Darling Page 21

  “No. You shouldn’t be saying sorry; I should be saying thank you,” Tinkerbelle told her honestly. “You really held your own out there. Almost had me scared for real, for a moment.”

  Suddenly, without knowing why, Wendy’s throat got hot and tight, and her eyes began to prickle. “I went to theater camp,” she managed to choke out before starting to cry.

  Tinkerbelle scooted closer and put an arm over the back of Wendy’s chair so Wendy could lean on her.

  “I … don’t know why I’m … nothing is even happening to me anymore!” Wendy wiped at her face roughly, half angry at herself and more than a little embarrassed.

  Tinkerbelle patted Wendy’s shoulder and sighed again, her thousandth sigh of the night.

  “It’s like that sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s easier to cry afterward when you finally know that you’re safe.”

  Tinkerbelle held her like that for a long time, completely unlike the way she’d held Peter while he was crying.

  Wendy kept wiping her face until it was dry, and the bees quit buzzing in her chest.

  Tinkerbelle waited until Wendy gathered control of her breathing before she began tenderly removing the dried flowers from Wendy’s hair. She plucked them out one by one, untangling them from Wendy’s curls and laying them in her lap. Then she wiggled the pins that had held Wendy’s hair back from her face until they came free. Tinkerbelle dipped her fingers into Wendy’s hair and shook it lightly until it fell around Wendy’s face, messy and free.

  “There,” Tinkerbelle said. “Now you’re yourself again.”

  Fresh tears sprung to Wendy’s eyes, and she covered her face with both hands, but Tinkerbelle tugged her wrists until she dropped them to her lap once again.

  “You’re a very brave friend, Wendy,” she whispered.

  The door to the interrogation room opened again, and Detective Hook was standing there, cheeks red and jolly, eyes sparkling. “Come on, Wendy, your parents are waiting for you in the lobby. Your mom remembers me, can you believe it? Fifty pounds and twenty years, and I’ve still got it!” He gleefully smacked a hand over his gut.

  Wendy shot him a dirty look and stood up, letting all the dried flowers and pins fall on the floor.

  Detective Hook glanced at the mess, then at both Wendy and Tinkerbelle—who stared back in placid amusement.

  “Normally I’d yell at you about that, but there’s literally nothing that can ruin my good mood,” he said chipperly. “We’ve even sprung for a two-star hotel for the orphans.”

  Tinkerbelle scowled at being referred to like that.

  “Merry Christmas!” Detective Hook exclaimed before turning on a heel and heading back down the hallway.

  Wendy’s heart raced at the thought of facing her parents after what had happened, but Tinkerbelle stood up and stretched, yawning loudly. “Okay. Let’s go get yelled at,” she said, and trudged out the door.

  Wendy followed Tinkerbelle through the precinct and out to the front lobby. To her surprise, Fyodor, Charles, Minsu, and Ominotago were all back and reunited with their families.

  Charles’s mom was large and muscular, like she played football, herself, but his dad was tall and thin. They both looked incredibly glamorous for having been awoken at three a.m. to come collect their child from a police station, and both were crying and holding him. Fyodor’s parents were both much shorter than him, and while his mom was round and sweet-looking, his father had a face more chiseled than Fyodor himself, and the sort of hair that would make an angel weep. Fyodor’s mom was shouting at Fyodor in quick, angry Russian—clearly trying to yell some sense back into him, while Fyodor argued back with tears in his eyes, pointing at Ominotago and Curly emphatically. By the time Wendy had stepped fully into the lobby, Fyodor’s mother had begun to cry, too, and Fyodor pulled her quickly into his arms.

  Curly was standing dejectedly by Ominotago and getting a soft talking-to by a man who had to be Ominotago’s father. Waatese, who looked more than half asleep, had been dragged back into the night and was slumped on the shoulder of a woman who looked a lot like him. It was clearly Ominotago’s mother; she looked Wendy over with suspicion, but her expression melted into something much softer as she laid eyes on Tinkerbelle and realized who Wendy must be.

