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She ran to him, and he wrapped her in a big hug until she broke away, embarrassed, saying, “That’s enough.”
Henry grinned. Ling was still Ling. “How are you? Where are you?” He was overjoyed to see her again.
“I’m still with Alma and Jericho. We’ve been everywhere, Henry—Philadelphia, Baltimore, and about twenty little towns in between. And Henry, I saw Chicago! Al Capone came to the show. Have you ever been to Chicago?”
“No.”
“Well, their pizza is just awful. Too thick—like a sandwich. Now we’re in Missouri. There’s nothing good to eat. So much mayonnaise.” Ling curled her lip in distaste. “I miss the soup dumplings at the Tea House.”
Henry laughed. God, he was glad to see her.
“How are you?” she asked.
Henry sobered quickly. “We’ve seen some things, too, Ling. Some terrible things.”
“Ghosts?”
“Not just ghosts,” Henry said, leaving it at that for now. Ling was here. He was so grateful. He tipped his head back to look at the map. “Whose dream do you suppose brought us here?”
“Pins. Just like the one Sam and I found.” Evie was in the dream now. It was a big dream, big enough for everybody. She was staring at the map, at a thumbtack that had appeared right in the center.
“Evie,” Henry said. “Hey, darlin’.” He knew she was sleeping and wasn’t aware of him, but oh, how he’d missed her. Isaiah arrived and stood next to Evie. His eyes were glazed. One by one, the Diviners appeared, like the dream was birthing them. And still, there was room.
“Why are we here?” Evie asked.
Ling pointed to the center of the map. “What is that?”
There was a pinprick red dot. A town. But the dot was growing larger. Larger still. Its borders elongated until Mabel Rose stood against the
unfurled map. She wore the yellow dress she’d been buried in, the one Evie had bought for her. The map moved across Mabel’s face like a picture show. Her face was electric with tiny lines, as if she were a destination herself.
Even in sleep, the sight of Mabel tugged at everyone. Henry could see Evie breathing faster. Henry felt it, too. He missed her. But was she just a figment created from their collective yearning? Or was she something more?
“Ling, is she… real?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t tell.”
Mabel held something tightly in her hand. A glow seeped out between her clenched fingers. She opened them and the glow flew up and pinned itself to the map. There was a name printed there.
“‘Gideon, Kansas,’” Ling read aloud.
“That is where you will understand,” Mabel said. “That is where we will meet.”
Vines grew up from the ground and wound around Mabel’s legs and arms, crisscrossing rapidly until she was consumed by them, eaten up by the map of the earth.
Gideon, Kansas. The letters grew larger. The glow surrounding them was so bright that Henry had to put up a hand to block it. Its brightness was an assault.
“Stop!” Henry shouted.
He was pulled from the dream state with a sudden violence that left his body hurting and shaking with chills. Once again, he hadn’t been able to say good-bye to Ling.
In the neighboring bed at their cheap motel in Texas, Memphis woke, trembling. “I dreamed about Mabel,” he said.
“M-me, t-too,” Henry said, fighting the effects. Memphis reached over and lay a hand on Henry’s arm, and in a moment, he was better. “I was dream walking. Ling was there. Memphis, we were all there. We were all together in that dream.”
“That has to mean something, doesn’t it?” Memphis asked.
Dreams are miracles. Dreams are portents. Where had Henry heard that?
