Page 5 of The Otherworld

I open the door to the greenhouse and step inside, Lucius close at my heels. A riot of color surrounds me—greens and reds and yellows and purples. Morning glories ribbon up the support poles, pressing their faces toward the ceiling in search of the sun. Beds of romaine lettuce grow in different stages of readiness. Feathery carrot tops drape from deeper beds of rich soil, and heavy vines of tomatoes cling to stakes, covered with small fruit. A long trough of strawberry plants follows the wall at my eye level—red jewels dangling from tender green leaves. Sugar snap peas tangle playfully around everything in their reach, and the pepper plants sit stoically, watching their wild fun. Butterflies dance to and fro, fluttering from blossom to blossom in darting glimpses of yellow and orange and blue and white.

My favorite part of the greenhouse is the very center, where a circular opening in the roof allows rainwater to filter down and collect in a basin. Colorful orchids hang from the ceiling, their roots twisted acrobatically around the opening. Papa designed it that way to give the orchids a moist habitat while collecting the rain in a convenient place for the rest of the plants. I whisper hello to the orchids, and they reach out as if to shake hands, their painted faces smiling with shy elegance.

I lift a clay pot from the side of the basin and fill it with rainwater, tucking it against my side as I circle back through the greenhouse to water the plants. Lucius sniffs the ground for fallen berries, occasionally sneezing on the dirt.

Tomorrow, Papa leaves for the Otherworld.

And I stay behind.

All these years, leaning as far as I can over the lantern room railing with Papa’s spyglass. All these years, squinting through the fog into infinity, hoping to glimpse just a fragment of the Otherworld. All these years, poring over Papa’s maps and learning the names of our neighboring islands: San Juan, Lopez, Whidbey…

Yet Papa won’t take me with him.

“What have I ever done, Lucius?” I say, returning to the basin to scoop up more water.

Lucius glances up from the green bean beds across the row. His snout is dusty-brown from sniffing the earth, and his ears are perked, waiting for a command or food—I can tell he hopes for the latter.

“What have I done to make Papa think I’m so weak? So… incapable?” I sigh, watering the tomatoes and the peppers. “What have I done to make him mistrust me?”

Lucius whimpers and lies down. Very helpful.

I shrug my harvesting basket off my shoulders and open the woven lid. I start by twisting the biggest heads of romaine from their beds and shaking off any excess dirt. Next, I move on to the tomatoes—plucking off only the roundest, reddest fruits and gently laying them in my basket.

“Maybe it’s not just me,” I murmur, running my fingertips over the long row of strawberries. “Maybe it’s because of Mama. Maybe he blames the Otherworld… for what happened.”

I’ve lost track of how many times I have pulled back the curtains of my past memories, searching for a glimpse of Mama—a trace of a voice, a smell, a touch. But each time, I find nothing. I was only two years old when she died, too young to remember anything about her. Trying to summon a memory feels like pushing my arms far down into sand, digging for something that isn’t there.

It wouldn’t be half so disheartening if Papa would tell me about her—if he would share some of his memories with me. But he never speaks of Mama, and I learned many years ago to keep the subject off my lips. Every once in a while, I see the light in his eyes change from present to past, and I wonder if he’s thinking of her. I’ve never seen a picture of her, so I don’t even know if we look anything alike. But it’s impossible to mistake the sadness in Papa’s eyes when he looks at me sometimes, and I know that I remind him of Mama in those moments.

Lucius whines at my feet, waiting for a strawberry. I carefully pluck the sweet rubies off the plant, collecting them in a separate, smaller woven basket so they won’t be crushed among the other vegetables.

“Or,” I add, “maybe I just haven’t done anything to prove that I’m capable.”

Lucius watches me roll a berry between my fingers.

“What do you think?”

He paws my leg and shimmies an inch closer.

I pop the berry in my mouth.

He looks so devastated, I can’t help picking another plump strawberry and tossing it to him. He catches it in midair and immediately wants another.

“No, we can’t eat them all here.” I turn back to the trough and continue harvesting. “Anyway, back to what I was saying. Maybe Papa would let me go to the Otherworld if he saw that I’m much stronger than he realizes. Maybe I can find a way to prove it to him… Any ideas?”

Lucius tilts his head as if thoughtfully considering the question.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I say, lowering my voice to a doleful doglike grumble. “‘Orca, you’ve complained to me about the same thing over and over again. You just can’t stop talking about the Otherworld! I’m tired of hearing you go on and on about it.’” I sigh, popping another strawberry into my mouth. “I know, Lucius. And I’m sorry to dump all this on you… but you’re my only friend.”

I lower into a crouch, cupping his dusty, speckled face in my hands. He stares at me with those beautiful mismatched eyes, as if he can read my thoughts.

“I wish I could talk to Papa about this. But he doesn’t understand… and I don’t want to upset him. He just doesn’t know what it’s like. He’s had his adventures; he’s lived in the Otherworld. For so many years, I’ve looked out over the sea at night and watched those lights from the Otherworld and wondered what it’s like out there. I’ve wondered what my life might have been…” My throat tightens as the ache of tears chokes my voice. “It’s a kind of grief, Lucius. I can’t describe it, but… it’s like mourning something you never had. Something you could’ve had. If only things were different.”

Unbidden tears begin to fall, spilling from my eyes. Lucius dips his head down and licks them off my cheeks, startling a laugh out of me. I slide my arms around his shaggy neck and clutch fistfuls of his fur.

“Oh, Lucius. You always know how to make me feel better.”

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