What One Finds In Secret Garden
Chapter Thirty-Five
Eridessa
Morning crests, bringing enough sunlight through the curtains for the rays to catch on the dust in the air, transforming the ordinary into tiny, drifting glimmers of gold.
I lift my hand and weave my fingers through them, appreciating the way light can change even the smallest of things.
This leads to another discovery as my fingers begin to form odd shapes—random at first, then small animals.
Tilting my head back, I watch as the shadows from my creations stretch across the headboard and wall.
Innocent images—until the light is interrupted.
Then they become something else entirely. The farther they are from the light, the more ominous the shadow.
I slip from the bed and pad across the room in my nightgown, drawn closer to the window, compelled to test the theory. The rabbit I form with my hands becomes monstrous against the wall—warped, almost grotesque, as though it might leap free and eat me if it chose to.
The thought sparks another. I fan out my nightgown, watching how the shadow stretches and swells, comparing it to the image of a girl grown impossibly large from one of my favorite stories.
One idea feeds the next, and I grab a piece of paper and fold it a few times.
Within seconds, it becomes a rudimentary hat—imperfect, but it works.
I turn in a slow circle, searching, then move to a drawer and pull out a small pair of sewing scissors.
With a careful snip, I cut into the corner of my pillow and pluck a single feather free.
While walking back to the window, I work to spear the quill through the hat, before settling it into place on my head. Hands on hips, head tilted to the side.
Out of the edge of my periphery, I see it.
A female version of Peter Pan’s shadow proudly dominates the wall on the opposite side of the room.
“What in the world are you doing?” Lila’s voice, rich with amusement, startles me.
I snatch the hat from my head, hiding it behind my back as I turn. “Nothing.” Heat floods my cheeks, betraying me.
She doubles over, laughter spilling out of her. “You are such a bad liar.”
I say nothing, and she lingers there, watching me, waiting me out.
“I was recreating something,” I finally admit. “From an old story. A classic. Peter Pan. Ever heard of it?”
She shakes her head, one brow lifting, curiosity sharpening her expression.
So I explain it as best I can—about the boy, about flying, about his shadow.
The part of him that refused to be governed.
A piece of him, an echo that moved on instinct alone, sometimes acting beyond his control.
And how, in the end, Wendy had to catch it…
and sew it back on, making him, in a way, whole again—even if it never truly stopped being its own thing.
I don’t tell her that what resonated the most for me is that sometimes it takes someone else to return you to yourself, and there’s no shame in that—in needing someone else to feel whole.
By the time I finish, she’s leaning in, eyes bright, attention fixed.
Her fingers curl, beckoning toward the hat. “Hand it over. I wanna try.”
I pass it to her.
It’s not quite right.
“Legs apart,” I say, stepping closer. “Hands on your hips—higher. Let your elbows stick out.” I tilt my chin in demonstration. “Chin up. Just a little.”
A beat.
I nod. “Perfect. Don’t move.”
Excitement edges into my voice as I turn and scan the shelf, fingers skimming over worn spines and scattered trinkets until I find it. I snatch up the Polaroid camera I unearthed years ago, its weight familiar in my hand. I’ve rationed the film carefully.
Knowing this is absolutely worth it, I show it to Lila.
Her eyes widen, glee lighting up her face. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A camera, yes.”
I lift it, spying her through the lens as I back into the doorway until she fills the frame. “Ready?”
“Yes!”
I snap the photo and hold my hand out, catching it as it spills from the front. I fan it gently, watching the image appear.
Lila sets the hat aside and hurries over, leaning in. Her eyes shine as the picture slowly develops.
“That is fucking amazing!”
“Lila,” I scold.
“What? It is.”
I hand it over, and she studies it for a long moment. Then her smile falters, just slightly. “But we didn’t get my shadow?”
“We can take another.”
Like a boomerang, her smile snaps back into place. She grabs the hat and retakes her pose, and this time I shift closer to the window, angling myself to catch both her and the stretch of her shadow along the wall.
“Now you!”
I wave a hand, dismissing it. “No, it’s okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Lila.”
“Eri, just do what I say and stop fussing.”
