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“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” I hiccup out.
I’ve searched for her. I’ve cried for her. I’ve needed her. And now I’ve found a piece of her. Even if I don’t have my memories now, I have this. Her words. Her heart.
When I gather my breath, I inspect the diary more, and I realize it has one violet ribbon folded through the pages. I open it up on that bookmark.
It’s another preface to the Unearthly Reader. I start reading, “…I wasn’t sure I should continue, not after all that’s happened. But he’s a big reason why I’m not stopping.”
I wonder if this is the place in time where her fics leaked, and maybe she thought about stopping the diary like she stopped writing her stories.
I read, “If you ever find this, you should know there are good people on Earth. He’s worth knowing. He’s worth remembering.” I know she must be referring to Donnelly. “And when the world has decayed and all I’ve ever known has disappeared in time, you should know the very best of humankind is him.”
Tears brim again.
I didn’t have premonition, but I did want to leave my story behind. My story with Donnelly. Because I closed myself off to others and never shared as much as I wanted, but I felt safe enough to leave it behind for a future.
I just couldn’t have known it’d be left for my future. For me to find.
I read in a shaky voice, “Please, keep him alive.”
I will.
“I promise,” I say to myself. “I will.” With another breath, I read, “It’s always been easier to believe in you than anything else.”
It hits me hard, and I repeat it again, “It’s always been easier to believe in you than anything else.”
I’ve been hard on Original Luna. On myself. Frustrated and angry for not remembering the past in enough time, for being so mysterious and secretive and shut off, and my self-belief shrunk more than grew.
It’s always been easier to believe in you than anything else.
I want to always believe in myself.
Because writing this and finding this feels so, so unbelievable, and no sentient creature descended from an unknown galaxy to gift me the knowledge I craved.
This, all along, was just me.
Before I read too much, I rush into the bathroom. Does Donnelly know about the vault? This diary? I want to tell him about it, and without knocking, I push into his room.
“Donnelly!” I exclaim excitedly, but his bed is made, a new white comforter replacing the floral one. He’s taken down most of the grannie décor in favor of his own style. A Van Halen tour poster is tacked to the wall, along with the signed Bass poster from the convention.
The only thing he left was Jane’s oil painting.
I’ll find him.
It’s a desire, a need, an obsession, possibly, but mostly, it’s a yearning to simply exist with him. And I really want to exist with Paul Donnelly.
48
PAUL DONNELLY
On this hazy, chilly winter morning, I stand on the shingles of a very well-built roof. Sturdy. Robust. “You beautiful shingled bastard, don’t let me down on the ground,” I say and squat to grab a heap of colorful Christmas lights I brought up here.
Goal: Don’t slip. Don’t fall.
I balance well enough.
Shingles still beneath my boots, I smile. “Good, roof. I knew we were friends.”
Been on many roofs, even helped a friend of a friend with a roofing project back at Yale for a free meatball sub and case of beer. So I feel equipped for this task at the Hale House.
I look out at the still, quiet neighborhood. The road is empty of cars, and only a few birds are chirping. It’s really early. I came here to sign contracts at security’s mansion, which is on the other street. I’m in a transitionary period between both companies at the moment while paperwork gets filled and filed.
Since I’d been in the literal neighborhood, I wanted to see if Lily needed any help around her house. Thought it’d be a nice thing to do since she’s still on crutches.
I didn’t account for her being at her sister Rose’s house this morning.
I also didn’t account for Xander’s dad answering the door. Still, show must go on, and so I asked Lo if there was anything that needed to be done.
He gave me a ladder and a cardboard box of badly twisted lights, then sent me outside.
Think maybe he believed I’d fight with the ensnared strands and quit, but these tedious tasks are calming to me. It took me less than an hour to check all the bulbs, replace the busted ones, and detangle the lights.
The Hales deserve a happy holiday, after all they’ve been through. They’ve been so preoccupied the past month, they haven’t put up any decorations, and it’s five days till Christmas. Even the fir tree in the front yard looks barren and pitiful.
