She advanced on him until she was close enough to see his eyes.
One was blue, the other brown.
And though his whispered, “Yes,” earlier had sounded placid, his eyes didn’t match that tranquil tone. They were wide with astonishment.
The shrieking gulls that had been streaming through her head circled back and came to a stop. Hovered. She could hear their breakneck bird hearts, tuning like instruments in a symphony, until they became one single note.
As she watched, waiting to see what the birds would do, whatshewould do, the man’s countenance changed, astonishment giving way to dismay. His brow knit, and his eyes filled with tears.
She took another step. He tried to compensate, but he ran into one of his companions.
She took another step, gaining on him as his colleagues took note of his situation. They became confused as they registered his upset and began looking around for its cause.
They were speaking to him, but once again, she knew that only because shesawthem doing so. Her head was filled with the gulls, their heartbeat note pressing against her eardrums.
She wondered if he heard them, too, if she could make herself audible over this avian plainsong.
Did she even need to speak, though? This man had, somehow, someway, seemed tohearher thoughts earlier.
“Effie?” she said, or thought—she wasn’t sure which.
He gazed at her for a long time. She could feel the other gentlemen’s attention, but she could not break eye contact with her Adonis blue, else he would fly away.
“Effie,” she said again, or thought again. Either way, she had answered her own question. “Effie.”
Finally, he spoke aloud. “Yes.” The tears that had been threatening spilled over as he added, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She had found Effie. Well, Effie had found her. She had come to Brighton hoping to find Effie, but Effie had found her first. Or perhaps they had found each other.
Everything made sense now. She smiled. How could she not? Here was Effie.
“It’s all right, my dear,” she said, and she covered the last yard between them, held open her arms, and he stepped into them. Effie. Her Effie.
* * *
Effie smelled like cloves. Julianna hadn’t expected that. If anything, she would have expected citrus, or lavender—something light but not cloying—to accompany the personality of her longtime correspondent.
Cloves, though. Cloves were so much deeper, more complex. So much darker.
He held her tightly. She held him tightly. She never wanted to let go. She never wanted to leave this spot, with her feet on the earth and Effie in her arms and the sea in the distance.
Until her feetdidleave the spot, as Effie, to her utter astonishment, lifted her off the ground and twirled her around.
She laughed, startling herself with the sound. When was the last time she had laughed? Laughed not sardonically or resignedly but genuinely, guilelessly. The world spun, rotating around them, and she wished it would never stop.
It did, though, and too quickly. Effie set her on her feet, grabbed her hands, peeled off her gloves, and turned her fingers over. They were stained with ink. “Aha!” he exclaimed in triumph. “Ink! I got that right, at least.”
I got that right, at least.
She wondered if he was adjusting to the gap between the idea of her and the reality of her. Perhaps she didn’t smell the way he’d thought she would.
“Ahem.”
It was one of Effie’s companions, the tall, graceful one, staring censorious daggers at them. The stare lasted only a beat before the man darted his eyes back and forth, seeming to want to draw their attention to their surroundings.
Theirpublicsurroundings, surroundings in which Effie had degloved Julianna with a degree of familiarity polite people would find scandalous.
Scandalous because Effie was aman.
