Henry & Eva and the Castle on the Cliff
Page 17
Henry and I look at each other.
Beat.
Claude blushes. “It’s a nude beach.”
And then we burst into laughter.
“Oh my God, naked beach people!” I blurt out. “That was it?!”
And I am shaking my head.
Henry is shaking his head.
“We’re so stupid and I hate us right now,” I admit.
“Aw, come on, kiddo.” Claude ruffles my hair. “All is forgiven! And forgiveness is a—”
“Gift to the giver,” Henry and I finish the sentence.
“Now, everyone,” he glances at Terri, “it’s time for bed. It’s been quite a night; don’t you think?”
We nod and everybody begins to go their separate ways.
Terri commences to put out the fire, Claude untucks his shirt as he walks up the stairs, letting it all hang out after a long evening of plays, films, cops, and kids.
And Henry?
Well, Henry just walks out the mudroom door and out the back, into the chilled night air.
“Wait! Henry, where are you going?”
“I just, I feel like strolling along for a bit, contemplating, I suppose.”
I catch up to Henry on the grass and start walking with him, side by side.
I think about the show we put on. The amazingness of it, before the attempted murder. “You know, those were some effects, Henry. Good job.” I pat him on the back.
He turns. “I was just going to say the same to you.”
“What?” I respond, puzzled.
We both stop.
“Wait,” Henry says. “You didn’t make the thousands of stars? The light fantastic? The quivering fog?”
“Quivering fog? No! I thought you did all that.”
“Me! I most certainly did not.”
He freezes, looks at me. I think. Then our eyes widen.
“You don’t think it was—” We say it together.
This seems to be a kind of cue. Now the wind picks up, driving fast along the hillside, swooping up beside us. There’s a kind of massive, vertical swirl around us in blue and plum and violet.
“Heck, I thought you’d never guess!” Beaumont appears, complete with overalls and gold-tinning pan this time.
Beside him Plum appears. “Like it? We wanted to knock your socks off!”
“Like it?! It was incredible!” Henry and I fall all over ourselves. “It was seriously the greatest thing ever.”
“Never you mind the flattery; anything for you kids!” Beaumont tilts his hat.
Behind him, August and Sturdevant beam. “It was nothing.”
Maxine says in her lilting voice, “Obviously, you can’t go wrong with Shakespeare.”
“But it was amazing!” I keep on. “It was so beautiful. Breathtaking. How did you do it?!”
“‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” Maxine purrs.
All five ancestor ghosts grin at each other, pleased and proud. August and Sturdevant raise their martini glasses.
“Here, here. Quite, quite.”
“Wait.” Henry begins putting it together. “Remember how Terri said someone, or something just turned her around, all of a sudden, so she saw us on the cliff . . . with Uncle Finn? When he was dangling us over the edge, basically trying to kill us?”
“Yes. I do remember that completely traumatizing experience.”
“Eva . . . that was them.” He turns to look at Beaumont, Plum, Maxine, August, and Sturdevant. They face us, brimming. Each of them, in their own way, takes a bow.
Mind. Blown.
Beaumont laughs. “What, you think we’re gonna let some slimy, yellow-bellied ne’er-do-well do harm to our kin? No way. No sir. No howdy.”
Plum comes forward now, leaning in, gentle. “Listen. You kids ought to know, there’s a little surprise for you. Down the cliff.”
Henry and I share a look and, before we know it, in the blink of an eye, the five of them are gone, disappeared into the ether. The ghosts of our ancestors. The ghosts of our blood.
Who saved us.
A gust of sea air comes up from the ocean, carrying us, and somehow we find ourselves pulled down to the sea, over the path, through the gate, down the slippery stone steps, down below to the bottom of the cliffs. The rocks sticking out of the seabed like a fortress. The full moon hides behind the gray cloud cover, whispering light from behind the bluffs. A secret.
There’s a buzzing here. Like the feeling just before it rains.
We stand there, the two of us, listening to the sound of the waves crashing, thinking about how these cliffs, these cliffs we love, and these waves crashing, almost took us with them. Thinking about how we were saved.
And then it happens.
They appear.
There behind the breakers, their figures tiny, gliding gently over the waves, like a kiss.
Mom.
And Dad.
