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They ran into each other at the top of the Standpipe that day; Lilly pretended that she didn't wait for her long after Marge would leave for home. Admittedly, she almost convinced herself Ronnie wouldn't come at all; the sun already started its long way down from its crowned throne, and Lilly's legs began to grow jelly-like just from standing there and doing nothing, really, as all the work was left for her eyes that tracked little heads of people down the street. They looked so tiny from all the way up there, almost like bugs crawling around the forest grounds. Marge was but a little yellow dot among all the grays, and once she was long gone from Lilly's point of view, she had nothing to focus on anymore. Boring, really, but peaceful nonetheless.
Lilly wasn't sure how long she spent there alone until Ronnie was there to save her, hand resting on the white wall just by the staircase end; more to feel it than to lean on it. She was dressed in everything Lilly remember her the best for — round cheeks, tender brown eyes, a wrinkle between eternally worried eyebrows, and a smile hiding just shy away of her lips. She looked like the best memory; a picture of a first love you would want to keep in your pocket, the one closest to heart.
(Or put it in a locket, if you're feeling special. Just under your shirt, tucked away from the rest of the world. It didn't have to know.)
…She really should leave that thought to Will.
"Hey," Lilly said, saluting with her almost-empty soda bottle. She never got around to finishing it; all because she grew too nervous to have a single sip after Marge left the Standpipe; but now she felt nothing but the overwhelming need to wet her lips. Lilly lifted the bottle to her mouth and grimaced almost immediately: the drink was just a little too warm now to be any help.
"Hi," Ronnie said back. Her eyes—for just a moment too long to be a trick of light, but Lilly caught it like she always did—darted down to the bottle in her hand. "Didn't know you'd be here."
That was a lie, or not the full truth, at the very least. It would be much stranger for her to find the Standpipe empty. Nobody ever came here except for the four them, and they rarely ever went anywhere else.
Four. Lilly's fingers tightened around the glass neck of her soda bottle, yanking it up to her lips so fast she completely forgot the straw until it poked her cheek. The clink came against her teeth, but the thoughts that swarmed her brain, ant-like, worried her more than the hollow ring of pain. Two turned into three, then four, and into five—and back to four again. Now, with Ronnie and Will leaving, they were about to be down to just two again. Lilly and Marge against the world, just like old times. It was hard to say their goodbyes to Will that morning, and it would be even harder to do with Ronnie now. She didn't want to think about it at all; and still, that's what she came here for. If her friends ever taught her anything this past month, Lilly would want it to be the bravery to face it. Whatever it was. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
"Oh, trust me," she laughed, and her eyes squinted at sun rays that kissed her face with the warmest of oranges, putting the artificial brightness of Lilly's soda to shame. She almost dropped her bottle then, like a total loser. That's what she was, after all. She didn't see how radiant the sunlight was that day until Ronnie bathed in it. "I know that damn well."
Somehow, they ended up by the edge again, leaning over the railing and pointing at any head that felt any familiar: the obnoxious blond of Zack Denbrough's hair near Sharon McKinley's unmistakable red and all the disgusting mushiness between them; the bald spot developing on the back of the town dentist, Mr. Tozier's, head; one of Marge's brothers (Malcolm or Mark, Lilly wasn't too sure), they all looked just as similar as their names sounded; the new pharmacist on his smoke break…
"That's Jessie for sure," Ronnie perked up and pointed just a little to the side, dropping her gaze into the Memorial Park. It rested at the roots of the Standpipe and was nearly empty that day, except for a few elderly couples here and there, and a family with two little kids; but then she saw the other two dots by the birdbath, smaller than the rest. "I'll recognize that hair anywhere."
Lilly followed her directions and squinted at the blob of black hair Ronnie dubbed as Jessica, barely connecting the girl to the name. She had heard of her before, of course. Ronnie and Jessica were neighbors, just a floor and a grade apart, but Lilly hadn't really seen her around as much. All she knew about her was that she was in the Science Club that Will really wanted to join and that Ronnie found her cool. That was enough for Lilly to find her cool by proxy, but not enough to remember her face all that well. She never really liked looking people in the eyes anyway; it only ever made her feel like a trapped in a cage bird. People always found a way to hurt you best when they saw the weak points, and Lilly was a book wide open. Her mother always told her that everything Lilly thought was written all over her face when she was upset with her, or that she knew Lilly was upset with something she didn't want to mention.