  Minsu’s parents were sitting in near silence as an officer explained the situation, which Minsu translated into Korean. They were dressed extremely fancy, in spite of the late hour. Wendy remembered how Minsu had said his father wouldn’t care why he was arrested and would be angry anyway. But Minsu’s father was looking between his son and the officer in confused wonder at what his son had helped achieve. Minsu’s mother’s hands were clasped tightly between her husband’s. Minsu looked nervous, but Wendy was sure that everything would probably be all right.

  Wendy didn’t see her own parents, so she went to go sit in one of the empty plastic chairs by the front door.

  Nibs, who was also by himself, came and sat next to her. He nudged her shoulder with his and nodded at Curly and at Ominotago’s father, who was standing by him.

  “That’s Curly’s family, too, right?” Wendy asked.

  Nibs nodded firmly. “They’re giving him another chance, and they said they’ll let me stay with them, too. I can tell they’re wary, but he’s not going to mess his chance up. Not again, not after this.”

  “What did he do the first time?”

  Nibs shook his head. “If you want to know, you have to ask him. He’s not proud of it, and it’s not my story to tell.”

  Wendy began to apologize for prying, but was startled by a yell from the doorway.

  “WENDY!” Mrs. Darling shrieked.

  Wendy looked up, startled.

  Mr. and Mrs. Darling were coming out of the back of the precinct, from the opposite direction Wendy and Tinkerbelle had come from. Wendy had only a moment to wonder why they were that deep into the building when Mrs. Darling sprinted across the room and slammed into her. She crushed Wendy in her arms in hysteria, dragging Wendy to the ground as she scream-cried. Mr. Darling jogged up behind her and knelt down on the floor so he could get his arms around the both of them.

  Mrs. Darling clawed at the back of Wendy’s dress, nearly incoherent. Wendy closed her eyes and buried her face in her mom’s sweater, inhaling her familiar mom scent, and the noise of the precinct and the screaming and crying faded away.

  She knew she was in trouble, and it was the big kind, but that hardly seemed to matter. Wendy held on to her mom and thought about how Mrs. Darling really didn’t need CrossFit because she was crushing the air clean out of Wendy’s lungs. She hoped that when her mom let go, she would still feel this ache, and know that she was home and she was loved. Wendy had never wanted to go home more in her life. She was so, so tired.

  “You’re grounded for thousands of years,” Mrs. Darling sobbed.

  “I know.”

  “You’re never leaving the house again!”

  Wendy’s eyes smarted and she nodded, just holding her mom and dad closer. “Yeah, okay…”

  It was getting louder outside of the hug she was in, but Wendy didn’t want to pull back to see what was going on. She stayed nearby, until the noise was much closer and starting to slap at her back.

  “Wendy! Wendy!”

  “Young lady, if you don’t back off—” Mrs. Darling started, but Wendy knew the voice she’d heard. She wrenched her head around to find Eleanor and two tired, angry people who had to be Eleanor’s parents. Eleanor was still in her pajamas, but her parents were fully dressed and looking down at the Darling family like they were sure Wendy was a bad influence.

  “This is bad timing, but I’m Eleanor, and I called the police,” Eleanor said proudly. “As I’m sure you’ve been told, I’m a fan of safety and good decisions. Nice to finally meet you all at four o’clock in the morning in the middle of a police station.”

  “You’re very rude,” Mr. Darling said.

  “Noted. Now, I’ve had a very long and anxious night; can I get th
is hug I’ve been wanting for a couple of years?”

  Mrs. Darling recovered the quickest. She let go of Wendy and shook hands with Eleanor’s parents. “Mrs. and Mr. Darling, nice to meet you. Sorry about this; we were really hoping to meet you both under much better circumstances.”

  While their parents began introducing themselves, Wendy let Eleanor’s spindly arms rock her from side to side. She was taller than Wendy had thought she’d be—no one can ever really imagine that correctly with online friends—but otherwise she looked the same. Eleanor stepped back to take all of Wendy in properly. She gently patted Wendy’s shoulders, then her cheeks, then the side of her hair. Up close without a screen between them, Wendy could see Eleanor’s freckles and a bit of red in her blond hair.

  Eleanor looked sleepy, but her eyes were bright and happy. “What’s up, buttercup?” she asked with a soft grin. “Not very romantic to have our first meetup like this. Although I must give you points for drama and originality.”

