“I think she’d have let you if she could,” said Finley. “She wanted to come and be with you. She told me so.”
Eloise had been fighting cancer for the better part of seven years, Finley had learned. It had been in remission until very recently. When it returned, she refused treatment. It was a decision that she’d shared with no one, except her doctor.
Now, Finley stood at the landing, hearing the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Curious, she climbed down the stairs and was surprised to see Eliza and Betty Fitzpatrick in the foyer. She paused on the stairway and tried not to stare at Eliza, who looked pink and healthy, if a little haunted around the eyes.
“I’m sorry,” said Betty, when she saw Finley. “I know your family is grieving a loss. But Eliza wanted so badly to come, to thank you.”
“I’m sorry,” Eliza said. “I’m sorry you lost your grandmother.”
She was a sliver of a girl, with a Dreamer’s eyes, a bright shine. What else would Eliza see with those eyes? Finley hoped nothing but love and light and laughter. But that wasn’t the way of things, was it?
“She said that it was her time to go,” said Finley, happy to be able to talk about it with someone who could understand. “You couldn’t have done it. And neither could I. It wasn’t our time. Neither of us could have showed them the way home.”
“Real Penny wanted me to do it.”
“She was as lost as any of them,” said Finley. She told Eliza about the fire, how Penny had killed herself to escape the father who abused her and the mother who didn’t believe her. But the girl already knew.
“She didn’t know what she was asking,” Finley said. “They don’t always know.”
Eliza nodded grimly, and Finley led her over to the couch and took her hands.
“My grandmother told me that you would not be scarred by what’s happened to you,” said Finley. “That you will move through the pain and trauma in time, and learn to honor the strength and specialness inside you. Can you feel that?”
Eliza looked toward where her mother had stood and nodded uncertainly.
“I have nightmares,” she said, starting to shake. “I still see him.”
“He’s gone,” she said. “Detective Ferrigno shot him and he fell down the hole.”
“They never found him.”
“He’s gone,” said Finley. She squeezed Eliza’s hands hard. “I swear he’ll never hurt you or anyone ever again.”
“And Bobo?”
“He’s in the hospital,” said Finley. “He won’t be coming out. Not anytime soon.”
The girl’s mouth was just a thin line, her eyes a gray field of sadness. But she’d be happy again one day. Eloise had promised that, and she had never been wrong once.
“I’m sorry you lost her,” said Eliza again.
“She’s with me,” Finley said, just to make the girl feel better. But as the words passed her lips, she knew it was true. She felt stronger than she had in weeks.
“You gave me my daughter back,” Betty said at the door when they left. Her eyes brimmed wet with happiness. “I don’t know how you did it, but you found her. We’ve lost so much—but there are no words for my gratitude.”
“Just honor her,” said Finley. “Honor who she is and what she is. Listen to her, so that she can learn to listen to herself.”
“I will,” said Betty, the words clearly resonating. “I will.”
*
Finley didn’t make it to class. Instead, Alfie, Amanda, and Finley tended Eloise’s garden. They cleared the overgrowth and trimmed the healthy perennials. Eloise had neglected to clear the annuals, which Finley took to mean that she hadn’t had the energy to do it. Why hadn’t she asked Finley? Because if she had, then Finley would have known that Eloise was sick. And Eloise hadn’t wanted her to know that.
Dear Finley,
Don’t be angry. I know you are. You’re just like your Aunt Emily that way. You’d rather be angry than sad. There’s so much more power in that, or so it seems. Remember it’s okay to be sad, to feel it and then move through.
Their breath came out in clouds as they raked the beds and pulled the weeds, which were withered and brown from the cold. It hadn’t snowed again since that first snowfall, but the ground was hard and the sky was a persistent gray.
“This is what I hate about the Northeast,” said Amanda, who also hated gardening. “You don’t see the goddamn sky from November through March.”
“It’s not that bad,” said Finley, seeking just one patch of blue to point at. But there was nothing. Amanda blew out a breath but didn’t argue. She still had that hollowed look that grief gave a person, that sinking under the eyes, that thinness to the mouth. It had made her quieter, less eager to take up an argument.
“I’m going in to make some hot chocolate,” Amanda said after a while. She leaned her shovel against the house and peeled off her gloves.
“Sweet,” said Alfie. He dropped his rake and rubbed his hands together. It was his last weekend. On Monday, he was going back to Seattle. “I’ll help.”