main road, Shane put on the dim fog lights and slowed to a crawl. One thing they’d forgotten to take into consideration: none of them had flown in the dark before. But Shane didn’t bring it up; Israel was already too nervous.
When the headlights lit the hangar, Shane let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Brad’s truck wasn’t there.
Shane cut the lock and lifted the door with a crowbar until he could squeeze through and open it from inside. The screech as the door lifted made every hair on Shane’s body stand up.
The planes—lit by their headlights—looked like ghosts.
Shane grabbed the keys from the peg and pointed at the one that was theirs. It took longer than expected to attach the tow bar and drag it out.
By the time the plane was ready on the runway, the sky had lightened to dark purple with a few blue streaks. The hour they’d planned to wait for Israel was going to put them dangerously into full daylight territory. But it was too late to turn back.
Israel took the keys and a deep, shuddering breath.
“Are you ready?” Shane asked.
Before Israel could answer, Nate smacked the keys out of Israel’s hand.
“What the fuck?”
Nate dove for the keys, the fastest he’d moved since the injury. Israel grabbed Nate’s wrist, but even with his bad knee, Nate managed to twist his body away, clutching the keys to his chest and using his back to shield them from Israel, like they were on the soccer field.
“I have to go,” Nate said, his voice coming out in huffs as he struggled.
“Nate, no!” Israel yelled. “You don’t understand what this doorway is.”
“You owe me,” Nate growled back.
“Please. This dream has haunted me for as long as I can remember. I need to escape.” Shane could hear the tears in Israel’s voice.
It had been easier to imagine a world without Israel, who he’d only been friends with for a few years, who had always seemed to Shane like one of those people on the brink of brilliance or something darker. But he couldn’t imagine a world without Nate—this person he’d known even longer than Cass. He’d been the first to understand what Shane needed and to provide it.
Shane grabbed their shoulders and tried to pull them apart. He managed to pivot Nate so he was facing him. “You might not come back,” he said.
“I don’t intend to,” he replied.
Shane pried the keys out of his fingers. He’d never been good at anything before beyond hosting parties and making friends, but he was good at flying, and if anyone was going to be able to keep them safe, it was him. Otherwise, his friends would find another way to do this—with or without him.
“There’s no way I’m being left behind again,” he said. “I’ll take you both to where you need to go.”
VOICE MEMOS
Deleted
4 files
New Recording 1
Izzy, I’m sorry I pushed you away. I know you wanted us to be closer. I guess I just wanted some space and for us to be our own people. No, I’m not saying it right—
New Recording 2
Izzy, I wanted to say I’m sorry for causing pain. The dream destroys everything in its path and I need to get away from it. I don’t know if this will work or not. But I think it’s my only option. So please tell Mom and Dad that this wasn’t their fault and I love them. I—
New Recording 3
Izzy, I’m sorry for everything. I’m leaving, and I don’t know if I’ll be back. All I can do is hope that if you see me again, you’ll know me. You always believed. Mom and Dad are going to be sad for a while, and I’m sorry for that, too. You’re strong, though. You’ll be able to hold them up. I’ve always admired that about you.
Oh, and please take care of Luna. I know you think she’s annoying, but she’s a good, loyal friend, and I know you could use another one of those.
New Recording 4
Izzy, I love you. I hope you know that. I wasn’t the best—
I can’t do this. I don’t know how to say it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
IZZY
Eight days after
BRAD STEPS OUT of the hangar when I pull up. He doesn’t look surprised to see me back so soon.
“I’m ready,” I say.
He nods like, Of course you are.
We strap in and he walks me through the checks. I’m moving my body as instructed, but I’m not listening; I’m trying to feel Israel. That morning the plane went down, there was the jolt of pain in my side, but I didn’t feel his absence. Now I’m not sure I felt a presence, either. If I concentrate, I can feel my shorts’ waistband, the cotton of my shirt, but nothing under my skin. Has there ever been? Have I ever been quiet enough to feel anything but the worst?
