“Wow,” I say, vaguely thinking that the Kincaids make my parents look like the progeny of flower children and Mother Teresa. I think about the way Joyce and Raymond sat apart from Beau in the hospital the morning of the accident, only sparing glances at him to shoot him daggers. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell Megan. “It’s all going to be okay.”

“I’m glad I ran into you,” Megan says. We both stand up to go, and it’s the same as it’s always been—the two of us, understanding one another without too many words.

“Me too.”

It’s true that nothing has the potential to hurt so much as loving someone, but nothing heals like it either.

21

“There once was a hunting party,” Grandmother said. “Among this party were an old man, his daughter and her husband, and their young son. Though they set off together, it wasn’t long before the hunting party was separated. The old man, the woman, and her husband went one way, while their child accidentally went the other.

“They did not notice the missing child until the sun was going down, and then there was nothing much they could do but camp. Luckily, they happened upon a cabin in a clearing, and so they decided to camp there for the night.

“They built a powerful fire and went to bed, the old man on one side of the cabin and the married couple on the other. When the fire had dwindled to sparks, a noise awoke the couple. When they listened, they determined it was a dog gnawing on a bone. Then the noise turned to a sharp rattling, and they got out of bed to find the source.

“Crossing the cabin, they found that the old man had been killed by some kind of animal, his blood pouring from his body onto the bed where he slept. They were frightened, of course, but it was the middle of the night, and there was nothing to be done. The attacking animal had vanished, and so the couple covered the old man’s body, fed the fire, and went back to their bed to wait for sunrise.

“But again, when the fire went down, they heard the noise. They leapt out of bed, running toward the old man’s body. This time they saw the creature that had killed him: a living Skeleton, who peered up at them before fleeing through a hole in the cabin wall. The husband and wife were terrified. They knew the creature would not willingly let them escape, so they crept back to their bed and made a plan in hushed whispers.

“They stoked the fire back to life, and then the wife said, loud enough for the Skeleton to hear from wherever he hid, ‘I am so thirsty, husband. I must go down to the stream for a drink.’ And so she left, and the Skeleton did not pursue her. Then the husband built the fire up further and said aloud, ‘Where is my wife? Why has she been gone so long? I must go down to the stream to make sure she’s all right.’ And so he snuck from the cabin too, breaking into a run as soon as he was clear of it. He found his wife in the woods, and together they ran back toward their home.

“But the Skeleton returned when the fire had gone down and found his prey had vanished, and so he took off in pursuit of them, howling terribly. The couple ran fast until they reached their home, where their people were in the middle of a great celebration and feast. Hearing their kindred’s cries for help, the people ran out into the woods to meet them, and the Skeleton fled.

“The next morning a group of people set out for the cabin. They found the remains of the old man’s body and, in the loft, they found an old bark coffin that held a Skeleton, a man whose friends had left him unburied. To destroy the cabin and the Skeleton, they surrounded it with dry bark and fuel and lit a fire to consume it. As they stood watching the cabin burn, they saw a fox with eyes that glowed like fire flee from the house and dart into the woods.

“The end.”

“You’re kidding,” I said. Grandmother smirked.

“You would know if I was kidding,” she said. “I’m hilarious.”

“Your stories are about as funny as The Diary of Anne Frank.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m humorless. I have a life outside of our time together, you know,” she said. “I’m telling you the things you need to know. Later, if there’s time, I’ll tell you about the time I found a latex glove in my salad.”

“No thanks,” I said, subduing my gag reflex. “What even happened to the boy?”

“What do you mean? He left the story.”

“So he stopped existing? Why even mention him?”

“To show you it was a good thing he went the other way.”

“Okaaaaay. And that means . . . ?”

“Look, Natalie, sometimes stories only mean whatever you get from them.”

“I hope this isn’t supposed to be one of those times.”

She surveyed me with heavy concentration. “I guess not. You got nothing, did you?”

“Sorry,” I told her with a shrug.

“The nation this story comes from saw the fox as a symbol of sexual love.”

“Erotic vampire fox—now it all makes sense.”

“Listen up,” Grandmother said, sharper than usual. “Some people think this story is about youth versus age. The child avoids the pain of life while the adults suffer.”

“What do you think?”

“That’s part of it,” she said. “But it’s also about the cost of love. To grow up is to love. To love is to die.”

“Charming.”

“Girl, if I could get up right now, I’d smack you across the head. Joke all you want, but this stuff’s important.”

“So what, I should be like the kid? Veer off and forget about love, live utterly selfishly?”

“No,” she said. “But you should know what to expect from your life, Natalie. You feel things deeply. Growing up is going to hurt. Only you can decide if the pain is worth the love.”

Grandmother taught me that eventually—whether with a thousand tiny fissures or one swift split—love will break your heart. My heart is breaking.

22

“So tell me about your experiences,” Alice says, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. I strongly suspect she smoked pot right before we came, and I kind of wish she’d offer some to Beau, who seems roughly as comfortable as a witch in the middle of being burned at the stake. It doesn’t help that things are so tense between us. Since the hospital, we can barely look at one another, barely touch one another.