PART TEN
THE PHOENIX
1
Sylvie
Sylvie climbed from Simon’s four-poster bed, parting velvet curtains, and walked toward the window. The dawn songs of goldcrest and thrush seemed a soundtrack to her joy. She put her wrists to her face and inhaled. Emma had created an original fragrance for Sylvie on her wedding day—it smelled mineral-y and clean, like rushing rivers and snow, reminding Sylvie of Montana.
Sylvie wanted this: a man she desired, nights of reading and sex. And more reading. And sex. Simon called hills “fells” and knew more than anyone needed to know about the migratory patterns of puffins. Was it the dream of every unmarried librarian to find a hot reader to love? Regardless, it had been her dream and it had come true. It was terrifying to have a dream come true.
Sylvie dropped her hands and waited for her sisters to come to her and walk her down the aisle in lieu of her father. She thought about their night picnics in the Bitterroot Valley. The stars, the trail mix they brought to snack on, the smell of the prescribed burns, the climb to the top of Skull Rock. The memory of her backyard playground in the mountains felt so real to Sylvie that she could smell smoke.
2
Cleo
Cleo and Emma, fascinators fastened to their hair with bobby pins, climbed in the car that waited to transport them from the Gatekeeper’s Cottage to the castle ceremony. (Cleo appreciated the car; her heels were way too high to hike the damn path to the castle again.) After the wedding, Cleo was going to go straight back to Brooklyn. She was happy for Sylvie—she really was—but there was no reason for her to stay. She wanted to fly home and show up at Isaac’s doorstep and declare her love for him, hoping he would let her in. “Call me when you wake up,” she had texted him.
Isaac had not responded, but it was early on the Upper West Side. Cleo tried not to wonder if Isaac was alone. She closed her eyes and wished for him to be alone, dead asleep on his couch,Law & Orderstill playing on his old TV, a container from 88 Noodle on his coffee table. Cleo imagined a second set of chopsticks—her chopsticks—and her shoes discarded on his old-but-expensive rug. (His parents had bought it in Israel.) Cleo was ready for Isaac and his love, willing to beg (if needed) for him to enfold her in his arms. She made a list of what she’d bring into her new life, but itwas a short list: some clothes, her makeup, a painting of a peacock she’d bought in college.
For a moment, Cleo thought the orange haze engulfing Mumberton Castle was the rising sun. Was she dreaming? The walls were intact, but above the crenellated parapets, Cleo saw orange and red flames and billowing smoke. “What the—”
“Oh my God!” screamed Emma. “The castle’s on fire!”
Their driver made an abrupt U-turn, going back the way they had come; Cleo and Emma had to turn around to see the burning building that held their family.
“Go back,” said Cleo. “Turn around, goddamnit!”
“My boys!” cried Emma.
“It’s a fire, loves,” said the driver. “Nothing for you there. Happens more than you’d think, these old castles burning.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame, but we’re not going near that mess.”
Cleo remembered her cigarettes, the garden, Louisa’s library filled with old books. Angry Danny and his fancy bronze lighter. Had she carefully extinguished every match? Was Danny capable of…?
“No!” said Emma. “Go back!”
Cleo felt as if she were in slow motion: Her mouth went dry, her heart rate increasing. Her phone rang. It was Isaac. She did not answer.
The taxi slowed at an intersection, blinker on. Cleo opened her door and jumped out. “Take my hand,” she said to Emma.
“Where are you going?” cried the driver, alarmed.
Cleo didn’t answer. She remembered the bikes leaning against the Gatekeeper’s Cottage. She ran, with Emma, toward their family.
3
Emma
-$65,702.10
The firemen would not let Emma inside the castle, no matter how she strained against them, no matter how much she protested. “My husband is inside!” said Emma. “My boys are trapped!” she cried. “Rich! My children!” Men in mustard-colored fire tunics and helmets held her back.
There were so many trucks, sirens blaring, dozens of men erecting scaffolding and aiming hoses at the blaze. The flames were colossal, engulfing everything, growing larger by the second. Paned windows created hundreds of years before were liquefying mouths emitting smoke. Emma shouted and broke free of the men, but before she got any closer to the castle, she was caught by other men in fire suits; she fought and bit, reckless with terror. Where were her boys? Where was Rich?
Finally—surrounded by strangers—Emma collapsed to her knees, pressed her hands together, and prayed. She lifted her head and she prayed. She had not prayed since the first night her mother had left her in the grass and lain down with Noah, not since her mother had used Emma and abandoned her.
God had not saved Emma then, so she gave up on Him.
