He turned his back to her, pulled off his jeans, letting them drop to the floor. “Not until we know for sure. And I’m still not convinced. Something just doesn’t feel right about all this.”
“Maybe your mother would know. Some people say mothers have a kind of intuition, a connection to their kids that never goes away.”
Sam grunted.
“That’s what I’ve always heard, anyway,” she said. “I was reading somewhere recently that mothers and babies can identify each other just by smell. Isn’t that amazing?”
“So what are you suggesting?” he asked. “You want my mother to give this girl a great big sniff all over to see if she’s Lisa? Christ, Bee, we’re not a pack of wolves.” He climbed into the freshly made bed and turned off the light on his table. Phoebe’s own bedside light had been smashed to pieces during Lisa’s struggle with Teilo. She’d replaced it with an old metal gooseneck lamp from the office.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all! Lisa was her baby. Her only daughter. They must have had a strong connection. Just like you would if it were your kid we were talking about.”
How could she be such a coward? It wasn’t just her baby; it was Sam’s too. He had to know the truth. Especially now. If Teilo had taken Lisa’s baby, wouldn’t he come for theirs too?
It’s now or never, she told herself. “Sam, I—”
“But I don’t have any kids,” he told her. “I’ll never have kids.” His eyes were closed, his face calm.
Phoebe clenched her hands into tight fists. “Never?” The word came out high and tight.
“It’s never been anything I’ve wanted.” Sam’s voice was sleepy, drifting. “It’s just not in the cards, Bee.”
And just then, she thought she felt the tiny baby move inside her, give a kick in protest, pound on the walls of her uterus, to say, Like it or not, I’m here.
“Can’t sleep?” Evie asked. She was in the kitchen, warming milk on the stove, spooning honey into it.
Phoebe shook her head, sure that if she spoke, she’d burst into tears.
“Me neither,” Evie said, smiling. “No worries, though. It’s my personal belief that all the best people are insomniacs.” She sprinkled cinnamon into the milk, then reached for two mugs. “Try this.” Evie filled a mug with steaming milk and passed it to her. “It’s what my mother always gave me when I couldn’t sleep.”
Phoebe took a sip. It was warm and sweet and perfect. She took another long gulp, feeling it warm her. Had her mother ever made her warm milk? She’d given Phoebe NyQuil to help her sleep (and poured herself a slug for good measure). Half a Valium now and then. An ounce of brandy, which tasted like poison, but her mother promised it would chase the nightmares away. Her mother, who spent her last years in some hideous public housing unit, trading disability checks for frozen dinners, generic cigarettes, and booze.
Sometimes you’ve just gotta live, sweetheart. Feel the wind in your hair.
For the millionth time that day, Phoebe wondered what kind of mother she’d be and if she was genetically programmed to be lousy at it. She imagined some hidden switch flipping somewhere in the back of her brain the day her baby was born, the fucked-up-mommy switch inherited from her mother and grandmother, along with her curly hair and narrow hips.
Jesus. A tear ran down her nose, dripped into her mug of warm milk.
How could she have even considered keeping the baby?
Little Willa or Jasper didn’t stand a chance.
“Phoebe?” Evie said, placing a hand gently on her arm.
“Do you think you could drive?” Phoebe asked.
“I—I don’t know. I remember how. But it’s been a long time. And there’s the little detail that in order to drive, I’d have to leave the house. Go out there.” Evie gestured toward the door, her hand trembling a little as if the devil himself was waiting for her there.
“Forget it,” Phoebe said, touching her forehead, then pressing hard, massaging it in little circles. She was so shitty at this—asking people for help. She’d spent her whole life trying not to need anyone’s help, prided herself on her independence. “It’s just that I need a ride. I can get myself there, but someone else has to drive me home and there’s no one I can ask. No one I want to ask. There’s Franny, but she can be so judgmental.”
“Phoebe, I—”
“I’m pregnant.” She spit the words out like bits of metal, sharp against her tongue.
