“I understand better than you might think,” he said.
She looked up and something fell into place between them. She was no longer the she-devil; maybe he was no longer the antihero.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to divulge . . .” She ruffled her hair. “What happened back then is irrelevant. The point is that Ella gave me the strength to pick up and go on. She turned me into a fighter. And now it’s time to repay the debt and . . . I don’t know what to do, how to be when I’m around her. I’m terrified that I can’t make it better. I’m terrified that no one can. Most of all, I’m terrified she’s giving up. And how can I be strong for Ella if I believe—”
“I know,” Felix said. “Trust me, I know.”
TWENTY-SIX
A bat swooped from the black line of ivy-wrapped tree trunks, and Ella shivered. Barely six o’clock, and the world was shrouded in night. The landscape lights, set on a timer, glowed like underwater orbs, but the house remained silent and dark. Had Harry not thought to welcome them home with lights?
Waiting with the passenger door open, Ella huddled in the jacket Felix had brought for the journey home. The jacket belonged to another life, her London life. For the last few years, it had been packed away in the back of the closet with cedar blocks to fend off moths. Felix must have dug through everything to find it—a romantic gesture only she would appreciate.
He crouched down and took her hands, rubbing them between his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to bring gloves.”
“It’s fine. I’m just happy to be home.” Anxiety crawled up her spine. Would it ever release her?
She wrapped her arms around Felix’s neck and buried her face in his warmth. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and carried her over the bridge. The wheelchair stayed in the car.
“You can put me down,” she said when they reached the front door.
“And miss carrying you over the threshold, my bride?”
Such exhaustion.
An unexpected smell of cinnamon welcomed them inside. Felix eased the door shut with his foot and carried her to his orange Jetson chair.
“Wait here while I unload the car,” he said. “Harry! We’re home.” Then he disappeared back into the night.
Whatever she had been expecting, it hadn’t been this unlit echo of her former life. None of the lights were on except for the light under the range hood, which she never used. This house needed lights all the time, unless it was mid-morning with the sun filtering through the trees into their bedroom. Duke Forest kept the rooms cool and shady, kept corners dark. And Felix had chosen rich woodland paint colors for the walls—deep reds and Robin Hood greens. Ella had wanted white. She’d wanted skylights; she’d wanted huge, funky light fixtures that screamed for attention. She had wanted to open up the house; Felix had wanted to close it in and create his very own fortress.
Subtle changes—laundry piled on the sofa, papers and files spilled across the dining room table—had erased her presence. The dining room was now Felix’s work space. It was one of his many contradictions: he demanded impossible levels of order in the hall, in the living room, in their bedroom, and yet his office looked like a set from a reality TV show on hoarding. Every scrap of paper had to be saved.
In the four weeks she’d been gone, the personality of the house had adapted to accommodate her absence. Everything was familiar; yet nothing was the same. The present and the past scrambled together, and suddenly she was the too-tall, uncoordinated girl praying not to be the last one chosen when teams were picked on the playground.
“Mooom!”
She wobbled up to a standing position as Harry threw himself into her arms with a gush of sound and energy.