Page 14 of The Luminaries
“Psshhh.” Darian rolls his eyes—though Winnie doesn’t miss the blush creeping up his neck. “He just means his dad finally said it was okay for him to go into medical training instead.”
“That too.” Andrew grins and shoves the cake back Winnie’s way. She swipes off the other candle (before he can change his mind) and sucks at the frosting. Her stomach gurgles.
“It’s not actual hunting gear. It’s just meant for training.” Darian opens the vest in arriiiiippp!of Velcro. “But at least you won’t be going into the woods without any protection.” He drapes the pieces around her and she sets down the candle. Vest first, thigh shields next.
“It’s…” She swallows. “It’s too big.”
Darian pauses his Velcro closure. “You don’t have to do this, Win.”
“I do.”
“If you fail—”
“Iwon’tfail.” She doesn’t want to have this conversation again. She doesn’t want to see how much he doesn’t believe in her.
And above all, she doesn’t want to see how much hope is still hiding behind his eyes. He wants her to succeed as much as she does. He wants to be welcomed by the Council; he wants their family to be respected again; he wants to make enough money that Andrew isn’t paying most of the rent.
When Dad disappeared, Darian had been hurt more than any of them. Darian and Dad didn’t just have similar facial features; they walked and talked and organized alike. Where Winnie was all hard edges like Mom, Darian was soft and gentle like Dad.
And where Winnie and Dad had shared games together—scavenger hunts and secret codes—Darian had shared the deep stuff with Dad. The books and music, the late-night philosophy debates and disagreements over local politics. Most special of all, though, Darian had shared Dad’s love of plants and growing wild things.
There is not a single piece of greenery in his apartment now.
There is, however, a framed drawing that Winnie made of Darian and Andrew holding hands and smiling. It’s not the best sketch Winniehas ever made—she was only twelve and still honing human proportions, so Darian’s head looks a bit vampiric while Andrew’s torso is sort of droll-like—but it’s obviously them in the drawing, and Winnie obviously sketched it with lots of love.
Because Darian and Andrew—and of course Mom too—are the most important people in Winnie’s life. This is why Winnieknowsshe isn’t going to fail. There’s no room for it. No second chances. No summer programs at Heritage where she will “flourish.” In seven hours, she will be going into the forest. In five hours, she will be doing what she has been practicing, and she will make her family whole again.
“Thanks for the hunter stuff,” she tells Andrew, stripping off the gear.Rrrrripppp, rrripppp, rrrippp.“And for the cake too. I’ll eat it tomorrowafter”—she hits Darian with her most forceful, Wednesday stare—“I pass the trial.” Then she stuffs the Kevlar into her backpack.
And Darian sighs. “Come on, then. Let’s get you home. Mom’s probably wondering where you are.”
Dinner with Mom is a quiet affair in the family kitchen. Steam coats the lone window over the crooked farmhouse sink, despite the draft that scourges through said window (because it is very old and the sash doesn’t close properly).
“More birthday lasagna?” Mom offers the ceramic dish. She ran out of mozzarella and substituted pepper jack, which has definitely changed the overall flavor. It is less lasagna now and more quesadilla.
“I’m good,” Winnie says. It was a struggle to get the first serving down. She’s too nervous for food. Mom starts scooping out the lasagna anyway. “No, no—Mom.” Winnie grabs her wrist. “I said I don’t want any more.”
“Oh.” Mom’s forehead knits and she drops the serving spoon back into the lasagna. “Sorry.” She shoots to her feet and hurries to the sink, which is filled with dishes from Mom’s rare attempt to cook.
The water turns on; Mom hums the Beach Boys and starts cleaning in a spray of water. She is even more wound up than usual, and as relieved as Winnie is that Mom isn’t noticing her own anxiety, she also wishes Mom could just settle down.
But it’s always like this on her birthday. Every year, Dad sends a card via mysterious means, and Mom wages an inner war over whether or not to share it—not with Winnie, of course. Shenevershares it with Winnie, and Winnie only even knows the cards exist because two years ago, she found one before Mom did. It had no return address, but she’d recognized Dad’s handwriting immediately.
He always wrote in print (“Who has time for cursive?” he’d say) and he always dotted hisi’s at the end, so the dots were never quite over the proper letter. Plus, it said very obviously,For my daughter Winnie.
She did not open the letter, because she didn’t and still doesn’t care what Dad might have to say to her. Instead she returned the envelope to the mailbox before Mom would realize she’d seen it, and then she’d waited to see what Mom would do.
What Mom had done was exactly what Mom is doing now. At first, Winnie had assumed Mom was debating whether or not to deliver it to Winnie… but last year, she’d overheard Mom muttering, “The cause above all else. Loyalty through and through,” before she’d shoved the letter in her purse and vanished.
Winnie can only assume Mom will make the same decision this year: she will deliver it to the Council. And that is fine by her. Let the Luminaries have the card. Let the Luminaries deal with her dad.
“I’m gonna go do some homework,” Winnie says, and since it isn’ttechnicallya lie—she’ll be preparing for the trial, which is work done at home—the words come out only partially stilted. “And then I’ll probably go to bed.” This is also not a lie, since Winniewillget there eventually.
Mom just nods from the sink and tries for a smile. “Your glasses look really good, Winnebago. Did they work okay?”
Winnie nods. “They worked great. Thanks, Mom. And thanks for dinner.”
Mom’s smile relaxes. She uses a soapy hand to swipe hair from her eyes, and she seems to be taking in Winnie for the first time since getting home. Like really taking her in, gaze roaming and expression softening, as if a forest mist has swept in to blur away the edges she and Winnie share. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”