  Wendy laughed and felt much better. So much better. “How long are you grounded for?” Wendy asked.

  Eleanor glanced over at her parents, who were now smiling and talking to Wendy’s parents enthusiastically. “A month for enabling,” she replied, turning back. “How about you?”

  “Thousands and thousands of years, apparently.”

  Eleanor groaned. “So, right back to normal, then?” She pulled Wendy back into another hug, this time laying her curly head in the hollow of Wendy’s neck.

  Wendy rubbed at Eleanor’s back remorsefully. Over Eleanor’s shoulder, she could see Tinkerbelle watching them curiously.

  “Not even close, Eleanor,” Wendy said. “Not even close.”

  “On these magic shores children at play are forever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.”

  Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie

  EPILOGUE

  The sun was so bright that Wendy could see it through her eyelids. She turned over and wrapped her blanket over her head and groaned. Why did the blinds have to be all the way up? It was a Sunday for God’s sake. A day of rest.

  “You should really be awake by now,” Tinkerbelle said. “Eleanor is going to be here in half an hour.”

  Wendy tugged her blanket off her head and stared directly at the ceiling. There was no way she would have agreed to share her room with Tinkerbelle if she had known what a yoga freak the other girl was. Meanwhile, Prentis stayed asleep until twelve p.m. every day of the weekend. And he’s neater, Wendy thought ruefully.

  Tinkerbelle finished stretching and hopped up to sit on her bed, bouncing happily on the firm expensive mattress—the first she’d ever had. “You should really get dressed.”

  Wendy turned over completely so her face was buried in her pillow. “Eleanor doesn’t care if I’m in pajamas, and I’m not allowed to leave, anyway, so why should I put on real clothes?”

  “She might be bringing Fyodor—I don’t know,” Tinkerbelle said coquettishly. “You wouldn’t want to not get dressed and wish that you had.”

  Wendy flipped over again and sighed loudly and angrily at the ceiling. “You wouldn’t say that unless you knew for certain he WAS coming,” she snapped. “Why don’t you go downstairs and bother the twins? They’re always spoiling for a fight.”

  Tinkerbelle shrugged. “Teasing boys isn’t the same. You should know, they’re your brothers now, too.”

  Wendy scowled and let her legs fall out of bed. Instead of getting up, she just slithered limply off the mattress to the floor like wet spaghetti and lay there, arms and legs akimbo.

  Tinkerbelle bounced down from her mattress and settled somewhere near Wendy’s head. She squished Wendy’s cheeks between both hands, and Wendy let her. Petulantly.

  “You’re so spoiled.” Tinkerbelle giggled.

  “You are now, too,” Wendy said through her tightly held cheeks. “Only, you actually get to enjoy it. They’re not going to let me outside until I’m buying my own home.”

  Tinkerbelle hummed. “Sucks to suck. It’s only been four months, you’ve experienced worse things in life.” She squished Wendy’s face tightly one more time, then stood up and began peeling off her exercise gear to change into her new everyday clothes. After her adoption, Tinkerbelle had given up her giant wardrobe of many-size pieces and sheepishly let Wendy’s parents buy her new clothes that actually fit. With more money to actually choose things she liked, Tinkerbelle had developed a cute, mod style with little minidresses, colored tights, and bold fake eyelashes. Her hair had even grown out a bit, but she’d already warned Mrs. Darling that she would be getting it cut short again soon and not to get used to it.

  “I’m going to visit Slightly,” Tinkerbelle announced. “They’re putting Curly’s bottle sculpture up in the Chicago Cultural Center, and he wants us to help. Slightly said his great-cousin would make us lunch if we stopped by first. Are you sure you don’t want to sneak out and come?”

  Wendy missed having Slightly around, but the allure of seeing Fyodor again was too much to resist, so she shook her head. Slightly had only stayed at the Darling’s house until they were able to reunite him with family. To everyone’s combined relief, Slightly’s only living relative, his great-cousin, who was only twenty-seven, herself, offered to take in Tootles as well. Mr. Darling made good money, but five kids was a squeeze, and seven had been entirely too much for their little house.

