Page 121 of The Same Backward as Forward
Volans.
Counting her freckles—twenty-three.
Hangman on my skin and on hers.
The Boards On The Floor Game andONCE UPON A TIME.
And in Prague, when I discover a smaller-scale replica of the Eiffel Tower, I wait until midnight, and under cover of darkness, I scale it—all the way to the top.
And I don’t look down.
Chapter 45
I shouldn’t be in New Castle, shouldn’t have given in to the urge to come back, to check on them. I know that, but I also know that I have not heard from or seen even a hint of my mother in almost six years.Five years, ten months, and seventeen days.
Not that I’ve been counting.
Even so, I should not be standing across the street from the diner where Hannah works, watching her through the glass. The place is busy, and so is she—busy enough that it takes me a full minute to notice a little girl sitting in a booth next to the window. Alone. She’s playing, not eating, and if I’m not mistaken, she is between five and six years old.
Five years, ten months, and seventeen days.Hannah’s daughter sits on her knees, like she can’t bring herself to sit all the way down. Her hair is a little tangled, a little messy, and the exact same shade—or rather,shades—as her mother’s.
One thing about Avery, I think, watching her, mesmerized,she builds castles out of sugar.
I leave, and I circle back. I leave, and I circle back, and I tell myself that I won’t let Hannah see me. I tell myself that I won’t stay, that I’m just here to make sure they’re okay.
But then, Hannah and I always were liars.
It’s pitch-black outside when Hannah the Same Backward as Forward opens the back door of the diner, one trash bag in her left hand and two in her right. The only person left inside is Avery, asleep in a corner booth. I listen as Hannah throws the trash into the dumpster, then turns to head back inside, but when she pulls the door open and a bit of light spills into the alley, Hannah suddenly goes still.
I wonder if any part of her can feel any part of me.
There’s enough light now for me to see her turn toward me—and close her eyes. She drops the door, and darkness descends again. It takes me a few seconds and an equal number of her footsteps, audible on the pavement, to realize what she’s doing.
The Close Your Eyes Game.
I close my own eyes and listen to her, listening for me. Ifeelher getting closer and closer.
“You always were good at this game,” I say in a low and aching voice.
I should not be doing this—or maybe I should—but either way, Ihaveto.
“I want my postcards.” Hannah’s voice sounds exactly the same to my ears as it always did.Hannah, through and through.
“What makes you so certain I’ve been writing you postcards?” I challenge.
“Because I know you.” Hannah’s response is immediate and automatic. “And because I’ve been writing postcards to you, too.I’ve been sending them to Jackson, in case you ever decided to go back there.”
I don’t know what surprises me more: that Jackson has a way of receiving mail or that Hannah would take the risk of sending anything back there.
Without a word, I reach into my pocket and withdraw a stack of postcards. I hand them to her, and it is all I can do to keep right on breathing when her fingers brush mine.
“I shouldn’t be here.” I force myself to say that out loud. There are many reasons that she is safer with me elsewhere. If my father finds out where she is, her family could, too. And then there’s my mother—and whoever the hell sent me that drawing of Hannah when she was pregnant.
“I shouldn’t—” I start to say again.
“I know.” Hannah knows, and I know, but I am here.Weare here.
“I saw her,” I say quietly. “Avery.”Our girl.
