“I used to think heaven was like Lancaut, but only the best parts,” Beatrix says. “Just endless perfection.”
“And now?” Oliver asks.
“Maybe it’s like daydreaming,” she says. “But instead of your mind wandering, it’s your soul.”
“I like that idea,” Oliver says. “It can be anything you want it to be.”
“It can be everything.”
It can be William, sitting by a fire in a cottage on the edge of the woods with a sleeping baby girl in his arms. It can be the Whispering Gallery high in the dome at St. Paul’s—golden sun streaming through the windows—every lost person who has ever meant anything to her gathered together to welcome her home. It can be something different, something beautiful, something new.
But it can never be hers.
“My mom used to say the stars were souls, looking down at you from heaven,” Oliver says. “The night after the accident, I remember wishing I had counted them. I wanted to know if she was right, if there were two more stars in the sky. If they were up there, looking out for me and Theo.”
“I think my mother would have liked the idea of more eyes watching me,” Beatrix says. “Anything to keep me out of trouble.”
“My mom would have liked you,” he says. “Especially the trouble.”He pulls her close and kisses her on the cheek. “I wish you had a chance to meet her.”
She props her chin on his chest. “I do.”
“Oh,” Oliver says. The idea stuns him speechless.
She smirks at him. “Shall we meet your mum and dad in, say, two hundred years?”
Oliver shakes his head. “Lucy would never approve that.”
“So don’t tell Lucy,” Beatrix says. “Didn’t your parents ever go to a historical event you could sneak into?”
“Yes!” Oliver sits up abruptly, more energized than she’s seen him all day. “They took Theo to DC for the quadricentennial. It was huge.”
Beatrix sits up, too. “The what?”
“The four hundredth anniversary of America’s independence,” Oliver says. “He still remembers the fireworks.”
“That sounds like a perfect excursion to me,” she says.
His face falls and his sudden enthusiasm drains away.
“What’s the matter?”
Oliver runs his hand through his hair. “I’d love to visit my parents with you. But I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
Cold ebbs through her. “Why not?”
His shining eyes find hers in the dark. “I tried to come back a week ago. I was denied.”
Her guts twist. “Denied? What does that mean?”
“It means the time machine said I was too unstable for travel.”
Even in the dark, Beatrix can see the shadow that flits across his gaze. “Are you all right?”
“I’m dying,” he says gently.
“But you came back.” Her heart thunders in her chest. He is here, now, with her.
“I went home and rested for the week, and this time, the chamber let me travel. I was lucky. Next time, I might not be.” He looks her in the eyes. Tonight, his are stormy and dark, more gray than blue. “There’s a real chance every visit could be my last. Even this one.”