She was right, in a way. Lilly could admit it. Hide and seek has never was among her favorite games after all. They always played alone; Lilly and Marge, just the two of them; because they didn't have other friends and all four of Marge's brothers dubbed themselves too grown-up for games like that. Big loss. They had the most fun when they were together either way. Marge got too good at it too fast; back when they were six, she almost locked herself in Lilly's fridge just because she knew that she wouldn't even think to look in there. If it wasn't for Mr. Bainbridge going for a cold beer that day, Lilly would've never found her at all until Marge froze her butt off. That was the last time they really played, too discouraged by Lilly's parents sitting them down for a talk about places kids shouldn't get inside of.
Ronnie's voice snapped her out of it, closer to her ear than she remembered. "Who's that next to her?"
Lilly squinted again. Unlike the Jessica blob, the other one next to her felt way more familiar to her. "I swear that's Frankie Kaspbrak," she gasped, and looked over at Ronnie. "Serious!"
Ronnie's eyebrows shot up. "Kaspbrak? The one who got suspended for a whole month after setting off the fire alarms in the boys bathroom because he smoked the place up to hell?" Lilly nodded to that, biting back a smile. It was kind of funny. Even Frankie learned to laugh about it lately. "I didn't know they were friends."
Lilly snickered. She remembered the day well: it was the first and only time she was offered a cigarette and felt desperate enough to try it. She suspected, then, that Frank's reasons hid mostly behind the fact that she was Marge's friend. He definitely had a thing for her, considering she caught all the glances he and his friend (with glasses much bigger than Marge's) sent her way every lunch break. Offering her a cigarette and befriending Lilly would put him a step closer to his real goal; that was her leading theory, anyway. He was nicer than most people were to Lilly nonetheless, and she appreciated it enough to be nice back. Despite all of it, she still didn't really enjoy smoking; as much as she could try it before she began to cough her lungs out. Frank only shrugged then and told her to wait a few more years. She didn't get why, when he was barely a year older than her. It all happened behind the school just before the classes started, but they only got through the second period that day before the alarms went crazy. They caught Frank in action a minute too late after the other students were already on their way home. He became a hero of sorts for that brave sacrifice. "Me neither."
Her and Ronnie didn't know each other well back then. It was strange, how far away it all felt now. Almost like that point in time was just that: a point, a little dot just like what the heads of all the people on the street became from up there, insignificant and distant. Lilly couldn't tell sometimes that she didn't know Ronnie for much longer than she really knew her. It was, in some of the dreams her hopeless mind would have, almost like they knew each other all their lives.
She remembered how Ronnie looked the day of the great fire alarm escape, much clearer than it should've really stayed in her memory. She was used to forgetting, to getting things wrong and distorted and all mangled up, but when it came to Ronnie she cherished it down to the smallest of details. Just like then. Lilly was already out in the hall with Mrs. Douglas' batch of sixth graders when Ronnie walked out of class across from them, wearing that pink sweater, green skirt and a frown to go with them. Lilly could see it all so clearly still: that sweater looked just a little too short for her arms, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and buttons undone exactly at three highest ones to let her breathe. She never wore that sweater after that year, and Lilly wondered if she had grown out of it. That was a real pity. Ronnie used to show up in it every other day before, distracting her gaze from all the formulas on the desk and drifting over to her back just two seats over.
Lilly flunked math that semester.
Who knew that forgetting to fill out a test would be so important? It's not her fault she zoned out up until the bell rang; that's what she told herself then, even if she knew the truth.
