Page 18 of The Light Between Worlds

Around its forehead bound.

A rich man might not notice it;

Yet to my frugal eye

Of more esteem than ducats.

Oh, find it, sir, for me!”

I hug the book to my chest and get to my feet. As I leave the birch ring, I brush one longing finger against the nearest tree’s smooth, pale skin.

Wake up.

She sleeps on.

Max has finished her redecorating, though I can’t imagine when she found the time during the rush of the first week back. The walls of her rooms are the color of lilacs, and all the windows are thrown open to catch the autumn breeze. Blue silk curtains billow on the wind like waves.

The phone rings half a dozen times before Jamie picks up, and when he does, he sounds breathless and happy. “Hello?”

“Jamie. It’s Ev.”

The happiness in his voice vanishes, fading as quickly as a shred of cloud on a hot summer day.

“Evie. I’m glad you phoned me back. How are you?”

He hesitates so briefly before asking the question that I wouldn’t have noticed the pause if I hadn’t known to listen for it.

“I’m well.” I smile so he’ll hear the expression in my voice, and shift the telephone receiver from one hand to the other. “It’s good to be back, actually. And I met a friend of yours on the train—Tom Harper.”

“Did you!” Jamie exclaims, as if he hadn’t asked Tom to look out for me. He’s not quite happy again, not the way he was before he knew it was me on the line, but I think he’s relieved. “And what do you think of old Tom?”

I weigh my words. “He’s nice. I like him. He came by yesterday morning, during visiting hours. We pulled weeds and had tea.”

“Is that so?” Jamie’s satisfied now, and I’ll take that. “I thought he’d be good for you, Ev. I’m happy to hear the two of you are getting on.”

“We are. For now,” I say.

Jamie’s quiet for a moment.

“I spoke with Philippa,” he says after a long pause.

Everything in me freezes. “And?”

“She’s met half the people in New Hampshire, from the sound of it, but that’s just our Phil. Says she loves her classes, loves the countryside there. She said—”

I wrap the telephone cord around my wrist, just where the line of nettle welts begins. “What does she say, Jamie? Tell me.”

“She said the woods there remind her of you.”

I keep very still, not knowing what that means—whether my sister misses me, or hates that she can’t escape the memories of all we’ve shared.

“Ev,” Jamie asks, “did the two of you have a falling out before Philippa left? I know I wasn’t home much over the summer, but when I was, you both seemed a little off center. And she made it sound as if she hasn’t heard from you.”

“I’ve written,” I answer truthfully, though I’ve sent her nothing but line after line of poetry, copied out in my own hand. I can’t findthe right words for her, not anymore. “She never writes back.”

“What happened?” Jamie asks.

Heat rushes into my face and pricks behind my eyes. I don’t want to lie again. I’ve built myself a castle of lies since getting back to school, and I never used to be that way. My word was my bond, back home in the Woodlands. Now it’s just a thing I use to hide who I really am, and how I really feel.