Page 76 of Keepsake
“That’s a nice way to look at it.”
Zach ran a hand over the book’s cover. “When I was a kid I felt sorry for Harry in his cupboard under the stairs.”
“Yeah. That’s how she wants you to feel when you read it. She’s great at establishing empathy.”
“Sure. It’s funny—I thought I was better off than Harry. It took me a long time to realize that Aunt Petunia and what’s-his-name were at least honest about not wanting Harry. When I read the first book, I thought they were the height of evil. Took me a few years to realize how many of the boys I knew would be tossed away.”
“Like you,” I whispered. He shrugged, but the casual gesture didn’t fool me. “They’re idiots, Zach. Dumber than the Dursleys.”
His eyes held mine for a long moment. Then he tossed the book off his chest, smiled, rolled, and kissed me.
Oscar has brought me something. It’s in his pocket. I want it badly, but he’s nervous. His eyes keep going to the door. I know I’m dreaming, and that the thing in his pocket will be our undoing. But I want it anyway. I want to know what it is, and I want to know what happens next. I’m tired of the fear and of the not knowing.
“Por favor,” I say.
Please.
His dark eyes measure me. I can see he’s conflicted. I’m scared, as always. But I’m angry, too. I’m burning up with anger. The dream won’t let me go until we reach the end.
He reaches into his pocket, but the shouting starts immediately. Someone’s banging on the door…
Iawokeon a gasp in the dark. My eyes flew open and my heart was racing. Behind me, Zach shifted in his sleep, pressing closer to me. By now he’d basically programmed his subconscious to comfort me in the night. Half the time when I finally wrestled free of my dreams and woke, he was rubbing my back in his sleep.
I took a slow breath and tried to calm down, but it wasn’t easy.
Lately there were two different Larks. One of them was lying in perfect safety beside Zach. That was the Lark who picked apples and wanted to learn glassblowing. The other one was still inexplicably trapped in Guatemala, and freaking out.
By day I pretended that Lark didn’t exist. But she did.
I lay awake now, my thoughts sifting through the awkward day I’d spent trying to convince my parents that I was fine. I’d put on a good show. They’d driven back to Boston after hugging me goodbye, and they didn’t look too worried about me.
Except they’d brought me that fucking letter.
I tried to imagine myself walking into the office two weeks from now, a latte from Starbucks in one hand, my laptop in the other. I’d given my whole self to that job. I’d took their transfer assignment with good cheer and upended my life for them. Now they wanted me to come back and pretend like it never went badly.
Or quit.
Shit.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the feel of Zach’s firm hand against my back. What did I want, anyway? Did I want that job? I liked working for a nonprofit. I liked trying to make a difference. They did some good work in the world, too. They helped Brazilian sugarcane producers become more efficient and offer their employees a better life. They helped Guatemalan coffee growers cut down fewer rainforest trees.
And working for them had almost gotten me killed.
The truth was that I didn’t need that job. If I wasn’t ready to go back to work, I didn’t have to. Money wasn’t a problem for me or my family. I had several paychecks from the Shipleys in my purse. Uncashed.
But, damn it! I’d won that job after college. I’d interviewed and impressed them. And now they were tossing me out like a used-up, environmentally sensitive, unbleached tissue.
I could get a doctor’s note and prolong the decision. I could go back to the psychiatrist in Boston and tell him exactly how bad things were when I tried to sleep.
The problem with that would be admitting the problem to my parents. I didn’t want therapy. I didn’t want to talk about my feelings or—worse—be hypnotized to try to tease out my scary memories.
It was not a problem that would be decided tonight. But I lay awake for hours anyway, worrying about it.
I must have drifted off again, eventually. Because I was sleeping when I heard Zach’s alarm go off. He turned, and I reached back to touch his sleepy body, my hand finding his chest, which I caressed.
“You sleep okay?” he asked with a yawn.
“Yes,” I lied. “You?”
