Three weeks later, nothing much had changed.
Oh, yes, he dreamed of the ocean, of an island with white sandy beaches. He dreamed of a garden and a copse of trees that hid a little house. He dreamed of a burnt cellar door, and the day the music died, and of the way Lucy laughed. The way Talia muttered in Gnomish. The way Sal could be so big but felt so little in his arms. The way Chauncey stood in front of his mirror, saying Hello, sir, welcome, welcome, welcome, as he tipped his bellhop cap. The way Phee’s wings sparkled in the sunlight. Of buttons, and wyverns named Theodore. Of Zoe, her hair bouncing in the wind as she tore down sandy roads in her car.
And of Arthur, of course. Always Arthur. Of fire burning, of wings spread in orange and gold. Of a quiet smile, the amused tilt of his head.
Oh, how he dreamed.
Every morning it was getting harder and harder to pull himself out of bed. It was always raining. The sky was always metal gray. He felt like paper. Brittle and thin. He dressed. He rode the bus to work. He sat at his desk, going through one file after another. He ate wilted lettuce for lunch. He went back to work. He rode the bus home. He sat in his chair, listening to Bobby Darin singing about somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me.
He thought of the life he had. How he could have ever thought it’d be enough.
His thoughts were all cerulean.
Every day he went to work, he took time to touch the photograph on his desk, the photograph that no one dared say anything about. Ms. Jenkins had even kept to herself, and though Linus received demerit after demerit (Gunther gleefully scratching on his clipboard), she didn’t say a word. In fact, he was ignored. Linus was just fine with that. He suspected Ms. Bubblegum had something to do with that, the gossipy thing that she was.
It wasn’t all rain and clouds. He took his time, going back through his old files, reviewing the reports he’d written for all the orphanages he’d visited, making notes, preparing for a shimmery future he wasn’t even sure was in his grasp. He winced at some of what he’d written (most of it, if he was being honest with himself), but he thought it important. Change, he reminded himself, started with the voices of the few. Perhaps it would amount to nothing, but he wouldn’t know unless he tried. At the very least, he could follow up with some of the children he’d met before and find out where they were now. And, if all went as he hoped, he wouldn’t let them be left behind or forgotten.
Which was why he began to smuggle out the reports. Every day, he would take a few more. He was a sweaty mess each time he put another in his briefcase, sure that at any moment, someone would shout his name, demanding to know what he was doing, especially when he started after the files belonging to other caseworkers.
But no one ever did.
He shouldn’t have felt as giddy as he did, breaking the law. It should have caused his stomach to twist, his heart to burn, and perhaps it did, to an extent. But it was no match for his determination. His eyes were open, and the brief moments of exhilaration he felt did much to temper his lawlessness the more the days dragged on.
On the twenty-third day after his return from the island, the clacking of computer keys and murmur of voices once again fell silent as a figure appeared in the doorway to the offices of the caseworkers.
Ms. Bubblegum, snapping her gum, clutching a file to her chest. She glanced over the rows of desks in front of her.
Linus slumped low in his chair. He was about to be sacked, he knew.
He watched as she walked toward Ms. Jenkins’s office. Ms. Jenkins didn’t seem pleased to see her, and her scowl only deepened at whatever question Ms. Bubblegum asked. She responded and pointed out toward the desks.
Ms. Bubblegum turned and made her way through the rows of desks, hips swaying delightfully. Men stared after her. Some of the women did too. She ignored them all.
Linus thought about crawling under his desk. He didn’t, but it was close.
“Mr. Baker,” she said coolly. “There you are.”
“Hello,” he said, hands in his lap so she wouldn’t see them shaking. She frowned. “Have I ever told you my name?”
He shook his head. “It’s Doreen.”
“A pleasure, Doreen.”
She snapped her gum. “I almost believe you. I have something for you, Mr. Baker.”
“Do you?”
She set the file down on his desk, sliding it over in front of him. “Just came down this morning.”
Linus stared down at it.
Doreen leaned over, her lips near his ear. She smelled like cinnamon. She tapped a fingernail on his mouse pad. “Don’t you wish you were here?” He watched as her finger rose to the photograph and traced along the frame. “Huh. How about that?” She kissed his cheek, sticky-sweet and warm.
And then she walked away. Linus could barely breathe. He opened the folder.
There was his final report.
And across the bottom were four signatures. CHARLES WERNER
AGNES GEORGE JASPER PLUMB MARTIN ROGERS
And below that was a red stamp.
