The Edge of Strange Hollow by Gabrielle Byrne (great book club books txt) 📗

“Yeah. Did you feel different when you left the wood?”

“Sort of. I did, but—it wasn’t really that I felt different in myself. It was weirder than that. It was more like a door that I didn’t know was there suddenly opened.”

“A door … in you?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Or in the world.”

“I mean, a door did open. Our door.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. But—it really was like that, Poppy. It was like there was a door I didn’t know was there, and it opened, and there was more for me … and more of me … than I had imagined.”

“More … What do you mean more? Like what?”

He grimaced. “Like, for me it was that you’re my friend, and you’re a human, and you know—”

“And you have a human grandfather, that you never got to meet.”

“Yeah, so getting to know you was like getting to know part of myself too. Plus, there was mac and cheese. I didn’t expect to like it, but then I did—a lot. And it made me wonder if my grandpa liked it too, you know?”

Poppy pondered this for a minute until it started to make her head ache almost as much as her heart. “Let’s eat,” she said at last, and Mack was halfway across the hall before she’d finished the sentence.

The kitchen was dark and still. It set Poppy’s teeth on edge. The house had always felt lonely to her, but she hadn’t realized just how full it had truly been—with Jute’s fussing and Dog’s galumphing around. Even her parents had held space somehow. They had a presence in the house despite their frequent absence. She just hadn’t realized it.

Now the house felt cold, as though it was a forgotten creature crouching in a dark corner waiting for something. But at least it was dry inside, while out in the meadow, a storm had rolled in. The day had gone dark. Rain poured out of the sky as if it would flood the world. It drummed against the porch and the roof, as thunder rolled over the Hollows.

Poppy packed their backpacks full of whatever food they could find left, and a few more supplies—mostly salt and iron, just in case, while Mack lit the stove and made hot chocolate.

Poppy pulled the front door open to let a little more light and fresh air into the gloom, and they sat on the floor looking out as they held their steaming cups and watched the storm roll across the meadow.

Despite the chill at her back, there was something comfortable about it that made Poppy think again of Jute. She wondered when he would be home. He’d said he would stay to talk with the Oak before he returned, but surely he would be back soon.

She remembered too what Jute had told her after he’d saved their lives from the kelpies—that contentment is just a place that you pass through, but that it would grow as familiar as an old friend. She still wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but watching the rain pass with Mack at her side sipping his cocoa, she thought maybe she might get it a little. She tried not to laugh as Mack tried to suck the steam off the top of his cup and blow it out again.

She had never been more grateful for Jute’s well-stocked pantry. He had left a lovely loaf of fresh homemade bread and a hunk of cheese. Poppy put out some olives, black walnuts, fresh tomato slices, and some smoked fish. It was a veritable feast.

The food made her body feel better, but it couldn’t take the ache from her heart, or the sting from her pride. Not only had she still not found her parents, she’d lost her Dog—and a friend. Her heart just ached and ached, like a tide, ebbing and flowing with every breath. Like pieces of me got carved out.

The rain had slowed to heavy drops by the time they had stuffed themselves full. Poppy leaned back with a sigh.

“Now what?” Mack asked.

“Now we find the governor and ask him what he knows.”

“Will he talk to you?”

“It’s a market day,” she began. “There’s a good chance he’ll be there somewhere. That’s where we’ll start.”

Mack stepped closer. “I’m coming with you.”

“Mack … you can’t.”

Mack licked his lips. “Listen, Poppy. It’s true I don’t want you to go by yourself. But mostly I just want to see it. I want to see a human town, even if it’s nothing like the cities outside the fog.” He paused and lifted his copper eyes to hers. “I’m tired of waiting too.”

His ears began to redden. “I want to see how different other humans are from … from you.”

Poppy felt her own cheeks get warm. “But Mack, you could get caught.”

He grinned. “I’ll go in disguise.”

Her mouth fell open. “Disguised as what?”

“An old lady.” Mack rose from the kitchen table and grabbed Dog’s old blanket that lay folded neatly on the bench along the wall, wrapping it over his head and shoulders, hunching over. He stooped low and mimed holding a walking stick, hobbling across the kitchen. Poppy tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help herself. Even at the worst of times, Mack could make her smile.

“Wait there,” she managed to say and ran for the stairs, climbing two at a time. At the very back of her mother’s closet was a dress that had belonged to her grandmother—hand sewn. It was dark brown, with light blue flowers all over it, and giant patches for pockets. She nearly fell down the stairs, running back down to give it to Mack. “Put this on,” she panted.

He squinted a little, but didn’t argue, disappearing into the living room for a little privacy. When he returned, Poppy barked a laugh, and circled him.

“You’ll have to wear shoes. No respectable old woman would walk through the market barefoot.”

He pulled a face. “Fine.”

“These might work.” She ran to the front hall and reached into the shadows under the bench to pull out Jute’s dark green ankle-high galoshes.

Mack