Evie took in a breath, then nodded, her face calm.
“Sam doesn’t want a baby,” Phoebe continued. “And besides, it doesn’t matter. I’d be a lousy mother anyway. And it’s not like Sam and I have any chance at all of making it. I don’t know what we’re doing even trying.” The tears were coming hard and fast and she was gulping for air.
“Oh, Phoebe,” Evie said, pulling Phoebe to her. Evie held her tight, and she cried harder, her tears soaking the shoulder of Evie’s T-shirt.
“Bee?”
Sam was at the edge of the kitchen in his boxers, squinting at them, his face one big sad question mark. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
So this was how it was going to be. No romantic dinner with candlelight and wine. She could practically hear Franny scolding her, saying, This is why you should have told him the minute you found out.
“Oh God, I’m sorry, I tried,” Phoebe sobbed, stepping away from Evie. “I was waiting for the right time, but Franny was right—there’s no such thing as the right time.”
His face grew more puzzled. “Franny knows?”
Phoebe tried to calm down, took a few ragged breaths.
“I should have come to you first, I know. But things have been so hectic. So complicated. I’m scared, Sam. I’m scared that whoever took Lisa’s baby will want ours too.”
Sam stared at her, his eyes glassy.
“Sam? Say something.”
“You remember, don’t you,” Evie said, looking at Sam, her own eyes wide and panicked. “What we all promised Teilo?”
Sam said nothing.
“What?” Phoebe asked.
Evie cleared her throat. “All of us—Sammy, Lisa, and I—we each promised to give our firstborn child to Teilo.”
Phoebe felt the air in her lungs escape. She felt light-headed. The baby inside her, the size of a lima bean, she imagined.
Sam’s firstborn.
“You did what?” Phoebe said, the words taking every ounce of effort to form. She looked at Sam pleadingly. It was a tell-me-it-isn’t-true look, but he didn’t meet her gaze. “Sam?” she said, stepping backward, stumbling over a chair. She turned and ran from the room.
“Bee!” he called after her, but it was too late.
She got to the office, bolted the door.
Phoebe took in a breath.
Firstborn. Sam promised Teilo his firstborn.
Just as Lisa had.
CHAPTER 31
Lisa
JUNE 14 AND 15, FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
“Where’s Evie?” Sam asked when Lisa met him out in the yard.
“She’s, um, changing,” Lisa said. She tried to push the image of Evie’s legs stuffed into her too-tight pants out of her head.
“What’s this big important thing you wanted to tell us?”
“Let’s wait for Evie.”
“Is it about Da?” Sam asked. “’Cause if you know something, you should tell. I’m old enough. I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m not old enough.”
“No,” Lisa said. “This isn’t about Da. I’ve got a deal for you. I think you’ll like it.”
Evie sauntered out into the yard, dressed in her own clothes—baggy overalls, big shitkickers on her feet.
She didn’t say a word or make eye contact.
They all three plopped themselves down in the tall grass, bending it, making little nests for themselves.
&
nbsp; “Okay, I know you guys are getting a little sick of all this talk about the fairies and the cellar hole. Sam, I know you don’t believe me. And Evie, I know you want me to stay away from there.”
They both nodded in agreement. Lisa couldn’t see their faces in the dark, only their silhouettes. Evie started ripping at the grass. Sam sat perfectly still.
She waited. Sam and Evie leaned a little closer. She could hear them breathing. Crickets chirped. Lightning bugs flickered.
“So here’s the deal. You two sign papers promising your firstborn to Teilo, and I’ll never mention him again. I’ll drop the papers off in the cellar hole and wait. If he doesn’t come tonight, I’m done. I won’t go down there, I won’t leave any gifts, I swear I’ll never talk about the fairies again.”
Sam laughed.
“Wait, firstborn? You mean, like, firstborn child?”
It sounded so ridiculous when Sam said it, Lisa thought she might lose her resolve. But she called upon the strength of the fairies and replied quietly, with dignity.
