The only person I’ve told about the island is Tawny—of course, I couldn’t hide it from her.
To keep her from organizing an intervention, I printed up the paper from when Will and Duke went missing and the article about Charlie, and then showed her the contents of the box in the back of my closet.
Tawny says she believes me, but the most telling proof is how I’ve changed.
“It’s like you went through that maze one version of Olive and came out another. Who the hell are you?” she constantly asks me with a hint of respect mixed with classic Tawny humor.
I just laugh and shrug.
Some things are better kept tucked safely away.
It’s a Saturday afternoon. My latest honors English assignment is nestled between my palms, and I’ve just read and reread the line, “The thing is, fear can’t hurt you any more than a dream,” over and over until it’s lost all meaning.
I’m distracted.
Nervous.
I can’t stop twirling my hair between my thumb and forefinger, digging at the hole in the thigh of my jeans.
The doorbell rings.
“I got it! I got it! I got it!” Lucky races past me, a blond blur.
The door swings open then slams shut.
“Hi, Olive!” Charlie yells as one blond blur becomes two. Lucky’s bedroom door closes with a bang. I won’t see them for hours. It’s the new norm around here, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Well…most days anyway.
Tonight’s the first island full moon. It was tricky figuring out the moon cycles of a place that only exists in my memories, but with a few books and internet searches, I started charting based on when I know the last island full moon was, which, as it was last month, coincides with a thin, crescent moon here.
It’s actually not the most boring stuff, astronomy. And my new hobby prompted me to join the astronomy club. Me, the stars, the club? We’ve been hanging out lately. Still, I can’t get past the deep longing and empty space in the pit of my stomach. The sadness in my heart that I’ve lost something so very precious, it can never be replaced.
Hours crawl past, dusk finally approaches, and I tell my parents I’m going for a walk before dinner—a routine I’ve taken to.
By the time I reach the abandoned field it’s nearly dark, the sky awash with purples, dark blues, and hints of orange. The dim, silver crescent moon looms high in the sky like a crooked smile. I can’t help the feeling it knows I’m only kidding myself.
It’s been twenty-nine and a half days. The maze is long gone. Nothing but a distant memory, just like everything else. Nothing is left but decomposing remnants of brown, dried-out corn stalks and leaves littering the space. A certain carnival racket apparently doesn’t take the Don’t Mess With Texas thing seriously.
I try my best to imagine the maze and the place where the tunnel would have been. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wandered back several times before now. Whenever I find myself questioning, unsure, or in need of something this world can’t quite provide, I end up here. And, yes, maybe sometimes I childishly hope and pray to be swept away to the island by a certain handsome, beautifully complex, eye-patch wearing guy with a smile like sunshine baked ocean and an embrace to match.
Sure, I imagine all of that, too.
And then a car horn honks, a group of kids pass, dogs bark, and I’m forced to come to my senses.
As I roam the field, searching for the two large-ish rocks I placed on the ground to mark the spot where the window to the island should be, the weight in my gut tells me it’s fruitless. There won’t be a shimmering door waiting for me. And if it was there, really, would I venture through it?
Charlie and I have talked it over at length. We believe the island lures kids to it. Kids who need help, who could learn and grow and be better for being stuck there. Like a second chance. It’s as if we were sought out.
And I’m certain we can’t go back. Ever.
“Crap!” I trip, stubbing my toe on a certain large-ish rock. I stare down to find it has a twin.
I lay the plaid throw from my bed out next to the rocks and sit, my eyes searching for anything that shimmers or has the slightest glint of a heat wave because I still want to believe it’s possible.
There’s nothing.
Tears stream down my face. First, they’re slow, falling one by one in a chase down my cheeks. Then, spurred by that emptiness in my chest, the dread that I know I’ll never get back what I lost, they flow more freely. Not bothering to wipe my face dry, I lie back and stare up at the stars, the moon. I run my fingers over the ground, pretending it’s not dry, cracked dirt and dead grass, but soft, warm grains of sandy soil.
I take a deep breath, pull a handful of weeds from the ground, and grind the sprigs between my fingers. I breathe in the heavy Texas air, listen to airplanes flying overhead and the hum of traffic from the freeway in the distance, and search for the beauty I know is right here surrounding me.
Once I find it, I close my eyes and imagine Will sitting in the same place, but under a different sky, leaning against the moss-covered boulder, doing the same thing. Finding the beauty in his world.
I take in a shaky sob, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying more loudly.
A stick cracks loudly not too far away. I jump then sit straight up, expecting to see a stray dog.
The tall, dark shadow of a person looms mere feet away.
Behind him is a pearl-shimmery window that vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
“Sorry it took me so long.” Will steps closer. Bends down next to me.
Shocked into silence, I bring my hand to his face and run my thumb over his eye patch, making sure he’s real.
As if to drive in the point, he wraps his fingers around my wrist and pushes my hand closer, more firmly to his face. He’s all warmth and coconut and mint and saltwater…all the things I’ve longed for, but more.
“You’re here.”
