Page 92 of Persephone's Curse
“Deep breaths, Cece,” Bernadette said, turning back to the room. “Obviously, we’re going to have to figure out what to do about the tear. But maybe not tonight, you know? Maybe tonight we can just be happy that Henry’s back.”
“I’mhappy that Henry’s back,” Clara said.
“I’m so happy,” Evelyn said, and truly, she was glowing.
And I was happy, of course I was so, so happy, but I still couldn’t make myself look at him.
Our mother woke up crying in the middle of the night. I knew because Clara was still awake, and still sleeping in my room, and she nudged me until I woke up, too. We could hear her through the vent (old house, old vents, and in certain places you could play telephone with other people, whispering into the grates, hearing each other perfectly).
Did she have a nightmare? Had Melinoë delivered a message to her, whispering into her ear as she tried to sleep?
Our father was awake, too, comforting her, saying low, soothing words too quiet to catch. Clara and I looked at each other scared and wide-eyed until, finally, our mother stopped crying. The house fell silent again. Clara fell asleep. It was three in the morning. I was utterly, devastatingly, awake.
I stared at the ceiling as if, with enough concentration, I could burn a hole into Evelyn’s room and see her curled up with Henry, sleeping soundly.
Next to me, Clara was breathing heavily, twitching a little, fully immersed in dreamland.
I texted Maybe. She would want to know that Henry was back. After a solid six minutes of trying to come up with a witty or clever way of saying it, I settled on:Hi. Henry’s back.(Neither wittynorclever—perfect.)
I didn’t know if I really expected her to be awake or not, but she responded less than a minute later. My heart did a little flutter kick when I saw her start to type back, those three dots of infinite potential.
Damn, that’s great! How did you manage it?
Clara had to sacrifice her painting. It was a whole thing.
Aw, man. Poor Clara.
The tear in the sky also got bigger. When he came back.
A bit of a good news, bad news, situation then.
Maybe one day I’ll only have good news for you.
I will be waiting patiently. Now get some sleep, ghost girl. It’s late. xx
I fell asleep warm and quickly and buzzing with those two little letters:xx.
In the morning, I caught Mom alone in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of coffee, staring out the window at the jasmine bushes that lined our backyard, dead-like and bare in the winter. They would return with a vengeance in spring; no matter how aggressively Dad cut them back, they’d blossom and explode all over again.
She turned, then, sensing me behind her. She still looked so sad. Her face was red and puffy and it scared me, how dark her eyes were.
“Good morning, third daughter,” she said.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I didn’t sleep that great. Did you?”
“Not really, no.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Your aunt isn’t sure, either. We’re both a little out of sorts, it seems, but neither of us knows why.”
Was the tear in the sky affecting Aunt Bea in Vermont?
Did my mother and aunt have gifts, too, that were being taken away from them?
