Glancing over my shoulder as we leave and remembering what the twins once said:

“Summerland contains the possibility of all things.”

And wondering if I somehow stumbled upon its other side.

seventeen

“What happened to you?”

I squint, having no idea what he’s referring to until I follow his pointing finger all the way down to my mud-splattered legs and the flip-flops that used to be a cute, metallic gold but are now so crusted with dirt they’re more like a blech-tinged brown instead.

I frown, instantly swapping them out for a nice, new, clean version of the exact same thing, glad to know I’m back to the magical section of Summerland, which is far more preferable to the no-man’s-land I visited earlier. Taking a moment to shrug on the soft lilac cardigan I also just manifested, wrapping it tightly around me as I say, “I got tired of waiting. I didn’t know how long you’d be, so I went on a little—uh—field trip.” I lift my shoulders like it was no big deal, like it was just your everyday, garden variety, late afternoon stroll—when the truth is with that weird, relentless rain, those barren trees, my horse’s determination to get the heck out of there, it was anything but. But Jude already has enough to process without my adding a confusing new territory to the mix and I’m eager to find out what he’s seen.

“But even more important than what happened to me is what happened to you?” I look him over from the top of his golden brown dreadlocks to the rubber soles of his flip-flops, noticing how on the outside he’s pretty much the same as I left him, but inside, something has definitely changed. There’s a shift in his energy, his demeanor. On the one hand, he seems lighter, brighter, brimming with confidence, yet he also seems distinctly edgy for someone who just visited one of the greatest wonders in all of the universe.

“Well—it was—interesting.” He nods, his gaze meeting mine, but only for a moment before he quickly turns away.

And I can’t believe he thinks he can get away with that. I mean, I think I deserve a little more after having brought him all the way here.

“Um, care to elaborate?” I arc my brow. “Exactly how was it interesting? What did you see, hear, learn? What did you do from the moment you entered to the moment you left? Did you get the answers I need?” Knowing I’m seconds away from peering into his mind to see for myself if he doesn’t spill soon.

He takes a deep breath and turns, moving several paces away until he finally meets my gaze and says, “I’m not sure I really want to get into it just yet—it’s a lot to process—I still need to make sense of it. It’s all a bit—complicated—”

I squint, determined to see for myself. There are very few secrets in Summerland, especially for a newbie like him who doesn’t have the first clue as to how it all works, but the second I run up against that solid brick wall, I know just where he’s been.

The akashic records.

Remembering how Romy once said: Not all thoughts can be read, only the ones you’re permitted to see. Whatever you see in the akashic records is yours and yours to keep.

I narrow my gaze, needing to know now more than ever, moving toward him, just about to push a bit further when I feel it—that swarm of warmth, of tingle and heat his mere presence brings. Turning to find Damen, making his way down those steep marble steps, until he stops—everything stops—and our eyes meet.

And I’m just about to call out to him—urge him to join me, knowing now’s my chance to explain everything, when I see what he sees—me and Jude together, enjoying a nice trip to Summerland—Damen’s and my special place. And before I can do anything, say anything—he’s gone. Just blinked out of existence as though he was never really there.

Except he was.

His energy lingers. I can still feel him on my skin.

And one glance at Jude is all it takes to confirm it. Seeing the way his eyes go wide, the way his lips part—the way he reaches toward me, wanting to comfort, but I pull away quickly. Sickened by what Damen must think—how we must’ve appeared to his eyes.

“You should go,” I say, my back turned toward him, my voice crisp and tight. “Just close your eyes, make the portal, and go. Please.”

“Ever—” he says, reaching for me again, but I’m already gone, moving on to some other place.

eighteen

I walk. Walk until I’ve no idea how far I’ve gone. Walk until I’m sure Damen can no longer see me. Determined to outwalk my problems but not getting very far, finally understanding that old adage on the coffee mug my eighth-grade English teacher used to have: wherever you go—there you are.

You can’t outwalk your problems. Can never run fast enough to evade them completely. This is my journey, and there’s just no escaping it.

And even though Summerland provides such sweet, glorious release—its effect is only temporary at best. No matter how long I manage to stay here, I’m pretty sure things will do a one-eighty the second I return to the earth plane.

I wander farther, trying to decide between stopping by the theater to catch an old movie, or maybe even heading over to Paris to take a nice relaxing stroll along the River Seine, or even a quick hike through the ruins of Machu Picchu, or a run through the Roman Coliseum, when I come across a smattering of cottages that brings me to a halt.

The outside is plain, modest, consisting of wood shingles, small windows, and pointy, triangular roofs—but even though there’s seemingly nothing special about any of them, there’s one in particular that beckons to me, glowing in a way that lures me down the narrow dirt path until I’m standing just outside the door. Having no idea why I’m here but still debating whether or not I should try to go in.