Chapter 46
I meet Xander at the Bean for dinner, my mind crowded with the conversation we need to have.
I’m going to tell him about the scholarship, my road trip, and moving on. I don’t want to leave him behind, but it’s the only choice I have left. I can’t bring an imaginary friend to college and risk making no new real ones.
And I can’t invite him on the road trip. That wouldn’t be fair to Whitley. The whole way would be me translating conversations and talking to someone she can’t hear.
I remind myself I’ve only known Xander for a couple months. No matter how much he means to me, how linked we are by this curse, he can’t come between Whitley and me.
I hear my counselor’s voice in my head: Do not let another boy make you miss this deadline like the last one.
But Xander isn’t just a boy. The whole situation reminds me of walking barefoot on the blacktop in the middle of summer, stuck between two choices. I can keep moving forward and explore the unknown, or I can retreat to avoid getting burned.
I don’t know what to say to him. All I know is I don’t want to hurt him.
My earbuds are in again, just in case someone sees me talking to thin air and I need to play it off like I’m on the phone. But this time, I almost want to actually use them, to blast music loud enough to drown out Xander’s inevitable whimpers.
We could plan visits. We can figure something out. I don’t want this to be goodbye. It can’t be. Because in fifty years, in the end, when we’re still teenagers and everyone we know has passed, we’ll be all each other has.
I stare at the old black-and-white photo of Penango’s Main Street framed on the diner’s wall. If we had broken the curse, none of this would be a question. If the spell was gone, I know exactly where I’d be.
By his side. As much as I could.
But before I can say a word, he takes the conversation somewhere else.
“Could you help me out with something before the end of summer?” he asks, pushing his food basket forward, only scattered bits of his burger bun left.
I nod, swallowing a fry. “Yeah, with what?”
“I think I’ve thought of another way to communicate.” He exhales.
I tilt my head. “Communicate?” “With someone other than you and Dara.” He looks out the window where the sun catches his eyes. Brown. “With my mom.”
His request gives me full-body chills. My jaw locks.
“I’ll write down what you can tell her,” he continues. “If you’re up for it.”
I nod with a tight expression. “I am. But what made you change your mind? The other night, you didn’t want to see her.”
“That was before our sleepover.”
His voice is quiet. I reach across the table for his hand. He takes my index finger and traces the lines along my knuckle.
“I didn’t realize how much I needed to be held,” he says.
“I’ve learned to cope with being alone, you know?
There’s always places to go or another book to read.
Things to fill the time.” He shrugs. “But feeling lonely never goes away. It hits me at random times. Like on the drive to a concert when I have to pull over and cry. Or in the middle of a book chapter when I zone out for who knows how long, only to come back when the pages are soaked with my tears.” He squeezes my palm.
“You made it go away. That night. With that hug.”
I can’t sit across from him any longer. I scooch out of my booth and join his side, draping an arm around his shoulders and resting my other on his thigh.
“I want to give my mom a hug with my words,” he whispers. “It’s all I can do at this point. She’s been waiting for that moment for so long, just how I’ve been waiting for my moment with you.”
A lump rises in my throat. I’m grateful I didn’t break the news to him about me leaving just now. I want to do this first.
“I’m here for you,” I say.
He nods. “I was hoping by the end of the summer I’d be able to hug her in person, but this will have to do.” His shoulders sag. He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and slides it toward me. “This is what I have to say.”
I unfold the letter carefully, my fingers trembling as I read his words.
“How will she know I’m not making this up?” I ask.
“There are a few things I wrote that only she and I would know.”
I nod and fold the paper like it’s something sacred. “Will you come with me?” I ask.
“I’ll take you to my house, but I’d like to stay in the car when you go inside, if that’s okay with you.”
I rub his thigh. “This is your thing. It’s totally okay with me.”
He softly pushes his forehead against mine. We share breath, until one too many curious stares from other diners force us out the door.
We arrive at Xander’s childhood home just before dusk. His house is pressed up against the sound barrier that separates his neighborhood from the freeway. The view from the back windows must make the house feel like a jail cell, with no view but a gray slab of concrete.
“I’ll leave the engine on so you can have the air conditioning,” I say.
He nods, avoiding eye contact. “Come back out if she gets weird,” he says. “I can always find another way.”
I grip his forearm. “I got this. Sit tight.”
As soon as I exit the truck, I realize the sound barrier doesn’t block much of anything.
Honking horns, revving engines, and screeching tires ricochet from the other side of the wall onto the front lawn.
The air reeks of engine exhaust, drowning out the usual summer scents of cut grass and barbecue smoke.
I steady my breathing and step onto an uneven brick pathway leading to the front porch.
I ring the doorbell.
The white, wooden door swings open instantly, as if she’s been waiting.
Maggie Pomers stands behind the screen. Her dark hair flares in all directions, surrounding her head like a black hood.
Every feature mourns, from the deep wrinkles on her forehead to the crow’s feet carved into her cheeks.
Everything except her amber eyes. They glimmer, just slightly, with hope that hasn’t fully burned out yet.
I clear my throat. “Hello,” I say.
She studies me, then offers a faint smile. “Hello. Do I know you?” she asks.
“I’m Stetson Delancey. We met a few times over at Rainbow Valley Swim Club. I’m the pool inspector.”
Her lips part. “Yes, of course. My apologies. I remember now. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes wander back to my truck.
Panic rips through me like static electricity.
I should’ve planned this better. I didn’t even think about how I would bring up the note or get inside.
I don’t even know where to start. If I say the wrong thing, I could blow up whatever fragile sense of peace she’s built over the years.
But I trust Xander’s instincts. If he thinks this is the moment, then so do I.
“What can I help you with?” she finally asks.
I straighten my spine. “I was actually . . . I hope this isn’t too forward . . . but I was wondering if I could talk to you about your son, Xander.”
