Girl of the Night Garden

“We could go skinny dipping now,” I whisper against her lips as we come up for air. “I’m no seal, but I get around in the water pretty well.”

“You do get around pretty well.” She twines her arms around my neck, pressing closer. “I’m not bad for a girl with one leg, either.”

“You are…brilliant.” My arms tighten around her waist, and before I realize it, she’s in my lap and my hands are places they shouldn’t be. And even though she’s wearing a thick wool dress and one of my old sweaters to ward against the chill, having her so close still makes me feel like I’ve swallowed lightning.

And a few of those new creatures Clara planted by the Skritches—the ones that look like flower-faced bumblebees and buzz in dizzy circles when Clara tickles them out of their beds for some exercise. She says they’re Sympathies and when they’re grown, they’ll give humans dreams of other lives, dreams that will hopefully grant them a little extra empathy and compassion.

“I love you,” I breathe as we surface again, both of us trembling.

“I love you, too,” she says, cupping my face in her cool hands. “But if Adrina and her family come to visit and—”

I stop her with another kiss. I’ve told her a hundred times that she’s the one I want, but I’ll tell her another hundred if that’s what it takes.

But by the time Adrina and Timon finally do come to visit, a year and a half after we first met—bearing orange blossoms and lemon preserve pastries to help celebrate my graduation—it’s been months since Clara brought up the topic of my falling in love with someone else. And when she hugs Adrina in welcome, she does so with her whole heart.

“It’s so wonderful to see you,” Clara says, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been dying to talk to another girl.”

Adrina laughs and returns the embrace. “Well, of course you have, you poor thing, with nothing but big stinky boys all around.”

But Adrina is already peeking over Clara’s shoulder, subtly scanning the rows of upperclassmen who’ve assembled to greet the new girl.

Ostensibly, they’re here to meet Timon, as well, but I’m no fool. I remember what it’s like to wonder if you’re going to die before you see another girl, let alone get the chance to talk to one. There are still two seats available at our feast table tonight, and I know every one of these lads is angling for an invitation. They’ve been kissing up to me all week, but I intend to let Adrina choose her company.

Judging from her letters to Clara the past few months, it sounds like she’s starting to wonder if she’ll die before she sees another boy she’s not related to by blood. Apparently, all the village boys her age are either fisherman married to the sea, her cousins, or both.

“Will we have time for tea and gossip before we get dressed for tonight?” Adrina asks, pulling back to smile fondly up at Clara. She sighs and squeezes her shoulders. “How well you look, my friend. So strong and happy.”

“I am strong and happy,” Clara says, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink as she casts a glance my way.

“Must be all the kissing,” Adrina teases, making Clara laugh and roll her eyes as she whispers back, “Certainly doesn’t hurt.”

Now it’s my turn to blush as Adrina teases me about being a secret Romeo. Thankfully, Timon totters off the gangplank a moment later, looking so green we all take several steps back, just in case.

“Your leg!” Timon says, pointing at Clara’s wooden prosthetic. “It’s amazing. What are the carvings?”

Clara grins and lifts her summer skirts a little higher, exposing the carved wood for his inspection. “Birds and flowers and sea creatures. Declan carved them.”

Timon shifts wide eyes my way, announces, “You’re a genius, my friend,” and then turns and vomits all over the dock.

But thankfully, he doesn’t get any on Clara. An hour later—after a few slices of bread and a cup of tea—he’s feeling better. I give him a tour of our settlement, promise him a proper exploration of the full island tomorrow, and we return to the house to find the girls already dressed in lacy white cotton dresses with crowns of flowers in their hair.

They’re both beautiful. Stunning.

But it’s Clara’s hand I reach for, and it always will be.

It’s only when I bend to press a quick kiss to her forehead that I see the mouse hiding in the curls pinned in an artful tangle at the nape of her neck and nearly jump out of my skin.

She settles me with a finger to my lips and a soft, “Poke is doing the feeding and watering at the garden tonight. Wig was afraid to be alone so I told him he could tag along.”