They ate until there was nothing left but crumbs. They ate until their hands, their shirts, their faces—somehow, even their necks—were sticky with grease and frosting. They ate until the tide had receded, until the sun sat overhead, until X was so high on syrup and cake that he was hopping jubilantly around the tiny hut and doing impressions of Ripper, Dervish, and the Russian guard. Zoe laughed, remembering Banger and all his candy bars. Come to me, ye Men of the Lowlands, she thought, and I shall give you sugar! And maybe even caffeine!
Seeing X so happy calmed everything inside her. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible. She had gotten so used to pain and to loss and to impossible questions—and yet right here in front of her was love, was hope, was an answer.
After the inevitable sugar crash, X slept for hours, his long legs sticking out of the hut. Zoe watched him every moment, just as he had watched over her all night. Her father had abandoned her, but X never would. Not willingly. She smoothed his hair as best she could with her hands. She traced the tattoos on his arms with her fingers: the giraffe, the monkey, a knife, a tree, a band of stars. She worried that it was wrong to touch him while he slept, but she couldn’t help herself. And, anyway, she could have sworn that his breathing deepened whenever her skin touched his. She pressed her lips to the insides of his wrists and the soft hollow at the base of his throat. She kissed his fingers one by one, and took them into her mouth. She did it all softly so he wouldn’t wake. Her face flushed with heat. Everything tasted of maple syrup.
They were so close to Zoe’s father that the Trembling returned as X slept. Being with Zoe always quieted his body, but never cured it altogether. X’s skin became damp and feverish. Zoe opened his shirt wide to let the air cool him, allowing herself the brief pleasure of placing her palm against his chest and feeling his heart pump beneath her hand. As the hours passed, the sickness grew stronger. X shook and thrashed his head in his sleep.
Zoe’s phone trilled in her coat.
The screen said ME!!! was calling. Jonah had programmed himself in.
She stepped down the rickety ladder so X wouldn’t wake, and balanced on one of the narrow rungs. Birds that had drifted in from the water were tracing circles around her. The waves roiled just below her feet.
Jonah began talking before she’d even said hello.
“Why aren’t you here?” he said. “Where are you? What are you doing?”
Zoe answered the least complicated of the questions.
“I’m looking at the ocean,” she said.
“Where is there an ocean?” said Jonah suspiciously. “We don’t have an ocean.”
“I’ll tell you everything when I see you, bug,” she said. “I can’t talk right now.”
“Don’t hang up!” he said. “If you hang up, I will call back sixteen times! You have to come home, Zoe. Right now! Mom said you’ll come home when you’re ready, but I’m ready right now!”
“I can’t come yet,” she said. “Soon.”
“I’m all by myself!” he said.
“Wait,” she said. “Why?”
Jonah gave an exasperated grunt, then poured out the following without pausing to breathe: “Rufus is late ’cause he got in an accident—the bear fell off his van, I guess?—and Mom couldn’t wait ’cause she had to go to work, and now I’m alone and I hate it and it’s scary, and why do you have to look at the ocean when we have stuff right here you can look at?”
It took five minutes to get him off the phone.
Zoe pocketed her cell and climbed the ladder. The birds sensed food now. Zoe eyed them anxiously. Their bodies, their bills, their moist little eyes—everything was jet-black, except for their wings (which had streaks of white) and their legs and feet (which were bright red and reminded her, strangely, of the bottoms of expensive shoes). She ducked into the hut and began bundling up the bags.
She wasn’t fast enough: one of the birds dove through the door.
The instant it was in the hut, it freaked out. It banged against the ceiling and walls, trying to escape. Zoe saw X register the noise in his sleep. She was desperate for him to rest and wanted to protect him like he had protected her, but she just couldn’t drive the bird out. She felt sure it’d been sent to remind them that there could be no sleeping—no touching, no forgetting, no relief—while the Lowlands were watching.
Zoe finally trapped the bird in X’s coat. She carried it to the door. She released it, watched it disappear over the waves, then sank down in the doorway. The agitation had pushed her over the edge. X, who’d slept through all the commotion, woke up the instant she began crying. She found that moving somehow: that he could ignore anything but her.
He touched her shoulder.
“I dreamed you were kissing me,” he said. “I dreamed you were kissing my fingers, my hands, my throat.”
Zoe turned and smiled guiltily.
“Weird,” she said.
She dried her eyes on her sleeves, embarrassed that something as random as a bird had upset her.
“Can you stand?” she said.
He nodded and stood.
“Can you walk?” she said.
He nodded again.
“It’s time to find my father,” she said. “I’ve made a decision.”
X nodded a third time, and took his coat from her. Even the simple act of pulling it over his shoulders seemed to exhaust him.
“What is your decision?” he said. “I must know.”