  Tinkerbelle shoved her feet into her platform go-go boots and zipped up the sides. Then she ran a brush over her spiky blond pixie cut and spritzed her neck with perfume. “Fine,” she announced. “I’m going to tell Slightly you don’t miss him anymore, and he’s going to show up here with Tootles, and Tootles is going to be so excited to see us again that he’ll run around screaming and touch all our stuff.” She flounced out the door.

  “TINK, NO—” Wendy scrambled to her feet.

  Tinkerbelle squeaked and stumbled forward, clumsy in her platform boots. She slid across the hallway and clomped loudly down the stairs with Wendy hot on her heels. Wendy snagged the back of Tinkerbelle’s turtleneck dress and tugged her backward, trying to beat the other girl into the kitchen, but Tinkerbelle was more determined. She wriggled between Wendy and the wall so she could jump down the next four stairs. Tinkerbelle and her heels crashed onto the landing in the middle of the staircase with a noise so loud that Wendy knew her dad would be checking the wood for dents later. Tinkerbelle stuck the landing at first, but her ankles wobbled and she pinwheeled her arms to steady herself, but it didn’t look like it was working. With a spike of concern, Wendy lunged forward, grabbed Tinkerbelle around the waist to save her, and almost immediately lost her balance as well. They both slid down three more stairs dangerously quickly before Tinkerbelle was able to halt their descent by clinging to the railing.

  “What the … fuck?” Prentis asked.

  Everyone in the kitchen was frozen and staring. Prentis and the twins, who had real names now but rarely used them, were eating breakfast. Second had paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and was giving Wendy a harsh look that immediately reminded her that she was still wearing the Inuyasha pajamas that Eleanor had given her last Christmas as a joke.

  Mrs. Darling was by the stove frying eggs, but she’d turned around completely, her arms folded tightly over her chest, spatula still in hand. Mr. Darling, who had clearly heard Tinkerbelle’s shoes collide with their brand-new wood floors, was in front of the open front door, gazing up at them in dismay.

  Finally, standing in the open doorway with their bikes partially inside the house, were Eleanor and Fyodor.

  Tinkerbelle, unphased by all the attention, shrugged herself out of Wendy’s grip. “Language, Prentis,” she said prissily, and she flung herself into a dining room chair.

  “There had better not be scuffs on those stairs—” Mr. Darling began, but Eleanor shrieked over him excitedly.

  “YOU’RE WEARING THEM!”

  Wendy looked down
at her pajamas in horror and then back up at Fyodor, whose pretty cheeks were lightly pinking like they always did when he saw her.

  “They look nice,” Fyodor said politely.

  Wendy didn’t dignify that with a response. She slapped her arms over the cartoon faces on her chest and ran back up the stairs without another word.

  “You can’t run from our love!” Eleanor shouted.

  “And you should have gotten dressed!” Tinkerbelle added ruthlessly.

  Wendy slammed her bedroom door behind herself and screamed.

  She hated this fucking family.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, I would like to thank my lovely editors as well as the Imprint team for taking a chance on this as a proposal. Making books with you is always such a joy. Thank you to my lovely partner, Kyle, for the unwavering support. To my amazing beta readers: You really helped me make the best of the last rays of daylight before the dark: Eli, Aija Rose, E. Adkins, Anna Didenkow, Noah Smoyer, Colby Dockery, Makenzie Marts, Maddie, and Jack Simonds. To all the authenticity readers who helped me reach my goals, you’re the true MVPs for writers who insist on representational diversity in their work. Project Gutenberg, thank you for my copies of all Peter Pan and Peter Pan–adjacent media. God bless all the masters and PhD students whose dissertations I read to research this book; all forty-three of you are absolutely bonkers obsessed with Neverland, and that passion was so valuable to the design of this manuscript.

  Last but not least, thank you to J.M. Barrie for such a strange and tender story, smartly written and beautifully expanded. It’s a masterpiece.

  ALSO BY AUTHOR

  The Wicker King

  The Weight of the Stars

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  K. Ancrum grew up in Chicago, Illinois, under the illusory rigor of the Chicago public school system. She attended Dominican University to study fashion merchandising but was lured into getting an English degree after spending too many nights experimenting with hard literary criticism and hanging out with unsavory types, like poetry students. Currently, she lives in River North, Chicago, and writes books at work when no one is looking. You can sign up for email updates here.