She clamped her hand down over my mouth before I could scream and then she fell, laughing, to the bed.
“You should have seen your face,” she squealed.
“Am I dreaming?”
“Don’t be a doofus. Did you really think I turned into abird?”
“Sort of, yeah,” I admitted.
“Well, yeah, I sort of did,” she admitted back.
“You took the eggs?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. They’re safe.” She snuggled underthe blankets with me. “I heard about Peter.”
“He got what he deserved.”
“You should have killed him,” she said. Then, worried she’d hurt my feelings, she added, “Just kidding, of course. He wouldn’t have been worth the extra energy.”
“Mary, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
Her face darkened, and she wiggled herself deeper under the blankets, pulling them over our heads so we were totally covered.
“I was afraid nobody would believe me,” she whispered, her voice soft and muffled by wool.
“Iwould have believed you. I will always believe you.”
“This island, Georgie... ,” she began. “This island is so small. People talk. I hear what they say about me. The whispers. I’ve heard them call me things. They would have said I was asking for it.”
In the darkness, I reached out for her and put my index finger on the tip of her nose.
“I’m sorry this happened to you. And I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out before,” I said.
“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You saved my life, remember? You pulled a lightning bolt down from the sky like fuckingZeus.”
“I think that was mostly an accident.”
“You blew Peter to kingdom come! Honestly, who cares if it was an accident or not.”
“I should have known. Mary, I’m so sorry I didn’t know.”
“I thought about telling you,” she said, her voice a whisper again. “Maybe I should have. I just felt so lost, so confused. I felt like I didn’t know which way was up anymore, which way wasright. Whether Ihaddone something. To deserve it.”
“I love you. I’m sorry. I hope you know now that you didn’t do anything.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “You have to stop apologizing to me; it’s not your fault. And you need to snap out of this mood, because the island’s been gray as shit the past couple of days, and I know it’s because you’ve been moping around.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“I know that too. I know everything. I can fit into really small places now. I can just listen.”
“So youarea bird?”
“Details are unimportant.” She paused, lifted the blankets a little so we could breathe, so a sliver of light found its way into the bed. She looked sad and small with the covers pulled up over her head and our faces inches apart. Her breath smelled like tea and rain. “I heard something,” she said. “A secret.”
“What kind of secret?”
“Did you know,” she said, fiddling with the collar ofmy pajama shirt, “that no Fernweh woman has ever left the island before?”
