I THINK JUNE IS LEANING OVER ME, BUT I HAVE TROUBLE making out the details of her face. When I try too hard, the edges of my vision filter out into blinding white. The pain, at first excruciating, is nothing now. Memories fade in and out—memories of my first days frightened and alone on the streets, with my bleeding knee and hollow stomach; of young Tess, and then of John when he first learned that I was still alive; of my mother’s home, my father’s smile, of Eden as a baby. I remember the first time I met June on the streets. Her defiant stance, her fierce eyes. Then, gradually, I have trouble remembering anything.
I always knew, on some level, that I wouldn’t live long. It’s simply not written in my stars.
Something bright hovering behind June’s shoulder catches my attention. I turn my head as much as I can to see it. At first it looks like some glowing orb of light. As I keep staring, though, I realize that it’s my mother.
Mom, I whisper. I stand and take a step toward her. My feet feel so light.
My mother smiles at me. She looks young and healthy and whole, her hands no longer wrapped in bandages, her hair the color of wheat and snow. When I reach her, she gently cups my face between her smooth, uninjured palms. My heart stops beating; it fills with warmth and light and I want to stay here forever, locked in this moment. I falter in my steps. Mom catches me before I can fall, and we kneel there, together again. “My little lost boy,” she murmurs.
My voice comes out as a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Hush, my baby.” I bow my head as she kneels over me. She kisses my forehead, and I am a child again, helpless and hopeful, bursting with love. Past the blurry, golden line of her arm, I can look down at my pale, broken body lying on the ground. There’s a girl crouched over me, her hands on my face, her long dark hair draped over her shoulder. She’s crying.
“Are John and Dad . . . ?” I begin to say.
Mom just smiles. Her eyes are so incredibly blue, like I can see the entire world inside them—the sky and the clouds and everything beyond.
“Don’t worry,” she replies. “They are well, and they love you very much.”
I feel an overwhelming need to follow my mother wherever she’s going, wherever that might take us. “I miss you guys,” I finally say to her. “It hurts every day, the absence of someone who was once there.”
Mom combs a gentle hand through my hair, the way she used to when I was little. “My darling, there’s no need to miss us. We never left.” She lifts her head and nods at the street, past the crowds of people who have gathered around my body. Now a team of medics is lifting me onto a stretcher. “Go back to Eden. He’s waiting for you.”
“I know,” I whisper. I crane my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of my brother in the crowds, but I don’t see him there.
Mom rises; her hands leave my face, and I find myself struggling to breathe. No. Please don’t leave me. I reach out a hand to her, but some invisible barrier stops it. The light grows brighter. “Where are you going? Can I come with you?”
Mom smiles, but shakes her head. “You still belong on the other side of the looking glass. Someday, when you’re ready to take the step over to our side, I’ll come see you again. Live well, Daniel. Make that final step count.”