A Phantom Enchantment (17 page)

“How long are you home for?” Michelle asked, bringing me back to reality.

“Just a few more days,” I said.

“Aw, you can't stay longer?” Jess said.

“No, the second semester starts next week, and we have to get working on our opera.” I told them all about the competition at school and how we'd advanced to the second round and would perform our opera in April.

“We?” Michelle said. “Is that you and Elise?”

“Sort of,” I said. “She was working with another team, but she came back to ours when her relationship with the writer went sour.”

“Same old Elise,” Jess said.

Michelle raised an eyebrow. “So she and Owen are . . .”

“Over,” I said. “I think.”

“Hmmm.”

“What?” I said.

“I'm getting the feeling that there's more to this story,” she said.

“Like what?” Jess asked, her eyes hungry for gossip. “Oh, don't tell me you and Owen are . . . complicated again.”

“Complicated doesn't begin to cover it,” I said. And then I sighed and told them about the past few months—the singing lessons, the almost-kiss in Arles, the masquerade ball.

“I always thought you'd be great together,” Michelle said. “Well, once I stopped dating him.”

“Ha,” Jess said. “Once you came to your senses, you mean.”

“Exactly,” Michelle said, leaning in to give Jess a kiss.

“Do you have feelings for him?” Jess asked.

“Of course,” I said. “He's one of my best friends. And lately, he's been so there for me, but sometimes I wonder whether . . . Oh, I don't know what to think.”

Both of them looked at me sympathetically but with that air of detachment of people who no longer have to worry about their love lives. “What are you going to tell Gray?” Michelle asked.

I dropped a clam strip back on my plate, no longer hungry. “I don't know,” I said. “I really don't.”

C
HAPTER
17

M
ichelle's question weighed on me all night as I tried to sleep, thoughts of Owen and Gray swirling through my head with all the accompanying guilt and turmoil.

When my dad and I got to the hospital the next day, Gray was awake, sitting up, even. He had some color in his cheeks and looked so much more alive than before. I smiled at him, and the smile he returned nearly undid me since I hadn't seen it in so long.

My dad gave him an uncharacteristic hug, and they managed to have a stilted conversation that never even hinted at the nightmare Gray had endured. Then my dad made some obvious excuse to leave the room so we could be alone, and I sat down beside Gray like I had yesterday. His hand reached for mine this time, and I was surprised how much force was in his squeeze.

“You seem better today,” I said. “Stronger.”

“I want to kiss you so bad,” he said, ignoring my observation. “If only I wasn't hooked up to this contraption.” A nasogastric tube was feeding him a constant stream of liquids and nutrients to compensate for months of dehydration and malnutrition.

“I know,” I said, touching his cheek. “It's not fair.”

He must have sensed some hesitation in my voice because he asked me, “Do I look horrible?”

“No,” I said. “Just thinner. And tanner.”

“Tanner?” he said. “My skin's like shoe leather. And what about this hair? The first thing I want to do when I get out of here, other than kiss you, is get a haircut.”

“Why wait? Give me a razor, and I'll shear it off now,” I said, reaching out to touch his new curls. He laughed a little but it seemed to pain him somewhere in his ribs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Come here,” he said, his voice soft and husky.

He patted the spot next to him on the bed, and I timidly crawled in beside him. There was barely room for me there, so I had to cling to his body to balance myself, but I was afraid of hurting him. I was also nervous being this close to him. We hadn't been this intimate since the beginning of last summer before he left for his EMT training.

I nuzzled his neck like I used to do, trying to recapture some of the familiarity and comfort I used to feel around Gray. I had always loved this part of him—that hollow between his head and shoulder blade that smelled of his cologne, like the beach at nighttime. But he smelled different now. It made sense; he had been out on the ocean for two months with little water or nourishment and had survived an ordeal beyond my comprehension. In a sense, he was a different person. But it didn't make it any less disconcerting that I felt ill at ease with him, like I was cuddling with a stranger.

I was trying hard not to let my discomfort show, but Gray was intuitive like that, especially with me. “You're not the same with me,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know. Just . . . this feels different.”