Brad has me accelerate down the runway and pull back, lifting the nose when instructed. It’s easier than I expected, and I feel weirdly calm. The view shifts from dirt runway and dried grasses to a pale blue sky stretching as far as I can see. A fluffy cloud hides the sun, and the light peeks around it, highlighting the edges in gold. If I believed in heaven, this is exactly how I’d imagine it.
I remember the plane that terrible morning: how it climbed and climbed until it stopped. I glance at Brad and pull back harder.
“Steady. Ease off the yoke,” Brad says, but he sounds bored, as though he’s not fully paying attention. We’re probably still as low as the boys were that morning. I could stall us just like they did before Brad could react. See the doorway myself.
The choice to follow my brother, to finally know once and for all, is mine.
Israel made this choice because he was hurting every night. I know it. My body, so often dragged from bed, is certain. But now my mom can’t leave her room. My dad can’t come home. Israel may not have known that would happen, or he did and he still went through with it. Because he finally trusted me like I’d been asking him to for so long. To go back to the house and feed Luna, and help my mother bathe, and ask my dad to put down the work.
That morning of the party Israel said I love too hard. He meant it as an insult, but I don’t think it is. I want to be a person who loves fiercely, with everything I have.
Even if the person I love most of all is gone.
Something sears along my right side, sharper than any pain I’ve ever felt. Tears spring to my eyes and I make a guh sound like my breath has been knocked from me. I realize the iron-hot sear isn’t because Israel is hurting. No. The searing pain I feel is because he has been severed from me. Because I let myself feel it—finally and truly.
“I want to land,” I tell Brad breathlessly. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Israel made his choice, and I make mine: I choose my parents. I choose Cass. I choose Janie. I choose senior year and all the years that follow without my brother, no matter how painful that may be.
“But we just took off.”
“I don’t care. I want to go home,” I repeat firmly.
He shrugs and directs me through the turn and descent.
Even though I didn’t see the doorway, I think I can feel its gravity lifting the hairs on my arms ever so slightly as we land. And I wonder if I’ll always think about it, if I’ll ever try to find it again, or if I’ll wait until, one day, it finds me.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
SHANE, NATE, ISRAEL
The day of
THEY FLEW FROM inky darkness toward the pink glow of the rising sun. Shane was at the yoke because he was the better pilo
t. Nate was in the passenger seat because he’d seen the doorway before, and Israel sat in the back because he wanted to be able to jump out alone if he spotted the doorway. Let his friends recover and carry on.
When they saw the coast’s knot of lights, they dropped in altitude. They skipped over the empty ferry and the bay to their island. They dropped even lower, the trees so near they imagined being able to hop into them and scrabble through the branches. They flew over a cruise ship sitting dark at the port, the pillared courthouse and Gothic-style cathedral at the heart of the island, the haunted McAllister mansion, which had stood defiantly through three hurricanes, the downtown with its taffy factory and lines of tchotchke shops.
And their beach. The strewn shapes of their friends, like starfish at low tide. Could they make out Janie, a blanket tented over her head; angel-armed Cass; and Izzy sprawled on her stomach—not called, for once, by her brother’s nightmares?
“How do we find it?” Shane asked Nate.
Nate shook his head. His friends weren’t supposed to be with him. Even if he wanted nothing more than to find the doorway again—to envelop himself in silence—he couldn’t hurt them. It was his life that was worthless—not theirs.
“Climb,” Israel said over the headset. “Hard.”
Shane climbed high. Above them, the sky was still bruised purple. Gravity pinned them to the backs of their seats. The alarm whined.
They tipped, left wing down first. Then cartwheeled forward.
Nate felt weightless, free. It was what he’d wanted, but not like this. Not with Shane beside him. Israel behind. Janie on the beach below.
Israel’s stomach skipped into his throat. He saw a streak of black so thick it seemed like syrup, hovering where the ocean should be yawning below them. The air shivered around it. He knew the nightmares would go away if he were inside. Everything would. He simply had to choose a quiet life without dreams.
