Will bush's Arc

Chapter 38 of 41

Will held Kate's hand and the yard fell away. The porch, the cherry tree, the small wild bed by the step — all of it thinned to nothing. He did not choose a direction. Something older than choice pulled them, the way a tide pulls a leaf. Kate walked beside him. She was not old. Her hair was dark again and her hand in his was warm. "Where are we going," she said. "I don't know." "Alright." They came up a slope of soft grass. Will felt the ground firm under his feet for the first time in years. Not wood. Not void. Grass. He looked down and saw his own boots pressing it flat. The meadow opened in front of them. Flat stones sat in the grass like resting animals. Wildflowers grew in loose clusters — small yellow ones, blue ones, red trumpets he didn't know the name of. A low mound rose at the far end, mossed over, with more stones set into it. The air smelled like crushed stems and rain that had already passed. Kate stopped walking. She looked at the flowers. "I know this place," she said. "No you don't." "I do." She pointed at a patch of chamomile and nasturtium near a flat stone. "I planted those. By the step." Will looked. They were the same flowers. Chamomile white and yellow. Nasturtium orange and red. Growing here the way they had grown by the porch. "They followed you," he said. "They followed us." He felt the pull ease. Whatever had brought them here was done. This was the end of the road. No pale woman. No thread to hold. No knot to be. He waited for fear and it did not come. Kate sat down on one of the flat stones. She patted the space beside her. He sat. "I made soup that day," she said. "I told you a hundred times in the tree. I'll stop now." "Don't stop." "I'll stop the sad part." She looked at him. "You came back. That's the part I want to keep." He took her hand again. It stayed in his. No flicker. No fade. "I waited a long time," he said. "I know." "I don't have to wait now." "No." A breeze moved through the grass and the flowers leaned with it. Will felt something loosen in his chest that had been tight since the road, since the crash, since the three hours she sat at the shop. It went out of him into the meadow and did not come back. Kate leaned her shoulder against his. He closed his eyes. When he opened them the meadow was still there, and so was she, and the flowers she had planted by the step were blooming at their feet. They stayed.