I think of the telegram Miles stole, the shredded pieces of it hidden upstairs in my waste can. “So what happened to him?”
“He left Sterling not long after Juliet did, and no one ever saw him again. Juliet tried to find him for years, but I think eventually she gave up. The last I heard, she was starting to believe he was dead.”
But he must not be, I think. He must be very much alive. Because Mother was planning to send him the book with her ring in it, and she had been wearing it right up until she died.
“I’m growing so tired of these surprises,” I tell her, my voice suddenly shaking. “Is there anything else? I don’t even know what to ask anymore. I just want this to be the very last time I feel this way.”
She looks down at her hands, and with a deep breath I steel myself for whatever is coming.
“Juliet wrote me just before she died,” she says, pulling out a handkerchief. “Aila—” She hesitates. “The Disappearances did come for your mother, in the end.” She folds and unfolds the cloth into a little square in her lap. “At first she thought she couldn’t smell the flowers because she was ill. But then . . . she asked your father to bring her a mirror.” Something tightens in my chest. “I didn’t know if I should tell you,” Mrs. Cliffton continues. “I didn’t think it would help anything for you to know. But maybe there have been too many secrets around here. And that is the very last one I know of.”
When I look up, I am taken aback to see Mrs. Cliffton’s eyes bright with tears.
“I watched a memory of her the other day,” she says. “I never thought I would again. I thought it would hurt too much.”
“I dreamed of her last night,” I reply. “And it was good to see her again.” I blink back sudden tears. “But it was hard, too.” I pause so my voice will stop wavering. “I don’t want to forget her.”
“I remember how difficult it was for me to lose Juliet when she left Sterling, and that was just because she moved away. You’ve already faced more loss in your young life than most people. And your mother . . .” Mrs. Cliffton does a funny little laugh and uses the handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “She would be so proud to see how well you’ve done. She would just beam with it.”
Mrs. Cliffton offers me the handkerchief, and I swipe at my threatening tears. “Could you tell me about the memory of her?” I ask. “If it’s not too personal?”
“It was something Juliet said the last time I saw her, when I came to Gardner and brought William with me. It made me happy because it was one of those riddles she always used to love. Want to take a guess?”
I nod.
“What grows most in darkness?”
Mother’s riddles. Always her riddles. I think for a moment.
“Secrets?” I venture.
Mrs. Cliffton smiles and shakes her head. “Hope,” she says.
I surprise myself then by laying my head on her shoulder. Though the heat of our skin grows sticky and her hair faintly tickles my neck, we do not speak or move for a long time; not until the sorrow from last night finally falls away, and I feel rest.
Will is waiting to walk me home after Stars practice the next day—?leaning against the wall, just like all the times before. As though our fight never happened.
He’s showered, and his hair is slicked back and he’s changed into the shirt with the cuffed sleeves that always makes his eyes look the bluest.
“Hi,” I say to him.
“Oh!” he says, straightening. “Um. Hi.” A strange look crosses his face.
“Thanks for what you did the other night,” I say, and he is still looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read. We start walking, and after a moment I bring my fingers to wipe my mouth and ask, “Is there . . . something on my face?”
“What?” he says. “Oh. No.” He seems distracted.
“I’m sorry about what I said to you,” I tell him, flushing. “After the race. It was uncalled for, and I didn’t even mean it.”
He has just started to respond when a car passes us on the road and someone with a scarf covering everything but his mouth leans out the window. “Go skip town like your mother did!” he yells. “And this time, take the Curse with you.”
A flash of anger instantly darkens Will’s face, and he picks up a rock and hurls it at the car, but it’s already disappeared in a cloud of dust around the bend.
“Everyone here is such a hypocrite,” he mutters. He tightens his fists at his sides. “Like they wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if they got the chance. They would. All of them.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say quietly.
He looks at me. “I would.”
