“Wait, Mr. Gardner …” Jeb tries to intervene, but I catch his elbow and hold him back.
“I think you should go home, Jebediah,” Dad says, his brown eyes cold. “This concerns my family.”
My chest stings. I know Dad’s just lashing out, but those words are like knives. Jeb is family. He’s always been treated that way.
“Yes, sir,” Jeb says, his voice hoarse. He starts for the front door. Mom follows to let him out, and they talk quietly on the porch while Dad and I glare at each other.
A growl of thunder shakes the room.
Dad leans against the wall, and the wrinkles around his mouth deepen, as if the artist sketching his face went too heavy on the shading. I’ve learned so much about him today—know him better than I ever did, better than he knows himself—yet he’s looking at me as if I’m a complete stranger.
When I can’t take his accusatory stare any longer, I start for my room.
“Alyssa,” he says quietly, “your makeup is still a mess. And what happened to your shirt?”
I stall next to my mosaics in the hallway, my back to him. Cool air seeps through the wing slits in the shoulders. I shrug.
“Great. Nice answer.” His voice is frayed, and it presses along my heartstrings like an amateur cellist’s bow. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
I clasp the necklaces at my neck. “It’s okay,” I whisper so he can’t possibly hear. “Because I finally do.”
I shut my bedroom door. I don’t bother to turn on the light as I change into my boxers and a lacy camisole, wishing I could shed everything that’s gone wrong along with my clothes.
There’s enough strained daylight coming through my curtains for me to substitute Jen’s straight pins on my prom gown for safety pins and smooth the pleats in place to cover the metal clasps.
Following a knock at my door, Mom peeks inside.
I motion her in. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went to get some dinner. I suggested he go to cool off. When he comes back, I’ll put the sedatives in his drink.”
I nod, not feeling the least bit hungry, considering what we’re about to do. We’re going to knock out my father for no good reason. It’s the same thing my mother lived through for years at the asylum.
I can tell by her tight lips that she’s as uncomfortable as I am with the idea.
We sit together on my bed with my lights off and the aquarium glowing blue. My eels swim gracefully, like angels under water—a serene counterpoint to the emotional uproar in my head. A thrum of distant thunder echoes my unease.
“I’m sorry.” Mom fluffs my gown’s slip to a cloud of periwinkle netting. “Your father … he’s just out of his mind with worry. Once this is all behind us, he’ll make up with Jeb. I won’t let you go through what I did. He won’t send you to the asylum. Okay?”
I want to believe her, but a soul-deep foreboding is starting to wind through me. “Why can’t we reunite Dad with his memories? He would stop thinking we’re crazy all the time. And we could use his help tonight since Morpheus isn’t here.” My voice falters on Morpheus’s name.
Dad didn’t mention any corpses found wrapped up in the Silly String—large insects or otherwise.
“Sweetie, we can’t bring your dad into this. Those memories would hurt him.”
“More than he’s hurting now?”
Mom looks thoughtful. “I can’t even describe the horrors I saw when I watched his past. Can’t even conceive of what else he must’ve endured.”
I sit quietly, not sure I agree. If he was able to survive the looking-glass world as a child, surely he’s stronger than we’ve ever given him credit for.
I start to point that out, but Mom interrupts me. “Jeb asked to see you. He’s waiting out back under your willow tree.”
My jaw drops. She’s known about our sanctuary all along?
Mom presses her fingertip against my dimple to coax my mouth closed. “Allie, I’m not completely oblivious. I remember what it’s like to be a teenager in love.” She winks, and I smile back. “I’m going to take a shower and get ready. Make sure you don’t get caught in the rain and that you’re inside before Dad gets home.”
I pull on a pair of boots and a hoodie and trek through the garden. The plants and bugs are eerily quiet. The sky swirls overhead—a frothy gray that makes it look like six o’clock instead of four thirty. Cool wind snatches my hair and whips it around my face. The gusts are so loud I can’t hear the fountain gurgling.
Jeb’s already waiting for me, wearing a tight T-shirt with jeans, as if he couldn’t wait to shed Morpheus’s jacket.
He holds a fluttery curtain of willow leaves open, and I duck inside under the green canopy.
Crouching, I hug him. “I’m sorry. My dad didn’t mean any of it.”
“I know.” He kisses my temple and rakes away some leaves so I can sit. “I’m not here so you can pat my head and make me feel better.”