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She cries as she speaks, still so angry with me. But under that anger is a well of love so deep and so wide that I can feel it even when her voice shakes and her eyes cast blame.
The story is wild, so unbelievable, and yet I know it’s true because of the ache that builds in my chest with every word she says. I know it’s true because I can feel an emptiness inside me where something used to be. Where someone used to be.
I know it’s true because I feel myself stitching back together after some unnameable thing tore me apart.
Then I gasp. The boy on the shore. It was him—it had to be him. He looked so tormented, so utterly wrecked, and even though I can’t remember the things Ivy tells me, I believe that they happened.
I know that they did.
“I’m so sorry, Tana,” Ivy says when she’s done, pulling a lace handkerchief from her pocket and wiping her eyes. “It was a mistake.”
I’m quiet for a long time, unsure of what to say. How to process all the things she’s told me.
I hesitantly reach out to her, not knowing if she’ll want me close after what I did. But when my hand touches hers, she squeezes it tight.
“It sounds like I made enough mistakes for the both of us,” I say. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Are you mad?”
“No. You thought you were doing the right thing, and I took it willingly.” I sigh and look down. “Why can’t I just be happy with the life I’m meant to lead?”
“Maybe the life you’re thinking of isn’t the one that’s meant for you.”
I look at her then. She has always known me, all of me, who I am and who I’m trying to be. She knows me so well that she could see the fog inside me after I drank the memory eraser and decided it wasn’t worth it.
I’m so glad she did.
“Ivy,” I say, grasping her hand in both of mine. “I have to see him.”
She pauses, weighing something in her mind, and I see the exact moment she makes her decision.
“I know,” she finally says.
“Will you help me?”
Another pause, and I worry I’ve asked too much. Then she sets her jaw and grabs her coat. “Yes.”
thirty-six
It’s hard being in Ivy’s home, seeing the way her parents look at me, a cross between fear and gratitude. I want to say something to them, but they think I’m oblivious, that the memory eraser is doing its work and I’ve been scrubbed clean of any recollection of saving Ivy’s life, so I try my best to act like nothing is wrong.
I know I should feel appalled, shocked and surprised by my actions. And I am. But they also somehow fit, somehow feel like mine, even though I can’t remember them. I ache for the memories I lost, for the moments that meant enough to me to give up this life and choose something different. What they must have been like, to cause me to act in such a way.
Whathemust have been like.
When Ivy’s parents are asleep and the moon is high above us, Ivy walks me to the western shore.
“Say his name at midnight,” she says, “and if he hears it, he’ll come.”
I think of the dream I’ve been having, of waking up so often thinking I’ve heard my name whispered on the wind. I swallow hard. “How would he hear it?”
Ivy shakes her head. “Some kind of dark magic. I don’t know the details.” I don’t miss the way her voice sours on the wordsdark magic.
“Okay,” I say, my voice quiet. I’m so nervous, my heart racing wildly in my chest. I’m sweating in the cold autumn night even though there are goose bumps all over my skin.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Ivy asks, and I’m overwhelmed by how much it means for her to offer. How much of herself she’s giving up just to ask.
I pull her into a fierce hug and squeeze her tight. She hugs me back, soft at first, then tighter and tighter, and it takes my breath away because I know we’re healing. We’re going to be okay.
