I laughed, though I think it probably sounded more like I was crying. "Yeah. You have no idea."
"You could file missing-persons," she said. "Do you think he'd try to hurt himself again?"
"No, he sort of promised he wouldn't. And if he went, it was because he wanted to," I replied. "I just...don't know what to do."
"Nothing you can do, love, unless you want to look for him. I don't think you do, do you?"
"No," I said. "I meant I don't even know what to think."
"Why should you think anything?" she said. "Have yourself a cry or a drink or a religious conversion – "
This time my laugh was more sincere. "Hardly that," I said drily.
"Fine. Then you keep on selling your books, and live your quiet country-mouse life, and if that gets a little unbearable come see me," she said. "You know you're always welcome here, Chris."
"I know."
"Are you going to be okay? Should I call some farmer or something to come sit up with you?"
"I'll be fine. Confused, but fine," I promised her. "Thank you, Marjorie."
"Call anytime, sweetheart."
"I will. Bye."
"Bye now."
I hung up the phone and threw myself into the chair by the window, staring up at the ceiling. I felt like I'd been going for days, like I hadn't stopped running since the boy came into my shop and told me to find Lucas. Running to something, running from something, both, I couldn't be sure. I was tired. Maybe that was how Lucas had felt too.
I got up and got myself a glass of water, made myself drink the whole thing, and then dressed for bed. I slid between the covers and lay on my side, looking at the window and the long strip of light thrown into the room from the streetlamp outside. And the book, on the bedside table.
I switched on my lamp and picked it up, paging through to the opening chapter. I only managed a few paragraphs before I was asleep, exhausted, the book still in my hands.
For the next week, at least, I ran more or less automatically, not thinking much about anything. A lot of people came into the shop – it felt like the whole village came sooner or later – but not in the way they would have, in crowds. Just a few at a time, asking if it was true about the dog bite, about going to Chicago, about Lucas. Gossip travels fast but I think they wanted to hear it from me, so even if they knew they kept asking. And I kept answering – I don't know where he's gone, probably with the Friendly. Yes, he did like them. No, I can't be sure; all his things were gone.
I asked some of them about the boy, and they seemed to be conscious of him, but every time they answered they had that same disconnected look. As if they weren't sure what we were talking about even as we talked about it. Some thought his family had sold up and moved away, others that he was being sent to the school in the next village south. Wasn't he one of the Ardval kids? Maybe, maybe not.
I know I never saw him again, and with the warmer weather the birds were all migrating back, so it wasn't as if I could pick one small Waxwing out of a flock and say, yes, that's probably the Ferryman's son, or the spirit of Low Ferry or whatever he was. I felt ridiculous even thinking of it, though I'd seen enough not to swear outright that I know the answer. I'm no less of a skeptic than I ever have been, but maybe I'm a little less arrogant about it now.
I wish I could tell him thank-you. Though I'm sure he knows it, wherever he is.
I missed Lucas intensely. I missed his company, and I missed being...special, being chosen. I wished there were things I'd said to him. I wished I could have asked him not to go. But Lucas, for all his reserve, his secret need for love, was also stubborn. Maybe he would have gone anyway, and if he'd stopped to say goodbye I think it would have been irrevocable. At least, with that unsaid between us, nothing was quite so final.
Every evening I closed up the store and went across to the cafe, to get some dinner and waste a few long evening hours in a place where I had to smile and talk with people. When I was finished I'd go back to Dusk Books, work a little if there were books to sort or repairs to make, and then go upstairs for bed. Often I'd pick up Ancient Games and read a few pages, but when I did I never got very far before I fell asleep.
I didn't learn much – the words just seemed to wash past me, but they were some comfort against the loss.
Marjorie had been right, at least, that metaphorical broken hearts are easier to fix than physical ones. All they need are sufficient applications of time. Act normally for long enough, and you actually start to feel that way.
As the days passed I found that I wasn't quite so tired as I had been, and that the yawning pit in my stomach was closing up a little. While days turned to weeks I discovered I could see Nona Harrison shopping with her two babies and I would still think of Lucas, but it didn't send a twinge up under my ribcage. It didn't instantly make me worry that he was out there somewhere, struggling to protect himself. I could hear a dog bark without looking to see if it was Nameless. I started to hope the Friendly would make one of their rare summer-runs up to Low Ferry, instead of just missing them, and him.
Kirchner called me up one morning in March and asked if I'd come down – nothing urgent, but he wanted to see me when I had a moment. Since I had nothing but moments, really, I told him I'd come down as soon as I got my boots on.
"Step on in," he said, holding the door to his office -- not his exam room -- open for me. "How are you?"
"Pretty good," I said, sitting down in front of the desk. He leaned against the edge rather than sitting on the other side and looked down at me thoughtfully. "I'm hoping I should be feeling pretty good."
"I think so, yes," he said. "How's the hand?"
I held up my left hand and waggled the fingers. The bandage I wore was lighter now, just a pad with medical tape to hold it on, and the stitches had all fallen out. "Healing up."
"I'll get you some scar cream before you go," he said.
"But that's not why I'm here, is it?" I asked. He shook his head.
"No. I've finally talked the city hospital into sending your most recent tests out here -- it took me a while but I thought I should make sure you hadn't incurred any extra damage."
"I didn't have an attack," I said.
"You mean when you went out to Chicago?"