“Yes. Precisely. Firstborn child.”
“Lisa,” Evie said, “you’re kidding, right? You wouldn’t really promise . . . something like that? Or ask us to?”
“Come on,” Lisa said, growing impatient. “What have you got to lose? Who knows if any of us would ever even have kids. You don’t believe in any of it anyway, Sammy. And Evie, if you do this, I promise I’ll just drop the whole thing.”
Sammy and Evie were silent.
Lisa reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out the three pieces of paper and pens, and handed Sammy and Evie one.
“Are you sure about this?” Evie asked, picking up her pen. “If your Fairy King doesn’t show up, you won’t go down there anymore? You swear?”
“Not after tonight,” Lisa said.
Sam snickered, filling out his paper.
“Don’t forget to write down your wish too. Then sign it.”
“Do I seal it with a drop of blood?” Sam asked, folding his note into a paper airplane and aiming it straight for Lisa’s head.
Lisa rolled her eyes.
“So do you ever wonder?” Evie asked, once she was finished folding up her paper into a tight little rectangle. She recapped the pen using her mouth, making it all gross and slobbery.
“Wonder what?” Lisa said. She took Evie’s paper and the pen, careful not to touch the cap.
“Why you? I mean, no offense or anything, but why are you the one getting the gifts and the book? If he really is the King of the Fairies, he could have any girl on earth, right?”
Lisa shrugged her shoulders. Evie walked back toward the house. Lisa listened for the door but didn’t hear it slam.
“I think Evie’s jealous,” Sam said. “She wants a chance to go at it with the Fairy King.”
“That’s sick,” said Lisa.
“Nah,” Sammy said. “What’s sick is you two believing all this crap. I hate to say it, Lisa, but you’re getting to be as crazy as Da.” Then he was gone, too, leaving Lisa feeling like she’d been punched in the gut.
She entered the woods and made her way toward Reliance, heart pounding as she descended the hill and jumped the brook, walked through the spindly trees, smelling the rich loamy smell of the woods. Her plan had worked! It didn’t matter what they thought: they’d have proof soon enough. She was on her way to meet the King of the Fairies—the very thought of it made her feel giddy and light, like a balloon bouncing around, needing to be tied down so she wouldn’t float away.
As she approached the cellar hole, Lisa heard a voice talking, then shouting. She held her breath, listening.
“I know you can hear me! You don’t belong here. Leave Lisa alone!”
Lisa crept closer, squinted in the darkness until she made out a figure in overalls and big work boots.
Evie. It was just Evie. She must have circled back and gone into the woods without Lisa noticing.
“What are you doing?” Lisa asked as she approached Evie.
“Lisa,” Evie said. “This is a huge mistake. You don’t get that now, but you’ve gotta trust me.”
“Trust you?” Lisa said. “Why should I trust you?”
Evie looked as if she’d been slapped in the face. “Because—” she stammered.
“Because why?” Lisa asked.
“There’s so much I could tell you. So much you don’t know. I thought it would ruin everything, but now . . .”
“What I do know is that you’ve been sneaking around with Gerald and Pinkie, telling them about the cellar hole,” Lisa said, stepping away. “How am I supposed to trust you when you’ve been blabbing away about the one big secret I’ve ever asked you to keep?”
Evie took a step forward, gave Lisa a pleading look. “I did it to protect you.”
“Protect me? How is telling my biggest secret to those jerks protecting me?”
“Look, I can’t explain it all right now. But I will. Soon, I promise. Come on. Let’s get out of here—just you and me. We’ll take the stupid papers we filled out and burn them. I know where Mom keeps the keys to her car. I can drive a little, enough to get us far away from here, from the hill and Reliance. From all the bullshit.”
Lisa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Evie was actually asking her to run away?
“And where are we supposed to go?” Lisa asked.
“Away. Like those girls in the story you’ve been telling. We get on a horse or in Ma’s old busted-up Caddie, and we ride. We ride until we run out of gas, until the car breaks down, then we walk. We jump a train. We hitch. Whatever. We just go. Now. Before it’s too late.”
