I already know the answer.
He swallows and nods once. ‘I have to go, Gertie.’
I close my eyes briefly and squeeze his hand – I understand. This man adores Bedlam Creek. Even without a promise to his father, he’d want to protect it from harm. And no matter the fractious relationship with Cassidy, he’d never willingly leave her in limbo, wondering forever where he disappeared to. He’s too true of a man to do that.
‘You really have to stay?’ he asks.
My throat aches. ‘I have to stay.’
I’ve thought about it. What it might be like to leave my life. Hold on to River’s hand when I typeThe End, in thehope that somehow I’ll magically end up in Bedlam too. But then what?
If there’s one thing I’ve learned these past weeks it’s this: putting your entire identity, all ofyourwants on the backburner for another person – no matter how hard you’ve fallen – isn’t good for the soul. The truth is, Iwantto finish my book. I want to go talk to Josie every week. I want Mrs Casablancas knocking on my door too much. I want London. Iwantmy life. The one I built. The one I’m still building.
This life is my work in progress. I intend to finish it.
‘Tomorrow morning I’ll writeThe End,’ I tell River.
‘The End,’ he echoes, voice cracking.
Around us as the sky turns an inky blue, the amber lights of the neighbouring buildings flickering on one by one, glistening prettily like someone arranged the skyline precisely for a moment such as this.
River wraps me up in his arms as a gentle breeze ruffles his hair and then mine.
He sighs, long and low. ‘Maybe in another life, hey?’
I lean my head against his chest and swallow down the lump in my throat. ‘Yeah. Maybe in another life.’
*
That night when we make love, we know it’s for the last time. We begin slowly, deliberate, curious. Tasting, watching, burying ourselves in the curves and planes of each other, hoping it imprints in our brains. Making memories to keep us warm for the future; when we’re in an argument with our future spouses, when we’re lonely or bored in thequeue at the supermarket, when we’re old and frail. We’ll remember this and we’ll know that once upon a time we experienced magic.
We lie facing each other, my legs wrapped around River as he drives into me, deep and relentless, eyes never leaving mine. He takes my face in his hands. I press my palm against his heart, moving in time with its beat.
When we come it’s desperate, grabbing and loud, our bodies crushed against each other, sweat and tears mingled.
While I hope that I’ll be lucky enough to experience something even slightly close to this again in my lifetime, I have a feeling that this was it.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The next morning, while River takes his interdimensional research books back to the library, I write my final chapter and cry the whole time I’m doing it. I’m crying because Ethan has proposed to Cassidy again – this time in a far less showy, much less public way. Just the two of them, sitting in a field, having an honest conversation over a flask of sweet iced tea. He tells Cassidy that he intends to be on her team, watch her thrive, help her navigate the tricky spots, and, of course, endeavour to make her orgasm whenever she wants for as long as they both shall live. It’s not grand, but it’s true. This time Cassidy answers easily. She says yes. She’s done running away. She finally knows where home is. And it’s wherever Ethan Calhoun is.
I wipe the tears away as I write the final sentence, leaving a space below to writeThe Endwhen River returns.
‘Bye, my friends,’ I say, my heart surging with a jumble of juxtaposed emotions; relief, pride, sorrow, satisfaction. ‘It was a genuine joy knowing you.’
*
When River returns from the library, he’s carrying a box under one arm and Squish in the other.
‘Mrs Casablancas asked me to take him for a few hours. She’s got Desmond over and apparently Squish tried to bite his toe while they were making love.’ He puts the box down on the kitchen table beside the phone-in-rice and scratches his chin. ‘You know, I think if I tried to tell anyone back home about Mrs Casablancas they wouldn’t believe me.’
‘What’s in the box?’ I ask as River plops Squish onto the floor, patting him on the head and telling him he’s a noble hound.
I hobble over on my crutches as he opens the box to reveal a cake. Some sort of chocolate cake made to look like a section of a tree trunk. On top of it are delicate fondant wildflowers. Carefully, River spins it around to reveal that ‘carved’ into the front of the tree it saysRO & GB.
I look up at him, eyes shining. ‘Your tree?’
River glows. ‘When I get back I’m going to carve our names into it.’
