Page 149 of The Otherworld

Was her love for me not enough to keep her on the island?

I dread the idea of finding out. When I think about calling Mama or visiting her, all I can imagine is the worst outcome. A refusal to see me. A door slamming shut in my face. Perhaps she and Papa were both in on the deception. Perhaps she, too, wishes me to believe her dead.

As the moonlight slowly carves a path across my bedroom, I try to conjure up an image of the best-case scenario.

Mama is happy to see me. She has been waiting for me, hoping one day I would come to the Otherworld to find her and make peace with her. She has pictures of me as a baby, and she cries every time she looks at them. Papa asked her to stay away; that’s why she hasn’t visited me all these years. She thought I would be happier without her.

If I don’t go to see her, I’ll never know which story is true.

But do I want to know?

Is it better to leave the question unanswered?

For now, I convince myself that it is. I fall asleep between waves of doubt and reassurance—the dizzy push and pull of unmade decisions blurred by exhaustion.

When I open my eyes to late-morning sunshine, a new question strikes me:

If Mama were dead, and I could bring her back to life to see her just one time, would I do it?

The answer is yes.

Absolutely, unequivocally yes.

So I make my bed and get dressed, then wander around the house, looking for Adam. Mrs. Stevenson is the only one I find. She says both her boys are at their respective workplaces, so I call Adam on the Stevensons’ phone. He sounds surprised to hear my voice.

“I want to go see my mother. Today.”

There is a moment’s silence. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to call her first?”

“No.” I press my eyes shut, shaking my head. “I need to do this in person. I need to see her face.”

“All right,” Adam says. “When do you want to go?”

“As soon as possible if you can spare the time.”

“I’ll be right there.”

* * *

The ride to Seattle is quiet—the polar opposite of the drive Jack and I took to the city just days ago. That sunny, windswept afternoon was filled with joyful oblivion. I had nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear.

Now I sit wordless in the passenger seat of Adam’s truck, watching the road signs counting down the distance between us and Seattle.

Between me and Mama.

“We don’t have to go through with this,” Adam keeps reminding me. “If you change your mind—”

“No,” I cut in every time. “I want to. Truly.”

He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

The gleaming skyline looks less like a mysterious spectacle to me now and more like another realm—a place so strikingly different from the natural world in every way, shape, and form. A place Papa would hate.

Is that why Mama moved here?

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