Page 164 of Under Story

He carries her up, into the tree’s lower branches.

Where are we going? she asks.

I think you know, he says.

So high…

He smiles. You’ve already made it this far.

Will you stay with me? she asks.

All the way up.

And then?

And then, he says, teasing her, fond. She could die in total happiness.

I don’t want to say goodbye, now that I’ve found you.

Hush, Silas says. This is the good part.

—

On a crooked middle branch, they sit. Silas produces sandwiches from a blue-and-yellow backpack. Laurel gains enough energy to climb on her own, though he watches her carefully, never losing sight.

She says, I don’t know how you’ve forgiven me.

I never blamed you to begin with.

I didn’t mean for it to happen. I would have traded my life if I could.

Again the gentle smile, the teasing tone. Is that what you think I want to talk about?

Euphoria flows through her very cells. His kindness is as free as the sun. She cannot stand it, this abundance, being loved by him so much.

VIII.

He carries her through velvet clouds. The tree and the meadow grow smaller below. They emerge in outer space: the universe’s biggest ocean.

There are no stars—only the Arc, which shifts from pink to blue-green as they watch. It speaks to Laurel with a scent.

Where is a wave?

Never in one place, she says.

A basin forms beneath the dome, to let her in. Silas guides her forward.

Please, says Laurel.

Her voice is pitiful. She clasps Silas’s hands.

It’s okay, he says. Don’t you see? Now you know where I am.

16

Guest Wing

During a blizzard in March, an apprentice from the cemetery calls the orchard. Laurel picks up the landline. Her father has been born.