She stayed with me all day. She ordered pizza for dinner and scolded me into eating it; she hid the telephone book so I couldn’t try to find Cliff; she summoned pages and sent them to notify the other local nobles of my return. And when the sun went down and I finally started crying, she took me in her arms, and she held me. I’ll always remember that. Evening was never a nice person, but she held me as long as I needed her to, and she never said a word about my tears staining her silk blouse, or about the way I’d thrown her world into disarray. When push came to shove, she did what needed to be done, and she didn’t refuse her own.

Things got a little better after that. The purebloods of the city were willing to help as much as they could, and the changelings were willing to help even more. My refusal to have much to do with them tied their hands a bit, but they did their best before they left me to my own devices. Evening offered to have my P.I. license reinstated. I refused. I’ve been down that road before, and it didn’t do me a damn bit of good.

I think they told Mother I was back, but I’m not sure she understood. She doesn’t understand much these days. She spends her time wandering the Summerlands, humming songs no one recognizes and rattling at doors no one else sees. In her own way, she’s lost more time than I have.

Evening said not to contact Cliff until I was ready. I held out longer than I thought I could: I made it almost three days before I called him. I couldn’t tell him where I’d been or what had happened—there’s no real way to say “I was turned into a fish” to a man who thinks you’re as human as he is—so I fell back on old clichés, saying I had amnesia due to being attacked by the man I’d been tailing, saying I didn’t know what had happened. Our relationship was based on lies, and he must have known that, deep down. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised when he hung up the phone, or when Gilly didn’t want anything to do with me. They’d gone on without me, creating a life that had no room for a deadbeat who left them grieving for fourteen years. I couldn’t explain why I went away, and so all we had was a silence that didn’t allow for love. I keep calling. They keep refusing to talk to me.

That was June. I’ve done what I could to reassemble the trappings of a life, but nothing can bring back the years. The summers, the winters, the last hours with my mother before she slipped completely into her own private world, every precious minute with my little girl, they’re gone for good, and I’ll never get them back. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to turn my back on Faerie. It’s taken me away from the mortal world twice now. It doesn’t get a third try.