by Shari Arnold
Meyer goes to leave again but then he turns back. “You should finish your story soon. The children need their rest.” His voice is soft, spoken down to the ground.
I nod my head, hating that our dance is over.
“I don’t understand how they can sleep here. I’m not even tired.” I laugh it off, wishing this moment wasn’t so awkward, wishing I knew what was going on inside his head.
“Good.” Meyer looks up and, in that moment every emotion he feels is laid out for me. He pulls me close, his eyes holding my gaze. “Neither am I.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jenna and Alice sleep together under the stars. Their beds are perched high in the trees so that they can stare out over Neverland until they feel the need to go to sleep. They still wear their ball gowns and cling to their crowns against their chests, looking like two little fairies nestled together in a fairyland. I am the only one of the three of us who doesn’t fit in this picture. With my jeans and sweater back on, I’ve hijacked their fantasy.
“It was a beautiful story,” Alice tells me, snuggling close to Jenna. “My favorite part was the dance, of course.” She giggles, touching the smooth silk of her pink ball gown. “I hope we can do it again tomorrow.”
I smile down at her, holding back my sadness. Tomorrow is a word I’d love to forget. It used to mean more of the same, but now it means the end of everything.
“We will dance again,” Jenna tells Alice, holding onto my hand. “If we believe in it, it never ends. Right, Livy?” She holds my gaze, communicating something I can’t read. But I nod anyway.
How can I leave her? How is it even possible? When I think about tomorrow I feel as if I’m choking. Like someone has their hands around my throat, squeezing so tight I will suffocate. It isn’t fair that James has forced me to make a decision. I shouldn’t have to choose.
“Sleep well,” I tell them, kissing them both on their soft cheeks. When I hug Jenna close I hold on a bit longer, whispering promises of returning back to her side.
It doesn’t take long before they drift off to sleep. All I had to do was whisper “goodnight,” and their eyes fluttered shut, their breathing slow and steady. I lay on my back next to Jenna, wishing I could sleep here always, wondering if it’s possible to stay. There are moments when the pull from the ones back home is faint — like when I was dancing with Meyer — and it can be ignored. But I worry about the day they’ll stop and like Jane I’ll realize they’ve given up on me, believing I’ve given up on them. There is no easy choice here. Stay or go, I’m sacrificing a crucial part of myself.
The sky is littered with sparkling stars that blur together when my eyes well up. I don’t know how long night lasts in Neverland, but I’m sure of one thing: morning will come too soon.
I decide to take a walk and explore Jenna’s island on my own. But it isn’t long before my steps are matched and Meyer appears. We walk for a while in silence. He’s giving me space while staying at my side. And I like that he’s here with me. Too much, I think.
He holds the silver and gold-tipped branches up over my head so that I can pass and I thank him, but that’s all that is said. Our silence is louder than the soft splash of the tide. It nearly deafens me. But neither of us dares to break it.
When we reach the edge of Jenna’s island we stop and stare out over the water. I sense he’s battling with something, and I’d love to know what it is, but I’m afraid to ask. I worry that what he has to say will only make my choice that much harder. And yet I still want to hear it.
We stay like this awhile longer — staring out at something, but not really seeing anything too clearly. Then, finally, Meyer turns to me.
“Will you come with me, Livy? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
I don’t give him an answer, I simply take his hand when he offers it. I feel limp, and pliable. My hope is that if I stay like this I can’t be broken.
We lift off into the sky, moving slowly. We fly quite a distance before we finally begin to drop toward the ground. Nothing around me looks familiar. This is a part of Neverland I’ve yet to see. There’s a large forest directly below us. Straight ahead of the forest is a tall mountain.
“What is this place?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.
For a moment I wonder if he’s going to try to keep me here. Hide me from James and the depressing sunrise. A tiny flutter of hope rises inside my chest but then it’s gone before it can build into something more. If James found me the first time, he will find me again.
Up the tall mountain we climb, Meyer pretty much dragging me. I figure we’re going clear over the top, but I’m wrong. As we get closer I notice that carved into the side of the mountain is a dwelling made up of open caves. Does he live here? Is this where Meyer calls home? As we draw closer I notice how clusters of fireflies light all the rooms, giving the space a candlelit glow. There are no outside walls or windows, no barriers to keep from falling down the side of the mountain, which may seem slightly off-putting to anyone other than Meyer, but it does provide him with the most amazing view. We alight in the center of what could only be called the main room. There are a few comfortable chairs around and a small table near the back, but what stands out to me the most are all the bookshelves lining the walls, each stacked high with books clear up to the ceiling.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Meyer asks, gesturing out toward the view. His eyes are shimmering for the first time since the dance. He stands so sure of himself as he gazes out over all of Neverland.
I inch closer to the edge of the cliff, still slightly intimidated by the idea of heights, even though I’ve spent the last 24 hours defying gravity. I can see the Treasure Islands and then over to the west is the meadow where James appeared. I can even make out the Waiting Room, the place I caught my first glimpse of this world.
