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She didn't look at him again, she couldn't. With a tiny nod, she stumbled backward and turned to Elliot.
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He stood in the shadows, his scarred, wrinkled face hidden beneath the brim of his hat.
She held out her hand to her husband. "I am done, Elliot. You may take me home now."
"Let's go," he said, leading her toward the door.
Selena didn't turn back around. She couldn't. Instead, she tilted her chin up and followed Elliot from the house.
The big door slammed shut behind her, the porch steps creaked beneath her feet. She placed her small hand in Elliot's larger one, and climbed onto the splintery seat of the wagon.
She kept meaning to look back, as Elliot clicked his teeth and snapped the reins, as the wheels creaked forward and crunched through the gravel. As the drive gave way to the iron gates, and the gates gave way to the forest. As they turned away from her beloved shoreline and plunged into the thicket of evergreens.
Yes, she kept meaning to look back. But somehow she never did.
For a long time, Selena didn't say a word, and neither did Elliot. The horse plodded onward, the wheels bounced through the pockmarked road. Gradually they wended away from the comforting familiarity of the shoreline and plunged into the dark shadows of the forest. Night drizzled across the treetops and puddled along the tree trunks. An owl hooted as they passed.
Selena hugged herself tightly and rested her chin in the vee of her bent knees. With every creaking turn of the wheels, she cracked her chin on the bony hump of her right knee, but she didn't care, could barely feel it.
Her thoughts drifted back to Lethe House, to the faces of her family. And suddenly she was afraid that she would forget them, that their beloved smiles would melt away, be gone one day like all the other memories.
"Lara does the best somersaults," she said in a rush,
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clinging to the memory. "And Maeve does the best cartwheels."
Elliot said nothing, and it was just as well. She wasn't speaking to him, she was speaking to herself.
She tilted her head and closed her eyes, remembering. "One day I tried to be a housekeeper. I was very bad at it, but as a subject of the Crown, I was most satisfactory." Memories wove themselves into a shield and strengthened her. No, she would never forget. Never. Not if she lived to be a thousand.
"And the tea party ..." Her voice trailed off, turned wistful. That had been the beginning for Maeve and Ian, and she'd been so proud of him. "Ian poured tea for Maeve that day and didn't say a word about her pets."
"It sounds like an interesting place," Elliot said in a quiet voice.
Surprised, she looked at him. He sat hunched over, his hat drawn low on his head. From this s
ide, she couldn't see the scar at all.
"It was more than interesting," she said. "It was ... magical. I ... I will miss them."
He didn't answer, didn't say a word, and something about the silence drew Selena's attention. She turned to him again. "Elliot?"
Again he didn't speak, but she saw the single tear that clung to his eyelash. He wiped it away with an impatient hand. "Yes?"
Her throat swelled, shame stung her stomach. Of course it would hurt him, her chattering on about her family, when he was her family. "I am sorry."
He yanked his hat even lower on his brow. "Don't be sorry, Agnes. I never wanted you to be sorry."
"What do you want from me?"
A brittle smile crooked one corner of his mouth. "Not an easy question."
She stared at him and felt ... something. "I almost remember you." "I could never forget you."
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