“No,” says Henry, the word half-swallowed by the storm.
The rain falls hard and fast on the roof. On them.
The clock has stopped, the hand thrown up in surrender. But he is still there.
“You can’t do this,” he says, head spinning. “I won’t let you.”
Addie flashes him a pitying look, because of course, he cannot stop her. No one has ever been able to.
Estele used to say she was stubborn as a stone. But even stones wear away to nothing.
And she has not.
“You can’t do this,” he says again, and she says, “It is already done,” and Henry feels dizzy, feels sick, feels the ground sway beneath him.
“Why?” he pleads. “Why would you do it?”
“Think of it as a thank-you,” she says, “for seeing me. For showing me what it’s like to be seen. To be loved. Now you get a second chance. But you have to let them see you as you are. You have to find people who see you.”
It is wrong.
It is all wrong.
“You don’t love him.”
A sad smile crosses her face.
“I’ve had my share of love,” she says, and it is time, it must be time, because his vision is blurring, the edges going black.
“Listen to me.” Her voice is urgent now. “Life can feel very long sometimes, but in the end, it goes so fast.” Her eyes are glassy with tears,
but she is smiling. “You better live a good life, Henry Strauss.” She begins to pull away, but his grip tightens. “No.”
She sighs, fingers threading through his hair. “You’ve given me so much, Henry. But I need you to do one more thing.” Her forehead presses against his. “I need you to remember.”
And he can feel his hold slipping as darkness washes across his vision, blotting out the skyline and the roof and the girl folding herself against him. “Promise me,” she says, and her face is beginning to smudge, the swipe
of her lips, brown curls in a heart-shaped face, two wide eyes, seven freckles like stars.
“Promise,” she whispers, and he is just lifting his hands, to hold her against him, to promise, but by the time his arms close around her, she is gone.
And he is falling.
