There she was, standing in the kitchen in her bare feet, her hair the same as I remembered—half
up, half down. A crisp white button-down shirt—what my dad used to call her “uniform”—was still
covered with paint or ink from her last project. Her jeans were rolled at her ankles like always,
whether or not it was in style. My mom never cared about stuff like that. She was holding our old,
black iron frying pan filled with green tomatoes in one hand and a book in the other. She had
probably been cooking while she read, without looking up. Humming some part of a song she didn’t
even realize she was humming and probably couldn’t hear.
That was my mom. She seemed exactly the same.
Maybe I was the only one who had changed.
I took a step closer, and she turned toward me, dropping the book. “There you are, my sweet
boy.”I felt my heart turning inside out. Nobody else called me that; they wouldn’t want to and I
wouldn’t let them. Just my mom. Then her arms caught me, and the world folded around us as I
buried my face in her hug. I breathed in the warm smell and the warm feeling and the warm
everything that was my mom to me.
“Mom. You’re back.”
“One of us is.” She sighed.
That’s when it hit me. She was standing in my kitchen, and I was standing in my kitchen,
which meant one of two things: Either she had come back to life, or…
I hadn’t.
Her eyes filled with something—tears, love, sympathy—and before I knew it, her arms were
around me again.
My mom always understood everything.
“I know, sweet boy. I know.”
My face found its old hiding place in the crook of her shoulder.
She kissed the top of my head. “What happened to you? It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
She pulled back so she could see me. “None of it was supposed to end this way.”
“I know.”
“Then again, it’s not like there’s a right way to end a person’s life, is there?” She pinched my
chin, smiling down into my eyes.
I had memorized it. The smile, her face. Everything. It was all I had left during the time she
was gone.
I’d always known she was alive somewhere, in some way. She had saved Macon and sent me
the songs that shepherded me through every strange chapter of my life with the Casters. She’d been
there the whole time, just like she had when she was alive.
It was only one moment, but I wanted to keep it that way as long as I could.
I don’t know how we got to the kitchen table. I don’t remember anything except the solid
warmth of her arms. But there I sat, in my regular chair, as if the past few years had never even
happened. There were books everywhere—and from the looks of it, my mom was partway through
most of them, as usual. A sock, probably fresh from the laundry, was stuck in The Divine Comedy.
A napkin poked halfway out of The Iliad, and on top of that a fork marked her place in a volume of
Greek mythology. The kitchen table was full of her beloved books, one pile of paperbacks higher
than the next. I felt like I was back in the library with Marian.
The tomatoes sizzled in the pan, and I breathed in the scent of my mother—yellowing paper
and burnt oil, new tomatoes and old cardboard, all laced through with cayenne pepper.
No wonder libraries made me so hungry.
My mom slid a blue and white china platter onto the table between us. Dragonware. I smiled
because it had been her favorite. She dropped hot tomatoes onto a paper towel, sprinkling pepper
across the plate.
“There you go. Dig in.”
I tucked my fork into the nearest slice. “You know, I haven’t eaten one of these since you—
since the accident.” The tomato was so hot it burned my tongue.
I looked at my mom. “Are we—is this—?”
She returned the look blankly.
I tried again. “You know. Heaven?”
She laughed, pouring sweet tea into two tall glasses—tea being the only other thing my mom
knew how to make. “No, not Heaven, EW. Not exactly.”
I must have looked worried, like I thought we had somehow ended up in the other place. But
that couldn’t be right either, because—as cheesy as it sounded—being with my mom again was
Heaven, whether or not the universe thought of it that way. Then again, the universe and I hadn’t
agreed on much lately.
My mom pressed her hand against my cheek and smiled as she shook her head. “No, this isn’t
any kind of final resting place, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then why are we here?”
“I’m not sure. You don’t get a user’s manual when you check in.” She took my hand. “I
always knew I was here because of you—some unfinished business, something I needed to teach
you or tell you or show you. That’s why I sent you the songs.”
“The Shadowing Songs.”
“Exactly. You kept me plenty busy. And now that you’re here, I feel like we were never apart.”
Her face clouded over. “I always hoped I would get to see you again. But I hoped I would be
waiting a lot longer. I’m so sorry. I know it must be terrible for you right now, leaving Amma and
your father. And Lena.”
I nodded. “It sucks.”
“I know. I felt the same way,” she said.
“About Macon?” The words came tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Her cheeks went red. “I guess I deserved that. But not everything that happens in a mother’s
life is something she needs to discuss with her seventeen-year-old son.”
“Sorry.”
She squeezed my hand. “You were the person I didn’t want to leave, most of all. And you were
the person I worried about leaving, most of all. You and your father.