He nods.
“But how?” I search his eye, his perfectly not-perfect nose, the way his jaw is tightening from emotion.
Will places his forehead to mine, speaking the words I’ve wished and dreamed of every day since I left the island. “After you left, I was scared I’d never see you again. Terrified that I’d never get to tell you…” He glances away, then back again. “I went to the boulder and swore to the island that if I ever got the chance, I would find you. That, even though I owe the island so much for saving me, you”—he stares into me—“sustain me. You make me better.” Will sits down next to me and takes both my hands in his. “A window appeared there this morning, and I knew I couldn’t hesitate for even a second. I had to go through it. I had to be with you.”
“But what about Duke?”
“Shiloh decided to stay. To take on that role I’d thought was meant for me.” He laughs under his breath. “They practically shoved me through the window themselves…not that they needed to.”
I open my mouth to speak, to ask more questions and to say all of things I’ve wanted to say every second of every day since I stepped through that window, but he places his fingers over my lips and leans in so our noses just barely touch.
“I love you, Olive Maxi Gagmuehler.”
Fireworks explode in my chest and butterflies flutter deep in my stomach as he wraps his arms around my waist and brings me closer. Our lips finally breach that tiny breath of space between us and we kiss. It’s swirly and minty and full of hope and possibility and it’s just Will and me under the stars in a vacant field of broken corn stalks, crescent moon smiling down on us.
He pulls away, but not far, thankfully staying so his lips linger just on the other side of mine. I put my forehead to his. “I love you, too.”
I lean back so he can see me fully. His face is flush and his mouth is upturned in that proud, crooked grin I can’t get enough of. He reaches across the tiny space and brushes his thumb back and forth over the shaved side of my head.
A sweet and honest warmth moves up
from my chest like sunrise, spreading, surfacing as a smile—one that tightens my cheeks and tugs at my eyes.
A real smile.
All teeth.
Epilogue
Is it possible to smile too much?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself over and over again the past year. I don’t dare answer for fear I might get too caught up in the details and miss something. Something that might have made me smile.
I’ve learned to enjoy how my cheeks grow sore. How, if I haven’t kept my lips sufficiently glossed, especially with a constant stream of kisses, they’ll crack. Most of all, I’ve realized that each smile is fleeting. I try to absorb and relish in each one, but if I don’t, if I get caught up in the moment, it’s okay. There’s always another just on the other side.
The wind whips my hair across my face, and I sense the tiniest of hints that autumn is near. Reveling in the almost cool breeze, I turn my head toward Will. He’s driving the beat-up old truck Mr. Lawley, bless him, helped Will piece together. And it’s perfect, chipped paint and all.
Eye on the road, still, Will senses my gaze because his mouth turns upward. He finds my hand and entangles his fingers with mine like a perfectly lovely knot.
“So, where are you taking me, again?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Come on… You know I hate surprises!” It’s a total lie. I’m just impatient.
“Liar.” Will side-eyes me and squeezes my fingers.
I lift his hand then drop it like stone and punch him in the shoulder.
He laughs.
Will’s been working pretty much nonstop since the day he stepped through the shimmery doorway off the island and back into my life. He landed a great gig in exchange for lodging with the Lawleys, a sweet couple who have run a fruit and bakery stand at the weekly farmer’s market for ages. They own several acres of land, a random mix of animals, plus a decent-size apple, peach, and pecan tree orchard and were short-staffed. At first, Will did small tasks like cleaning and yard work and helping out with the animals, and in turn, they let him stay in the efficiency apartment above their garage. It was only to be temporary, but Will’s sort of become their live-in groundskeeper. Now he puts in full days of work at the orchard and runs their stand at the farmer’s market.
The best part? He’s blissfully happy after a good day’s work and says, in an odd way, it reminds him of being on the island. Plus, he forever smells of some form of apples or peaches and always comes bearing treats from Mrs. Lawley’s home bakery.
I take a sip of the latte Will handed me about an hour ago when he picked me up, mischievous grin smacked across his face.
We’ve been driving for a while now and, try as I might, he won’t even give me a hint into what we’re doing or where we’re going. I can’t even imagine because we’re literally in between a cow field and a rundown grain mill.
But he keeps driving.
And before too long, he exits and drives down a lonely road and into a small town not too different from Hillings. I’m still without a clue. Until he rounds a corner and pulls into a dirt lot.
It’s dark when we drive up, but the yellow glow of the lighted sign leaves me without a doubt. The Castaway Carnival.
“Shut up.” I face Will. “How did you…”
He winks and pulls me closer. “I tracked it down.”
It was months ago when I read the story in the local paper about how The Castaway Carnival would no longer be held in Hillings. Not only had the town sold the vacant field, but because of cost, upkeep, and business decisions, its fate was unknown. I hadn’t heard anything since.
The news had hit me harder than I’d thought it would. I mean, it was just a stupid, cheesy carnival. A death trap.
But not really. Not anymore. It had changed my life. And something about it vanishing, ceasing to exist, made me fear my new life, like the experiences I’d had might also vanish or somehow mean less.