Lisa stared at her cousin. “Too late?”
Evie clenched her jaw and looked down at the ground. She pulled the key on the cord out from inside her shirt. “All of this is my fault. But I can stop it. I can save us.” Evie let out a wheezing, raspy breath. “I have to tell you something,” she said, hanging her head down, looking guilty.
“Look,” Lisa said, “if it’s about tonight, what I saw in my room, forget it. It’s okay. I don’t mind. You can borrow my stuff anytime you want. Really.”
“But that’s not—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lisa told her. She touched Evie lightly on the arm. “This thing with the fairies, Evie, it’s huge. And it’s so wonderful. Do you understand how lucky we are? We can get whatever we wish for. They may be able to help Da. Don’t you get it, Evie? I want you to be a part of it too. And if Sammy’s right, if there are no fairies and Teilo doesn’t come, then I’m done with all this. Promise.” Then she reached down and took Evie’s hand, entwining her index finger with Evie’s. “We’re like this,” she said. “And nothing’s going to take that away.”
Evie nodded.
“You go on now,” Lisa said, gently pushing Evie away. “Back to the house. I’m gonna drop off our papers.”
Evie headed back up the hill, her feet crunching the ground beneath her.
Lisa went right for the cellar hole and pulled the papers out of her pocket. Hers was on top, so she looked at that one first.
I, Lisa Nazzaro, promise my firstborn to Teilo, the King of the Fairies. My wish is that one day I can come visit the land of the fairies and see it with my own eyes.
She hesitated over the others, then broke down and opened them, deciding Teilo wouldn’t mind. Sam’s was simple: I, Sam Nazzaro, promise my firstborn child to the fairies. My true wish is that Lisa gets a clue and stops jerking us around with all this fairy crap.
Duly noted. Lisa folded it back up.
Then she opened Evie’s.
Evie’s wish sent a little electric warning through Lisa’s body. There, in Evie’s messy childish scrawl, were these words:
I, Eve Katherine O’Toole, do promise my firstborn child to Teilo, King of the Fairies.
My w
ish is that Lisa never learns the truth.
Now, hours later, Lisa understood the truth: the King of the Fairies was not coming for her. She’d waited in the cellar hole half the night with her notes, calling Teilo’s name like some pathetic schoolgirl with a crush. Stupid. She’d done what she was supposed to: she’d promised the King of the Fairies her firstborn, even convinced the others to do the same. But he hadn’t come. Maybe the fairies had looked inside her and decided she was unworthy. She grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it hard. “Idiot!”
Maybe she should have waited longer, but she couldn’t make herself. Each minute that ticked by was just further proof that Sammy was right—Teilo wasn’t coming. Maybe he didn’t even exist at all.
Now, cold, tired, and utterly defeated, she had to go back to the house and keep her promise. She had to find a way to act like this thing with the fairies had never even happened. She wasn’t allowed to ever mention it again. Or go down the hill into Reliance.
Worse still, she’d have to listen to Sammy saying, I told you so.
Sure everyone was asleep, Lisa let herself in the kitchen door. She was creeping up the stairs when something stopped her. Voices. She held her breath, listening.
One of the voices was Da’s.
But Da hadn’t spoken in over two weeks.
She listened harder. This was definitely Da’s voice. And someone else. Lisa tiptoed back down the stairs, straining to hear through the heartbeat hammering in her head. Was she imagining the voices?
When Lisa peeked around the corner from the kitchen, she saw it wasn’t her imagination. There was Evie, crouched on the floor, talking with Da in the living room. And Da was talking back.
But what were they saying?
And why was Da talking to Evie when Lisa herself, his own flesh-and-blood daughter, had been trying to get him to speak for the past two weeks?
Lisa heard the words her, she, too late, and never again. Then, clear as could be, she heard Evie say the words, “Please, Dad.”
The kitchen light came on.
“Lisa?”
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