Their figures flicker in and out under the moonlight.
Our mother speaks first.
“Eva . . . Henry.” It’s almost like a prayer the way she says our names.
Our father comes forward, his eyes welling. “We’re so proud of you.”
Henry and I can barely control ourselves, seeing the two of them like this. My cheeks are wet with tears and I don’t even have to look to know that Henry’s are, too.
“How beautiful it was. Your play. It was exquisite.”
I’m shaking now. I can barely speak. All I want to do is to jump in their arms and go with them wherever they go. To be with them now and always.
Henry hears my thoughts or thinks them, too.
“Dad? Mom? Does this mean . . . you’re staying? Does this mean you’re staying here with us?”
It’s more of a plea than a question.
For a moment, my mom looks sad, wistful. A look of loves lost.
She looks up at us. My father grabs her hand.
The two of them gaze at us, protective and gentle.
“We can’t stay.”
I think I hear the sound of our hearts breaking, getting washed away into the sea.
“But, darlings.” She tries to be strong. “We’re here. We’re always here. With you. Did you know that? We’re in everything you see, in the ocean, in the sky, in the stars. Isn’t it funny? Love transcends space and time. Love is the thing, the only thing . . . that is infinite.”
My father kisses my mother gently on the forehead.
As Henry and I look up at them, they look down with that same look they gave Henry, wrapped in his blue baby blanket, the same look they gave me when I fell off my bike and had to get stitches. Like they wished they could jump in front of everything for us, take every sorrow, slay every dragon.
Keep us safe.
And then they begin to fade. Their figures, like willows, getting softer and softer, while Henry and I hold our breath, wanting to leap into the sky, wanting to go with them.
And then . . . they are gone.
We stand there, the entire world stopped from turning.
Henry reaches out, softly grabs my hand. I grab his.
The two of us together now, against the world.
“Remember what they said, Henry.” I can barely breathe, the words getting caught in my throat.
Henry pulls me toward him and the two of us keep each other standing.
Our foreheads are together now, cheeks a stream of tears.
Henry catches his breath and wipes a tear from my eye.
It really is just the two of us now.
“Eva. We just have to remember. If we’re love . . .” He raises my chin, gently, looks me in the eye. “Then we get to be infinite.”
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the people nearest and dearest to me who keep this whole operation running. As most people close to me know, I can write a novel faster than I can fill out a form, so it is quite fortunate I have humans around me who can interact on my behalf. Rosemary Stimola and Kris
ten Pettit are the two major brilliant forces behind this book. Thank you with all my heart. Now the LA side. I must thank Flora Hackett and Sylvie Rabineau at WME for believing in me, as well as my incredible manager, Sukee Chew. Nothing would be possible without my rabble-rousing husband, Sandy Tolan, as well as my mother, father, sister, and brother. I am so lucky to have such a tight-knit and singular family. I love you all so much. Of course, to my astounding niece and nephew, Eva and Carlitos. And finally, to my darling, illuminating, and effervescent son, Wyatt. You are all the stars in the sky, in the universe, and in the multiverse too. You are infinite.
About the Author
Photo credit Niels Alpert
ANDREA PORTES is the bestselling novelist of two critically lauded adult novels: Hick, her debut, which was made into a feature film, and Bury This.
Her first novel for young adult readers, Anatomy of a Misfit, was called “perfection in book form” by Teen Vogue. Her other YA novels include The Fall of Butterflies and Liberty: The Spy Who (Kind of) Liked Me.
Andrea grew up on the outskirts of Lincoln, Nebraska. Later, she attended Bryn Mawr College.
Currently, she lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Sandy Tolan, their son, Wyatt, and their dog, Rascal. You can visit her online at www.andreaportes.squarespace.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Copyright
HENRY & EVA AND THE CASTLE ON THE CLIFF. Copyright © 2018 by Andrea Portes. Interior illustrations by Sonia Kretschmar. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art by Sonia Kretschmar
Cover design by Michelle Taormina
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018939990
Digital Edition NOVEMBER 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-256005-6
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-256002-5
1819202122CG/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower
22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
M5H 4E3
www.harpercollins.ca
India
HarperCollins India
A 75, Sector 57
Noida
Uttar Pradesh 201 301
www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com