RECOMMENDATION APPROVED.
He read it again.
Approved.
Approved. Approved. This was— He could—
Did he have enough to see his plan through? He thought he did.
He stood from his desk, the chair scraping loudly against the cold cement floor.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Ms. Jenkins walked out from her office again, Gunther trailing after. Approved.
The orphanage would stay as is. He heard the ocean.
Don’t you wish you were here? it whispered. Yes.
Yes, he did.
But that was the funny thing about wishes. Sometimes all it took to make them come true was a first step.
He lifted his head. He looked around.
“What are we doing?” he asked, his voice echoing loudly around the room.
No one answered, but that was okay. He didn’t expect them to. “Why are we doing this? What’s the point?”
Silence.
“We’re doing it wrong,” he said, raising his voice. “All of this. It’s wrong. We’re feeding a machine that will eat us all. I can’t be the only one who sees that.”
Apparently, he was.
If he were a braver man, maybe he would have said more. Maybe he would have picked up his copy of the RULES AND REGULATIONS and thrown it in the trash, announcing grandly that it was time to toss out all the rules. Literally, but also figuratively.
By then, Ms. Jenkins would be demanding his silence. And, if he were a much braver man, he would have told her no. He would have shouted for all to hear that he’d seen what a world looks like with color in it. With happiness. With joy. This world they lived in here wasn’t it, and they were all fools if they thought otherwise.
If he were a braver man, he would climb up on the desks and crow that he was Commander Linus, and it was time to go on an adventure.
They would come for him, but he’d hop from desk to desk, Gunther squawking as he tried to reach for Linus’s legs but missing.
He would land near the door, this brave man. Ms. Jenkins would scream at him that he was fired, but he’d laugh at her and shout that he couldn’t be fired because he quit.
But Linus Baker was a soft man with a heart longing for home. And so he went as quietly as he’d arrived.
He picked up his briefcase, opening it on his desk. He placed the photograph inside lovingly before closing it. There were no more files to smuggle out of DICOMY. He had everything he needed.
He took a deep breath.
And began to walk through the aisles toward the exit. The other caseworkers began to whisper feverishly.
He ignored them, head held high. He barely bumped into any desks. And just as he reached the exit, Ms. Jenkins shouted his name.
He stopped and looked over his shoulder.
The expression on her face was thunderous. “And where do you think
you’re going?”
“Home,” he said simply. “I’m going home.”
And then he left the Department in Charge of Magical Youth for the last time.
 |
It was raining.
He’d forgotten his umbrella inside.
He turned his face toward the gray sky and laughed and laughed and laughed.
|
Calliope looked surprised to see him when he burst through the front door. It made sense; it wasn’t even noon.
“I may have lost my mind,” he told her. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
She meowed a question, the first time she’d spoken since they’d left the island.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. Yes.”
|
Life, Linus Baker knew, came down to what we made from it. It was about the choices, both big and small.
Bright and early the next morning—a Wednesday, as it turned out— Linus closed the door to one life in pursuit of another.
“Another trip?” Ms. Klapper asked from across the way. “Another trip,” Linus agreed.
“How long this time?”
“I hope forever. If they’ll have me.” Her eyes widened. “Come again?”
“I’m leaving,” he said, and he’d never been so sure of anything in all his years.
“But—but,” she spluttered. “What about your house? What about your
job?”
He grinned at her. “I quit my job. As for the house, well. Perhaps your grandson and his lovely fiancé would like to live next door to you. Consider it a wedding gift. But it doesn’t matter right now. I’ll figure that all out later. I have to go home.”
“You are home, you fool!”
He shook his head as he lifted Calliope’s crate and his suitcase. “Not yet. But I will be soon.”
“Of all the—have you lost your mind? And what on earth are you
wearing?”
He looked down at himself. Tan button-up shirt, tan shorts, brown socks. Atop his head sat a helmet-style hat. He laughed again. “It’s what you’re supposed to wear when you’re going on an adventure. Looks ridiculous, doesn’t it? But there might be cannibals and man-eating snakes and bugs that burrow their way under my skin and eat my eyes from the inside out. When faced with such things, you have to dress the part. Toodles, Mrs. Klapper. I don’t know if we’ll see each other again. Your squirrels will know only peace from this point on. I forgive you for the sunflowers.”
He stepped off the porch into the rain, leaving 86 Hermes Way behind.
|
“Going on a trip?” the train attendant asked, looking down at his ticket. “All the way to the end of the line, I see. A bit out of season, isn’t it?”