“It's because you're so much thinner,” I said. “I guess I'm being careful with you.”

“Because I've grown so weak,” he said. “And you're so much stronger. I must disgust you now.”

“No, Gray. Why would you say that?” I said, feeling unsettled by the similarity between this conversation and the one we'd had on the beach in my nightmares.

“Why wouldn't you be? I mean, look at me. I'm a shell of a man, and you—you're so beautiful. And you've been in Paris, learning new things and meeting new people. I bet you can't wait to get back.”

“No, it isn't like that,” I said. “I'm glad to be here with you right now. You have no idea how much I missed you. I'm strong because I had to be strong to live without you. But I never stopped loving you. I never stopped hoping you were alive.”

He turned his head away. “That's not entirely true, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just . . . it's stupid, really. But I could have sworn you were there with me. Out on that life raft. Making sure I held on. But sometimes I felt you letting go. Giving up. Like I said, it's stupid. I'm sure I was just hallucinating.”

“No, Gray, it was more than that, and you know it. I was there for you. I was strong for you.”

“But you must have had moments when you doubted. When you thought I was gone. It would make sense that you'd move on.”

“But I never did, Gray,” I said. “I waited for you. It's always been me and you. Nothing could change that.”

I'd known Gray since we were little kids. We had a history together. A connection that went beyond time and space, maybe even beyond death. I had to believe Gray had come back to me for a reason.

“The Coast Guard is giving me a few months' leave to recuperate,” he said. “They'll be keeping close tabs on me to make sure I'm ready to return to service. But I want to come visit you in Paris once I'm strong enough. The Coast Guard will pay for the trip. I mean, if you want me to come.”

“Of course I do,” I said. “Oh, Gray, I'm so glad you're back.” I curled against his body, trying to summon the muscle memory of this act, to remember how good it used to feel to have our bodies pressed against each other, so close we almost merged into one. But now lying right beside him, I couldn't have felt more far away. What was keeping me so detached? The fact that I was leaving in a few days?

I pulled away and stared into his eyes, trying to find that warm place again, that frisson that drew us helplessly toward each other and made every moment feel electric.

“I never thought I'd see you again,” he said.

“I know.” I felt the tears pooling in my eyes. “It's so strange having you right here under my fingertips. I keep wanting to pinch you.”

“It's strange for me, too,” he said. “I wake up in a cold sweat sometimes, and I'm back in the life raft, cold and wet, and the currents are making me sick to my stomach and the sharks are nosing at my legs from beneath the raft, and I'm so thirsty I think about killing myself just so I won't feel that hunger anymore, and then I open my eyes and I see you and I hear your voice, and I think it's the most miraculous thing that I'm alive.”

I reached over and stopped a tear from falling down his cheek and then I kissed the same place, right below his temple, tasting the salt of his tears, imagining that he still carried the scent of the sea on him.

This has to be right,
I thought.
I wished for this. I did a spell. And the universe gave Gray back to me. I have to be grateful and do whatever I can to deserve this gift. And maybe that means staying.

As my dad and I left the hospital together, I felt frustrated that I couldn't talk to him about my dilemma. I already knew where he stood. He wanted me to stay in Hull's Cove, finish my senior year at Lockwood, and get back together with Gray as if nothing had changed.

But something had changed. I had changed.

I thought about the Scorpio dog tag, how I'd lost it in Arles. I hadn't had the heart to tell Gray. But it seemed significant somehow.

I wished I could talk to my mother. She had appeared to me many times in my dreams, and I knew I could call on her when I needed to. But I wasn't sure if the voice whispering back to me was really her or just my own subconscious telling me what I knew to be true.

The next day was New Year's Eve. I spent most of the afternoon with Gray, planning our itinerary for when he came to Paris. I didn't let on that I was considering not going back because it might give him false hopes that would make my decision that much harder.

My dad had actually called Lockwood to ask about the possibility of me returning for second semester. Elise's father had taken over as interim headmaster when our old headmaster resigned, and with my father so adept at expressing his fatherly concern for my best interests, Mr. Fairchild didn't see any problems with me finishing my year at Lockwood.

