There was nothing in the field. There never is. It’s surrounded by high fences, every inch. The house was different then too. Going out didn’t carry such finality.
I walk as fast as I dare, weaving between the flowers whenever possible. Any destroyed bloom is lost money. I brush my fingers over the flowers twined into my hair. I did it on the way back from visiting Decker. It’s sweet to wake up with petals on my pillow, and my mother would have known something was off if I hadn’t put them there.
There’s nothing in the field tonight. Nothing under the bright swell of the moon other than stark shadows. Tree branches scrape against the sky. I’ll admit it—I don’t want to get too close. Wind rushes by my ears, carrying the creaking of the green-heavy branches. Cicadas sing, jumping out of the way as I go. I’m disturbing them. I’m disturbing myself, but it’s the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done.
After I read that ghost story, the New York Public Library became the symbol of freedom. A bright moon to focus on when I’m feeling mired in endless flowers. Maybe the library won’t be impressive, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not about the building. It’s not about the millions of books inside. It’s about being the master of my own fate, deciding where I go.
I head for the forest. A slim line of trees separates me from the train, and the train will whisk me away to my new life. The air is more humid by the day. It’s heavy in my lungs. Tomorrow’s dewdrops hover in midair. For a moment, I see myself the way another person would, with my white dress floating above the grass.
I feel like a ghost. My feet could leave the ground and I could fly off into the sky, dissolving into midnight blue. I wish I could’ve brought more than a small beaded purse, but packing would have given me away. Decker says we can buy everything we need in the city.
I was wrong before. I’m not ambivalent about him. I was afraid, and that’s not the same thing.
At the tree line, I stop one final time. Once I get on the train, there’s no going back. A wild instinct pounds at the cage of my chest—run, run, go home, go back inside, pound on the door, beg her to let me in—but no. I am not a little girl anymore, my mother is not my keeper, and I’m leaving.
I need this.
I fold the purse into the palm of my hand and step into the murky darkness beneath the trees. For the first several paces, everything is shadowed, moonlight cutting through the branches and splashing onto the dirt. Another light source changes the character of the shadows. A streetlamp, its glow visible in the dark. It’s old, the plastic casing around the lightbulb cloudy, but its light tells me what I need to know—the fence is open.
The fence is open.
I jump into the air—I can’t help it—and come down soft, heat rushing to my cheeks. Let Decker not have seen me jumping for joy. I don’t know who he convinced to give him the key, and I don’t care. It won’t matter in the space of an hour or two. My pulse is a hummingbird, fast and light and giddy. Walk slowly, Persephone. Don’t run.
The train waits on the tracks.
From my brief stint at boarding school, I know what a real train platform is like. I rode this same train into the city, and it let me off at the main station. A bodyguard met me there and took me straight to the school’s front door. He did more than that, actually. He took me to the door of my bedroom. The man my mother hired to protect me lived in an apartment across the street for three years, watching. My jaw tightens at the memory. There was never a reason to keep me under lock and key. Nothing ever happened.
Whatever. All of that is in the past. The past, the past, a long time ago. Soon, the past will be behind the train, and we’ll leave the train behind, and all of this will be like a dream.
The train car lined up with the platform has its door flung open wide. From here, the opening is a pitch-dark maw. The gentle rumble of the engine hums underneath the breeze.
It’s waiting.
It’s waiting for me.
But where is Decker?
I scan the length of the train. In the distance, another faint light glows, shadows moving in front of it. The men are loading the flowers. Nervousness wraps its hands around my neck. Where is he? We were supposed to meet here.
Maybe he meant on the train, not at the train. A flush of heat spills down my back. He could be waiting inside for me, hidden from the other men who work on the deliveries, hidden from everyone. For the first time in my life, I don’t mind the thought of a person hiding, waiting. There won’t be any fence inside the train car—just me and Decker, if everything goes according to plan. It’s two hours to the city. We could do a lot in two hours.
Don’t rush, don’t rush. Every instinct says to keep my eyes open, to look around, but I need to listen. Leaves rustle in the wind. Far away, an owl cries. No footsteps, no gasp from my mother—what are you doing here? She’s sleeping, her breathing even and peaceful. Unless she can sense what I’m doing. But that’s a ridiculous thought. My mother’s not omnipotent. She’s a woman. Only a woman.
The dirt beneath my feet has a strange, otherworldly quality. It’s been years since I crossed this stretch of ground. I’m going to need new shoes in the city. These soft canvas ones won’t last long on paved roads.
Why doesn’t Decker come out and lean against the door, that familiar grin on his face?
Maybe he’s preparing a surprise.
I can’t stop my own grin from taking over. Surprises—I love surprises. At least, I do in theory. I’ve read about them in books. A crowd of people crouched behind a door, ready to shout happy birthday! A gift presented with a shy flourish. My God, he is. Decker knows how important tonight is, and I bet he’s going to give me my first real surprise. He’s that kind of person. He’s never seemed to be anything else, and we’ve talked every day for months.
There’s no sign of him as I get close to the train car. A set of steps leads inside, with a railing that’s cold under my palm. I heave myself up, ready to pass out from the anticipation. It might not be so bad to tumble into Decker’s arms and wake up in a new life.
But the train car is dark.
Of course it’s dark. I would have seen light coming from the inside. Obviously. But the night is deeper here. Not a single running light on. My eyes adjust bit by bit.
It’s not a special train car.
I shake off the disappointment like an errant fall of raindrops. I don’t know why I expected it to be a special car. This isn’t a first-class trip to the city. It’s a midnight escape. Still. This is nothing. It’s clean, I think. A narrow window lets in enough light to see a pair of seats, more like a bench, against the back wall. The rest is empty space. This is a storage car, not one of the passenger cars.
I swallow hard, shame pummeling my disappointment. I didn’t come here for luxury. I came here to get out.
This is going to be our life. Decker can’t afford a fancy house, but at least he can accept it graciously. He’s not worried about having everything, about starting our new life with the little cash we’ve managed to put away without attracting attention. He’s not longing for piles of money or an extravagant lifestyle. Neither am I.
One last scan of the car. Where is he? Goose bumps crawl up the flesh of my arms and down my spine.
“Decker?” It takes everything in me to get the word out, and it’s barely above a whisper. I clear my throat and try again. “Deck, are you here?”