Linus looked out the train car window, rain dripping down the glass. “No,” he said. “I’m going back to where I belong.”
|
Four hours later, the rain stopped.
An hour after that, he saw the first blue through the clouds. In two more hours, he thought he smelled salt in the air.
|
He was the only one to get off the train. Which made sense, seeing as how he was the only one left.
“Oh dear,” he said, looking at the empty stretch of road next to the platform. “I might not have thought this through.” He shook his head. “No matter. Time waits for no man.”
He picked up the suitcase and the crate, and began to walk toward the village as the train pulled away.
|
He was drenched with sweat by the time he saw the first buildings. His face was red, and his suitcase felt as if he’d packed nothing but rocks.
He was sure he was about to collapse when he reached the sidewalk on the main street of the village. He thought about having a lie-down (perhaps permanently) when he heard someone gasp his name.
He squinted up.
Standing in front of her shop, a watering can in her hand, was Helen. “Hello,” he managed to say. “How nice it is to see you again.”
She dropped the watering can, and it spilled its contents onto the concrete. She rushed toward him as he sat heavily on his suitcase.
“Did you walk here?” she demanded, grimacing as her hands came away damp after she put them on his shoulders.
“Spontaneity isn’t exactly my forte,” he admitted.
“You stupid man,” she said. “You wonderfully stupid man. Came to your senses, did you?”
He nodded. “I think so. Either that or they’ve left me entirely. I’m not sure which yet.”
“They don’t know you’re coming?”
“No. Hence the spontaneity. I’m not very good at it yet, but I hope I will become so with practice.” He wheezed as she patted his back with the tips of her fingers.
“I think you’ve got a good start, at least. Though I suppose that means Merle also doesn’t know you’re here.”
He winced. “Oh. Right. The ferry. That’s important, isn’t it? Island and all.”
She rolled her eyes. “How you’ve made it this far, I’ll never know.”
“I popped my bubble,” he told her, needing her to understand. “It kept me safe, but it also kept me from living. I shouldn’t have left in the first place.”
Her expression softened. “I know.” She squared her shoulders. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Luckily for you, I’m the mayor. Which means when I want something done, it gets done. You stay right here. I have a phone call to make.”
She hurried back to her shop.
Linus closed his eyes for what he thought was only a moment, but was startled out of a doze when a horn honked in front of him.
He opened his eyes.
An old green truck sat idling on the curb. It was flecked with rust, and the whitewall tires looked as if they barely had any tread left. Helen sat behind the steering wheel. “Well?” she asked through the open window. “Are you just going to stay there for the rest of the night?”
No. No, he wasn’t.
He lifted his suitcase into the back of the truck. Calliope purred as he set her inside the cab on the bench seat. The door creaked behind him as he closed it.
“This is very kind of you.”
She snorted. “I believe I owed you a favor or two. Consider us even.”
The truck groaned as she pulled away from the curb. Doris Day was on the radio, singing to dream a little dream of me.
|
Merle was waiting at the docks, looking as unpleasant as usual. “I can’t just drop everything when you demand it,” he said with a scowl. “I have— Mr. Baker?”
“Hello, Merle. It’s nice to see you.” It was almost true, surprisingly. Merle’s mouth hung open.
“Don’t just stand there,” Helen said. “Open the gate.”
Merle recovered. “I’ll have you know my rates have quadrupled—” Helen smiled. “Oh, I don’t think they have. That would be preposterous.
Open the gate before I crash through it.” “You wouldn’t dare.”
She gunned the engine. Merle ran for the ferry.
“Awful man,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind if he fell off his boat one day and drifted away into the sea.”
“That’s terrible,” Linus said. Then, “We could make it happen.”
She laughed, sounding surprised. “Why, Mr. Baker, I never would have thought to hear such a thing from you. I like it. Let’s get you home, shall
we? I expect you have some things you need to say.” He slunk lower in his seat.
|
The island looked the same as it had when he left it. It’d been only weeks. It felt like a lifetime.
Merle muttered something about Helen hurrying back, and she told him they would take all the time they needed and she wouldn’t hear another word from him. He stared at her, but nodded slowly.
She drove along the familiar dirt road, winding toward the back of the island as the sun began to set. “I’ve been here a couple of times since you departed.”
He looked over at her. “For the garden?”
She shrugged. “And to see what you left behind.”
He turned back toward the window. “How … how was it?”
