The waits—ten days till the twenty-second, then waiting to see what they’ll do in response to the injunction, then waiting to see what happens after that—feel torturous, but actually, they’re the best thing because the reality is once he knows the plant’s not reopening, Nathan Templeton will take his family and go back to Boston. So, hard as it is, all this waiting is really a blessing. The plant will not reopen, but no one will know it, so all the bad things that are going to happen when everyone does—there will be no new jobs after all, no influx of customers for new shops and restaurants, and, worse than any of that, River will leave and I’ll never see him again—won’t happen yet. As Elmer Grove would say: win-win.
The worst part of this plan though—the part it hinges on—is keeping it a secret. We cannot squander our head start. Russell’s injunction has to be a surprise to Belsum, a shock even. We want them scrambling and wrong-footed and delayed and behind and outsmarted. No one knows we know about the dam, neither who owns it nor Belsum’s secret plans to repair it before we realize we can say no, and we have to keep it that way for as long as possible. We can’t tell anyone, not even River. Mirabel says especially. Especially not River.
“We don’t keep secrets from each other,” I say, and she laughs, I think unkindly. “Besides, he’s on our side.”
“He is sixteen,” her Voice says. We are lying in the dark in bed waiting for sleep to come.
“So?”
“Young,” her Voice says.
“We’re sixteen,” I remind her.
“Yes.”
“He spied on his father, gave us those emails, got me into the plant. He’s been helping us.”
“So—”
“So he deserves to know what’s going on.” But she wasn’t finished yet.
“—far.”
“You think he’d betray us?”
“Don’t know.”
“You don’t understand. He wouldn’t do that to me. He l-likes me.” I trip over the l because I was about to say “love.” “We tell each other everything.”
“We tell each other everything.” Monday, from out of the darkness on the other side. I didn’t even know she was awake. “And sometimes I do not like you.”
“We’re sisters. That’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s different with boyfriends.” Oh, what that word feels like coming out of my mouth. Even in the dark, I can see it rising to the ceiling, like a balloon, that buoyant but mostly that joyous, that celebratory.
“Don’t tell him,” Mirabel’s Voice warns, back where we started.
So I hold my tongue, guard our secrets. I wait seven days.
And then I tell River anyway.
I tell him because of what I told Mirabel. He’s on our side. He’s been helping us, helping me. This is his victory too. I tell him because I do not want to keep it—or anything—from him. I trust him. I know he will be thrilled for us, like Russell, like Omar. I tell him because the weather is turning for good, and the cold is coming for real now. There will be snow. I want to drink hot cocoa with my boyfriend and hold his hand while we watch it fall.
So I tell him. I tell him not to tell anyone. I swear him to secrecy. He promises. He crosses his heart and hopes to die. He thanks me for trusting him. He pulls me to him and whispers into my hair that he would never betray me. And that might be the best feeling of all—trusting, having faith—better than the kissing, better than the sex, better than the magic.
Briefly.
Two
It is November 21, so there is only one night left to wait, and we are eating dinner, and the doorbell rings, and Mama’s face looks happy, and I can guess that is because Omar has come to visit twice since he brought over the deed to the dam, and that makes me feel squiggly because Mama hated Omar until very recently. And happy and hate are opposites. But when Mab opens the door, the person on the other side is not Omar. It is Nathan Templeton.
“You’re eating,” he says, which is accurate but not the point anymore. “I can come back later.”
But I am alarmed he is here, and I cannot eat while I am worried about why, and I can make an assumption that that is true for Mama and Mab and Mirabel too so he might as well come in now. Mama opens a new bottle of water and pours him a glass of it. He thanks her, and he sits down, but he does not drink the water or say anything. Mama looks tired and afraid but patient. She will just wait to hear what he will say. I am afraid too, but I am not patient.