The doctor merely stared at him until he flushed and glanced away. He could only imagine how wild he seemed, screaming obscenities at the guard, insisting on being released.
“That,” the doctor said, “depends on you.”
Roman sat back. If there was one thing he was good at, it was accepting a challenge.
* * *
Two days later, the doctor discharged Roman with a list of prescriptions and strict instructions to rest. A soft rain was falling when he emerged from the hospital in borrowed clothes. He walked over broken cobblestones and piles of rubble, passing only a few people who darted past with umbrellas or newspapers tented over their heads. But Roman didn’t mind the rain, and he began to head east, toward Iris’s flat.
When he came to an intersection, he paused. He wondered if Enva was close by, coaxing the storm clouds with her magic, and a shiver raced over his skin. It was odd to be standing in a place that only days ago had been vibrant and full of life. Motorcars and buggies and wagons and bicycles. Now he seemed to be the only one breathing its air, remembering how it had once been.
“Roman!”
He turned and saw Iris farther up the street. She was drenched through, her dress nearly translucent, hair plastered to her face. But he knew then that she had been waiting for him to emerge from the hospital.
He ran to her.
They collided in the center of the bomb-torn street. Roman stumbled backward, clinging to her. He would have lost his balance if she hadn’t used her strength to hold him upright.
“I believe I’m quite good at this,” Iris said. She pressed her face to his neck, chuckling to hide the sob in her words.
Roman held her close, feeling her chest rise and fall with her breath. He remembered the golden field of Avalon Bluff. The way she had sprinted to him, pressing him down to the earth. Covering his body with her own to protect him.
“And what’s that, Winnow?” he said. “I have an entire laundry list of things you’re good at doing.”
Iris laughed again. A beat later, she leaned back to meet his gaze, rain gleaming on her face.
“At taking you by surprise, Kitt.”
{54}
Dear Iris
THREE MONTHS LATER
Iris stood before her flat, holding an empty box. She had been delaying this for weeks, preoccupied by far too many other important things that needed her attention. But she knew it was finally time. She needed to go through her things, deciding what to keep and what to leave behind before she sold the flat. It was time to sort through her mother’s belongings, as well as Forest’s.
“We don’t have to do this today,” Roman said. He stood close beside her, their arms touching. The wedding ring shone on his left hand, a silver band to match her own. He also carried an empty box, although Iris knew she wouldn’t be able to fit her entire life into two crates.
“I know,” she said, gazing up at the sky as storm clouds rolled in. The first few drops of summer rain began to fall, sizzling on the hot pavement beneath her boots. “But I don’t want to put it off any longer.”
She smiled at Roman, to ease the crease of worry in his brow.
“Together, then?” he said.
“Yes, together,” Iris agreed.
They headed into the shadows of the flat just as the storm broke.
* * *
Iris went through her belongings in her room first because it would be easiest. She thought she would struggle to leave things behind, like she was surrendering ghost after ghost. But it was more liberating than she had anticipated.
She kept a few of her favorite skirts and sweaters. Her boots from the trenches. A pearl bracelet that had been her nan’s. All her books, and the horse figurine that had once graced her desk at the Gazette. Her typewriter was already in the new flat she and Roman were leasing, as well as most of her essentials.
In many ways, it felt like she had finally outgrown the skin that had been her childhood. With every object she left behind, it split a little more, until she suddenly felt like she could take a full breath. It was okay for her to leave behind the sofa and the old teacup her mother had used as an ashtray. The sideboard with all the melted candles from powerless nights. The painting on the wall that Iris had always hated because it made her sad every time she looked at it.
When she stepped into Forest’s room, which had belonged to their mother before him, the two crates were full.
“Let me find another box,” Roman said.
He left the front door open, so Iris could hear the rain. The flat soon smelled like petrichor, and the fragrance steadied her heart and her hands as she began to go through her brother’s belongings.