She stood in the hallway, with slips of shadows dancing across her back. The window behind her offered a peek into the outside world, a world with beautiful starry night skies and hot and thick summer air and peach trees wept back and forth in the wind. A world without worried family members and best friends getting married and the feeling that all her searching would never result in her becoming complete. A world where scattered glowing dots could be sewn together into a cohesive and rational constellation.
She readjusted her dress, and straightened her hair, and fingered the jewels on her bracelet. When Rosalind had seen her, it had been you look so grown up. With Jane it had been, wow, you look beautiful. And with Batty, it had been is that why you've been in the bathroom so long? But when she had seen herself, she had seen a wax figure, with a painted smile and a hollow soul, with ill fitting clothes and a face that felt a little bit off, just a little bit wrong. She felt as if she was looking at a police sketch, because yes, even though she saw her blond hair and blue eyes and that one freckle on her ankle, she didn't truly see herself. She felt separated.
The echoes of laughter and singing from the other room were getting louder. She supposed she should return. She had promised him a dance, even though the last thing she wanted to do in the world was dance, not when her heart felt as if was being drained, drip by drip, by everything she had grown to love, with no one even noticing. But she had made a promise. And Penderwicks don't break their promises. Ever. Even if it kills them.
Do or die.
Skye smiled, and she forced herself forward, the sound of her heels on the floor seeming as distant and far away as the center of the universe. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. And all the while, she was sinking into the floor, a puddle of hopes and dreams and sarcastic biting remarks. Her hand reached the gold doorknob. It was cold in her fingers. But she was ready. She twisted her wrist, and the entranceway cleared. In she stepped, and the scene fell before her. Jane throwing her head back with laughter at one of Alec's jokes, Rosalind introducing Tommy to Cagney, Churchie bustling around making sure everyone had enough to eat, her dad kissing Iantha. And there was a woman in a white dress, and a man holding her hand. And that man looked up at her, and she saw his green eyes and freckles and that familiar brown hair that never stood still. She smiled.
7 Years Earlier
"You are such an idiot!"
"Maybe, you just haven't realized my master plan yet," Jeffery smirked.
Skye snorted. "Let me think about that. Yeah, I knew it, not very likely."
It was a Sunday morning and golden sunlight peeked between the blinds, like children peeking through their fingers during hide and seek. The two of them sat opposite each other at the old cherry wood coffee table. It was littered with newspapers and botany textbooks and scraps of Jane's writing, but placed in the middle were two dark blue plates heaped with thick fluffy pancakes and a chessboard. They both were wearing onesies (Skye's was black with stars, and Jeffery's was red with music notes). They both took themselves very seriously [although maybe Jeffery couldn't help but think she looked a little cute]. And they both were certain that they were winning.
"You see, Skye, chess requires a certain kind of mental focus that you just don't have," Jeffery said, his nimble musician fingers slipping through the white and black pieces to make a move.
"Maybe the reason I appear unfocused is that I don't need to pay attention to a game I'm crushing you in."
"Maybe. Check, mate."
"Don't look so smug. I'll almost feel some pity."
"Has Skye has admitted that she has a heart? Hello, 911? I think I'm hallucinating."
"I'm glad you've called for medical help, because your delusions of winning have me a little worried about your mental health."
"And now she says that she's worried? Boy, are we getting some sappy stuff here!"
"Shut up. Better watch out for that queen."
"Better watch out for that king."
"Oh, you wouldn't dare."
"I don't know, maybe my hand will- "
BAM! A pillow was thrown, and it met its target. Skye grinned before jumping up to dodge the reply to her attack, and suddenly they both are racing around the house, making the living room a war zone. Feet skip over old hardwood floors. Messy blond hair flies in the wind. Insults are shouted over breathless laughter. She sprints into the kitchen, clutching her weapons in hand, ready for him to come through after her. But the house becomes quiet. The only sound heard is the anxious ticking of the grandfather clock. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her skin is pulsing with warm heat. She knows he's somewhere nearby. She listens for any deep breathing, any sign of life. She creeps through the doorway, her heart beating like a wrestler's fists in a punching bag, her fingertips pinched on the woven cover of the pillow. It's clear.
One more step and-and then she sees a blur of red and feels arms wrap around her and tackle her to the floor, and they both are snickering and giggling and heaving and she feels like her heart has been tied to a hot air balloon, rising and becoming lighter and lighter in the sky. She feels like she's been coddled and wrapped in a blanket in front of a fire. Slowly their laughter softens to sighs and then Skye sees how close she is to him. She could count the freckles on his face. She could see her reflection in his ivy green eyes. Her skin felt like it was burning with heat.
"How about we finish that game of chess?"
Jeffery swallowed. She saw his Adam's apple bob.
"Get ready to be demolished," he said.
Skye rolled her eyes.
If Only She Had Known.
