My stomach churns and my skin grows clammy beneath the silk and wool. The world spins.
Three.
Dots dance across Mrs. Pym’s withered face. The ground is no longer solid, but liquid sludge beneath my trembling strides.
Mr. Pym, as sturdy as his wife, captures my other arm, dragging me up with surprising strength.
“All right, miss, easy now. A bit slippery here.”
A lie, but they’re watching. Watching me fall apart.
Maybe I’m not an Usher after all. Maybe I’m just a weakness Marcus will send away and I will never see my boys again. What if this is my very last time like that evening a week ago when I kissed them both before they walked out of the house, promising to be right back.
But they weren’t.
I watched them walk to the car.
Then the car returned without them…
I need to see them. They’ll be buried forever under dirt and ice, and I’ll never see them again and I didn’t even say goodbye.
“Miss!” Mrs. Pym’s startled squeak barely registers when I yank free of her hold and tip.
Without her support, the ground vanishes. The world tips in a spiral of blue and white. I think I’m falling.
Strong, sturdy arms catch me. I’m lifted with no effort against a solid chest. The rush of winter and spices fill my senses as Uncle Marcus cradles me as if I were a child.
“I have you,” he brushes into the side of my tear-streaked cheek.
My arms close around his neck and I bury my face into that familiar smell of him.
“They’re gone,” I choke out. “I didn’t say goodbye.”
“We’ll come back,” he promises. “As often as you like.”
“Don’t leave me,” I blurt. “I’ll die if you leave me, too.”
His arms tighten even as he moves in the direction of the car.
“I will never leave you,mon p’tit.”
I wake to darkness and an ocean of mattress. The familiar canopy stands rigid overhead, an archway guarding me from their absence.
It’s not the first night I’ve woken too soon. It’s not the first time since I was told the news that I’ve lain still and silent in our bed and wished for death. Being awake is a torture I can no longer stand, but must endure…
A creak.
A soft clink of steel on glass.
I stare harder at the canopy. I fist the sheets tighter to my chest, my thundering heart.
Don’t look,I tell the part of me that only wants a peek. A fleeting peek in the direction of the vanity.
A quick one.
Just to soothe my curiosity.
But I remain immobile. Rigid in my determination. It’s the house settling. It’s the cold biting the French windows. There are a million reasons…