She reached over the crate between them and squeezed his arm. “They were okay. Sad, of course. But okay. I stayed for dinner the first time. There was music. It was lovely. They talked about you quite a bit.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Oh.”
“You made quite the impression on the people of this island in the time you were here.”
“They did the same for me.”
“Funny how that works out, isn’t it? That we can find the most unexpected things when we aren’t even looking for them.”
He could only nod.
|
There were lights on upstairs in the main house.
The paper lanterns in the gazebo in the garden were lit.
It was half past five, which meant the children would be involved in their personal pursuits. Sal, he thought, would be writing in his room. Chauncey would be practicing in front of the mirror. Phee would be with Zoe in the trees. Theodore was most likely underneath the couch, and Talia
in her garden. Lucy and Arthur would be upstairs, talking about philosophy and spiders on the brain.
He could breathe for the first time in weeks.
Helen stopped in front of the house. She smiled at him. “I think this is where we part ways for now. You tell Arthur I’ll still be here on Saturday. Apparently, there’s to be some sort of adventure.”
“There always is on Saturdays,” Linus whispered. “Don’t forget your suitcase.”
He looked at her. “I—thank you.”
She nodded. “It should be me thanking you. You’ve changed things, Mr. Baker, whether you intended to or not. It’s a small beginning, but I think it’ll grow. And I won’t forget it. Go on. I think there are some people here who would like to see you.”
Linus fidgeted nervously. “Maybe we should—” She laughed. “Get out of my truck, Mr. Baker.” “It’s Linus. Just call me Linus.”
She smiled sweetly. “Get the hell out of my truck, Linus.”
He did, pulling Calliope out with him. He reached into the bed of the truck and lifted his suitcase out. The gravel crunched under the truck’s tires as Helen pulled away with a wave.
He stared after her until the taillights disappeared into the trees. “Okay, old boy,” he muttered. “You can do this.”
Calliope meowed from the crate.
He bent over and opened it. “Now, don’t go far—” She shot out toward the garden.
He sighed. “Of course.” He followed her.
The flowers were in bloom, and they seemed brighter than he remembered. He walked along the path until he heard muttering in a strange tongue. He rounded a hedge to see a little bearded gnome digging in the dirt.
He stopped.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
Her shoulders stiffened before she continued digging, Calliope sitting at her side.
He took another step toward her. “New tools working out well, then?” She didn’t respond, but the dirt was flying out around her.
“Helen told me she was impressed with your garden. Said it was one of the best she’s ever seen.”
“Yes, well,” Talia said irritably, “I am a gnome. I’m supposed to be good at it.”
He chuckled. “Of course you are.” “Why are you here?”
He hesitated, but only briefly. “Because this is where I belong. And I never should have left to begin with. I only did so in order to make sure you would be safe. All of you. And now…”
She sighed as she set her spade down before turning to look at him. She was crying.
Linus didn’t hesitate as he scooped her up in his arms.
She buried her face in his neck, beard tickling his throat. “I am going to bury you right here,” she sobbed. “I’m digging your grave, just so you know.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing a hand over her back. “I would expect nothing less.”
“No one would ever be able to find you! And even if they did, it would be too late and you’d be only bones!”
“Perhaps we can hold off on that, for at least a little while. I have something important to say to all of you.”
She sniffled. “Perhaps. But if I don’t like what I hear, we come right back and you will climb inside the hole without arguing.”
He laughed, wild and bright. “Deal.”
|
She ran ahead, Calliope chasing after her. Linus took a moment to breathe in the scents of the garden around him. He listened to the waves. If he had any doubts before this moment, they were gone now. He just hoped the others would feel the same.
It was time.
He left the garden, rounding the side of the house. He stopped when he saw what waited for him.
They had gathered in the front of the house. Zoe looked exasperated at the sight of him, shaking her head fondly. Phee was glaring at him. He hoped she wouldn’t turn him into a tree. Or, if she did, at least that it wouldn’t be an apple tree. He didn’t like the idea of them eating him when he blossomed.
Chauncey was fidgeting nervously, as if he wanted to hurry toward Linus, but knew his loyalties lay with those around him. Sal stood with his arms across his chest. Theodore was sitting on his shoulder, head cocked.
Talia was wiping her eyes and muttering in Gnomish. Linus thought he heard her say that she’d have to widen his grave seeing as how he was still rotund.
And Lucy, of course. Lucy, who stood in front of them all, a strange expression on his face. Linus wondered if he was about to be hugged, or if his blood was going to start to boil, causing his organs to cook within him. It could really go either way.
