trying to put myself back together. Gathering the pieces. Laying the foundation for my new life, the one I was supposed to build with Logan. But just as I let myself feel at home in Harmony, my true home was taken from me.
And now the boy I love is leaving, and I’m right back where I started—with a million questions and not one good answer.
32
The sun has moved down the sky. If I hold my hand to my face, it’s about a thumb’s length above the trees, which means I have another hour to kill before Logan finishes prepping for his trip back to Eden City.
I wander into the square, Logan’s absence a solid shadow. I’ve got to get used to this. Pretty soon that’s the best company I can expect.
The feather of a bird floats by on the wind, and I grab it from the air. The feather is ripped, torn in fluffs that drift away, trying to resurrect itself into something new. Trying to carve an alternate path out of its dead-end flight. Trying to break free of the life dictated by Fate.
The thought ties anchors to my feet. I’m like the feather, too. Battered and mangled, wanting to change my fate, but not knowing how.
I’m in danger of drowning in the dry and dusty dirt when I see Laurel walking toward the log cabin, a bunch of wildflowers dragging on the ground behind her. Me with my tattered feather, her with her wilted flowers. Aren’t we a sorry pair.
“Laurel, these poor flowers.” I pick them up and blow the grime from the petals. “Let me get you some water.”
I scoop up water from the barrel and plunk the flowers into the aluminum can, tucking the feather next to them. They fit nicely together. The can has more important functions than to serve as a vase, but maybe the flowers will perk up after a few minutes, even if I don’t have much hope for the feather.
“I tried to give them to Zed.” Her voice is as dull as a mud puddle. “He wasn’t interested in the flowers. And even less interested in me.”
“It’s not you. He’s afraid of his—”
“Future memory, I know,” she says bitterly. “But he’s already come all the way to Harmony to avoid it. Is he going to let it rule his life here, too? What kind of life do you have if you’re afraid of your memory at every turn? That’s no life at all.”
I swallow hard. I pull out the feather and stick it back in again.
“I’ve known him for two years,” she says. “In that time, I’ve seen nothing but a sweet, gentle man, trying to make up for sins he has yet to commit.” She grips the aluminum can. “I’m not scared, Callie. I have full trust in him. He has complete control of his actions—not his future self, not some memory, but him. He either refuses to hear me or he’s too scared to believe.”
She bends her head over the can, watering the flowers with her tears. After a moment, she plucks out a yellow flower and hands it to me. “I heard about Logan. I’m sorry.”
I take the flower and bring it to my nose. It smells sticky, like an overly sweet dessert. I can’t imagine anything other than bees being attracted by the scent.
“How come he’s going back?” she asks.
“He’s needed to stock the backpacks,” I say, trying to sound crisp. But my voice wilts like Laurel’s wildflowers, and unlike the blooms, no amount of watering will perk it back up. “And well…he’s not like the rest of us. No one was ever after him, so he doesn’t belong here.”
I choke over the words. A lot of things shouldn’t have happened. Logan shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have fallen for him. Doesn’t mean you can take them back, no matter how hard you try.
“If you ever need to talk, let me know,” she says. “We can be brokenhearted together.”
I give her back the flower and, after a moment of hesitation, take the feather out of the can. “Sounds fun.”
She squeezes my arm and heads into the log cabin. I continue through the square. Dinner time approaches, but I’m not ready to face the crowd yet.
I head to the clearing. Trailing my hand over the log, I dip my fingers into the grooves and skim them over the knots. I lay the feather inside the hollowed out space of the log. This is where it belongs, because