The City of Mirrors (The Passage 3)

The smaller girl stared at him. “Trees?”

“Sure,” he replied.

“Flowers?”

“Trees, flowers, animals. Everything living.”

Haley looked at him askance. “You’re making this up.”

Carter smiled. “Not in the least. Grown folks know things, you’ll see.”

“I still want to keep him,” Riley insisted.

“Maybe so. And I’m sure Mr. Toad would like that just fine. But a toad belongs in the grass, with the other toads who know him. Plus, your mama would pitch a fit she knew I let you keep him.”

“I told you,” Haley moaned.

Carter sat back. “You two go on now. You can play with him a bit if you like, but leave him be after that.”

They scampered away. Carter rose to put on his shirt and sat back down. The sun was mild on his face in the dappled shade of the live oaks; from far away, he heard a quiet wash of traffic. A few minutes passed before Rachel came out the back door, bearing a tray of the promised hot dogs. Riley’s had ketchup and cheese, Haley’s mustard; Carter’s had all three. For herself, Rachel had made a salad. She returned to the kitchen and came back out with paper plates and a bag of chips, then once more with drinks: milk for the girls, a pitcher of tea for the grown-ups.

“Riley found a toad,” Carter remarked. “Wanted to keep it as a pet.”

Rachel put the hot dogs onto plates and laid out napkins. “Of course she did. I’m assuming you said no.” She looked up and raised her voice. “Girls, come for lunch!”

They ate their hot dogs and chips and drank their tea and milk. Afterward, cherry popsicles for dessert. By the time they finished, the girls were starting to fade. Usually Riley took a nap after lunch; Haley would put up a fuss but wasn’t too old for one, especially after the morning they’d had, hours and hours of playing in the pool in the hot sun. With promises of more swimming later, they ushered the girls into the house, Carter carrying Riley, who was already half asleep. In the girls’ bedroom, he passed her off to Rachel, who removed Riley’s damp suit, replaced it with a T-shirt and underpants, and tucked her into bed. Haley was already under the covers.

“Now, I want you two to sleep,” Rachel said from the door. “No fooling around.” She closed the door with a quiet click. “Come to think of it,” she said, “I could go for a nap myself.”

Carter nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Girls just about wore me out.”

In the bedroom, he traded his bathing suit for an old pair of shorts he liked, soft from laundering, and lay down on top of the comforter. Rachel moved in beside him. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Her hair had a clean, sweet smell he loved. It was just about the nicest thing there was.

“You know,” she said softly, “I was thinking.”

“What’s that now?”

She shrugged against his chest. “Just how wonderful this morning was. The garden was so beautiful.”

Carter pulled her tighter against him to say he thought the same.

“I could do this forever,” she said.

Forever was what they had. Soon her breathing steadied, long and low, like waves upon a placid shore. Its rhythm moved into him in a soft current, taking him with her.

What happiness, thought Carter, and closed his eyes. What happiness at last.

* * *

89

She had chosen a spot in sight of the river. The earth was softer here, but that was not the only reason. As dawn broke over the ridgeline, Amy began to dig. The river was low, as it always was in summer; mist floated atop the water like smoke. She dug first to the calls of birds, then, as the heat built, to the stillness spreading over the land.

Stopping now and then to rest, she finished at midday. At the river’s edge she splashed her face and cupped her palms to drink. She was sweating profusely in the heat. For a time she sat on a rock to gather herself, her shovel resting above her on the bank. In the shallows she detected the shapes of trout, tucked behind rocks. Protected from the current, they held themselves in place with small flicks of their tails, lying in wait for the insects that washed downstream to their open mouths.

The body was swathed in a sheet. Amy used a wooden bier and ropes, tackled to a sturdy tree limb, to lower it. Her thoughts were ordered and calm; she’d had years to prepare for this moment. But at the first pattering of soil upon the shroud, she experienced a rush of emotion, an upwelling of feeling she had no name for. It seemed like many things at once; it came not from her mind but from a deeper place, almost physical. Tears mixed with the perspiration streaming down her face. One shovelful at a time, the body disappeared, becoming one with the earth.