Her breath hitches. “Ohhh.” The sound leaves her mouth through a shudder. “What about?”
“Do you think I could come inside? It might be better if we’re sitting.”
She tilts her head, hesitating, then gently pushes open the storm door. “Please,” she says, gesturing me through the threshold. “Forgive me. It’s too hot outside for a conversation anyway.”
“Thank you,” I say, stepping past her. My fingers press into my pocket where Xander’s note waits. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”
The living room smells like lemon cleaner.
Vacuum lines stretch across the beige carpet, and angel figurines stare at me from inside a glass cabinet.
A vase of fresh flowers sits on the coffee table, too big for the glass surface yet somehow too small for the room.
Above the floral love seat, a painting of Jesus hangs with a prayer card for Xander tucked into the frame.
Maggie moves to the kitchen table and sits, crossing her legs. “Would you like any water?” she asks.
“I’m okay, thank you.”
She dusts her lap with her hands. “Is the county keeping the water clean?” She smiles. “Are there any of those toxic chemicals from the news that I should be worried about?” The distant rumble of traffic enters the home through the window over the sink.
I shake my head. “It’s all good as far as I know.” I pull a chair out from the table and sit.
She hums, nodding.
An image bursts in my mind. A closeted Xander, seventeen, hoodie zipped to his chin, hunched over this same table, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles cereal. A lost puppy with nowhere to go.
I’m here to tell her what that boy was feeling.
I shake the thought away.
Maggie folds her hands on the table. “So, is there something going on at Rainbow Valley? I’m afraid your visit is a bit confusing.”
I bounce my knees. I need to just read the letter.
“Um. I don’t know how to say this.”
She leans in. “Do you have a tip for Xander’s case?” Her voice wavers. “The sheriff has all but stopped communicating with me. If it’s a secret, I can keep it.”
My stomach tosses my dinner. If I don’t talk soon, I might throw up instead.
“It’s not that. It’s . . . I . . . I’ve been communicating with Xander.” My lips quiver.
She stiffens. “You’ve what?”
“Talked. Hung out. All summer.”
She pushes back from the table and yanks aside the curtains, scanning the front yard. “Where is he?” Her voice rises two octaves. “Why haven’t you said anything?”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “He’s . . . I’m the only one who can see him.”
She clutches her arms and begins pacing the kitchen. “Excuse me? Is he in hiding?”
I rub my temples. “No, like, he is invisible to everyone except me . . . if that makes sense.”
“Of course that doesn’t make any sense!” Her voice shakes. “You came here to tell me this? Why? Why would you do this?”
“Because I have a message from him.”
I stand. The chair bounces back and topples to the floor. My legs are jelly. She doesn’t believe me. I have one shot at changing that. I yank the note from my pocket so fast the paper rips. I start reading.
“Hi, Mom. I love you.”
A hiccup leaves the back of her throat.
“A lot has happened since the day I went missing,” I continue.
“I’ve watched you second-guess how you raised me, wondering if you made a mistake somewhere along the way.
I want to take that uncertainty away from you.
Because I am certain of two things. You knew who I was, and I’m certain you were fine with it. ”
Maggie stumbles back.
“I was only taking my time. I knew you’d wait for me because you loved me.”
She gasps for breath and trudges to the front door, then throws it open. “This is very disrespectful, Stetson. I’m going to politely ask that you leave my home.”
“But I’m not done!” My voice breaks.
She grips the doorknob. “If this were really Xander, he would come here himself.”
I flip the note over, searching for something—anything—that only she and Xander would know.
“Please, it’s time for you to go.” Her voice is steady.
“Thank you for adopting Toby!” I blurt.
Maggie stops cold.
“I’m thankful you gave him a good home to spend his final days.”
Her body sags inward as she drifts back to the kitchen table. “How do you know about Toby? Toby is gone. He’s been gone. How do you know?”
“I don’t. Who is he?”
She sinks into a chair, limbs shaking. “He was . . . an old dog at the Four Paws Animal Hospital. Xander wanted him, but I always said no.” She wipes her eyes.
“I adopted him after Xander went missing. It was an ugly thing. A mutt. But Xander had a soft spot for him. I felt so bad for never getting that dog.” She wheezes.
“Toby only lived for about a year after that.”
I smile. “Xander loves dogs.”
“Is there more?” She nods at the note.
“Um.” I press my brow and skim the final paragraphs.
“He says he’s sorry for how he acted before prom.” I raise an eyebrow.
She chokes on a sob, pressing her hands over her mouth.
“You should’ve been at the prom pictures.” The words become harder to read as I fight back my own tears. “I was upset I didn’t have a date and took out my anger on you. I’m sorry we fought. But now I realize you were all I needed.”
She breaks. Her body convulses as she slides from the chair to the floor. I drop the note and lunge for her, catching her in my arms. We melt onto the floor, tight within each other’s embrace.
“Where is he?” she wails, her voice breaking into fragments that shatter my ear. “When can he come home to me?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know.”
I look up.
Xander stands in the living room, still as stone, watching us with wide, unblinking eyes like the nearby figurines. His tender face fit to be alongside the angels. My heart splinters for him as if the glass cabinet bursts and sends shards in every direction.
His lips part. He mouths two words. Thank you.
His smile is faint, like a flower blooming on winter’s darkest day.
What if this is the future I’ve been searching for, and I’m not meant to leave town? Time has stopped to hold me here, showing me that I have purpose in Penango.
Xander and I aren’t trapped in place but connected.
Maybe this past year’s impatience was a lesson. If I chase after my future, I’ll sprint past the people cheering me on. But if I pause, if I turn and see them, really see them, I’ll find where I’m meant to run toward.
And the finish line isn’t somewhere else.
It’s their arms.