17. Everett
17
Everett
F or some reason, I felt like I’d been called to the principal’s office at school.
No, not some reason. I knew why. Because Peter was a child, and she was about to tell me that my love for him was too much. Codependent and way out of line and inappropriate and?—
“Are you planning on staying in Cider Landing?”
That hadn’t been the first question I’d expected. “I—” Heck, I hadn’t even thought about it. “I own a house here. But I’m—I’m having trouble finding anyone who’s willing to come out and fix what’s wrong with it. We’re talking some pretty bad stuff, not just leaky pipes or a broken window. Part of the roof looks like it’s about to cave in.”
She didn’t respond, just continued to sit there, waiting for her answer.
“I want to,” I finally admitted. “I want to fix up my grandmother’s house and stay there. I just don’t—I don’t have any clue how I’m going to do that. I’m an artist. It’s not exactly a thriving small town job market.”
At that, her expression finally changed, going sympathetic. “That’s an understandable concern. And frankly, so is finding a contractor, or even a simple handyman here in Cider Landing. Hal Logan retired last year, and he was the only one. Since then, everyone has a broken something and a breaking something else, and we’re far enough from any larger city that it’s hard to get people to come out. But you have to be firm in your choice here. Peter needs an absolute.”
“You’re not bothered by—by us?”
Oh shit, that had been a terrible way to put it, hadn’t it? She was going to think I was some kind of?—
She was smiling, though, and it wasn’t some kind of enigmatic thing that I had to guess what it meant, but sympathetic and understanding. “I’m not going to pretend this dynamic would be the healthiest thing for most people. You’re literally the center of Peter’s world, and that’s downright dangerous for anyone. For both of you. And eventually, yes, I’d like to see him expand that circle to include other people. You too, since what you’ve said implies maybe yours isn’t so big either. But I don’t think I need to explain that this situation is unique. I’ve only seen a few lost children manage to make it back, and it’s an immense struggle. The real world sets in, and it’s very easy to look back to the woods and think...things were a lot easier out there.”
It was easy to imagine. It was what every single adult I knew dealt with, daily. How many jokes and memes were there about people wanting to go back to the days when they didn’t have bills, or jobs, or a need for therapy? I myself had longed for my time with Peter constantly, despised my job and my apartment and...well, everything.
Meanwhile, Peter had proof beyond doubt that he could just run back into the woods and play forever. He’d done it.
I swallowed hard and nodded. “You’re basically saying if I plan to leave, to go right now instead of dragging it out and hurting him in his recovery.”
Her grimace was apologetic, but she nodded anyway. “It doesn’t help either of you, for you to walk out in the middle of this. Our experience with lost children is that they have an incredibly accelerated adolescence, because their muddled memories start to come back. They don’t get to the age they would have been, which in this case is a good thing, but they do catch up with things they’ve missed. We had a young lady a few years ago who was married three years after leaving the woods, and it was a very healthy progression from lost to marriage for her. But it’s fast and enormous and...entirely related to the person she came out of the woods for.”
I took a moment to consider that, and realized what she was saying.
And why.
I swallowed hard and turned my face down to stare at my lap. “He, um, he was my first love. I won’t lie, I’m feeling a little creepy about that right now. Even though I’m also...I mean, he’s still Peter.” I glanced up at her, and then away, and I could feel the justifications sliding off my tongue, oily and strange. “He’s not exactly the same as when we were fourteen. He doesn’t only look older. He acts older. He had a bad moment, went for a walk to think about it, and he was back less than an hour later. He didn’t just run off and brood all night or something.”
She leaned forward, all the way down, till I was once again looking at her. “It’s okay, Everett. He came out of the woods because he feels the same way. That connection between you two isn’t a bad thing in this case. It’s good, and strong, and important. Given your reaction, I don’t need to tell you not to press for more and faster than he wants. Peter is a smart man. And I do mean man. You need to trust him to know what he’s ready for, and let him take the lead. He’s not fourteen. He’s not a teenager at all. He’s a hundred and...seventy?”
“Sixty-seven,” I said, nodding.
She blinked and shook her head in amazement. “You know, we’ve done some research, and he was the first. Not anywhere obviously, but here in Cider Landing. He was the first, and since then, it’s happened sometimes. It was just hard to follow the progression because at first it was mostly parents who thought their child wasn’t their child. Then about thirty years ago it switched. No more replacements, only disappearances.”
I shuddered at the thought. Only disappearances. Parents who would forever think their child was probably, if not certainly, dead. What a nightmare.
“Anyway,” she went on. “That’s probably not relevant to you and Peter. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll make arrangements for you. We already break a lot of rules with lost children because—I mean, technically, I shouldn’t be seeing him at all. He’s not quite my great-great-great grandfather. He is, he isn’t, and he’s going to be someone else entirely in the future. My point is that you can trust Peter to know his mind, and take care of himself, as long as you’re also there for him. Because like I said, he came out of the woods for you. It’s good if he continues to have you as a reason to stay out. Then when he’s better, you’ll both be good and attached. So the only proper time to make a run for it is now. If not? Well, like I said, I had a client who married the boy she came out of the woods for a few years later. If you can see yourself in that situation? Congratulations. And...thank you, actually.” My head snapped up and I stared at her as she surreptitiously reached up to wipe one eye. “We always thought Peter was one of the children in the woods, but we didn’t know. No one can just wander in and find them, so it was only ever a guess.”
“And your . . . your great-great-great grandfather?”
“He was who he was. A good man. Strong. Smart. Changed the world in his small way. And his personal story was tragic in a different way than he realized, but tragic nonetheless. But he had a long, mostly happy life, and he was satisfied with it. That’s all that matters. Peter isn’t him. He could be part of the current Hawking clan as a cousin pretty easily if he wants. We’re a big family, and it’s easy to slip someone in there. You know, from Great Aunt Eloise’s side, or something like that. But that’s entirely up to Peter. I can understand him wanting that, or wanting nothing to do with it. All we can do is offer him his options, and let him decide.”
It sounded so easy when she said it like that. Give Peter the options and let him decide. Funny thing was, I’d been doing that for years. When I was a teenager, my parents had been the ones with the options, and they’d decided to take everything I cared about away from me. Then the same with Mr. Warren. He’d been the one with the choices, and he’d chosen to fuck me over.
Peter being the one with the choices?
That actually didn’t worry me.
The house still worried me. My job, or probable lack thereof come January, worried me. But Peter making decisions? That didn’t scare me at all.