does me better than I do, but then you came along. I guess it’s kind of like this pressure, good pressure, on every square inch of my body that builds and builds, until finally it gathers all in one spot and it feels as if I’ll explode into smithereens. And when I do, it’s like I’ve been carrying sixty thousand pounds—like what’s-his-name, Atlas—only instead of carrying the world, I can lift it up over my head and start winging it around until I launch it into another solar system. It’s sunrise, sunset, and the perfect tide combined into one.” He lets go of my hand and traces my curves with his fingers. “What’s it feel like for you?”
“You know that night we drove with the lights off and we saw a million lightning bugs? It’s like if you could catch every single one of them and put them in a jar, and as they’re all lighting up at once, you open the lid and set them free.”
He whistles. “Is it too late to change my answer?”
“Yes.”
“You should put that in a book someday, Captain.”
“Maybe I will.”
“I’ll know you’re talking about me.”
“Or maybe that’s just how it feels with everyone.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
We kiss for a while, my hands in his hair, his skin against mine. I concentrate on the warmth and the heat, forgetting about my mom down the hall.
After a moment he whispers, “One of those articles did offer some interesting advice.”
“What’s that?”
He says in my ear, “Don’t forget about the rest of her body.”
* * *
—
A little later again, I lean over to the bedside table, dig in the drawer. I hand him a thumbprint cookie from the bag I’ve stashed there.
“What’s this?”
“A taste of Mary Grove, Ohio.”
He pops it in his mouth and closes his eyes.
“They’re from a little bakery downtown. The Joy Ann Cake Shop. The best bakery on earth. Inside it smells like sugar and birthdays and every happy occasion.”
I tell him about the family who owns it, about the squirrel that stands outside the door every day to get a peanut butter cookie, about the secret morning ritual my dad and I have had for the past six years.
He said, “That’s one amazing cookie.”
I hand him another and eat one myself, and then I shut the drawer. I fit myself back into him, my head on his chest, and we lie there. I feel the rise and fall of his breathing and the way his hair tickles my cheek.
I say, “It’s like lightning bugs, but it’s also like writing. There’s this feeling you get when you write a really good, true sentence or paragraph or scene, and it makes you feel invincible, as if you can do anything. It feels like a superpower, and in that moment no one can touch you. You’re the best there is. That’s how you make me feel, Jeremiah Crew. Like I’m the best there is.”
He strokes my hair. He strokes my back, his fingers tracing circles down my spine. He says, “You are.”
DAY 20
Bram and Shirley Bailey live on the northern tip of the island. As we head north on Main Road, we pass a sign that says WILDERNESS AREA. RESIDENTIAL PERMIT ONLY. NO TRESPASSING. Miah keeps driving. As wild as the forest is down by Addy’s and the inn, the forest here is wilder. Palms and live oaks mix with pine trees, and whole portions of the road disappear under the sprawling green of the undergrowth.
We pass the one-room Baptist church; the crumbling hotel that once belonged to Clovis Samms; and something called the Shell Ring, which is four thousand years old and made up of Native American ceremonial mounds that were formed over time by the nearby marsh. Miah says you can still find pre-Columbian tools and bits of pottery if you dig.
The Baileys live in an area called Belle Hammock, in a stout red house with wide windows and a wide porch and a tin roof that shines in the late-afternoon sun. A school bus is parked in the backyard, sprouting up out of the earth like the plants and flowers that grow alongside it.
Bram is a stocky man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, weathered brown skin, and a wry face, like he’s just been told a joke. Even though his mouth is barely twitching, his eyes are smiling, and I like him immediately.
Shirley opens her arms and envelops me in a hug and says over my head to Miah,