“No,” he said sharply, cutting me off. “I want you to promise me that you won’t. That you won’t be trapped here, too.”
I reached up and cupped the side of his face in my hand, feeling the softest brush of a five-o’clock shadow. Time did go on here, only too slowly. “I won’t promise that, Cyrus.”
He covered my hand with his, and turned his face toward it, and kissed my wrist tenderly. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, though it sounded a little like a goodbye.
Perhaps because it was.
38
luftschloss
“Rickroll, please!” Wykofski announced.
The seven of us—Juliette, Oliver, Eula, Yafir, the goose, the goose dog, and I—were standing at the edge of the Willow Grove while Wykofski lit the trees. Juliette’s vision for the Grove was a simple one. An entertainment service had already set up a stage on the left side, along with speakers, and there was a line of tables on the right for catering. Standing tables dotted the outskirts of the field. But most magical of all were the fairy lights that Wykofski had painstakingly hung in the willow boughs with a rented cherry picker.
He held up the two ends of the extension cords and waited for his cue.
We all looked down the line to Yafir, who remembered himself with a gasp, and took out his phone. He pulled up YouTube and pressed play on a video.
“Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley blared from the phone.
And with great aplomb, Wykofski united the two ends of the extension cords. Behind him, the willow trees blinked to life in bright, glittery twinkles of light.
Eula clapped happily. “Oh, it’s perfect, it’sperfect!” she cried.
I tried to take in the moment, to feel grateful to be here, but there was a knot of dread in my stomach, while everyone else seemed to be looking forward to tomorrow night.
I excused myself back to my cottage soon after, a nervous wreck. I paced back and forth, feeling sick to my stomach and hungry and too nervous to do anything besides complain about it. I should be happy about my work—proudof my work for the bicentennial—because the gardens had never looked better.
But I couldn’t think about any of that—about my hard work, and my job. I kept skimming my hands across every solid surface, under every piece of lattice, through every hedge, trying to find the blue door to that garden where Rus was trapped.
I sat down at the kitchen table and took up the 8 Ball. “I don’t know what to do,” I told it.
I’d felt a helpless sort of ache like this once before with Harrie, but I refused to just stand by while it happened again. I couldn’t save my best friend, but I could save someone else. I could save Rus—Iwasgoing to save Rus. The ache didn’t kill me last time, and it wouldn’t now. It wouldn’t be as bad, and even if it was . . . it was worth it.
Rus deserved a future, even if I wasn’t in it.
A knock at my door startled me out of my thoughts. I put the 8 Ball down, checked my reflection in the mirror by the entryway, and answered the door.
It was close to nine, so I couldn’t imagine who it could be.
Juliette, on another anxiety spiral? Or Wykofski?
Whoever it was, I wasn’t in the mood.
When I pulled open the door, I didn’t expect Eula to be there with a bottle of wine. She smiled and held it up, her walker decorated with blinking lights, in flamingo pajamas and Birkenstocks. At her heels was Reggie, the not-goose-herding dog, who whennottrailing the goose seemed intent on accompanying Eula instead.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but we’re almost at the end of summer and I’d like to celebrate all your hard work. What do you say?” she asked in her disarmingly polite way. Her attention lingered on my swollen eyes, my red nose, but she didn’t comment. “It’s a pretty night, and there’s a bench right over there that I particularly love.” And she motioned to a small alcove in the cottage yard where a bench sat under a laced pergola dripping in wisteria. “And if we’re patient enough, there might even befireflies.”
“W-wine and fireflies?” I asked, sniffing to shove back down an errant sob.
“Just for a little while, dear?”
I didn’t want to, but I remembered the 8 Ball in my hand. The die had tumbled toYES, DEFINITELY. So I steeled myself and said, “How can I say no?”
Her smile widened. “Excellent! There’s some wineglasses in the top cupboard in the kitchen, and a wine opener in the drawer. Reggie and I will meet you over on the bench?”
“Sure, I’ll be right there.” So as she shuffled her way over to the bench, I got the glasses and slipped on my Birkenstocks over my socks and dried my face. I didn’t look terrible in the mirror, but you could definitely tell that I’d been crying. It didn’t matter, I decided, and made my way outside and through the overgrown garden to the side of the cottage where Eula sat.Reggie was lounging in the tall grass to the side, rolling onto his back, pink tongue out, staring at the sky.
