Petermann grits his teeth for a moment, before inhaling. “Fine, I am sorry. I should have kept her, I should have asked her to stay on and work with me, but I was jealous. Selfish and competitive. And I suppose I still am. Otherwise I would have contacted her already.”
At this, Petermann takes both my hands in his. “Alice, I’m sorry. When you came in that day, I found you and Max in the system and I saw you’d both been under Margaret’s care. I knew she must’ve had something to do with your dreams, but instead of telling you how to find her, I wanted to fix it myself. I’m so sorry, Alice. I know all you ever wanted was answers.”
It’s taking me a moment to fully understand what I’m hearing. “You would’ve contacted her already because . . .”
Petermann is patient. “Because Margaret Yang is the woman who did this to you and Max, Alice. She’s the reason you dream of each other. She has to be. And she’s the only one who can fix it.”
OCTOBER 17th
I am thinking it’s a huge mistake that the Public Garden doesn’t offer more swan boat rides at night, because that’s where I am now, cruising along the pond under the stars. The Boston skyline looks down at me like a family over a newborn baby, and it’s pretty spectacular. Everywhere my gaze shifts, all around the edges of the pond, are cherry trees. Their blossoms are such a bright shade of pink they might as well be electric. That’s when I realize they are electric. The trees themselves aren’t growing petals at all, but hot-pink Christmas lights, casting us all in a rosy glow.
I turn to point this out to Oliver, but Oliver isn’t there. Max is.
“Hi,” is all he says, and he reaches out to take my hand. My whole body melts as I prepare for him to pull me to his chest, letting one hand rest at the base of my neck, tangled in my hair.
I want to wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head just under his chin. I’ve missed him so much.
But just before Max’s hand touches mine, he pulls back.
“What?” I ask.
“Did you feel that?” he asks, staring at his hand like it doesn’t belong to him.
“No?” I say, confused, and reach out to touch him. But this time I do feel it. It’s like our bodies are two magnets that are repelling the other. I can’t get close enough.
We let our hands drop to our sides and stare at each other, confused.
For the first time, I look ahead, and I see that this swan boat isn’t like the one Oliver and I took the other day. It’s being pedaled by an actual swan, a giant one with soft, luxurious feathers. I reach out and stroke its neck as if it were a pony.
At this, the swan turns around.
“Thank you,” it says. “That feels nice.”
“You’re welcome,” I say back. “You’re a very polite swan.”
“And you are a very skilled back scratcher,” it says.
“Should we go and find her?” the swan asks.
“Find who?” I say.
“Margaret Yang, of course!” the swan explains, pausing for a moment to prune itself. “It’s the only way to fix everything.”
I look to Max, sitting way too far away, and he just nods. “Let’s go and fix it,” he says. His expression is dead serious.
“Tomorrow?” I ask.
“First thing,” he replies. “Alice?”
“Yeah Max?”
Once again he tries to reach out and touch me, and once again his hand can’t break through. “I don’t like this,” he says.
“Me neither,” I say.
“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll see you soon,” I say.
26
Rio de Janeiro, 22 Miles
“WHAT ARE YOU doing?” my father asks, showing, uncharacteristically, that he is actually paying attention.
“Nothing,” I say, looking at him blankly over the top of my coffee mug.
“Your knee is jiggling, and it’s moving the entire table. I’m trying to do the crossword. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” I say. “I just have a few things on my mind.” Like will Max show up today? Did the plan we made in the swan dream hold true? I think about texting him and just asking, but decide against it. I haven’t heard from him in reality since our conversation in the library. Yes, there was something coming between us in the dream last night, too.
But what? I think as I stare off into space.
“You’re doing it again,” my dad says. “The leg thing. Why don’t you take Jerry for a walk? He has an uncanny ability to fall asleep on my foot, and he really needs the exercise.”
I do my best to steer Jerry away from the Public Garden, because it feels kind of funny going there right after I dreamed about it, but Jerry will have it no other way, pulling me through the gates like a furry Zamboni.
He immediately waddles straight for the pond and begins sniffing methodically around the exterior, as though he is tracking something. That duck, probably.
That’s when I see it. A small swan, floating alone in the water about twenty feet away. And it’s staring right into my eyes.
I stare back curiously. What it’s actually probably doing is eyeing Jerry, the furry hunting beast by my side, having witnessed the duck fiasco in the very same pond a week ago.
But that’s when the swan winks.