“Sophie,” he called after me.
I turned around, my fingers on the handle of the door. “Yeah?”
He hesitated in what he wanted to say, and then, finally, settled on “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Then I turned, leaving the secret garden, and emerging into the Hedges, the urge to look back one last time so great, I almost did.
Almost.
20
mokita
Pulling the torn letter out of my pocket, I copied Cyrus Beck’s address onto a new envelope, then disposed of the evidence in the trash. I had to be quick about this, since I was in the big house’s kitchen. Every bone in my body told me that I shouldn’t meddle, that this wasn’t my place and I was getting in too deep, but I had lain awake for hours last night wondering how else to get him to stay away from Lilymoor. This was my best bet. Eula had said he wasthinkingof coming, not that he had RSVP’d yet, so I still had a chance.
Now, staring down at a scratch pad I’d borrowed from the junk drawer, pen in hand, I had forgotten almost everything I’d planned to say.
Cyrus,
Please don’t attend the bicentennial. It’s for your own good.
No, I had a feeling he’d takeit’s for your own goodas a dare and come anyway. He seemed like the contrary type.
Cyrus,
I know you don’t know me, but it’s in your best interests if you take a vacation instead of coming to the bicentennial. Your aunt loves you very much and thinks you should definitely go to Cancún instead.
“Would he evenwantto go to Cancún?” I mumbled, because I couldn’t imagine Rus in that sort of party atmosphere. Honestly, I couldn’t even imagine him at a kid’s birthday party. He’d be the man hired to serve the husband divorce papers instead.
Cyrus,
I know you will read this and not believe me, but if you attend the bicentennial, you’ll be trapped in a magical garden where your aunt’s new head gardener will torment you for the rest of your days. I’d advise against that. (I’m the head gardener.)
Threatening, but probably not in the way I wanted. Scrubbing my head, I scratched outthatletter, too, balled it up, and tossed it into the trash. It hit the rim and went bouncing out.
What was something I could say to make sure he didn’t come? What did I know about Rus by now that would do the trick? I knew he was a busybody workaholic who cared more about his job than himself, who had large warm hands and a bitter sort of humor that turned sweet at the edges, and he was impossible to get along with, and moody and awful. Truly awful.
Maybe I was thinking too hard about this.
It was probably as simple as—
Cyrus,
If you come to the party, you’ll waste your time.
There.
Perfect.
Even if it wasn’t, I didn’t have a better idea. So, before I could overthink this anymore, I folded up the letter, shoved it into an envelope, and sealed it with a lick.
“I hope this works,” I mumbled, putting a stamp on the corner, and hurried into the foyer to drop it off in the mail basket.
It was near lunch, and the mail carrier would be coming around soon, so I went ahead and put it with the rest of the outgoing mail in the foyer. Eula had begged Wykofski to take her into town today, so the house was quiet. Oliver’s car was missing, as it usually was at this time, and so I had assumed Juliette had broken for lunch, too.
Then I caught sight of her standing alone in the middle of the Central Garden with a thousand-yard stare.
