Page 67 of The Otherworld

Adam Stevenson has become a part of me. Like the Greek myth he wrote about, I feel as though we are not two separate beings but one being. He explained that Zeus was the “god of the sky.” Was it not the sky—the violent storm—that brought us together? That has kept us together all this time? Is it not the sky that will tear us apart when he flies away tomorrow morning?

The aching pull in my heart at the thought of him leaving cannot be described as anything other than the feeling of my soul being split in two and tossed asunder.

* * *

“It seems all your weather predictions are correct,” I muse, peering out the kitchen window at the opaque white world beyond. “This fog’s settling in to stay.”

From the table, Adam murmurs a laugh. “They’re not my predictions. Meteorologists forecast the weather.”

I sit at the table and lean forward on my elbows, studying the chaos of clock parts strewn in front of him. He noticed the broken timepiece on the fireplace mantel and asked me when it had stopped working.

“Clearly, at half past seven,” I said, which made him laugh and clarify what he meant—when did it last tell the correct time? I couldn’t remember. Years ago. Papa had opened it up several times in attempts to fix it but called the clock’s inner workings “fathomless” and decreed that we had no need for more than one clock.

“He has a point,” I told Adam. “I mean, he has a pocket watch, and I never need to know the time. If it’s daylight and good weather, I’m outside doing my chores. If it’s dark or bad weather, I’m inside.”

Adam seemed intrigued by this way of looking at time. I watch as he mends the misbehaving clock, attempting to commit every part of him to memory. His big hands move delicately over the clock’s innards; his brow is furrowed with concentration as he works, soft gray light etching the features of his face.

“It’s funny, isn’t it,” Adam says quietly, “how a clock can just stop. And time stands still. At least, our concept of time…” He carefully fixes a tiny gear into place. “I’m sure you read some of my ramblings about it in my journal.”

A smile crosses my lips. “Yes. Although I must admit, most of it went over my head.”

Adam nods. “Mine too.”

“But you wrote it.”

“I don’t understand everything I write. If I did, I wouldn’t write it down.”

“Hm. It seems just the opposite for most people. Don’t they write books about the things they’re sure of?”

“Things they think they’re sure of,” Adam corrects me.

“But… what about science? Biology…”

“Observable data. Most of it is probably true.” He looks up from the clockwork and catches my gaze. “But what if the things we’re the most sure of are the things we’re the most wrong about?”

“Like time,” I offer.

“Exactly. Because ‘time’ is just our measurement of something immeasurable… Otherwise, everything would stand still when the clock stops.”

“I wish it would. I wish time would stand still right now.”

“Why?”

“Because tomorrow… you’ll be gone.”

The light in his eyes dims when I say that, which makes me wonder: Does he feel the same way about leaving?

I can’t ask him.

“Your father will be back tomorrow,” Adam assures me. “You won’t be all alone.”

“I know. It’s not about being alone; it’s just about… it’s…” My heart swells inside me as Adam holds me in his gaze. “I’ll miss you,” I say at last.

Three words too small and simple to describe the enormity of pain I feel when I imagine him gone.

And just for a heartbeat, I see that same ache reflected in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he admits.

---