chapter thirty #2
She fades, and from outside, there are cheers. I hear them through the glass. My stomach lurches, and the milkshake tastes
filmy on my tongue.
“Ignore them,” Peter murmurs in my ear. “Focus on what you need to do. I’ll be here with you the entire time.”
One by one, Sean leads people in. Next, there’s a girl with hands clasped before her as if I were holy and she were penitent.
She doesn’t look more than fourteen, but for all I know, she could be forty or four hundred. Then a kid, a woman, an elderly
man . . . One gasps, “Oh, there is light!” And then he vanishes. All of them fade with ecstatic smiles on their faces as if I have given them their favorite
birthday present, a trophy, and a pony all at once.
At last, the line ends. The first line, the easy line. I feel wrung out, as if I’m a towel squeezed of every bit of moisture.
Between helping people, I have been sucking down my milkshake and sneaking bits of food that Victoria and Sean slip me. Outside,
many, many more people mill in the streets—the ones who are still lost, without the glow.
Sean closes the diner door as I lay my head on the table. “You did good,” he says encouragingly.
“She did well,” Victoria corrects. “And yes, she did. But she’s far from done.”
Head still down, I moan. I ache inside and out. My muscles feel like jelly, and my head . . . ooh, my head. “Anyone found
any Tylenol?”
I’m offered two tablets. Lifting my head, I take them before I think to ask when they expired. I decide not to worry about it, and I lay my head back down.
“She needs rest,” Peter says firmly.
“Not so restful here,” Sean says.
I peek through my arms to see him nod at the street outside. Dozens of faces stare through the window at me, and I wish I
hadn’t looked. What I want is to return to my yellow house by the impossible sea, with the desert and the junkpiles around
me. I want to feel home.
“Some of the rooms in the motel could have opened up, now that she’s sent people on,” Victoria says. “Or Tiffany can kick
some people out.”
“All right,” Sean agrees. “Let’s take her over.” They’re talking over my head as if I’m not here. I should object to that,
but I don’t have the energy. Let them take care of me if they want to.
Peter touches my shoulder. “I’ll carry you.”
“I can walk.” My words slur as I stagger to my feet.
“Less people will bother you if I’m carrying you.” After reclaiming my backpack, Peter swoops his arm under my legs and scoops
me up. I put my arms around his neck and lean my head against his chest. It is far nicer than walking.
He carries me out of the diner, and Victoria and Sean flank us. In his arms, I bounce as he walks down the steps, an excuse
to tighten my grip around his neck. He halts at the bottom as I hear Victoria gasp.
Sean says, “Now that’s more like it.”
Raising my head from Peter’s chest, I open my eyes. Beyond the post office . . . is open desert. It extends for miles. The
void is in the distance—beautifully far in the distance, smudging the horizon.
“Knew you were interesting,” Peter says softly to me.
Ignoring the people who clamor around us, he carries me across the street and pushes into the motel lobby. Victoria rings the bell on the counter.
Smacking gum, Tiffany sails into the lobby. “Oh! You!” She peers out the window. “Huh.”
“She needs a room,” Peter says merrily.
“Yeah, we’re booked. Lack of houses and such. You know.”
“She’ll take room twelve,” Peter says.
Twelve. I remember Tiffany telling me to take any room but twelve. “Why—”
Peter interrupts me. “Its resident won’t be returning.”
“Oh.” It belonged to someone I sent on. I wonder which one, then decide I don’t care. Tiffany reaches for the key labeled
twelve on the wall behind the desk, and I see the glow dance around her fingertips. She should have been in line with the others.
Gathering the shreds of my energy, I offer, “Would you like me to send you on?”
She freezes and her eyes widen.
“You need to rest,” Peter says to me.
“I can do this. For Tiffany.” He hasn’t put me down, and I don’t ask him to. His arms are warm, and I feel safe in them, as
if his inherent wildness will cancel out any external danger.
Eyes wide, she comes around the front desk. “What do I do?”
“Just stand. Do you want to . . . say goodbye to anyone, or do anything first?” She’s been here a long time, and it’s, as
far as I can tell, a permanent departure, at least for most.
She scowls at me and snorts. “If you can’t do it, then say so. I’ve way outstayed my welcome here, and I’m thoroughly ready
to check out.”
I reach for her, then hesitate. She won’t return home; she could cease to exist. I think of the man who saw light and wonder
if he was dead. I don’t know if I will be sending her to heaven, hell, or oblivion, and suddenly the responsibility feels
suffocatingly huge.
Tiffany rolls her eyes. “You aren’t killing me. I’m already dead.”
“But . . .”
She grabs my hands and places them on her shoulders. “It’s my choice. I say I’m ready. And if you don’t do it, I will replace every toiletry you own with bleach. I’ll ensure you get luggage filled
only with dog poop. I’ll—”
I close my eyes, breathe deep. “You were lost; you are found.”
She sighs happily.
And then I feel nothing under my hands. Lowering my arms, I open my eyes. She’s gone.
Victoria plucks the key from the wall and hands it to me. Peter carries me out of the lobby. Walking in front of us, Victoria
and Sean shoo people away, and Peter weaves through the makeshift tents with zero regard for whether he steps on hands, feet,
or whatever.
At the door, Peter lowers me down, and I put the key in the lock. I twist it, and the door pops open with no fanfare, as if
all of this were ordinary, as if I didn’t need guards and an escort to check into a motel room. Reaching in, Victoria switches
on the light. She strides inside—checks the bathroom, the closet, under the bed, behind the door. “Looks okay,” she announces.
Peter carries me inside and places me gently on the bed.
The room does look fine. Surprisingly normal. There’s dust, of course, and it’s musty, as if it hasn’t had a window open in
a few decades. Peter flips the switch on the air conditioner, and it rattles to life. He then unzips my backpack and pulls
out the tattered rabbit. He places Mr. Rabbit on the bedside table beside me.
Victoria shuts the door. “Our turn.”
“If you’re up for it,” Sean adds.
I look at them, one then the other then back. I shouldn’t be surprised—they’ve been waiting a long time for this—but I am.
“Are you sure?”
Sean takes her hand. “Can you send us at the same time? We don’t . . . want to be here without the other. If you do both of us at the same time . . .”
I push myself up to sitting then to standing. “I don’t know, but I can try.”
Their hands squeeze together, and I put one hand on Victoria’s shoulder and one on Sean’s. “Thank you both, for everything.”
I want to say more, like don’t go. I didn’t expect to have to say goodbye to everyone as soon as I returned, but they’re looking at me with such shining hope
in their eyes, and I know I have no right to ask them to stay even a second longer. They should be able to leave, when they’re
ready—it should be their choice.
This is why I came back, at least in part. I’m here to save them, to save as many as I can, because I can. And because I couldn’t
save Mom.
I say the words: “You were lost; you are found.”
Victoria mouths, “Thank you.” Or she says it out loud, but I can’t hear her. As they fade, they face one another, holding
hands, until they vanish.
Peter and I are alone.