Arthur stood behind them, and though his face was blank and his hands were clasped behind his back, Linus knew he was wary, he could see it in the stiff set of his shoulders. The fact that Linus had played a part in this made him feel ill. Arthur should never be so unsure. Not about this.
Linus kept his distance, though Calliope seemed to have no such problem. She was meowing quite loudly as she rubbed against Sal’s legs, as talkative as she’d been since they’d left the island.
How could he have been so foolish? How could he have ever thought he could leave this place? It was color, bright and warm, and his heart felt like it was finally beating again. He hadn’t realized he’d left it behind. He should have known. He should have realized.
“Hello,” he said quietly. “It’s nice to see you all again.”
They didn’t speak, though Chauncey twitched, eyes bouncing excitedly. Linus cleared his throat. “I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t know that I do. I’ve made mistakes, some bigger than others. But I…” He took a deep breath. “I heard something once. Something important, though I don’t
think I knew just how important it actually was. A very wise person stood up in front of others, and though he was very nervous, he said the most profoundly beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Linus tried to smile, and it cracked right down the middle. He said, “I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”
Sal’s eyes widened.
“It stuck with me,” Linus continued. “Because of how important it is. How important all of you are.” His voice broke, and he shook his head. “There is nothing to fear from the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. This place is your home, and your home it shall remain. You can stay here, as long as you wish. And if I have my way, others like you will know the same peace.”
Talia and Phee gasped. Chauncey’s mouth dropped open. Lucy grinned as Theodore spread his wings and gave a little roar of excitement. Sal dropped his arms, sagging in relief.
Zoe tilted her head. Arthur stayed as he was.
It wasn’t enough. Linus knew that.
So he gave everything he had left. “I think you’re lovely. All of you. And though I’ve lived in a world where you didn’t exist for most of my life, I don’t believe that’s a world I can be in any longer. It started with the sun, and it was warm. And then came the sea, and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was followed by this place, this island so mysterious and wonderful. But it was you who gave me peace and joy like I’ve never had before. You gave me a voice and a purpose. Nothing would have changed if it hadn’t been for all of you. I believe they’ve listened to me, but the only reason I knew what to say at all was because of what you taught me. We’re not alone. We never have been. We have each other. If I were to
leave again, I would wish I were here. I don’t want to wish anymore. If you’ll have me, I would like to stay. For always.”
Silence.
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, wondering if he should say more.
“Excuse us for a moment, Mr. Baker,” Lucy said. He turned toward the others and beckoned them close. The children bowed their heads as they began to whisper furiously. Zoe covered a laugh with the back of her hand.
Arthur never looked away from Linus.
Linus knew it was impolite to try and listen in on a meeting he was not part of. That, however, didn’t stop him from trying. Unfortunately, the children didn’t seem to care that he was most likely about to have a heart attack. He watched as they held their congress. At one point, Lucy drew a finger across his neck, eyes rolling back in his head, tongue hanging out. Talia nodded in agreement. Linus thought Chauncey said something about feeding the cannibals, but he might have misheard. Theodore snapped his jaws. Phee glared at Linus over her shoulder before turning back to the others. Sal muttered something under his breath, and the children gazed up at him adoringly.
“So, we’re in agreement, then?” Lucy asked. The children nodded.
They turned back toward him.
It was Lucy who spoke for them. “Does anyone else know you’re here?”
Linus shook his head.
“So we could kill you, and no one would be the wiser.” “Yes, though I would like to avoid that if at all possible.” “Of course you would,” Lucy said. “We have conditions.” “I would expect nothing less.”
Talia said, “You have to help me in the spring in my garden and do exactly what I say.”
There was no hesitation. “Yes.”
Phee said, “You have to spend one day a month with me and Zoe in the woods.”
“Yes.”
Chauncey said, “You have to let me do your laundry!”
Oh, how his heart felt like it would burst. “If that’s what you want.” “And you have to tip me!”
“Of course.”
Theodore chirped and clicked, head bouncing up and down. “Every single button I can find,” Linus agreed.
Sal said, “You have to let us call you Linus.” His eyes stung. “I would love nothing more.”
Lucy grinned devilishly. “And you have to dance with me, and when I have bad dreams, you have to come and tell me everything will be okay.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes to all of it. To any of it. For you, I would do anything.”
Lucy’s smile faded. He looked so young. “Why did you leave in the first place?”
Linus hung his head. “Sometimes, you don’t know what you have until it’s no longer there. And I needed to be your voice. So those far away would hear you for all that you are.”