“Amazing is a good word,” I tell him, smiling for the first time since he’s joined me tonight. “You’re very lucky, you know.”
Meyer glances my way and then moves further into the room. “How about a tour, yeah?” He stops in the center of the room and looks around. He appears dazed for a second and then shrugs it off with a smile. I get the impression he’s never done this before. “So this is, well, this is... this room.”
“Your reading room, I take it?” I say, looking around at all of the bookshelves.
“Why would you think that?” he says completely serious, gesturing for me to follow to the next open room, but when I catch his eye he smiles.
In the narrow path between the two rooms the light is dim but I can make out countless drawings covering the rock wall. I inch closer, taking in each picture, noticing the different mediums. Some are sketched with charcoal, while others are painted with brush or fingertip. They are beautiful, these pictures, but they all seem so sad. The pictures are of families, moms and dads or just a mom or an older brother. Some include pets. Most include siblings. They’re all taped together, hanging on the rock wall in this dimly lit hallway.
“The children make those for me,” Meyer says from just behind me. “I need a bigger place so that I can put them all up. Right now I have this system where I change them every other day.” He shrugs his shoulders. “It works for them. It works for me.”
“There are so many,” I say, noticing how every last inch of rock is covered.
“My favorites are in here.” He takes my arm, leading me down the long hallway and on to the next room. But I don’t think I can stomach anymore. I don’t want to think about these children’s families. That must be why Meyer keeps them in the hallway, and not somewhere with better light.
“The children don’t actually come here,” he explains once we’re in the next room. “So they don’t know which ones are my favorites. I wouldn’t want to hurt their feeling, you know?”
“No. Never that,” I say, not entirely listening. I’m too distracted by Meyer’s living quarters.
The room we’re in now must be where he sleeps. It is the larger of the two and has a long
couch of some sort pushed up against the far wall, with a bookshelf on either side. There’s a desk with a light peering over the top, right near the edge of the cliff. It reminds me of my father’s drafting table. It is covered with bits of charcoal and a stack of drawings that Meyer flips over once he notices me looking their way.
“So you draw?” I say, wishing I could see his work, but assuming he’ll say no if I ask.
“A little.”
“But you didn’t do these?” I point to the far wall where the countless pictures are taped to the rock.
“Those are gifts from the children,” he tells me, and I move closer to inspect them.
“I can see why they’re your favorites.” I’m studying a watercolor of Meyer holding hands with a young dark-haired girl. The girl resembles a more youthful version of Jane. Whoever drew her made her so much shorter than Meyer, although the illustrated version of Jane and the real Jane share the same scowl. I move on to a crayon depiction of Meyer and two young boys dressed as pirates. They’re standing with their arms linked, each carrying a sword.
I go from picture to picture. Each one depicts a happy memory of Neverland that specifically includes Meyer — until I come upon the very last one. It is larger than the others and behind glass. It resides in a prime spot directly above Meyer’s drawing desk, singled out from the rest. The people in the painting are portrayed as colorful and happy, but because I recognize the location I know they’re not.
“Who did this?” I whisper, staring at the girl in the picture, who is shown reading a story. She is surrounded by at least a dozen children, some resting in beds while others sit around her. I recognize each and every last one.
“Jenna gave that to me,” he tells me from across the room. “It was the first picture she made for me, right after she arrived in Neverland.”
I stare at the painting, not sure I can drag my eyes away. “I remember that day,” I say out loud. “I was reading—”
“Sleeping Beauty,” Meyer interrupts. “Yes, I know.”
“How do you—?”
“I asked her. When she gave it to me.”
He moves up next to me, but I don’t turn around. “There’s Jilly,” I say, pointing at the girl sitting next to Jenna.
“And Sammy’s the one with the bear.” Meyer points out the children, naming each one as though he knows them, and I get a panicky feeling, worrying that he just might.
“This painting is my favorite one of all,” he tells me, sliding his finger along the gold frame. “It’s how I like to think of you.”
I turn to him suddenly. “Me?
“Why, of course. You’re the reason I come to the hospital.”
“But I thought…”
“That I was just out looking to steal a child or two away?” He smiles and looks down, but there’s a trace of sadness in his smile.
“I figured that’s why you were there. For the children, I mean.”
“Sometimes it is. I like to prep them a bit.” He scowls up at the picture. “He doesn’t do it the way I’d do it.”
James. But the name goes unspoken.
“And how is that?” I ask. “How would you do it?”
Meyer is somber. “I would give them more time.”
I stare up at him, shocked.
“It’s true. I would. No one knows better than I how hard it is for them to say goodbye.” He turns away from me, his arms crossed. “Goodbyes aren’t easy on anybody.”
“So why do you come to the hospital?”
Meyer looks back at me, his eyes hooded in the evening light. “You tell a good story, Livy. You make it better for them there.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Truth is, you’re the only thing of interest I’ve found in your world.”
For a second I hold his gaze, wanting to hear more. His words are like precious objects, so significant and important to me that I weigh each one.
