Page 100 of The Vanishing Place
“I’ve missed you, Effie.”
The silence thickened as they stared at each other, broken only by their panted breaths and the whistling of the salt breeze. Effie leaned in and moved her mouth toward his. Like slipping into a memory.
But then Lewis dipped his head, and Effie’s fifteen-year-old heart remembered; it felt every crack.
Their foreheads touched, and Lewis let out a breath.
“I can’t,” he murmured. “Not like this.”
His words—the hot, familiar sting of them—made Effie step back, like fingers pulled from a flame.
“You’re upset,” he said. “And angry. Everything with the girl, and your family.” He tried to find her eyes. “I don’t want to take advantage.”
“No,” she stammered, shaking her head. “No. This is about you,notme. It’s always been you who…”
Who said no. Who married someone else.
She clenched her jaw and turned away. The first drops of rain fell from the sky as she started to walk back to the station. But she’d only made it three steps when his hand gripped her arm.
“Effie—”
“What?”
He just stood there, his fingers digging into her skin, as the drizzle grew heavier and water dripped from his brow and cheeks.
“You can’t stop me from going back there,” she said eventually, her voice raised over the rain. “They’re my family. My responsibility.”
“No.” Lewis released her arm. “I can’t. But I’m hoping you’llrealize that there’s something much more important waiting for you right here.”
Effie stood silent.
“The girl needs you,” he said.
The girl.Not him. Never Lewis.
Effie turned and walked away without looking back. She’d looked back before, and it had nearly broken her.
—
Effie stirred in her bed, the room flooded by the darkness of the small hours, and pulled at the covers. But something stopped her.
A weight. A child.
Anya was there. In Effie’s bed.
Effie stiffened, afraid to move. Afraid to wake the tiny sleeping creature that had burrowed in next to her. Effie lay on her back, soundless and still, as a warmth spread through her body and she waited for sleep to take her. For morning, and the choices that came with it.
When she opened her eyes again, the room was bright, doused in natural light, and the duvet was tucked in around her.
But Anya was gone.
Effie threw the covers off, fully awake, and rushed past the rucksack she’d packed and left at the door—a maybe plan. She made it to the kitchen, her entire body pounding, before the hammering in her heart slowed.
Anya was there, sat at the table.
“Porridge?” Anya asked, pushing a bowl toward her.
“Yes.” Effie swallowed, the thrum not quite gone from her skin, and took the seat next to her. “Yes. That would be great.”
