The fight goes out of Seraphima. She sinks to the ground, lifting his snout in her hands. “No,” she admits. “I guess youcan’ttalk to me. But what would you say to me there that you can’t say here?”
Frump raises his nose to the ceiling, his white throat bare. He howls, his long tongue looping awkwardly around the vowels, in a way that almost sounds like human speech.“Iiiiirrrruvvvvvvooooo!”he howls.
Stricken, I watch this scene unfold before me. There was a time, briefly, when Frump was a boy again and Seraphima was the girl he loved, and he didn’t muster the courage to tell her how he felt. And now it’s too late. What would happen if the people we were meant to love were in the right place at the right time? What if we told each other before it was too late? How come love is never simple?
I watch emotions flicker over Seraphima’s face: shock, pain, regret. And love. I know she loves him. And I know what it feels like to think that no matter what, you’re never going to get the chance to be together the way you want to be.
I feel Oliver’s hand reach for mine, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.
Tears streak down Seraphima’s face. Caught in a storm of feelings, she stumbles to her feet, opens the front door, and begins to run.
No matter how fast she goes, I know she won’t be able to outdistance her own thoughts.
Frump leaps to his feet and dashes out the door, following Seraphima before Oliver or I have the presence of mind to grab his collar. He barks, and then he barks again, trying to get her attention.
Finally she stops and faces him. He pauses in the middle of the street, panting, just staring at her—and in that moment, it doesn’t really matter that there are no words.
None of us sees the car coming.
OLIVER
I’ve never felt anything like this.
Like someone’s hollowed me out, scraped me raw, left me as nothing but a shell. I feel a white-hot poker of pain every time I look down at him. I can feel his weight in my arms; I can still feel the heat of his body and his wiry fur prickling against my skin. He’s here, but he’s not.
I want to close the book. I want to start from the beginning. I want him to be standing by my side in front of Queen Maureen as I tell her I’m off to rescue a princess. I want us to walk through the story a million more times together.
I feel like I’m in a glass box. I can see Delilah’s mouth twisting as she calls my name, and her fists pound on the transparent wall to get my attention, but I hear nothing but the blood rushing in my ears.
“Frump?” I whisper, shaking him gently. “Come on. Wake up.”
Suddenly Delilah’s hands close over my shoulders, shakingme hard. At that second, the whole world comes crashing over me, like a rogue wave that sends you somersaulting and steals your breath and your bearings. I surface, and everything is too loud, too bright, too painful. Delilah’s fingers press so hard into my skin that they leave marks in the shape of half-moons. Seraphima is crumpled into a ball, rocking back and forth, wailing. I have no recollection of how we got back into Delilah’s house; there is just a trail made of drops of ink that lead from the street to the kitchen floor.
“You have to help him,” I say to Delilah, the words catching in my throat.
“Oliver,” she whispers. “There’s nothing we can do. He’s gone.”
But she’s wrong. He’s right here. “We just have to get to the beginning. You have to close the book—”
“There is no book,” she says softly. “We can’t go back.”
Something about her words breaks through my haze, and I look up at her face, stricken.
Death, to me, has always just been a word. A mention of a king I never knew, a villain whose demise led to a happy ending. Never have I seen it; never have I felt it; never have I held it in my hands.
Never has it beenforever.
Seraphima kneels in front of me, stroking Frump’s limp body. “No, no, no!” she sobs. “You can’t leave me. I love you. Do you hear me? Iloveyou!” She looks up at me, her blue eyes glittering with tears. “Why isn’t he waking up, Oliver?”
Delilah puts her hand on Seraphima’s arm. “That’s not how it works here,” she explains.
Seraphima’s lip quivers. “I want to go back to the way it was.” She throws herself against my shoulder, crying so hard that her entire body shakes. “Take me home, please,” she begs. “Take me home.”
Over Seraphima’s bent head, I meet Delilah’s gaze. It’s like a mirror. I can see the same anguish reflected on her face that must be on mine.
She walks to a cabinet in the kitchen and pulls out a white cotton tablecloth. Gently, she comes closer to me and lifts Frump out of my arms, to wrap him in a cocoon.
When I let go of my best friend, it feels like a part of me is missing. I look down at my hands, stained with ink.
