“What?”
“He’s afraid of you, Luna.”
Luna marveled at the inadvertent genius of her plan. “Is he really afraid?” Luna said with a smile.
Her pleasure at that news was disconcerting.
“Yes, Luna. He misunderstood, right?” Griff said.
“Fear. That was my next experiment,” Luna said, followed by a full explanation of her recent actions.
Griff took Luna upstairs to Owen’s bedroom. Owen was under an electric blanket turned up to high.
“No,” Owen yelled when he saw Luna standing next to his brother.
“Just let her explain,” Griff said. “It’s kind of sweet, in its weirdness.”
Griff left them alone. Luna went to sit on Owen’s bed, but he pointed at the floor.
“Stay back,” Owen said. “Let me see your hands.”
Luna’s fingers were still numb. She wanted to keep them in her pockets.
“You have one minute,” Owen said.
“I read somewhere that cold-water immersion can ameliorate depression. You haven’t been normal since…you know, which is totally understandable. But because that whole thing was in some ways my fault, I wanted to see if I could help. Wake you up. I think maybe it worked. You’re mad now. Before you were just in this fog. I wasn’t trying to kill you. I just wanted you to feel better.”
Owen gawked at Luna for a long moment. Then he said, “I’m not your fucking guinea pig.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Luna said, still shivering. “I didn’t think the water would be that cold.”
Owen had clearly recovered far better than she. The self-sacrifice did not go entirely unnoticed.
Owen lifted the covers. “Get in.”
Luna crawled into the warm bed. He turned on the television. They cycled through the stations for a while, searching for something decent to watch. Eventually they landed on Young Frankenstein.
Griff heard his brother’s laugh for the first time since he’d arrived. Later that night, Griff checked in on them. The pair was cozy under a blanket, fully recovered from the day’s events. Credits played on the TV screen.
“Everybody okay?” Griff said.
Owen gently shoved Luna. “She was just leaving.”
“I can take a hint,” Luna said.
As Luna met Griff in the hallway, Owen told them to shut the door. Luna went downstairs and helped Griff tidy up in the kitchen.
“He seems a little better, right?” Luna whispered.
Griff placed his hands on Luna’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes with an uneasy devotion. “You’re…insane. And amazing,” he said.
Griff kissed her on the lips. Luna felt light-headed. When it was over, Griff turned away, embarrassed.
“Good night, then,” he said.
“Good night,” said Luna.
Luna left the next morning without saying a word. She didn’t want to give Griff a chance to tell her it was a mistake.
Owen always thought of the rowboat incident as the beginning of his recovery. Just like the way you thaw out after being submerged. Your fingers go numb and turn blue in the cold. Then you put them in front of the fire and it stings. For a while there, he’d felt nothing. Then he felt pain, and then the pain softened and he started to think about things he’d like to do. Going back to Markham was out of the question.
It was Vera who suggested Owen study abroad. Since it was too late for Owen to enter any official university program, Vera managed to make arrangements for Owen to have an apartment in London and take classes at Chelsea College of Arts. It would cost a fortune, but Owen’s parents could afford it back then.
Luna still visited every few weeks, even during the last dregs of summer, when Owen no longer needed his class assignments. Griff was gone by then. He’d gotten a job in New York City and was apartment hunting.
As Owen packed, Luna read aloud from a Lonely Planet travel guide to London. She promised to mail Owen American sundries. She’d heard peanut butter was hard to come by.
“When’s the last time you saw me eat peanut butter?” Owen asked.
“You’ll want it when you can’t have it.”
“You have to visit,” Owen said to Luna. “Promise.”
Luna knew she’d be too cash-strapped to manage a trip, and she wouldn’t lie.
“Have the best year. I’ll be here when you come back,” Luna said.
Owen and Luna promised to write every week. Luna had sent three letters to Owen before she heard back. He’d taken a photo of himself, glued it to a postcard of Big Ben, added an illustrated top hat and monocle, and scribbled a quick message on the back.