The one person I hadn't talked to about all of this was Owen. I'd been texting him the entire trip, giving him updates on Gray's condition, but I'd avoided talking to him on the phone, precisely because I knew how much his opinion meant to me. But today being New Year's Eve, I couldn't help but think about last year when we'd spent New Year's together and had almost kissed on the beach. The entire history of our relationship seemed to consist of a series of almosts.

That night, my dad and Barbara went into Boston for a New Year's bash like they always did, and Grandma and I were on our own, with no particular plans to celebrate. We should have been partying wildly. This past year had been pretty grim; the next one couldn't help but be better, right?

Grandma was watching a backlog of digitally recorded episodes of her favorite soap opera,
Salem General,
about a hospital beset not only by the usual medical maladies and melodrama but also by a bevy of witches and ghosts. I only watched it every now and then and always with my grandma, but it was pretty easy to get caught up on the story line.

“Oh my God, is that Dr. Melbourne?” I said. “I thought he was dead. He hasn't been on the show in, like, three years.”

“They wanted to bring him back for the final season,” my grandma explained. “It turned out he was in Haiti during the earthquake and got amnesia and didn't remember who he was. But he recalled all of his medical training, so he started working at a clinic there until, one day, he finds this shell on the beach, just like the shell he wore around his neck. And suddenly he remembers all about Megan and their kids and about his job at Salem General.”

“Deus ex machina saves the day,” I said.

“What?”

“Oh, it's this term I learned in AP English. It's when a conflict gets resolved by divine intervention.”

“Oh,” she said, turning the TV to mute as the credits rolled. “Like a miracle.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, his resurrection wasn't exactly a miracle,” she said. “Because the reason he is suddenly back from the dead is that's he's a zombie now.”

“You're kidding.”

“This is
Salem General,
you know? Where Soap Meets Scares. Speaking of which, any chance of
scaring
up some champagne around here?”

I laughed. “I don't think so, but I can put some seltzer in your chardonnay.”

“Good enough,” she said.

I went and retrieved us some champagne flutes, thinking about the concept of deus ex machina. In literature, it was often seen as a cop-out, an easy way for the author to get the protagonist out of a sticky situation. But here I'd experienced my own real-life intervention.

Sometimes I wished I believed in God in that unequivocal way others did. While I did believe in a cosmic force that had played some role in our creation, I had no idea what form it took or how much it actually intervened in human endeavors.

Maybe the return of Gray was just the natural order of things, not the answer to a prayer to Saint Anthony or the consequence of some voodoo spell. Gray was a highly trained Coast Guard rescue swimmer who had secured a life raft before he'd disappeared. Was it really so miraculous that he had survived? Or was it just Gray's stubborn will to live?

“Grandma,” I said, handing her a glass. “Do you think Gray's return is a miracle?”

“A miracle,” she repeated. “Maybe. Who knows? If you figure out the ways of the universe, let me know, will you?”

I sat beside her, and we clinked our glasses to a happier new year.

“What's wrong?” she said, reading my thoughts.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“Emma, I know you. And you have those little frown lines forming on your forehead. Spill it.”

“I don't know, Grandma,” I said. “I'm confused. Dad thinks I should stay here for the rest of my senior year now that Gray is back.”

“And not go back to Paris?”

“Exactly.”

“Hmmm,” she said.

“He even played the ‘Grandma won't be around forever' card.”

“He did not!” she said. “Now I'm offended. I actually did plan on hanging around forever.” She smirked at me, and I laughed. “Well, what do you want to do, Emma? What's your heart telling you?”

“That's just it,” I said. “My heart is torn. On the one hand, I don't want to give up Paris and the opera and all I've worked so hard to accomplish. But on the other hand, there's Gray. I wished and prayed so hard for this, for Gray to come back to me, and now that he has, I can't abandon him, can I?”

She took a long sip of her drink, then set the glass down. “Wishes and prayers are important, Emma. They express what we want, or at least what we think we want. But it's our actions that define us. You've got to decide how you want to define yourself. By making other people happy? Or by making yourself happy.”