Page 78 of The Light Between Worlds

“Six years,” I tell him. “That’s how long Evelyn’s been battling her ghosts, and that’s how long I’ve stood beside her. Even I couldn’t always guess the right words to say, or keep her from the choices she made, though most of the time I managed. But you were sent into a trench with nothing more than goodwill for a weapon, and left to carry on a war that I’d abandoned. Foot soldiers aren’t held responsible for a rout, at least not where I come from—it’s their general who carries the blame.”

Tom’s not happy with my answer. “So you’re saying the fault isn’t mine, because it’s yours? That hardly seems fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” I answer grimly. Mine certainly hasn’t been, not since long before the moment Ev reached for another world in the darkness and Cervus called to us from across the void. I slip the silver stag pendant from the neck of my blouse and press it between two fingers. “Tom, I’m begging you. Please don’t let this hurt more than it has to. The only person blaming you is yourself.”

“I’ll think on it, I promise you that.” Tom turns toward the house, but I stop him with a word.

“Wait. Did Evelyn—did she say anything, about me? Leave a note, perhaps?”

He looks back and there’s pity in his honest face. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Oh well. It was worth asking.”

“Coming in?”

“Shortly.”

He steps out into the rain and I drop onto one of the hay bales, tired in body and soul. I came north looking for absolution, but here I’ve gone and given it away.

55

I SHOULD HAVE TOLD JAMIE AND OUR PARENTS THATI was leaving sooner. I would have, if I’d had the courage. But I didn’t, and now here we all sit at the breakfast table with an invisible wall between Evelyn and me as she asks me what day I’m leaving.

Ev doesn’t even notice the shock wave reverberating around the table. She just takes a bite of toast, still waiting for an answer to her question about my flight to New York.

“I leave two weeks from today,” I tell her. “But I can take a cab—no one needs to bother with driving me.”

“Does term start sooner in America than here?” Evelyn asks, her voice colorless and flat. “Only that seems a little early for school.”

She stirs her tea methodically, the spoon going round and round and round as I answer. “They let overseas students settle in during the week before term begins, but I’m staying with Millie’s family for a while, first.”

Evelyn stares down at her untouched plate, and at Old Nick, who’s resting his grizzled muzzle on her lap.

“Ev, would you take a walk with me after we’ve cleared up breakfast?” I ask, feeling desperate. “We could go down to the park, feed the ducks. Spend the morning together, just the two of us.”

“I don’t think so,” Evelyn says. “I’m awfully busy. I owe Georgie a letter, and I’m still trying to catch up on everything I missed last term, when I was—ill.”

“Alright. If you change your mind—”

“Yes. Of course.”

It’s not until Ev gets up and leaves the room that Jamie and our parents turn to me wide-eyed, and I’m forced to confess that I’m really going. They’re lovely, of course—they smile and congratulate and fuss about how I should have told them sooner. But I might never have told them if Evelyn hadn’t forced my hand. Secretly, I’ve been hoping all my plans would come to naught.

That she’d ask me to stay.

Over the next fortnight I learn how easy it is for two people to live in the same house and sleep in the same room while barely speaking to one another. Hardly a word passes between Evelyn and me until the morning I’m to leave, when I stand at the doorway with my bags ready, hugging Mum and Dad and Jamie goodbye.

“Where’s Evie?” I ask, when there’s no more time and I really have to be off.

Jamie frowns. “Wasn’t she in your room? She’s not down here.”

“No.” My pulse begins to race, and a familiar nervous pain springs to life in my belly. “I haven’t seen—”

The door opens with a soft click, and when I turn, Evelyn is standing in the doorway, framed by the morning sun. It glints on her goldenhair, and when she steps inside, I can see that her arms are full of daisies.

“It’s selfish to buy you flowers as a going-away gift, I know,” she says. “They’re really for me, since you can’t take them on the plane.”

I put my arms around her and hug her tight, never minding what happens to the flowers.