“Who says you need to make anything up? Just go on living. Do the things you’ve always dreamed of. That’s what your parents would want. That’s what any good parent wants for their kid—just for them to be happy.”
“You really think so?”
Garret reaches into his back seat and grabs yet another of his sweatshirts. He uses the cuff to wipe my cheek. The fabric smells like soap. I want to blanket it over me, and so that’s what I do, allowing myself to lean my back against his chest. Garret wraps his arms around my shoulders.
It feels so good—opening up, letting myself get close. Part of me wants so much more, but this is about all I can handle right now as I work to smolder the very last of my burning flames.
NOW
61
It’s not until after Garret drops me off that I notice the unmarked car parked across the street from my house. The officer gives me a subtle wave. I wave back before unlocking the door, pausing only to grab the mail and go inside.
Aunt Dessa isn’t home yet. I lock up behind me and set the new house alarm, then put my things down on the table in the entryway, including Garret’s sweatshirt. I start to thumb through the stack of mail, hoping to find something from one of the art schools I contacted.
I pause at a large manila envelope. My name and address are written across the front in black all caps. There’s no return address. The postage stamp shows it was mailed from Mexico City.
I tell myself it must be junk, despite the handwritten lettering. I tear the flap open and pull out what’s inside. A booklet of some sort. A letter is attached to the front cover:
Dearest Terra (whose name means earth),
First and foremost, I’m sorry for not playing fair all those years ago in the quiet room with our secrets game. How I wish I still had a magical ring that could time-travel me back because I would do things a lot differently.
If you still have interest in knowing my secret, you may be pleased to learn one of my future story ideas, that of a young boy who lives in a wilderness community with twenty-one members he calls his kindred family. One day, having seen where the elders hide the community’s stash of money, the boy becomes overpowered by that evil villain Greed. When the elders discover a sum of money is missing from the stash, they blame the boy’s blood-sister who’d already garnered herself quite a reputation for mischief-making. Fearful for himself, the boy does not correct the elders’ error. When he wakes up the following day, he discovers his sister is no longer there. Three strikes out, is all Chief Elder has to say by way of an explanation. The kindred family has no room for liars and thieves. The boy must live the rest of his life haunted by the mystery of what happened to his blood-sister and the part he played in her absence. His days will be consumed with stories he makes up to fill in the blanks. These stories torment him, so much so that he resorts to living in a fantasy world, one that protects him from his thoughts.
Dearest Terra, how I would love to know what you think of this woeful tale. But unfortunately, I’ll have to imagine your response as our story has come to an end. You, my brave heroine, managed to climb out of a hole, face the villain, and still run free, having learned a lesson. Well done. However, I must confess, though it would have defied the archetype of hero, I’m sad, in this case, the villain didn’t win because it means we’ll no longer be spinning tales together. I’ll miss that probably more than you’ll ever know.
The one consolation is that now that I know the ending of our story I can write about it. In the meantime, I thought you might like to have this one for your shelves.
Your friend forever,
C
My heart breaks as I imagine a younger Charley living with the guilt of a lie he told, a secret he kept, and a truth he might never know.
It’s no wonder we found each other.
It’s no surprise we got lost in each other either.
I pull his letter from the booklet, revealing a picture of William, the troll-like character from the Wishy Water Well. I flip through the booklet pages. It isn’t an illustrated copy, but it seems the story’s all here: The Forest Girl and the Wishy Water Well.
My insides crawl.
I recheck the door. Locked. Bolted.
The house alarm has been set.
I take a deep breath and count to twenty, trying to piece together what all of this means. Obviously, I’m the heroine. Obviously, Charley, the villain, has fled to Mexico (or so he’d like me to believe). And perhaps, a little less obviously, he isn’t going to come hunting for me again. Our story has ended.
I’m safe.
For now.
At the very least.
Epilogue
The Forest Girl and the Wishy Water Well
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Clara who lived on a farm, and every morning before school, Clara tended to her animals. She fed the chickens and cows fresh corn and grain. She gave the pigs and goats table scraps from breakfast. The pigs, especially, loved cereal and eggs. The goats favored the pumpernickel bread.
Before she left for school, Clara sang cock-a-doodle ditties with Rudy, the rooster. She also played fetch with her farm dog, Mugford. Clara loved her animals, and they loved her just as much.
When it was time for Clara’s lessOns, she grabbed her bag and walked three blocks to the Fox Run School. She sat in a classroom with fifteen other children of varying ages. One day, a group of girls pushed their desks together, toward the back of the room. Clara noticed that all the girls wore the same sparkling gold headbands. They also held matching red envelopes.
