16

Down in the archives, Emma pulled the first four volumes detailing the history of Mystic Water off the shelf. She placed them on the closest table, careful to not handle them too much. The leather-bound books looked as though they’d survived a few million sunsets that had left them with brittle, yellowed pages and spines that barely held on with fragile, flaking glue and dangling threads.

James had run up to the kitchenette to grab a can of Coke at her request because she thought she’d need something to chase the dust once she ate it. She stood alone and reached toward the back of the shelf and touched a box. She pulled it down and set it on the table. The hand-carved box, smaller than she’d imagined, appeared Romanian in design, bearing a cross in the center of the top. All the edges of the box were embellished with fanciful borders. She brushed her fingertips across the carvings. Then she unhooked the latch and flipped open the lid.

The golden dust inside sparkled like illuminated sand, and seeing it shine in the lamplight caused her to inhale slowly. The beauty of its glow mesmerized her.

Movement in the shadows pulled her attention away from the box. Crusoe stepped into the dim light.

“I spent a lot of time alone on that island,” he said. “I often daydreamed that someone would show up and rescue me and relieve me from my despair. My misery created a hole inside of me, and I fell into it. I thought of staying lost forever, never facing the world again. Then I realized that I couldn’t depend on someone else for my happiness. I couldn’t hook all of my hopes and dreams on humanity or even on a single person. People will disappoint you, Emma. They can’t help it. We’re all flawed. But you can find joy within yourself. You can live again on your own terms.”

“Ooo-kay,” Emma said. “I’m kinda busy here, Crusoe, and I don’t see how that is—”

“Relevant?” Crusoe interrupted. “Excuse my presumption, but I believe you’ve been waiting for someone to pull you out of that hole of misery when you should have been pulling yourself out.” He pointed to the glittering sand. “Avoiding your life isn’t the same as living your life. Maybe Grey served his purpose in your life. Maybe it was for a shorter time than you hoped, but sometimes you have to let people go so that you can move on to greater things.”

Crusoe echoed Hook’s final words, and Emma stared at him.

“I don’t want to let him go,” she whispered.

“That is often the case,” Crusoe said and nodded. “But we should strive to not dwell on the past. Your life is before you Emma, not behind.”

Crusoe looked toward the sound of James returning, and he moved back into the shadows.

“Emma,” James said as he approached, “you don’t have to do this.”

She stared at the spot where Crusoe had disappeared. Words fluttered out of the darkness. Look ahead. Move forward. Trust your heart. “Do you think it will work?” Emma asked, glancing back at the glowing sand.

James shook his head. “Not really.”

“Then what are you worried about?” she asked.

Emma reached out her hand and dipped her fingers into the dust. A current of power zapped up her fingers, through the palm of her hand, and raced up her arm, causing her to stumble backward a step.

“Ow!” She shook out her arm, feeling as though she’d shoved it into a bathtub full of too-hot water.

James grabbed for her.

“I’m okay,” she said, stepping back toward the table and shaking her head. “Of all the crazy stuff I’ve seen, this has to rank the highest. Well, maybe right behind seeing fictional characters alive in the library, but still…this is so bizarre it’s almost like my brain doesn’t want to process it.”

James rubbed his hand down her arm and entwined their fingers. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Emma looked up at him. Uncertainty bubbled in her stomach. Crusoe’s words swirled in her mind. Was leaving with James an escape, an easy way out of a life she hadn’t truly been present for in months? “You don’t want me to try? Because you don’t want to be with me? Because all of this has been just a few days of living in the moment?”

“Of course that’s not all I think this is,” he said. “But I care about you too much to want you to risk all of this for me.”

“All of what?” Emma asked. “All of my family? That’s Morty. I’m not losing him. He’ll bring us back to visit. What else am I losing? My life here? I’ve given up days and days to my sadness and pity, and now I finally feel like I have a new start. With you. I want to try this. If it doesn’t work, fine. But what if it does?”

James almost smiled, almost lost the concern she saw in his expression. “Since when are you the optimist?”

She squeezed his hand. “Since you showed up.”

Words spiraled out of the sand and twinkled in the air above the box. Live. Leap. Faith. Morty’s footsteps sounded on the staircase leading down to the archives. He called out to Emma and James, and she responded. He appeared a few moments later, puffing up the aisle and looking determined.

“I see you found the stash,” he said. He pushed up his shirtsleeve and glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, and we’re losing sunlight fast. Better get on with the show.” His jaw tightened and released. “Listen, Em, is there any way I can convince you otherwise? No offense to you, James, because I think you’re a stand-up guy, and I’ve always thought you would be a good person for Emma, or someone like you.” He looked at Emma. “But leaving here, if that’s even possible, for some unknown place that might not even accept you because you’re…you’re not of their time, I don’t know what will happen, and I don’t—well, I don’t want to lose you.”

Emma’s throat burned, and she felt the familiar salty sting in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Morty and hugged him. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane here. I would have been long gone without you.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I would have wasted away in my sorrow.”

Morty chuckled and hugged her tight. “You’re giving me all the credit. You’re a lot stronger than you think. You’ve been keeping me on track too. You’ve been my daughter, my friend, my partner in crime. I couldn’t have loved you more if you were my own child. I’ve been rooting for you since you were riding that tricycle down the sidewalk with those pink and purple streamers. And I think you’ve done me the biggest kindness yet—sending a wonderful woman to me with a plate of cookies. Completely devious, yet much appreciated. If this does work…I’m going to miss you sorely.”

Emma pulled away and wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks. “You can bring us back, though, right?”

Morty sighed. “I don’t know, Em. James is in his biography, but you’re not. You don’t exist there. I have no idea what’s going to happen.”

Emma turned toward the box. She stretched her arms over her head and leaned her neck from side to side. Then she shook her arms out at her sides and bounced on her toes. She popped open the can of Coke and listened to the bubbles rising to the top of the dark liquid. “Here goes. Everybody ready?”

“No,” Morty and James said at the same time, causing Emma to release a nervous laugh.

She stuck her hand back into the shiny sand and felt the shock, but this time, she scooped up a palm full of the dust, making her feel as though she’d grabbed hot coals. She stared down at the sparkling sand, and Crusoe’s words echoed in her mind, Your life is before you Emma, not behind. An ache started deep in her heart, and she tried to blink away her tears as she spread her fingers apart; the sand dropped back into the box.

Emma looked up at James, willing her bottom lip to stop trembling. “I can’t.” She closed the lid on the box. “I can’t go with you.”