“Your father, thankfully, is in the exceptional care of the Ravenwoods. Lena and Macon have
him under some powerful Casts, and Amma’s spinning stories of her own. Mitchell has no idea
what’s happened to you.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Amma tells him you’re in Savannah with your aunt, and he believes it.” Her smile
wavered, and she looked past me into the shadows. I knew she must be worried about my dad,
despite whatever Casts he was under. My sudden departure from Gatlin was probably hurting her
as much as it was me—standing by and watching it all happen, without being able to do anything
about it.
“But it’s not a long-term solution, Ethan. Right now everyone is just doing the best that they
can. That’s usually how it is.”
“I remember.” I’d been through it once before.
We both knew when.
She didn’t say anything after that, just picked up a fork of her own. We ate together in silence
for the rest of the afternoon, or for a moment. I couldn’t tell which was which anymore, and I
wasn’t sure it mattered.
We sat out on the back porch picking shiny-wet cherries out of the colander and watching the stars
come out. The sky had faded to a darkish blue, and the stars appeared in crazy bright clusters. I
saw stars from the Caster sky and the Mortal sky. The split moon hung between the North Star and
the Southern Star. I didn’t know how it was possible to see two skies at once, two sets of
constellations, but it was. I could see everything now, like I was two different people at the same
time. Finally, an end to the whole Fractured Soul thing. I guess one of the perks of dying was
having both halves of my soul back together.
Yeah, right.
Everything had come together now that it was over, or maybe because it was over. I guess life
was like that sometimes. It all looked so simple, so easy from here. So unbelievably bright.
Why was this the only solution? Why did it have to end like this?
I leaned my head against my mom’s shoulder. “Mom?”
“Sweetheart.”
“I need to talk to Lena.” There it was. I’d finally said it. The one thing that had kept me from
being able to exhale all day. The thing that had made me feel like I couldn’t sit down, like I couldn’t
stay. Like I had to get up and go somewhere, even if I had nowhere to go.
As Amma used to say, the good thing about the truth is it’s true, and there’s no arguing with
the truth. You may not like it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. That’s all I had to hold on to
right about now.
“You can’t talk to her.” My mom frowned. “At least, it’s not easy.”
“I need to tell her I’m okay. I know her. She’s waiting for a sign from me. Just like I was
waiting for a sign from you.”
“There’s no Carlton Eaton to run your letter over to her, Ethan. You can’t send a letter from
this world, and you can’t get to hers. And even if you could, you wouldn’t be able to write one.
You don’t know how many times I wished it was possible.”
There had to be a way. “I know. If it was, I would’ve heard from you more.”
She looked up toward the stars. Her eyes shone with reflected light as she spoke.
“Every day, my sweet boy. Every single day.”
“But you found a way to talk to me. You used the books in the study, and the songs. And I
saw you that night I was at the cemetery. And in my room, remember?”
“The songs were the Greats’ idea. I suppose because I had been singing to you since you were
a baby. But everyone’s different. I don’t think you can send anything like a Shadowing Song to
Lena.”
“Even if I knew how to write one.” My songwriting skills made Link look like one of the
Beatles.
“It wasn’t easy for me, and I’d been kicking around here a whole lot longer than you have.
And I had help from Amma, Twyla, and Arelia.” She squinted up at the twin skies. “You have to
remember, Amma and the Greats have powers that I know nothing about.”
“But you were a Keeper.” There had to be things she knew that they didn’t.
“Exactly. I was a Keeper. I did what the Far Keep asked me to do, and I didn’t do what the Far
Keep didn’t want me to do. You don’t mess with them, and you don’t mess with their record of
things.”
“The Caster Chronicles?”
She picked a cherry from the bowl, examining it for spots. She took so long to answer, I was
starting to think she hadn’t heard me. “What do you know about The Caster Chronicles?”
“Before Aunt Marian’s trial, the Council of the Far Keep came to the library, and they brought
the book with them.”
She put the old metal colander down on the step beneath us. “Forget about The Caster
Chronicles. All of that doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I’m serious, Ethan. We’re not out of danger, you and I.”
“Danger? What are you talking about? We’re already—you know.”
She shook her head. “We’re only partway home. We’ve got to find out what’s keeping us here,
and move on.”
“What if I don’t want to move on?” I wasn’t ready to give up. Not as long as Lena was waiting
for me.
Once again, she didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, my mom sounded about as dark
as I’d ever heard her. “I don’t think you have a choice.”
“You did,” I said.
“It wasn’t a choice. You needed me. That’s why I’m here—for you. But even I can’t change
what happened.”
“Yeah? You could try.” I found myself crushing a cherry in my hand. The juice ran red
between my fingers.
“There’s nothing to try, Ethan. It’s over. It’s too late.” She barely whispered, but it felt like she
was shouting.