But it also weakens me, these moments. Stirs something I can’t really have. And with morning closing in I’m already aware of the cant’s in my life. I’m afraid to hope for something more I can’t have.
I move toward the bookshelves and let my fingers trace the spines of the books. The covers appear old, or maybe they’ve just been handled too often. One book stands out to me and I slide it from its place near the top of the shelf. It is bound in blue and gold, but familiar. “Moby Dick?” I say. “I guess I could have called that.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, watching me from across the room.
“You seem the type to enjoy the classics.”
“It’s a story isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say, drawing out the word.
“Well.” He smiles, giving a little shrug. “I like all stories.”
I look at him a moment longer, studying him so closely he cocks his head in question.
“Which ones are your favorites, I wonder. I know you like adventures, the stories that have the most danger, of course. With a mystery on the side.”
His smile grows wider, waiting for me to finish.
“I just wonder…” I stop, fearing that what I’m about to say will change the lighthearted mood between us.
“Yes?”
“You promised me an answer, you know? When I first got here, and Jeremy was making his island, you promised I could ask anything and you would answer.”
Meyer’s eyes narrow on me. But he doesn’t deny it. “Have you got it then, your question?”
“I do.”
“Well? What is it?” His arms are still crossed, his tone abrupt. When I don’t answer right away he forces out a small smile of encouragement, but he’s not fooling me. I can read his hesitance from where I stand.
“Do you ever wish you could live your own adventure? You know, something that doesn’t come from a wish?”
I fully expect him to claim how he has adventures every day, every minute. But he says nothing.
“Do you ever think about what the children leave behind, the feeling that draws them back? Don’t you wonder what that would be like? To miss something, to love something, so completely?”
Meyer stays silent, unmoving.
“Those pictures in your hallway, they’re all portraits of the children’s families.”
His mouth thins out into a straight line. “Do you think I don’t know that?”
“Is that why you keep them in the dark? So you’re not reminded each and every day?”
Meyer glares at me, his eyes flashing. I worry he’ll storm off again. I gauge the distance between us, wondering if I’d have enough time to stop him.
I take a small step closer. “You told me nothing lasts forever.” I point back toward the hallway. “If that’s not forever then what is it? The love those children feel for their families hasn’t disappeared. When they saw me they hoped for their brothers or sisters to visit. Their families are first in their thoughts when they arrive here, and they’re still first, months and years later.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Yes I do!” I point back toward the hallway again, to where my proof lies in the smiles of their loved ones. “They are lost, these children. You can’t tell me those pictures stop once they’ve been here a while. You can’t tell me they forget about them, because I won’t believe you. I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t think of them as being lost,” he tells me, and there is such sadness in his tone. “To me they’re just passing through. It is my job to protect them.”
I take a few steps closer to him, wanting to shield him from the loss he must feel when these children leave. But I can’t. Not yet. I’m still desperate to get through to him.
“I know you love them, Meyer. I know you feel more than anyone.” My hands are trembling. I press them together, but it doesn’t help. “I understand that everything you do is for them, to make them happy. Honestly, I keep wishing I could be you. That I could stay in this place but also visit my world, my family. But I can’t. That would be too easy.”
The word e
asy has him angry again. His arms drop to his sides, his fists clenched.
“And I’m right, you know. This is easy for you. You get to avoid the pain of life at the expense of only witnessing other people’s happiness.” I take a breath, hating what I’m doing, but unable to stop. “You say you fill your days with adventure, but your adventures are make-believe. They’re just pretend.” I take another step closer to Meyer, willing him not to run away. “A real adventure involves life and risk. What have you ever truly risked, Meyer?”
Meyer’s expression is so severe, I can’t read his thoughts. But he can’t hide that flicker of hurt in his eyes. It’s so clear and sharp as though I physically wounded him with my words; I’ll remember it always.
“So answer me,” I whisper. “If you could wish anything, if you were given the chance to be like me, would you take it?”
He pushes his answer out with so much force I flinch. “No.”
I take a step closer, holding back the tears that are threatening to drown me. “Are you sure about that? Are you sure you wouldn’t give all of this up for a chance at something real?”
He’s silent for a moment, just staring at me as I inch closer.
“No,” he whispers, his eyes wary, watching me. “No.”
We are so close now, but not touching. “Pain or suffering?” I ask and his flinch is unmistakable.
“Go on, Meyer. It’s your turn. Choose.”
His shoulders straighten, his fists still clenched at his side. “Alright, suffering,” he says, just as I knew he would.
I hold back my smile, willing my body to keep it together. I’m trembling so badly I’m afraid he’ll notice it. I’m sure he already has.
“I dare you,” I say slowly, taking one last moment to draw from my strength. “I dare you. To kiss me.”
Meyer’s eyes widen with surprise, and then zero in on me. “You what?” he breaths out.
“You heard me,” I say with a lift of my chin. “I dare you to— ”
“Yes, alright. I know.” His gaze darkens on mine, holding me to my spot. But I’m not going anywhere. Not now.