Chapter 53
PANDORA’S DIARY
In the following weeks, Leo and I shuttled between the houses, staying wherever we got less intrusion from our parents.
Leo put off returning to his office, choosing to stay on the island “to recover” until I was ready to join him in Boston.
His days were filled with small-business-owner paperwork, and he seemed… content.
Happy, actually.
Because he was so happy with me. Which I, of course, adored—though I was a little terrified his mood wouldn’t last once he started probing the blank places in his memory.
His dad and I worried about the loss of his gift.
Not so much how his sudden normality might affect his business, but how it would affect his life.
Our lives together. He’d lost so much. At least Leora was thrilled to have her son home for the whole summer, and fully engaged with her.
They spent a lot of time together, and I wondered if they were forging false memories of their past together, to replace those erased by magic. I was too afraid to ask.
I spent my days helping with “earthquake cleanup” around the island, doing dishes for Sheila, washing linens for Mom, and trying to replace Jera and the other gnomes in the garden.
After Dad grumbled at me because I wasn’t a gnome, and Mom cooked stuffed cabbage with broccoli and apple sauce, I knew ordinary life was returning to Beane Island.
With the folk back in the illuminated manuscript, normals began visiting the island again.
We were almost up to regular levels, though that didn’t solve the problem of how to earn money the rest of the year.
Strangely, Hattie had written a will leaving her newly acquired property to the Beane Isle Trust. I wondered if some deeply buried part of her had known what that evil creature’s plans were.
I hoped that the real Hattie knew, somehow, that Gabe and his girlfriend Ava were turning her dubiously acquired property into a preserve.
Deja was planning to plant flowers and herbs to create a Perfumery Walk, while Shrig was working with Mr. Kim to use the final bits of gold from the Lost Shipment to draw international tourists to Beane.
As for me and my gift, well, I spent every evening around sunset visiting that stubborn old tree on the hill. I’d lie on my back in a circle of fallen crab apples, humming to myself, and singing old faerie songs to master my gift for memories.
I never did ask Jamar for a lucid dream adventure. I was too busy working on my own dreams. And three weeks later, I thought I understood a new melody in my heart.
We’d torn down Pixie Camp—at least the rubble the goblins left behind—because there were no more glampers, but Dad still loved the gazebo. And after planting wisteria and creeping roses, and working his gift to make them flourish, he pronounced it ready.
“Ready for what?” I asked.
“Another picnic dinner with Leo.”
The idea that my father knew about our first dinner made me stammer, but I managed to agree.
Still, I wasn’t sure about returning to the gazebo with Leo.
He wouldn’t have the same memories as I did.
They had been stolen from him—from us. I didn’t know if I could bear hearing his blurred interpretation of the magical night we’d shared.
Yet maybe it was exactly the right place to share my new melody.
Mom decorated the space with embroidered quilts, Deja’s love candles, and throw pillows.
I enticed him over with promises of Sheila’s cocktails and lobster rolls—and me.
He arrived in a long-sleeved olive green shirt that highlighted the color of his eyes and his wide shoulders.
He looked gorgeous and kind, besotted and normal.
And if that was all he’d ever be, I’d love him to the end of my days.
Still, I was hoping for something more.
We feasted and laughed and talked about our future together until the gathering clouds opened and the downpour began.
Then we raced for the house, dashing through the garden, all wet with rain.
The splash of muddy puddles, the chill of rain, the warmth of laughter: there was magic in normalcy, too. I would never let myself forget that.
In my bedroom, we threw aside our sodden clothes.