Ling nodded. “People go to sleep and they can’t wake up. They’re dying from it.” Ling took a deep breath. “My friend George Huang is sick from it. His sister let me take his track medal in the hope that I could find him in the dream world tonight.”
“Do you think that’s wise if he’s sick?”
“I had to try. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any luck. Whatever dreams he’s having are out of my reach. Have you had any walks lately that seemed as if the person dreaming was ill somehow?”
“No. All my dreams have been beautiful. But I will pray for your friend, George Huang.” Wai-Mae gave Ling a shy sideways glance. “And you and I are becoming friends, too, aren’t we?”
Ling wasn’t sure that you could call someone you’d only met inside a dream a true friend. But Wai-Mae was on her way to New York, and for a moment, Ling imagined how fun it would be to parade past Lee Fan and Gracie with Wai-Mae, knowing that they shared an incredible secret all their own, something far beyond Gracie’s and Lee Fan’s limited comprehension.
“Yes,” Ling answered. “I suppose we are.”
Wai-Mae smiled. “I am so happy! What would you like to do now, friend?”
Ling took in the wide, sparkling streets of the village, the misty forest, and the purple mountains just beyond it all. It was all there waiting for her to explore, to claim, as if there were no limits. For just a little while, she wanted to be free.
“Let’s run,” she said.
On the path, Henry smelled gardenia and woodsmoke. He heard Gaspard barking, and that was enough to make him run the rest of the way. Splinters of summer-gold sunshine pierced the soft white flesh of the clouds above the bayou, shining down on Louis, who waved from the front porch, a fishing pole hoisted onto his shoulder, Gaspard at his feet.
“Henri!” He grinned. “Hurry up! Fish are bitin’!”
The old blue rowboat bobbed on the water. Another fishing pole leaned against the side, along with a battered metal pail knotted with a length of thick rope. Henry took a seat on one side, and Louis sat opposite him, paddling them down the river. When they came to a shady spot, he and Henry cast their lines and waited.
“Just like old times,” Henry said.
The rowboat rocked gently on the current as Henry told Louis about meeting Theta and their life at the Bennington and with the Ziegfeld Follies, the songs Henry was writing and trying to publish, the nightclubs and the parties.
“Maybe you got yourself a fancy New York fella now,” Louis said, keeping his eyes on the fishing pole.
There had been other boys, definitely. But none of them was Louis.
“Louis, I want to see you,” Henry said. “Come to New York. You’d love it! I’d take you to the Follies and up to Harlem to the jazz clubs. And Louis, there are places for fellows like us. Places where we can be together, where we can hold hands and dance and kiss without hiding. It isn’t like Louisiana.”
“Always did want to see the big city. It true they got alligators in the sewers?”
“No.” Henry laughed. “But the swells have got alligator bags at the parties.”
“Well, I surely would like to see that.”
Henry’s grin was short-lived. “But where should I send the train ticket? If my letters didn’t reach you at Celeste’s, then there’s no guarantee we can trust somebody to deliver it.”
Louis rubbed his chin, thinking. “Got a cousin—Johnny Babineaux—works over at the post office in Lafayette Square. You can send it care o’ him there.”
“I’ll buy the ticket tomorrow, first thing!” Tears welled up in Henry’s eyes. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“Well, I guess you got to pick something else to be afraid of, then,” Louis said.
More than anything, Henry wanted to hold Louis. Two years was a very long time. He couldn’t stand another minute of separation. He reached for Louis’s hand, and this time, nothing stood between them. Louis’s fingers, which Henry hadn’t felt in far too long, were still wet and cold from the river. Fighting the ache in the back of his throat, Henry ran a finger across Louis’s cheeks and nose, resting it against his full lips.