UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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Epilogue: The Freeing of the Lobsters

“So that’s how it happened,” I said.

“That was very detailed for such a long story.” Lil trimmed off a little more of my hair and fluffed it out. It just hit my shoulders—my head felt light.

“Well, yeah, it’s a lot to remember, but I wasn’t going to forget bits and pieces of it, right? What kind of story would that be?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Lil rarely believed the stories I told her. As far as she was concerned, East Shoal and everything that had happened was nothing but a figment of my imagination.

It didn’t matter; I was getting out today.

“So what happened to Miles?” Lil asked.

“What do you mean, what happened to him? He comes to visit me every weekend.”

“He does?”

“If he came during the week, you would’ve seen him.”

She stood in front of me, a tiny line forming between her eyebrows. She didn’t think he was real. She never had.

Lil finished with my hair and helped me pack my suitcase. I’d started throwing things in this morning, when I didn’t really care about space conservation. I found the mess charming. Lil looked disgusted.

The rest of my room was bare now. Everything was ready to go, except the chunk of Berlin Wall perched on my desk. I swiped it up, running my fingers over the rough surface. Some places were starting to wear smooth where I always stroked them with my thumb. More than once Lil had woken me up and scolded me for having slept with it hugged to my chest. I tried telling her I didn’t take it to bed on purpose, that I must’ve woken up in the middle of the night to get it. She didn’t believe that, either.

I waved goodbye to the other patients—my friends, as strange and as absurdly normal as that was—as we passed the rec room, the place where I’d spent every weekend for months with Miles. He seemed to find it perfectly obvious that he should come and visit so often, when it was so out of his way.

Now, finally, I got to go to him. All I had to do was sign out at the front desk and walk the last long mile to the door. And I’d be free.

When I shouldered my way out of the building, blinking in the autumn sunlight, I looked down the walk and found a sky-blue pickup parked along the curb. Miles leaned against the truck’s side, looking familiar in an old baseball shirt and bomber jacket. Something had changed in his face since graduation, though. Every time I saw him, he was a little brighter, a little happier, a little more excited about whatever the day had in store for him.

“That is Miles Richter,” I said to Lil. “And he is not imaginary, thank you very much.”

I took my suitcase, gave her a hug, and approached Miles.

I stopped in front of him, smiling. He smiled back and leaned down to kiss me. A feeling erupted in my stomach, like nothing would ever be the same again. Like good karma was catching up with me. Like someone had opened up the lid to my lobster tank and I was finally breathing in the shockingly fresh air.

“Ready to go?” His smile looked permanent. The tiniest German accent wrapped around his voice. “They’re all waiting to see you.” His fingers absentmindedly traced the scars on the left side of my face, but they were fading now, and didn’t hurt anymore. I didn’t try to stop him.

I climbed into the truck, breathing deep the smell of mint soap and pastries. He tossed my stuff in the truck bed.

“I bet they’ve made up stories,” I said.

“Oh, they have.” He glanced at me as he closed the passenger door. His impossible blue eyes sparkled in the sun. “They have, trust me. But they aren’t as good as the real thing, of course.” He slid into the driver’s seat. The truck roared to life.

I glanced back only once as Miles pulled away from the curb. Wisps of violin music floated on the air. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.”

I turned away and closed my eyes.

“They never are.”