“What does it matter, Xander? What’s important is she’s here. She’s hurting. And she came to you.”
“Don’t be mad,” Alethea whispered against his chest. “I know I worried everyone. I know I shouldn’t have run off that way, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry but please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.” How could he be when he was so completely relieved? “Let’s get you inside. Where are you going?” He called after Calliope when she stepped away.
“Home. I don’t want to intrude and Paige is watching Stella.”
“Then you can stay awhile. Please.” He couldn’t explain it, but something about having her here kept him on balance. “I’ll make tea.”
“You hate tea,” Alethea mumbled.
Calliope smiled.
“I’m acquiring a taste.” Xander squeezed his sister hard. “And no tattling when your big brother’s trying to impress a girl.”
Alethea’s laughter healed his wounded heart.
“How about you get Alethea settled and I make the tea?” Calliope suggested.
“What about your messenger?” Xander asked as he brought Alethea inside. “Is it okay?”
“My messenger is fine,” Calliope said as she closed the door behind them. “It’s not everyone who can see them.”
“She sent you a butterfly,” Alethea mumbled, and it was then Xander finally looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes, the strained lines on her face. The tiny hint of the spunky, independent, embrace-life little sister he loved and admired so much. “That’s kinda cool.”
“When was the last time you slept, kiddo?”
“I don’t think I’ve slept since Talia’s funeral.” And with that, her eyes filled.
Xander’s heart twisted. Six months. His sister had been falling deeper into despair for the last six months and none of them had done anything to help.
“How about a long, hot shower?” Calliope suggested, stopping him from pushing Alethea onto the sofa. “Abby keeps lavender sachets in the linen closet. We’ll put that in the showerhead to help you relax.”
“’Kay.” Alethea’s eyes drooped. “I think I can stay awake for that.”
“I’ll make certain you do,” Calliope offered. “Xander, why don’t you make up the second bedroom for her?”
“I can do that, sure.”
Calliope brushed her fingers over his arm as he moved away. “Xander?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll take care of her. Call your family.”
His family. Antony. “Right. My phone.” He patted his pockets. “Where did I leave my phone?”
“It’s on the porch,” Calliope told him as she escorted Alethea down the short hallway.
“Right. Porch.” He pulled open the door and found the butterfly perched on the edge of the railing. He bent down to pick up his phone, but stopped before he stood again. And moved closer to examine the insect more carefully. The intricacy of the wings, the tensile strength housed in such tiny, almost invisible legs. How could something so small, so delicate, command such power? Did they think? Did they feel? Or did they merely exist by instinct? “Thank you,” he whispered.
The butterfly turned around and faced him. Its wings pulsed a few times before it pushed off and disappeared into the trees.
“She’s got me talking to butterflies,” he muttered. But it didn’t seem odd. Didn’t feel weird. It felt...right. He focused on the phone and called his brother. “Antony?”
“You on your way home?” his brother demanded.
“No.” Until this moment, he didn’t realize he wasn’t ready to leave for reasons other than the project. He glanced over his shoulder into the cabin where Calliope was. “No, there’s no need. Alethea’s here. Somehow she’s out here in Butterfly Harbor.”
“She’s...what?” Antony’s tone was caught between shock and relief. “Are you kidding me? How...? Mom!”
Xander pushed up and sat in the chair on the porch, listening to the shuffling and maneuvering as his mother took his brother’s phone. “Xander?”