“Hi.” He tucks his chin, making his blond hair fall across his face. When he flips his head back to get it out of his eyes, I can’t help but smile because that exact hair flip is a maneuver I’ve perfected over the years and he looked just like me doing it.
It’s this that gives me the confidence to approach him. “Can I sit? Maybe we could, um, talk?” I ask, closing the distance between us and taking up my standard seat on the far end of the bench.
He nods and hops off the tire swing, feet landing with a splat in the small puddle beneath it. That makes my smile grow slightly wider. He moves his jacket and book to the center of the swing, like abarrier of protection between us. He has his hands in his lap, fingers splaying and contracting against his legs.
“So,” he says, looking up and biting his bottom lip. Now,thatis a look he got from Avi, through and through. “You’re really my dad?”
He studies me, taking in every inch of my appearance like he wants to prove it to himself one way or another. If anything tells the tale, it’s the green of our irises. I think he knows it because he has yet to fully look me in the eye.
“Yeah… I am.” I try for a neutral tone, wanting to keep the ever-changing range of emotions I’m grappling with from making their way to him. I’m sure he has enough of them on his own.
He nods again, eyes downcast. “Are you mad?” he asks, and my brows draw down in confusion.
Mad? At him?
“Nox,” I say, and he finally—finally—looks at me, our eyes clashing for the first time. I hold that stare, feeling woefully unprepared for any of this but knowing it’s important. “I’m not mad—not about you—okay?”
He nods, eyes shifting away before they’re drawn right back to mine. “Aye, okay. But you are mad at Mum?” he asks, and I want to squirm under his gaze.
“I don’t know exactly.” Honesty seems like the best policy right now, considering. “I’m feeling a lot of things.”
“Yeah, me too. I don’t know if I’m mad at her or just… I don’t know, sad?” His eyes plead with me, as if I hold the answers. And god, I wish I did, but I’m right there with him.
“You can be both. I think I’m both too.”
“Youreally didn’t know?” The wetness along his bottom lashes hits me in the gut.
“I promise, Nox, I had no idea. I—” I don’t know what to say because theI would havesentences in my head are just sentiments at this point, and not ones I can even say with any semblance of truth. I have no idea what I would have done had I known. I’ll never be able to answer that question, because I wasn’t given the chance.
A flare of anger rises in my gut.I guess I am mad.But not at Nox. Not at this boy who’s looking at me with so much hope in his eyes.
The anger deflates and I shift toward him, moving his jacket. The book inside slides out and my brow furrows when I see it’s a copy ofJournals of Elsewhere.
“Mum told me that’s your book. It’s been her favorite ever since I can remember.”
I ghost my fingers across the worn dust jacket. Evidence that the book’s been read repeatedly, that it’s been well-loved. Now it’s my eyes that have gone misty and I blink rapidly to clear them. I guess she wasn’t lying when she told me my books were her favorite.
“I always kind of thought maybe she named me after the author.” He taps my first name on the book. “I guess she did.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Have you read them with her?” I ask, wondering if my own son has escaped into the adventures I’ve written. They’re not written for children, but I know a lot of readers have read them with theirs.
“Not yet. She told me we could read this one together this summer though.”
My heart clenches, a deep ache that hurts but also feels good—like pride wrapped in sadness tied up with something else I’m afraid to name.
“That sounds like a great idea,” I say, trying for an even voice.
“You’ll still be here when I get back, right?” he asks, clasping the book to his chest now like it’s a lifeline.
And this is where it all gets complicated. Yes, I’ll be here when he gets back… but for how long? My being here was never meant to be permanent. It was tied to Grandad, and Gran, and how long they needed me here. But that was before—well, all of this.
“Yeah,” I say carefully, “I’ll still be here when you get back. Only a few more weeks of school, right?”
He shrugs. “Aye, I wish I could skip them and stay here.”
“I’m sure your grandparents are looking forward to a few more weeks of having you all to themselves before you move. I bet they’re going to really miss you.”
“I think they’ll come to visit a lot. Wait…” His gaze bounces over to the inn, then to me, and back to the inn… His mind is whirring and I wonder what it is he’s—
