Hiram’s uncle was a man who masterfully played the Ellis game until Hiram’s grandfather died. Then he quit the family firm, became a chef, and charted his own path, challenging prejudices within the family. His defiance culminated in marrying a Seer, a lovely woman named Talulah. Things were horrid for them until they left the country to travel the world teaching tolerance. They never had children. Hiram had been shocked to inherit everything in his uncle’s will. He’d never met the man. There were a host of other Ellis family discards more deserving than he was. The only explanation came in a note that read:My wife Saw who you will become.
Hiram checks the pantry, finding it stocked with preserved foods, flour, and everything he needs to cook—all sealed by magic to withstand the elements. The refrigerator is blessedly clean. Still, there are other things they need.
“There’s one store on the island,” Hiram tells them once they’re settled in.
“Shame you left your car on the mainland.”
“I left it because I knew there was one here.”
The vehicle, a rugged truck designed for all terrains, handles the wooded path easily as they make their way to the store. They pass the occasional resident on foot or in their own cars. At the store, curious looks follow them, but Hiram’s identification and proof of residency turn those into friendly nods. The mention of his uncle sparks memories of a good man. Armed with everything they may need, they drive back to seclusion.
After dinner, Antaris naps, and Hiram finds Veda on the front porch gazing at the shimmering lake.
Hiram joins her on the bench she’s sitting on, their thighs brushing.
She looks at him. “My head is a little clearer, so for now, I’ll admit this might have been a good idea, but I think—”
“I know.” Hiram does something foolish: He cups her jaw and brings his lips to hers, smothering her murmured words. “I know what you said, and I know what you’re thinking, but I wanted to make myselfclear. We’ll get back to our problems when we go back. For now, we’re in the present. Can you agree to that?”
Veda searches his eyes before biting her lip. “I can.”
Hiram isn’t as in tune with nature as Veda or Antaris, but he appreciates its intrinsic value: food by farming and hunting, potions and elixirs from plants. Tonight, he appreciates it for providing the kind of irreplaceable peace he’ll only find layered between the current, the breeze, and the blooms.
Antaris is the first to be swept away, sitting on the upper deck in the rocking chair with his battered rabbit on his chest, headphones, and a book charmed to read to him. While Veda naps beneath the open window of her bedroom, Hiram joins his son with a book of his own. Soon, he’s so lost in the first non-research-related book he’s read in months, exploring generational wars in a faraway galaxy, that he doesn’t notice Antaris has moved onto the woven sofa with him, rabbit between them, eyes full of quiet curiosity.
“He wants to know what you’re reading,” Veda says from the screen door, a sleepy smirk on her lips, wavy hair wild and free.
Antaris confirms it by scooting closer, sitting on his knees.
Hiram shows the cover. “It’s about an intergalactic war.”
Veda sits on the other side of him. “Go on.”
“It’s a bit outside your age range, but it’s one of my favorites. One day we’ll read it together.” Hiram notices that eagerness doesn’t fade. “If you choose a book, I’ll read it to you.”
Antaris scurries off, returning with one Hiram has seen him read before. A tale of children playing pretend in an abandoned house. With every page, Antaris creeps closer until he’s slipping under his father’s arm, eyes fixed on him rather than the illustrations in the book. Hiram lays a careful hand on his shoulder, drawing his son even closer, snuggling into him. He stumbles over a sentence, skips two words, but refuses to movehis hand. Veda takes over, turning the pages until Antaris’s breathing deepens. Hiram’s arm goes numb, but he doesn’t move.
The next time he looks at Veda, she’s studying Antaris so intensely, she jolts when she realizes she’s being watched. The puzzle pieces of Grace’s vision slot into place, creating the full picture.
“To find the truth, compel the earth to live, the sun to shine, and the moon to show his face,” Hiram recites from memory. “It’s Grace’s vision, recorded for Gabriel, but I think she’s talking to me. I’ve known for a while that Antaris is the sun, but now I know ... you’re the earth.”
Morning and night. Oceans and mountains. War and peace. A study of extremes, she is life in an endless field of planets and stars.
“And I’m—”
“The moon,” Veda whispers.
Untouchable to the lonely sun, locked in an orbital dance with Earth, held at arm’s length by gravity.
Hiram looks to the rising moon. “I guess I need to show my face.”
“You already have.”
Twenty-Five
In solitude, they fit seamlessly.
Antaris presents Veda with morning tea to warm her spirits, while Hiram distracts her with companionship. This is a reprieve. Everything will return to normal when the bubble bursts. So, for now, she enjoys the haze. Walks in the forest are better with Antaris at her side, looking where she points, learning and experiencing nature through each of his senses. Where she goes, he follows. It’s something she doesn’t want to change, and she does her best to ignore every whisper that tells her it will.
