“Did you?” Antonia set the cake on top of his dresser and cut two slices. “It’s my first Chocolate Tipsy Cake, so don’t judge me too harshly.”
“Who am I to judge?” The Reverend tried his best to keep an open mind, especially when it came to the Owens women.
Antonia handed him a slice of cake, then perched on the edge of the bed with her own plate and hesitantly took a bite. It might not look perfect, but it was utterly delicious.
“Yum,” they said in unison.
Antonia hadn’t stopped thinking about Ariel Hardy, and yet when Ariel’s number had flickered up on her phone, she hadn’t answered, but had instead stepped into the shower and let the water run for nearly half an hour, a surefire cure for thinking too much. “How do you know if you’re in love?” she found herself saying now as they ate their cake. Antonia felt comfortable confiding in the Reverend; she had the distinct impression that her secrets were safe with him.
“Love does as it pleases. It can’t be controlled.” The Reverend took another bite of the cake. “Almost as good as your aunt Jet’s.”
Antonia was pleased by the compliment, and perhaps that was why she confessed more than she otherwise might have. “I’ve never been in love.”
“You should try it. And don’t worry, Jet will end the curse.”
Antonia took his plate, for as it turned out Reverend Willard could only eat a few bites. She patted his arm. If he’d forgotten Jet was gone, who was she to remind him otherwise? Antonia would leave the rest of the cake for the nurses; it was always prudent to be on their good side. She had only come to visit because she was obligated and she’d been told it was a family tradition to look after the Reverend, but before she left she paused to hug him good-bye.
“I’ll see you next week,” he reminded her. “Unless I’m dead.”
With his dry humor, the old man was one of the few people who could make Antonia smile. “You’ll be alive, and I’ll be here.”
“I dream about Jet.” He knew she was gone, only he didn’t like to think about that.
“I do, too,” Antonia admitted. She now realized that in her drowning dreams, Jet was on the other side of the lake. Jet had always told Antonia and Kylie to never be afraid to be who they were. Everything you give to the world will come back to you threefold.
“I ruined her life and she forgave me.” Reverend Willard had written Jet many letters of apology and she wrote back forgiving him over and over again, notes he kept stuffed into his night-table drawer. After all this time, and scores of letters, he still hadn’t quite managed to forgive himself.
* * *
May in Boston was mild and beautiful, the good weather finally returning after that dreadful spring. The streets were emptier once the students had departed for other homes and other states, and the professors had disappeared to summer houses, but Gideon was still in his hospital room, with little change in his condition. His mother had rented an apartment on Beacon Hill in order to be at her son’s bedside every day, with his stepfather working at his law firm in New York and driving up on weekends. Gideon’s parents rarely spoke to each other, afraid of what they might say. The doctors had told them his recovery was a matter of time, but they could tell it was a matter of fate. People mended despite all odds, Antonia Owens told Mrs. Barnes when she visited. Antonia came every day, hoping that Kylie would phone Gideon’s room. In the presence of Mrs. Barnes, she was very positive and hopeful, a manner she had been practicing and perfecting in medical school. Be rational, but don’t think the truth is always the correct answer.
There was something called the Glasgow Coma Scale and Gideon had scored well, suggesting there was no permanent damage to his brain. When his hand was squeezed, he exerted pressure in return. He was in there, Antonia was sure of it. Today she came to the hospital directly from the retirement home up in Essex, still smelling of chocolate. She knew that Mrs. Barnes needed some respite from standing guard, and Antonia preferred to spend time with Gideon alone, when she didn’t have to keep a pleasant expression on her face to ensure that her fears about his condition wouldn’t be evident and upset his mother any further. Mrs. Barnes was already wrapped up in fear, and who could blame her?