Will bush's Arc

Chapter 14 of 26

Kate pulled him toward the door, but Will stopped at the step. His knuckles had gone thin again, thin enough that the porch rail showed through them. He could not sit at her table. He could not hold her hand across it. If he went inside now, she would spend the rest of her life remembering a brother who could not touch her at the end. "Wait," he said. "I need one thing first." Kate turned. Her hand still hovered near his sleeve, afraid to test the cloth again. "There was a flask," Will said. "Not the empty one. A green one. Marrow's uncle keeps them. If any is left, it makes me solid. An hour. Maybe less." "Where." One word. Flat. "The tree line. She left the satchel there before she turned back." He looked at his own hand. "I can't walk that far now." Kate did not answer. She went to the pump, filled a jar, and set it on the step. She whistled once, low. The collie came out from under the porch. She pointed at the pines. "Go," she said. The dog looked at Will. Will nodded. The collie ran. Kate stood in the yard with her arms wrapped around herself and did not speak. A dandelion had gone to seed by the fence post. She did not look at it. She watched the trees. The collie came back in the long minutes before noon with a satchel dragging by its strap. Inside was one flask, ribbed with metal, half full of green light. Kate lifted it out with both hands. "Drink," she said. Will took it. The glass was cold and real in his fingers. He swallowed. The green went through him like warm water in a cold pipe. His hands filled. The rail under his palm stopped showing through. Kate touched his wrist first, careful, the way a person tests a stove. Her fingers met skin. She made a small sound, not a word. Then she put her arms around him and held on hard enough to hurt, and he held her back. He could feel her hair against his jaw. He could feel her shoulders shake. They stood in the yard under the peach tree by the fence, and he counted her breaths because he knew how many he had. A small pale girl watched from the pines and then went back into them. He did not call her over. This hour was Kate's. When the green began to thin in his hands again, Kate felt it before he spoke. She stepped back and put both palms flat against his chest while she still could. "Okay," she said. "Okay. I had you." She did not cry until after he could not feel it. By then the goodbye was already inside her, whole, and nothing could take it out.