“That’s right.”
“Today is your birthday,” Aidan repeats like he is trying to process what that means.
Mira leans over the door and hugs me. Her eyes glisten. “Happy birthday, Des.”
31
SETH DRIVES AT A SLOW and easy pace. No one tries to fill the silence. For the moment the wrinkles between us are patted out. The universe is large. The breakable is real. Momentum is our fuel. I watch for landmarks.
He veers to the right at the fork. Just ahead, a weathered windmill stands at the far end of a field, its blades turning in the breeze. My stomach twists. A short distance farther, a neat row of mailboxes hugs the road. White, red, black, and silver. This is it.
We are coming up fast on another lane. I see it already. A street sign, shorter than I remember: RAVENWOOD. Raised metal letters that I always wanted to jump up and touch, like touching them would help me understand my place in the world, but I was too small to reach. Seth sees the sign and steers the car to the left, down a narrow lane that is crowded with golden birches on either side.
We could turn back now and life would go on as before. As it always has. Return, go back, and not move on—as I have always not moved on except to a new boarding school where no one knew me or wanted to know me. Turn back and Mr. Gardian would take care of the misdeeds of the day as he always has. And as always, Mother and Father would not be disturbed. Turn back. Because no good can come from this day. It’s not too late, Des. Turn back. But we are being swallowed up by a tunnel of golden birches and momentum that won’t let us go.
“I don’t see any addresses.”
“I don’t see any houses.”
And then, set back a hundred feet on a brick drive littered with leaves are two stone pillars, the lions still crouched and poised—landmarks that have been waiting for me. Just below them is a small, distinguished realty sign.
“Here,” I say. “Turn here.”
The large wrought-iron gate that spans the drive has been pulled back to allow access.
“Was that a for-sale sign we just passed?” Aidan asks.
“Looked like it to me,” Seth confirms.
“Your parents are moving without telling you?” Mira asks.
“I knew.”
The birches grow thinner, the lane widens. Trimmed hedges appear. Tidy flower beds. And we are still on the driveway.
“Is this the drive just to your house?” Aidan asks.
“Yes.”
The birches are finally pushed back and lawns appear. Still farther ahead, the house finally looms.
“Holy—” but Seth doesn’t finish his sentence.
“I knew you came from money—heck, we all do—but this . . .” Aidan doesn’t finish his sentence either.
The grandeur that cut me off seems to have cut everyone else short too.
“That is some house!”
Except Mira.
“Yes, Mira, it is. Or was.”
Baaa. Baaa.
Seth reaches over and rubs Lucky’s head. “Yeah, fella, there’s plenty of snacking to be had on those lawns.”
Mira lays her hand on my shoulder. She knows I don’t like such displays. “Des, you okay?”