The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (10 best books of all time TXT) 📗

Alex pulls Felix into another short but emphatic kiss, and Felix reels back, grinning. “Gonna be worth it,” he says dreamily.

“I’ve been waiting on this for the better part of a year,” Alex says. “So I’m collecting. With interest.”

“You’ve been—a year?” Felix says. “So you didn’t realize—”

“Oh, no,” Alex says, “I knew you were interested, too.”

“And you didn’t ever say anything?” Felix says.

“Felix,” Alex says, with a slow, fond smile. “I really, really like you. But if you didn’t stop treating me like fine china, I would have had to kill you.”

Felix frowns. Then nods. He’s still got the look of a guy who thinks he’s dreaming and isn’t going to question it. “That’s fair.”

Satisfied, Alex settles back into the arm Felix wraps around his shoulders. Theresa’s garage slowly settles into view ahead, shimmering in the desert afternoon.

“You’re not headed out right away, right?” Felix calls up to me.

I shake my head. Freshly fixed or not, my car isn’t going to do well in the heat of the day. “Tonight, when the sun goes down. I was actually hoping that once we pick up the car, you’d all let me get you a slice of pie? It’s the least I can do to make up for all this.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything,” Felix says, to which Alex nods fervently. “I’ll buy my own slice.”

“I’m in more of a strawberry milk shake mood?” Cassie doesn’t have to look back at Felix and Alex to add, after a beat, “Which I will of course pay for myself.”

I do my best to look preoccupied with straightening the sign on Theresa’s door. It gives me a couple of seconds to swallow the lump in my throat. “Wait out here?” I ask. “I’ll be right back.”

No one fights me on that. They are, at least, willing to leave this last little bit of awkwardness to me.

I open the door to find Theresa Gibson pressing the hood of my car back into place.

She doesn’t turn to look, and I think, for a second, she didn’t hear me come in. But a beat later she calls, “There you are. I’ve been waiting all morning.”

There’s no trace of that usual ease in her tone, but somehow I smile at her anyway. “Kind of a mixed message,” I say. “You wanted me here and now you want me gone?”

“Not exactly fair, maybe,” she grunts. “But I’d just as soon—”

She cuts herself off. Her gaze has shifted to the desk. The wall’s blocking where she’s looking. But that picture must still be there.

“You didn’t see your father?” I ask quietly.

“Oh, I saw him. Something that looked like him, anyway.” The brisk clip of her tone fades into something bitter. “But that wasn’t him, was it? It was an echo, just like you said.”

Slowly, I take a step closer. “You’ve been researching the Flood for months,” I say. “You had to know already that they weren’t going to bring back the dead.”

“That’s not what I was—” I can see her teeth press down against her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. She squeezes her eyes shut. Then she lets the breath she’s holding go. “I knew it wasn’t going to bring him back. But I thought it would—I don’t know. Stay, until I stopped caring about the difference. All those months of my life. I thought he would at least see me.”

I’m as close to her as I’m willing to get. And I feel—not forgiveness, exactly. But something close to understanding.

“There’s a bright side, at least,” I say. “If you’re willing to hear it.”

Her gaze sharpens enough that I’m sure the answer is going to be no. But she inclines her head into a nod.

“It’s that the Flood doesn’t show you anything that you don’t already have,” I say. “For better or worse, your past is a living thing. And if you take pieces of the people you lost, make them your own—nothing ever really ends. Not completely.”

If that sinks in, it’s hard to tell. Her face seems to shroud, close in. She pops the earbuds out of her ears, sets them on the edge of her workbench, and gestures vaguely to a switch on the wall.

“To open the garage,” she says. “When you’re ready to go.”

“I haven’t paid you,” I say.

“I’ve done enough. I’m not taking your money. Don’t worry about closing up behind you. I’ll be in the back.” She turns away, as if to leave, but then she hesitates. “Thanks. For saying all that.”

And she vanishes behind the back curtain.

It’s quiet long enough that I know I’m alone now. The garage windows are too tall for me to see out, but Cassie and the others must still be out there, wondering.

I’ll make this call quick.

Slowly, I slide my phone out of my pocket. My fingers are shaking too hard to dial, so I hold down the button instead. “Call Mom,” I say.

She picks up quickly.

“Rosie!” Her voice is heavy and sleep-rough, like I caught her in the middle of her post-holiday afternoon nap. “Happy New Year! I thought you were going to call last night?”

I tuck the phone under my hair, cradling it to my ear. “Sorry, Mom.”

“No, no, don’t worry,” she says. “We missed you, that’s all! Dan and your brother are out back—should I bring the phone to them?”

“No, that’s okay, I-I’m actually packing up here,” I say. “I’m heading home tonight. So I’m going to see you all soon.”

I thought I said it normally. But she pauses. “Rosie,” she says. “Did something happen?”

“When I get back,” I say slowly to make sure I’m heard, “can we talk? I—I mean, it can be tomorrow. I’m not leaving until tonight. It’s going to be late.”

I hear a shuddering breath over the line. But when she speaks next, her smile is audible. “I’ll wait up for you, baby. As long as it takes. Just come home.”

It takes effort to loosen my grip on the phone. If I hold it any tighter, I’m going to