if he would look the same, and quickly decided that I didn’t care. To be able to touch him, see him, have him back . . . I didn’t care what he looked like as long as he was flesh and blood.
I distractedly picked up a book from the stack next to my bed, and seeing the title, I smiled. The Princess Bride. I had read it three or four times. Minimum. I had gotten it out a couple of weeks ago for a certain reason. And stuck here with no other recourse but to obsess about something that was out of my hands, any distraction was welcome. I let the words of “S. Morgenstern” draw me away from my reality into someone else’s fairy tale.
I had gotten to the sword fight with Inigo Montoya, which contains my favorite-ever fight-scene repartee, when my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the words, What are you reading?
I snapped my book shut and sat up in bed. “Holy cow, you scared me,” I said.
I’m sorry, mon ange. I thought you’d be expecting me.
“Well, I was hoping you’d come, but wasn’t sure if you’d remembered that promise—after all of the archives excitement,” I admitted, squirming.
How could I forget wanting to see you? he asked, and his words were like a hug. Um, Kate—why are you shoving that book under your blanket?
I sighed and pulled it out, holding it up to the air and flapping it around since I didn’t know where he was.
He laughed. Don’t tell me you’re still trying to win our longest-running argument.
“The book is better than the movie, Vincent. I just think that because you read it in English, you didn’t get the irony or the dry humor.”
Don’t tell me we’re going to argue about this while I’m volant and you’ve got the book in your hand. Talk about an unfair advantage.
I ignored his plea for a time-out. “The movie doesn’t have Fezzik’s and Inigo’s backstories,” I insisted.
The book doesn’t have Billy Crystal playing Miracle Max, he rebutted.
“Touché,” I mumbled, unable to argue with that point, “but this debate is not over.”
It’s a date.
I smiled. Placing the book on my bedside table, I sat up on the bed and crossed my legs, as if I were having a chat with a real person who sat right in front of me. At least I could pretend.
I focused on a framed picture on my dresser taken of me and Vincent on my last birthday. In it, we’re about to leave for our rowboat date, and the two of us are smiling like idiots. Something pinged painfully in my chest like a snapped rubber band.
“I can’t believe we’re even talking about this,” I said wistfully, “when this morning I didn’t know if I would ever talk to you again.”
I know what you mean, he responded. But talking books with you is actually one of my favorite activities.
I smiled, remembering the epic book conversations we used to have. We agreed on almost everything except book-to-film adaptations, in which case I almost always preferred the book and Vincent the movie. “I am guessing that if you are here arguing with me about twentieth-century fiction, there hasn’t been any progress back at La Maison?” I asked.
Nope, Vincent said. Bran’s going through the books, page by page, to make sure we don’t miss anything important. There is just as much, or probably more, about cases of migraines and fetus gender prediction than there is about revenants. But he’s worked his way through two of the five books. Pity he has to sleep, but I took the opportunity to pay my love a visit.
I leaned back against my headboard. “Vincent, do you think that this re-embodiment thing has a chance of working?”
Honestly, I think that if it actually existed, we would have heard of it before.
I nodded, outwardly agreeing, but inwardly determined to search every possibility. I agreed with what Mamie had said. My story with Vincent wasn’t going to end this way.
You should sleep, Vincent said.
I lay down and pulled the covers high over my shoulders, closing my eyes. “Tell me a story,” I said.
You want a bedtime story? Vincent asked, laughing.
“Yes. Something that will keep me from worrying. To distract me.”
Okay, he said. There’s a story my mother used to tell me when I was a little boy. It changed a bit with each telling, but I can give you the essentials.
“Perfect,” I said, already feeling sleep creep over me. Today had been exhausting, and I had no