She wasn't… thick skulled exactly, and she certainly wasn't blind. She knew enough to notice Rich going for Marge's hands in the sewers and Will falling for the same charms she was long cursed by. Lilly knew that the way she lost all her marbles around Ronnie wasn't normal and bordered either on insanity or perversion, as some of those movies the nurses played for them at Juniper Hill would preach. She remembered them loud and clear. You were only supposed to be with people that looked like you, unless they looked a little too much like you. Of course, Lilly ended up going against all odds and her own will. It wasn't that she was surprised she turned out that exact way that all the mothers on her street were deadly afraid of; everything considered, that might've been the least insane thing about her. She was Loony Lilly, weird long enough before her father would die and give her a ticket to the real looney bin as a farewell— oh no, it all was there from the beginning. She never had more than one friend. Patty and the girls only ever let her hang around because Marge stubbornly brought Lilly with her, and they dropped her as soon as they got the chance to. She wasn't too sad about that, knowing Patty never bothered to pretend she as much as tolerated her company. That was never the expectation, for Patty to like or simply respect her. Lilly knew she wasn't the type to earn it. She was taller than most girls in her grade, awkward, eerily quiet, and dropped into cold sweat the moment sweet, kind Matty would look at her a second too long.
God, Matty. How Lilly wished she could give him what he wanted. He would still be alive then. Phil, Teddy, and poor little Susie wouldn't have to die looking for him. And Rich…
(Marge's eyes looked the biggest when they were wet and swollen from crying. No glasses should've worried her at all.)
Lilly didn't mean to break so many hearts by having hers so upside down. She still hoped it would one day flip around and fit the right way, or at least that it wouldn't ache and scream for her to run away from the affections of normal kind. Lilly knew it was futile, and almost made peace with it. She just hated that Patty was right more than she could ever hate herself for being wrong. It would take the Pattycakes no time to spread another rumor around. She didn't know if she would be able to handle it, as she couldn't even handle "The Children's Hour" without running out of the theater with Matty pale as a ghost on her tail. She couldn't explain it to him, but she knew well enough why it got her. He accepted a headache as an excuse either way, so sweet and understanding Lilly almost let herself believe that she could like him one day. She did like him a lot— just not the right way.
But a rumor was due, after all. Derry Junior High awaited the new sensation after the roaring success of "Loony Lilly's dad's body parts in every pickle jar at YOUR house!"
She shook her head. That much wasn't true. Her father rested in soil much kinder than the air in this town ever was to him; she had a feeling in her chest, light and soothing, than he knew that too, now, wherever he was.
Lilly lifted her head up and out of those thoughts before they could suck her in any more. To get her mind off of it for sure, she moved over to the wall where they kept all the boxes with their things. Theirs as much as everyone's who frequented the Standpipe before them. They only ever cleared out Rich's stuff before the funeral, but…
"We still have cherry left," Lilly said, reaching for the spare bottle that she definitely didn't hide behind Teddy and Phil's stuff in the back. She tried, for days, to put all of Teddy's comics separately to later give to his brother, but quickly gave up on the thought as everything they owned just couldn't be separated without the owners themselves being here to tell them apart; she'll just hand all of it right to Donald one day. He was the only family member of theirs Lilly had any faith in, with how and what for they would use their belongings down the line. But that aside, neither Marge nor Will would ever get close to those boxes, as they seemed to walk on eggshells around all the things that had anything to do with Phil and Teddy. Lilly got it, but she used their cautiousness anyway, just so Marge wouldn't find it and demand to know who the extra drink she left on the Standpipe was for. Lilly would've cracked eventually; it was Marge after all, she knew her best despite times she didn't; not that it being for Ronnie would ever sound bad. Marge wouldn't be mad, and she knew that. But still… it felt like something Lilly should've kept to herself. Herself and Ronnie. "But I can share orange, if you want to."
Ronnie just shook her head, smiling. "Cherry's my favorite."
"Aw, nuts." Lilly held the red bottle of soda out for her, and Ronnie grabbed it with one hand. Their fingers brushed, just enough to burn at their ends; Lilly rushed to tuck them into her pockets to cool off, shrugging her shoulders all the way up to her ears. Nailed it. "That's two against one. You and Margie would team up to take me and orange soda down."
"Ha. Get ready to accept defeat." Ronnie raised her free hand to imitate a gun shooting from her fingers. Lilly gasped, clutching her chest and falling backwards until her shoulders felt the cold wall behind. That made Ronnie laugh. And oh, she should've done that sooner, if only it would get Ronnie to laugh more. "Margie's cool," she added, popping the lid open effortlessly. Lilly found herself nodding along. Marge was the coolest person she knew, other than just maybe Rich. Will was soft, and Ronnie was… Ronnie. She had it all. Ronnie took a generous sip, sighing in satisfaction after she finished, and set the bottle aside. "I just wish she got cool sooner. Pattycakes were such a waste of time."
