Page 103 of The Escape Plan

“No.” I exhale sharply before admitting, “I’m just really sad it’s over.”

“It is? I just figured…” Ezra trails off, shooting me a slightly bemused look.

“Figured what?” I ask, my smile humorless.

My brother shrugs. We’re close, but we don’t really have heart-to-heart type conversations, well… ever. “I don’t know. Part of me figured that he might stay. That you might go there. That you’d do long distance.” He winces a little, like he senses that he’s overstepped our usual conversational boundaries. He adds a smile and shrug while saying, “But what do I know?”

Grateful for the shift in tone, I laugh and give him a little punch in the arm. “You know nothing, my dear brother.”

“Honestly, I don’t disagree. So let’s hope Ev gets Mae’s brains, because I am empty of all knowledge.” Ezra laughs, and I relax into my seat, glad that some kind of equilibrium is restored, for now, and that our conversation is back in safer territory, for now.

Talking about Beckett hurts too badly at the moment.

By the time we’re entering the Silver Springs lobby, I’m still trying to push away my swirling thoughts of last night at the fair and the fact that Becks is currently back at Mr. P’s apartment, packing the last of his stuff. I need to focus on Gramps right now.

Lainey, the receptionist, gives us a wave as we walk by. “Your grandfather is in much higher spirits today.”

“I’m so glad,” I reply. I have the old “Moondance” record tucked under one arm, and a box of chocolate-covered cherries—Gramps’s favorite—tucked under the other.

Ezra and I head towards the back porch, where Gramps is apparently relishing the fresh air after a couple of days in bed.

And Lainey’s not wrong. We find him in a rocking chair, tucked under a woolen blanket and cheerfully sipping coffee as he admires a group of birds hopping across a path that intersects the flowerbeds in the pretty gardens.

“Magpies,” Gramps tells us. “Four of them.”

I slide into the seat beside him, and Ezra sits across the table.

“Are there often birds in the garden here?” Ez asks conversationally. “Do they put out feed?”

“Never.” Gramps shakes his head in mild irritation. “Antonella who lives here is terrified of birds. Lets out an awful shriek if she sees one. So they never put out food. But these magpies have been in the garden since I came out.” He smiles affectionately at them, his eyes a little misty.

“Maybe they’re paying you a morning visit, too,” I say.

Gramps’s eyes—the same deep blue color that we share with Ezra and my father—fix on me, and for a moment, they’re startlingly clear. “Or, maybe they’re here to visit you.”

“That’s a nice thought.” I smile at him. “Hey Gramps, I brought something for you.”

I place the cherries and the record on the table in front of him.

He completely ignores the candy as he zeroes in on the record.

“Oh, I love this one.” He runs a wrinkled hand across the front of the record sleeve, and then begins humming the tune to himself, tapping out a rhythm with his fingertips.

“Oh, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance…” he sings softly to himself. Then stops. Looks from the record to the magpies. They’ve stopped hopping now. In fact, it almost seems like they’re looking at us.

Which is weird. Obviously, my lack of sleep is making itself known.

“Strange that the magpies are here today of all days. Four was for… what was it? A boy? Yes.Four for a boy.”

Ezra and I share a concerned look before my brother reaches over and gently pats Gramps’s hand. “Is there a record player here, Gramps? I can ask Lainey to play it for you later. Or maybe we could go inside now and you could rest up while it plays. If there’s no record player, I could play it for you on my phone…”

Gramps isn’t listening. He’s sliding the record out of its sleeve.

“Oh, well the player’s not out here, Gramps,” I start, but I stop short when he pulls an old, yellowed envelope out of the sleeve next.

He holds it in his hand for a moment. Ezra and I share another look.

“What’s that, Gramps?” Ez asks gently.

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