Mira brightens. “Then let’s go.”
“The sooner the better,” Aidan says. “Before Mr. Far”—he shoots a furtive glance my way—“I mean, before Mr. Gardian sees this mess.”
Seth nods toward the door. “Let’s go.” But as Aidan and Mira tiptoe out, he hangs back, holding my arm.
“Des, about what I said. Back there. You know, about checking in to planet Earth, and the nuts stuff. I don’t think you’re nuts. Really. I was just scared. And maybe a little angry. But, yes, I think there are days that are something like fair. Where things add up the way they should. Where the good guys win. One whole day could be that way. Why not? Maybe it’s just us making it that way. You know, trying harder or something. Or maybe it’s something else that we don’t understand, like the Hugh Williams thing. Weird stuff that we can’t explain. Maybe everything doesn’t have to be explained. But from the minute I got in the car with you this morning, I knew the day was different. That it was going to be one of those once-in-a-lifetime days.” He pulls me closer. “And I’m not trying to be smooth and say the things you want to hear. I’m being honest with you. Today is one of those kind of days. Your parents need to hear what you have to say. Maybe it could change things—”
“I can’t do this, Seth. I can’t. I can’t do it. You don’t understand. I was wrong about everything. We need to go back. Just like you said. We need to go back. We need—”
“Des, we’ve come this far. Don’t back down now.” He grabs both of my arms and holds me steady. “We’ll be with you.”
33
WE’VE COME THIS FAR.
So far. But the place we’ve traveled to is not a safe place. It’s not just a place on a map but a place buried deep in my past. An angry place, and a shameful one. A place that no one could lead me to before this day. Why do I push everyone away? Seth asks that like he is the first one. How can anyone expect a child to know that answer? It’s like asking why you eat or breathe. You do it because you always have. You do it to survive. How could a seven-year-old know? But it didn’t keep them from asking.
This far.
A road trip got me here. A road trip that wasn’t meant to happen. But somehow it did. Because I made it happen, as Seth says? Or because of a visiting teacher in a garden? Or a calendar page dropped into a waste can? But the road trip isn’t over. I still have farther to travel. You can do it, Des. Can I? Will my parents finally hear me? Could they possibly listen? Is it that kind of day? A once-in-a-lifetime sort of day? Can I make time rewind and play itself out differently? Four of us. Me. Seth. Mira. Aidan. Four. The unholy number. Or the whole number. Which is it?
Seth quietly gathers up Lucky, and we head out. Down the drive. Down the road. Past thick stands of birch, their leaves shivering in the breeze. Past the gate and stone lions. Two? Three? Four? Which is it? We are moving too fast to count. I stop trying. Silence and the air of a late October day gallop past us. The car stops and idles at Ravenwood. I point to the right before Seth can ask.
Ravenwood curves and quickly opens up to a patchwork of hills, vistas, and emptiness.
“Pretty hills,” Mira says, breaking the silence. The hills are brown.
“I don’t see any hou
ses,” Aidan observes.
No houses. Only empty brown hills that all belong to me. We reach the end of Ravenwood, and I point to the left. Seth turns without comment.
Only a short distance down the road, we come to the beginning of a low stone wall and then an ornate gate, green with weather and age. These landmarks I remember.
“Here,” I say.
The road climbs up a hill. The highest hill in Langdon. The engine revs.
You can do this, Destiny.
But I never could before. Why now? I ruffle the petals of the flowers in my lap, and brush the peacock feather against my cheek. So soft. Baby soft. Like a whisper. Give Mama a nice good-bye. Give your brother a kiss. The road narrows and zigzags back and forth, edged by plateaus that are dotted with stony memorials, clustered together like families.
“Where the—”
“Quiet, Aidan. Please,” I whisper. I hear music. Music I have shut out all these years but that still clings to the hills and always will. Mother’s favorite song. The lullaby she loves and struggled to learn on the piano, but now it is played by bagpipes. Long wispy notes. Lingering. Rolling over the hills like fog, hiding between the stones, circling around and around all these years waiting for me.
Seth clears his throat. “Is this—”
“All the way to the top,” I say.
We arrive at the crest. A hundred yards off, another landmark, a crooked oak.
“Here,” I tell him. “Park here. We have to walk the rest of the way.”
Seth stops the car and turns off the engine. No one moves.
“Come on, boys,” Mira finally says. “You heard her. Let’s walk.”