Anger welled up inside me. I hurled a cherry across the yard, then another, then the whole
bowlful. “Well, Lena and Amma and Dad need me, and I’m not just going to give up. I feel like I
shouldn’t be here—like this is all a huge mistake.” I looked at the empty bowl in my hands. “And
it’s not cherry season. It’s winter.” I looked up at her, my eyes blurring with tears, though all I
could feel was anger. “It’s supposed to be winter.”
My mom put her hand on mine. “Ethan.”
I pulled away. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I missed you, Mom. I did. More than
anything. But as happy as I am to see you, I want to wake up and have this not be happening. I
understand why I had to do it. I get it. Fine. But I don’t want to be stuck here forever.”
“What did you think was going to happen?”
“I don’t know. Not this.” Was that the truth? Had I really thought I could get out of sacrificing
my own good for the good of the world? Did I think the One-Who-Is-Two thing was a joke?
I guess it was easier to play the hero. But now that it was real—now that I had to own up to an
eternity of what and who I’d lost—suddenly it didn’t seem so easy.
My mom’s eyes welled up, worse than mine. “I’m so sorry, EW. If there was a way I could
change things, I would.” She sounded as miserable as I felt.
“What if there is?”
“I can’t change everything.” My mom looked down at her bare feet on the step below her. “I
can’t change anything.”
“I’m not ready for some stupid cloud, and I don’t want to get my wings when some stupid bell
rings.” I threw the metal bowl. It went clattering down the stairs, rolling across the back lawn. “I
want to be with Lena and I want to live and I want to go to the Cineplex and eat popcorn until I’m
sick and drive too fast and get a ticket and be so in love with my girlfriend that I make a total fool
out of myself every day for the rest of my life.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do,” I said, louder than I’d intended. “You had a life. You fell in love—twice.
And you had a family. I’m seventeen. This can’t be the end for me. I can’t wake up tomorrow and
know that I’m never going to see Lena again.”
My mother sighed, sliding her arm around me and pulling me close.
I said it again because I didn’t know what else to say. “I can’t.”
She rubbed my head like I was a sad, scared little kid. “Of course you can see her. That’s the
easy part. I can’t guarantee you can talk to her, and she won’t be able to see you, but you can see
her.”
I looked at her, stunned. “What are you talking about?”
“You exist. We exist here. Lena and Link and your father and Amma, they exist in Gatlin. It’s
not that one plane of existence is more or less real. They’re just different planes. You’re here and
Lena’s there. In her world, you’ll never be fully present. Not like you were. And in our world, she’ll
never be like us. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to see her.”
“How?” At that moment, it was the only thing I wanted to know.
“It’s simple. Just go.”
“What do you mean, go?” She was making it sound easy, but I had a feeling there was more to
it.
“You imagine where you want to go, and then you just go.”
It didn’t seem possible, even though I knew my mom would never lie to me. “So if I just wish
myself to Ravenwood, I’ll be there?”
“Well, not from our back porch. You have to leave Wate’s Landing before you can go
anywhere. I think our homes have the Otherworld equivalent of a Binding on them. When you’re at
home, you’re here with me and nowhere else.”
A shiver went down my spine as she said the words. “The Otherworld? Is that where we are?
What it’s called?”
She nodded, wiping her cherry-stained hand on her jeans.
I knew I wasn’t anywhere I’d been before. I knew it wasn’t Gatlin, and I knew it wasn’t
Heaven. Still, something about the word seemed farther away than anything I’d ever known.
Farther even than death. Even though I could smell the dusty concrete of our back patio and the
fresh cut grass stretching beyond it. I could feel the mosquitoes biting and the wind moving and the
splinters of the old wooden steps at my back. All it felt like was loneliness. It was just us now. My
mom, and me, and my backyard full of cherries. Some part of me had been waiting for this ever
since her accident, and another part of me knew, maybe for the first time, it would never be
enough.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweet boy?”
“Do you think Lena still loves me, back in the Mortal realm?”
She smiled and tousled my hair. “What kind of silly question is that?”
I shrugged.
“Let me ask you this. Did you love me when I was gone?”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to.
“I don’t know about you, EW, but I knew the answer to that question every day we were
apart. Even when I didn’t know anything else about where I was or what I was supposed to be
doing. You were my Wayward, even then. Everything always brought me back to you. Everything.”
She smoothed my hair out of my face. “You think Lena’s any different?”
She was right.
It was a stupid question.
So I smiled and took her hand and followed her inside. I had things to figure out and places to
go—that much I knew. But some things I didn’t have to figure out. Some things hadn’t changed,
and some things never would.
Except me. I had changed, and I would give anything to change back.
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