Mary steadies her with an unforgiving look, almost a glare. Don’t you dare, it says. You are not allowed to be a coward.
Wendy almost laughs, a sound dangerously close to breaking her. She keeps it trapped behind her teeth and takes Mary’s hands, leaning their foreheads together.
“I’ll find a way to get you out too, I promise.” Wendy shifts, placing her body between Mary and Dr. Harrington, so she can pretend they’re alone. “Even if it can’t be right away, I won’t leave you here.”
“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.” Mary’s eyes shine bright. It isn’t doubt in her voice, more a threat, mockingly delivered. Wendy can’t help smiling, tasting salt as she does. She’s never had a friend before, not one like Mary. How will she live while they’re apart?
“I’ll keep it. I swear.” Wendy smudges the tears on her cheeks.
“Here.” Quick enough that Dr. Harrington won’t see, Wendy slips a precious stolen needle from the sleeve of her blouse where she threaded it earlier, tucking it into Mary’s hand. Mary’s mouth opens, but no words emerge. Their whole history together in a tiny sliver of metal; Wendy folds Mary’s fingers over it. Mary taught her to survive, how not to give up hope. The only thing Wendy wants in the world right now is to do the same for her.
“Something to remember me by.” She brushes her lips against Mary’s cheek, soaking in the warmth of her skin. “This isn’t goodbye.”
Wendy steps back and already the needle is nowhere to be seen. Wendy schools her features, tucking the urge to smile into her cheek and biting down on it.
“Come now, let’s not keep your brothers waiting.” Dr. Harrington takes Wendy’s arm, his grip insistent and firm.
For a moment, Wendy thinks she will strike him, but Mary’s gaze pins her. She has a promise to keep. Wendy inclines her head, the barest of motions, and even that hurts. She should say more, but what can she say? There’s too much between them, and words are not enough for what Mary means to her. Wendy can only hope, trust, that Mary knows.
Wendy turns, swallowing against an aching throat. She allows Dr. Harrington to walk her down the path, his fingers wrapped tight about her arm, as though even now she might flee. She has the absurd image of herself as a bride, Dr. Harrington walking her down the aisle to give her away. Wendy glances back at Mary one last time. If she looks for any longer, her courage will break and she’ll sprint back into the dark. She knows she isn’t safe in St. Bernadette’s, but at least she understands the rules.
When she turns back, she sees John and Michael at the bottom of the path, waiting just inside the gate. They look terribly small, only boys in the nursery. Then the space between them folds, and Wendy is front of them and they are both taller than her, not boys at all but fully grown men. John with his fine moustache, Michael with his hair faded to a sandy paleness, leaning on his cane, a collection of ghosts keeping residence in his blue-gray eyes. John kisses her cheek. Michael hugs her with one arm, but the movement is stiff and formal as though they are strangers.
Wendy aches to say something to him, but John steps between them.
“Come now, darling.” John takes her arm, his fingers taking the place of Dr. Harrington’s. Wendy can’t help flinching at the gesture and his words. “There’s a car waiting.”
There’s a strained note in his voice, tension in his eyes as John glances toward her then away again just as quickly. He bundles her into the back seat, scarcely giving her a moment to collect herself, as if he too is afraid she’ll fly away. His voice, his expression, something is wrong, and Wendy braces herself, but nothing could prepare her for John’s words as he climbs in beside her and shuts the door.
“I hope you don’t mind terribly much, but we have reservations for lunch at the club. Ned’s father has arranged it all. He’s very anxious to meet you.”
“Ned?” Wendy turns cold, her ears ringing with the name as the car pulls away. She’s to meet her future husband now? Without even a chance to reacclimatize to life outside St. Bernadette’s walls?
John at least has the decency to look abashed, his cheeks reddening. Michael doesn’t look at her at all.
“Please, Wendy. You must try.” John’s voice is that of a child, begging for a sweet, smoothed over with a veneer of concern.
Wendy’s hands want to fly to the door handle, to pound against the car’s window. She wants to throw herself into the street, anything but this. She thinks of Mary, her promise, and the future. She thinks of John and Michael and their past. She makes herself look her brother in the eye, seeing him truly. John cares for her. He wants what’s best for her. She can’t blame him for failing to understand her when she made herself impossible to comprehend.
“I am trying.” Wendy keeps her voice as even as she can. “I will try, but I need time. It’s too soon.”
John’s teeth worry at his lip beneath his moustache, an old habit resurfacing.
“Your future father-in-law was rather insistent. He can be… an impatient man.” John coughs, looking away.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Wendy almost grabs John by the ear, as if he were a boy again and she her mother’s surrogate, trying to catch him in a fib. Instead, she curls her hands in her lap, proving she can control herself, proving she’s changed.
“It isn’t a matter for…” John shakes his head. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.” His voice is sharp, but underneath, Wendy thinks he might be embarrassed. She looks to Michael, pleading, but he ignores her, looking through the window as the city rolls past. Wendy feels her corset constricting her. More than