“Come on,” Will says, his grin gentle, meaningful.
Unsure of what to say, I answer by stepping out of the car, still pretty dazed and a little confused because I’d kept my feelings about the carnival not returning to myself.
Hand in hand, we walk up to the ticket booth.
“Two, please,” Will says.
“That’ll be ten dollars, son.”
The minute I recognize that raspy, old twang, I shove Will over to get a peek, and I’m inexplicably relieved it’s the same leathery man from last year. I smile, despite there’s no way he’d ever recognize me. He shoots me a wink that forces me to reconsider his memory.
Once we’re officially inside the carnival, Will pulls me to a bench. The scents—all sweet and salty, popcorn and cotton candy and hotdogs with undertones of exhaust from the rides—take me. It’s strangely nostalgic and sad and exciting at the same time. Something hits me and I check the date on my phone.
“One year. To the day.” Will turns and faces me, taking one of my hands in both of his. “This year has been… I don’t even have the words. When I left the island, I did it without hesitation or looking back or regret, but I can’t say I wasn’t fearful. I was honest-to-God afraid, Olive. What if I couldn’t make a new life here? What if I failed? What if you realized you didn’t want me off the island? That you didn’t like this version of me? What if—”
I place tentative fingers over his mouth to hush him. My throat is a tight knot, aching from the tears stuck in the corners of my eyes. “Shhh…” is all I get out before a couple of drops squeeze through my lashes without my permission.
Will wipes the wet away, allowing his hand to linger at my cheek, his thumb grazing my jaw. Back and forth. He nods. “I know. This past year has been all I’ve ever wanted and more. You… Your family… That small town I used to hate so much… You’ve all welcomed me with open arms. Honestly, I don’t deserve any of it.”
“You do, though.” I push my face into his hand to get closer. “You especially do.”
Will pulls me into him, wrapping me up in his arms, against his chest, that place where all things warmth and apples and sandalwood hide in a tantalizing mixture I can’t resist. As if it’s beyond my control, I breathe in deeply.
He laughs airily against my head.
“How did you know?” I say, my words muffled.
“I’ve picked up some serious detective skills from Lucky.”
“Will…”
Again, he laughs.
“I found the newspaper article on your desk. It was worn like you’d read it a hundred times and had a few tear stains on it.”
I glare up at him. “Sneak.”
“It’s beyond my control. Blame that evil genius brother of yours.”
I couldn’t help but laugh right back.
He sits up, forcing eye contact and giving me no choice but to vacate one of my favorite places in the world. “I need closure, too.”
With those four words, that knot creeps back up, and I can tell he’s got one too because he clears his own throat.
I can’t help but glance over his shoulder. The maze is mere paces away. I glance at Will then back at the maze.
He turns to see what it is I’m staring at then looks at me, the same determination I’m feeling reflecting in the way his jaw has gone slightly tight.
I straighten my shoulders. Zip up my hoodie. “Let’s do this.”
Eyebrows raised, I can tell Will isn’t sure whether to laugh or stand up and march to the entrance of the maze. Honestly, I’m not 100 percent sure, either. So, I mix the two. I give a satisfied, determined smile, stand, grab him by the hand, and lead him to the maze.
On cue, he presents me with two doubloons.
I hand them to the worker manning the entrance, and he begins to give us his speech on all things “World’s Largest Corn Maze,” but Will stops him mid-sentence. “Thanks, brother. We’ve been here before.”
I grab a lantern and we walk past.
The wind howls through the stalks and the dried leaves j
ingle in rounds. There’s a half moon high above, and it shines down from a cloudless sky in a backdrop of darkness bursting at the seams with stars.
Hand in hand, we venture deeper and deeper into the maze. And the more twists and turns we take, the more disoriented I become, and the more my skin pricks of goose bumps and déjà vu.
It isn’t until I spot the place where the tunnel had been that I expect my monster to spike. I drop the lantern to the ground and stop dead so abruptly that Will’s jerked backward by my hand. He stops, realizing what I’m seeing. The tunnel.
I don’t speak.
And I don’t hyperventilate.
I don’t cry or freak out or dive into an anxiety attack.
I’m absent any reaction except memories.
I glance up at Will and allow my mouth to curve upward.
He launches himself into me, soundly placing his lips against mine and kisses me. We’ve had countless kisses this past year. Innumerable versions and circumstances, all with different details and tiny hints to remember them by. This one, though, is so very us. It’s spiced with Will’s cinnamon gum and the scent of popcorn mixed with earth and the freshness of the wind. It’s all about sharing in the memories, good and bad. Experiencing closure separately and together.
At the same time, we pull away, but Will keeps his forehead pressed against mine. “Thank you.”
“What? No. Thank you. This was everything I didn’t know I needed at the perfect moment.”
He breathes out a laugh, showering me with cinnamon. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Will leans down and picks up the lantern, taking my hand in his. “Shall we?” He motions ahead—toward the path I never took.
The Castaways Page 25