“Fine.” I set her photos on the shelf and take the hat from her, passing her the camera in exchange. Before stepping into place, I grab an elastic from the top drawer and quickly wind my loose hair into a braid. Not perfect, but it will do.
Hat. Pose.
Her laughter meets me first.
Then the click of the shutter—movement—another click.
I turn, anticipation building as she holds both photos between her fingers, fanning them while we wait. When they’ve mostly developed, she sets them beside hers on the lower shelf so we can see them together.
She points. “My shadow looks like it swallowed a pumpkin.”
“Oh, it does not.” I swat at her, lightly tapping her arm.
Quiet settles over us as we take them in.
“Sounds like a cool story.” Melancholy laces her words.
“It is.”
She rubs the right side of her belly. “It’s depressing to think about all that’s been lost, you know?
How bleak life will be for the kids who have to grow up now—compared to before, or even how I did.
They deserve books like that. Stories. Fairy tales.
Stuffed animals… hell, even school. Instead, the most they get to look forward to is battle training, scavenging for supplies, and gardening just to survive. ”
The truth of it presses in, like a burden I’m meant to bear. I sit with it for only a moment before it’s snuffed out by something stronger—determination. I refuse to let that be her child’s fate when there’s something I can do about it.
“It doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom.
We can still give this little guy the same things, maybe even both.
Yes, he’ll need to learn how to survive and defend himself, but there’s no reason he can’t also have fairy tales and stuffed animals.
We’ll make them ourselves if we have to.
And as for school, I’ve recovered enough textbooks and lesson plans to give him a thorough education. ”
“And the fairy tales?”
My grin builds as I crouch and open the cupboard beneath the shelves. Inside, two rows are packed with classics and plenty of childhood stories that I’ve gathered over the years.
Lila’s eyes widen, and she drops down beside me. She folds her legs beneath her and immediately reaches for the shelves, wonder spreading across her face as she pulls out a book.
“Oh, my God. Why didn’t you tell me you had these?”
She reads the titles aloud. “Where the Wild Things Are, Charlotte’s Web, and Dr. Seuss.
” Her smile softens. “My mom used to read me Dr. Seuss. Oh my lord… she’d always do it in this god-awful accent.
I don’t know why, but it made me laugh every time.
” A quiet laugh escapes her. “Or maybe it was because she’d tickle the hell out of me.
Not literally, but…” She giggles at her own joke.
“And my dad…” She turns a page as if too caught up in the images to focus on the words.
“He was always telling us to quiet down. He wasn’t a jerk or anything—just trying to focus on his work.
We’d forget ourselves sometimes, get too loud, and it never failed—he’d holler, ‘Pipe down, you two. I’m trying to work!
’ But there was always laughter in his voice.
Like he loved hearing us, even if he couldn’t get anything done.
” Her smile lingers, softer now. “He’d give my mom a hard time for winding me up before bed.
But in a loving way. Anyway… that was kind of our thing, you know? ”
I sit beside her, offering comfort in the only way I can by listening.
“That’s a beautiful memory.”
As if she doesn’t hear me, she says, “God, this is a treasure trove. Little Red Riding Hood. I know this one.” She holds up another. “And this…” Her fingers brush the cover. “This is worth its weight in gold. Alice in Wonderland. My mom used to say it was one of the best stories ever written.”
“I love it too.”
“Why didn’t you show me these sooner?”
I shrug. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I was saving them. Like everything else. And I just… with everything going on, I guess I didn’t think of it.”
She pulls more books into her lap, gaze dropping, her hair falling forward to curtain her face. “Freakin’ Green Eggs and Ham.” She gives a small shake of her head.
“So your parents were good people? You don’t talk about them much.”
“Just hard to remember sometimes.” Her fingers are still on the page. “I miss them. And stress isn’t good for the baby.” She opens Alice in Wonderland, flipping through the pages. “Do you mind if I borrow some of these to read? I’ll treat them with care, I promise.”
“Of course. My house is your house. You’re free to use anything here. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”
A quiet beat passes before I dare to broach the question she’s avoided every time it surfaces.
“Do you think they’re still alive?”
She closes the book and stills. Between one heavy breath and the next, her shoulders begin to shake.
Wrapping my arm around her, I pull her into me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’ve just been curious, is all.”