“Children,” Arthur said, speaking for the first time. “Would you please go inside and help Zoe with dinner? I need to have a word with Mr. Baker.”
They complained immediately. “Now.”
Lucy threw up his hands. “I don’t know why you don’t just kiss him and get it over with. Adults are so dumb.”
Zoe choked on a laugh. “Come on. Let’s leave the dumb adults to it. We absolutely will go inside and start dinner and not watch them through the windows.”
“Ooh,” Talia said. “I get it. Yes, let’s go watch—I mean, make dinner.”
They hurried up the steps to the house. Sal glanced back at them before closing the door behind him.
And immediately appeared in the window with the others, though they tried unsuccessfully to hide behind the drapes. Even Zoe.
Linus loved them very much.
The stars were beginning to appear overhead. The sky was streaked in orange and pinks and blue, blue, blue. The sea birds called. The waves
crashed against the rocks.
But the only thing that mattered at this moment was the man before him. This exquisite man.
Linus waited.
“Why now?” Arthur finally asked. He sounded tired.
“It was time,” Linus said. “I—I went back, thinking it was the right thing to do. I presented the results of my investigation to Extremely Upper Management.” He paused, considering. “Presented might be a euphemism. I was quite stern, if I’m being honest.”
Arthur’s lips twitched. “Were you?” “I didn’t know I had it in me.” “Why did you?”
Linus spread his hands out in front of him. “Because I … I’ve seen things. Here. Learned things I didn’t know before. It changed me. I didn’t know how much until I no longer had it. When I could no longer wake up and walk to the house for breakfast. Or listen to you teach them. Or discuss your ludicrous thoughts on philosophy with you. Or go on adventures on Saturdays wearing ridiculous outfits while being threatened with a grisly death.”
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “You don’t seem to have a problem wearing them now.”
Linus pulled on his shirt. “They’re growing on me. My point is that I left because I was scared of what could be, not of what already was. I’m not scared anymore.”
Arthur nodded and looked away, jaw tight. “And the orphanage?”
Linus shook his head. “It’s not … you know, you told me once that the word orphanage is a misnomer. That no one comes looking here to adopt.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You did. And as I told Extremely Upper Management, this isn’t an orphanage. It’s a home. And that’s what it will remain.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
“And what of the others? You said you thought you could help all the others.”
Linus scratched the back of his neck. “I might have done something … illegal? Stole a few files. Maybe more than a few. I have an idea, though it will take time.”
“Why, Linus Baker. I’m utterly surprised at you. Stealing, of all things.
It’s not proper.”
“Yes, well,” he muttered. “I put the entirety of the blame on you lot here. You’ve corrupted me.”
Linus thought he saw a flicker of fire in Arthur’s eyes. “You really did all that?”
“Yes. I was frightened, but it was the right thing to do.” He hesitated.
Then, “I also quit.”
Arthur looked surprised. “Why?”
Linus shrugged. “Because it wasn’t where I belonged.” “Where do you belong, Linus?”
And with the last of his courage, Linus Baker said, “Here. With you. If you’ll have me. Ask me again. Please, I beg you. Ask me to stay again.”
Arthur nodded tightly. He cleared his throat. He was hoarse when he said, “Linus.”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Stay. Here. With us. With me.”
Linus could barely breathe. “Yes. Always. Yes. For them. For you. For
—”
He was being kissed. He hadn’t even seen Arthur move. One moment,
he thought he was about to break, and the next, his face was cupped in warm hands, and lips were pressed against his own. He felt as if he were on fire, burning from the inside out. He reached up, putting his hands atop Arthur’s, holding them in place. He never wanted this moment to end. For all the love songs he’d ever listened to in his life, he hadn’t been prepared for how a moment like this could feel.
Arthur pulled away, and began to laugh as Linus frantically kissed his chin and cheeks, his nose and forehead. Arthur dropped his hands and wrapped his arms around Linus, holding him close. Linus could hear the children cheering in the house as they began to sway in the light from a setting sun.
“I’m sorry,” Linus whispered into Arthur’s throat, never wanting this moment to end.
Arthur held him tighter. “You silly, delightful man. There is nothing to be sorry for. You fought for us. I could never be angry with you for that. How I cherish you.”
Linus felt his heart settle in his chest.
As they continued to sway to a song only they could hear, the sun finally sank below the horizon, and all was right in this tiny little corner of the world.
Don’t you wish you were here?
