Page 29 of Never Landing

And why.

I swallowed hard and turned my face down to stare at my lap. “He, um, he was my first love. I won’t lie, I’m feeling a little creepy about that right now. Even though I’m also...I mean, he’s still Peter.” I glanced up at her, and then away, and I could feel the justifications sliding off my tongue, oily and strange. “He’s not exactly the same as when we were fourteen. He doesn’t only look older. He acts older. He had a bad moment, went for a walk to think about it, and he was back less than an hour later. He didn’t just run off and brood all night or something.”

She leaned forward, all the way down, till I was once again looking at her. “It’s okay, Everett. He came out of the woods because he feels the same way. That connection between you two isn’t a bad thing in this case. It’s good, and strong, and important. Given your reaction, I don’t need to tell you not to press for more and faster than he wants. Peter is a smart man. And I do mean man. You need to trust him to know what he’s ready for, and let him take the lead. He’s not fourteen. He’s not a teenager at all. He’s a hundred and...seventy?”

“Sixty-seven,” I said, nodding.

She blinked and shook her head in amazement. “You know, we’ve done some research, and he was the first. Not anywhere obviously, but here in Cider Landing. He was the first, and since then, it’s happened sometimes. It was just hard to follow the progression because at first it was mostly parents who thought their child wasn’t their child. Then about thirty years ago it switched. No more replacements, only disappearances.”

I shuddered at the thought. Only disappearances. Parents who would forever think their child was probably, if not certainly, dead. What a nightmare.

“Anyway,” she went on. “That’s probably not relevant to you and Peter. If you need someone to talk to, I’ll make arrangements for you. We already break a lot of rules with lost children because—I mean, technically, I shouldn’t be seeing him at all. He’s not quite my great-great-great grandfather. He is, he isn’t, and he’s going to be someone else entirely in the future. My point is that you can trust Peter to know his mind, and take care of himself, as long as you’re also there for him. Because like I said, he came out of the woods for you. It’s good if he continues to have you as a reason to stay out. Then when he’s better, you’ll both be good and attached. So the only proper time to make a run for it is now. If not? Well, like I said, I had a client who married the boy she came out of the woods for a few years later. If you can see yourself in that situation? Congratulations. And...thank you, actually.” My head snapped up and I stared at her as she surreptitiously reached up to wipe one eye. “We always thought Peter was one of the children in the woods, but we didn’t know. No one can just wander in and find them, so it was only ever a guess.”

“And your . . . your great-great-great grandfather?”

“He was who he was. A good man. Strong. Smart. Changed the world in his small way. And his personal story was tragic in a different way than he realized, but tragic nonetheless. Buthe had a long, mostly happy life, and he was satisfied with it. That’s all that matters. Peter isn’t him. He could be part of the current Hawking clan as a cousin pretty easily if he wants. We’re a big family, and it’s easy to slip someone in there. You know, from Great Aunt Eloise’s side, or something like that. But that’s entirely up to Peter. I can understand him wanting that, or wanting nothing to do with it. All we can do is offer him his options, and let him decide.”

It sounded so easy when she said it like that. Give Peter the options and let him decide. Funny thing was, I’d been doing that for years. When I was a teenager, my parents had been the ones with the options, and they’d decided to take everything I cared about away from me. Then the same with Mr. Warren. He’d been the one with the choices, and he’d chosen to fuck me over.

Peter being the one with the choices?

That actually didn’t worry me.

The house still worried me. My job, or probable lack thereof come January, worried me. But Peter making decisions? That didn’t scare me at all.

18

Peter

Next Thursday night, I found Everett at the kitchen table on his laptop. He’d been spending more time there, searching for freelance jobs, which could actually be any kind of job and didn’t have anything more to do with freedom than jobs, in general, seemed to have.

Finding a freelance job would just mean that Everett could work for himself. He’d be his own boss, and he’d be able to work from home if he wanted.

Well, from here.

Everett hadn’t lived in Cider Landing in years, but he was talking about staying. He said his grandma’s house needed his attention, but I knew it was more than that. It was me, too, but...well, I wasn’t going to tell him to leave, and I wasn’t sure that I could stand any more change than growing up all at once.

Heck, even going to sleep in a proper house with walls and a roof and a real bed was different from anything I’d ever done before. I liked it—it was way more comfortable than the ground, even when I hadn’t really felt cold or wet or misery like I could now.

Wherever Everett was turned cozy and warm and welcoming in my head. I didn’t want to leave. But if Everett did—well, I’d go with him. If he wanted me to be with him, I’d go anywhere.

“Everything okay?” Everett asked as he looked up from his computer screen. He had a mug of tea beside him, but it looked empty now. Still, the room smelled kind of floral and herby and nice.

“Very okay. Can I ask you something?”

When I sat, Everett pushed his laptop back a couple inches to give me his full attention. “What’s up?”

“Could we do Christmas?”

Everett watched me, his brows curving down into concerned little “u”s. “What do you mean? Like the whole baby Jesus in a manger thing or?—?”

A laugh burst out of me. “Oh, um, no. I...don’t think anything religious? And I have some pretty mixed feelings about a bearded fae guy slipping down our chimney to take or leave anything in our house.” I shrugged and fiddled with the handle of his mug. “Nothing major. Just...like, maybe we could put up some lights? And make cookies. We don’t need to do presents or anything.” Truth told, I had more than I’d ever dreamed of already. “Dr. Hawking said it’s important to make traditions, even if they’re not attached to anything religious.”

She said it might help me develop a sense of purpose and find my footing outside of the forest. I was struggling with that some. Sure, I’d gone to therapy a few times now, and I liked talking to Dr. Hawking well enough. Then Everett and I had gone to the store together a couple times, but Everett had projects.

I felt like I should try to find some of my own, but I wasn’t sure where to start. Dr. Hawking said the holidays were a good place to try out some new things.

“Sure. Cookies are easy enough.” Everett’s smile softened. “I’d totally have planned something, I just...kind of got out of the habit of doing the whole Christmas thing.”

---