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Back How to Disappear Completely Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. Back Ad
  58. About the Publisher

But her scowl had already evaporated. “No, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean it. Come here, darlin’.”

I scrambled up onto the bed with her, staring out through the old foggy panes at the snow-covered garden.

“You know you don’t have to come here, don’t you?” she said. “I love having you, but I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to come, do you understand? I want this house to be a happy place for you. A place you want to visit.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t understand. And still don’t. Morning Glory Cottage was and is my favorite place in the world, besides the Spinney. “I love it here,” I said. “It’s pretty in the snow.”

Her face twitched into a smile. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

It was then that I noticed the old book lying on her lap. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Ah,” she said. “That is a very old, very interesting story. Would you like me to read it to you?”

And she did. The sound of R. M. Wildsmith’s words filled up the world that had gone silent in the snow, so that for the next few days, it felt like the only world that existed was the one in the book.

As soon as we finished, I asked if we could read it again.

The last few weeks before Gram died, when she’d gotten really sick and couldn’t leave her room, I would come in to find her staring out her window with the same pained look on her face as I’d seen that snowy day. And I knew she was thinking about how she wanted to be outside, living, instead of in her room, dying.

This time, I read The World at the End of the Tunnel aloud to her. But we were only halfway through before she went to the hospital and never came back.

Now, I reach over and pick the book up. Then I turn to the beginning, careful not to damage the old pages. On the title page, there’s an inscription from my grandpa, who must have bought the book for Gram.

For my muse and best friend.

Below these words is Grandpa’s illegible signature. I trace the writing with my fingers, thinking that I could have written the very same thing about Gram.

Then I flip the page and start to read.

The adventure all began with a glass of milk being overturned by an elbow and Jack and Sarah being turned out from the house for the morning in punishment. An inglorious way to begin an adventure, perhaps, but then we can’t control when or how adventure may find us.

I hear the story in Gram’s voice, and after a while, she lulls me to sleep.

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The next few days pass by in a fog.