That made Lilly chuckle bitterly. She was glad they wouldn't have to deal with Marge being apart of the Pattycakes anymore, but even more so anxious because they would have to deal with the Pattycakes bullying, regardless. At least she wouldn't need to watch Marge jump out of her skin just to please them. They didn't earn a single bit of her admiration, that's for sure. "Damn right."
Pickles in her locker and red paint Ronnie had to scrape off her hands until they nearly bled, their misery was nothing short of hilarious to Patty. That was one of the things Lilly wished they never had in common. Ronnie didn't deserve it.
She felt lightheaded all of a sudden.
"You alright?" Ronnie asked when Lilly nearly stumbled on perfectly solid ground, only saving herself from a gracious nose dive to the dirty floor by leaning onto the wall. "Does something hurt? You're barely holding yourself up."
"Ah, no. My legs are just a little tired. From all the—" Standing there like a fool waiting for you. "—Walking here. You know. Stairs and whatnot."
Ronnie looked her up and down, so slow Lilly would've been less nervous under an X-ray. "Then let's sit there," she said simply, pointing over at the hammock.
Ah. Lilly stared. She never considered it before. The hammock always was sort of… off limits. It felt like eternity since anyone—since Rich—even sat there. She wouldn't touch it for the past few days, almost convinced it would somehow scare his ghost away. Lilly bit her lip guiltily. Just thinking of him as a ghost made her shiver. Nothing felt right about it; he was so full of life, maybe the most of them all.
He would've wanted them to save a seat for him, wouldn't he?
Ronnie's hand landed on her shoulder, warm but firm, and it took her out better than a bucket of ice cold water over her head would. "Whatcha waitin' for?"
She grabbed her hand and tugged on it. Lilly's eyes widened. "Wha—"
Before she could realize it, the floor was gone from under her feet and they were falling into the waiting net, kicking legs hard enough to make a mess out of their skirts, and laughing their bellies off. Ronnie giggled, attacking Lilly's ankle with her shoe. Lilly screeched, stretching her leg out just to get caught by Ronnie's hand halfway to her face. That battle ended in her shoe tragically lost to the ground; she tried to fight Ronnie's hand off with her other leg, but that move nearly tumbled them both to the ground by dangerously craning the hammock to the side. Ronnie saved their asses last moment by steadying them with one leg to the floor. "Never thought this thing would fit two!"
"And you pushed me there thinking that!?" Lilly's throat trembled as she yelped, but the laughter caught up to her again, strong and painful for her stomach. She'd never felt better. "Psycho!"
"Yup, yup, I'm insane in the brain! Catch up!" Ronnie sat up on her side of the hammock, leaning over to tickle Lilly's sides. Lilly screamed, startling a bird that decided to rest on the railing and raising her hands in defeat. Ronnie laughed maniacally, finally getting enough of Lilly's suffering and flopping back on her side of the hammock. "I can't believe we didn't think to do it sooner!"
Lilly had to catch her breath, hot and red-faced.
"There's a first time for everything," she said finally, when both of them got off the high of play fighting. In a way. Lilly was still breathing heavily, the heaviest since that damn cigarette last year. "And, well, besides… we had other things to worry about."
Ronnie frowned, propping herself up on her elbows slowly to dust her skirt off. Lilly regretted saying anything at all immediately. "We don't have to anymore."
They sat in silence, long enough to notice the birdsong coming their way. The little robin, the one that Lilly scared off, returned. It flopped its little wings and craned its neck their way to see if there would be any more disturbance. There wouldn't, because both girls were too worn out to grapple any more, just resting there as the hammock swayed gently beneath them. Ronnie kicked both of her shoes off and Lilly followed her suit with her remaining one as they managed to find space for all their limbs, somehow, without risking another fall.
Ronnie was right: they should've done that way sooner. Her bones pleasantly melted to pudding, resting like a weightless blanket over the curve of the hammock. It molded just perfectly under her, even though it could've really used a pillow or two, but she didn't care. Lilly closed her eyes and rested her head against the hammock; it had been a long while since she felt this at peace. She suspected—or realistically knew—that none of it would be the same if it wasn't for Ronnie's weight balancing hers out from the other side. The warmth of her leg rested against Lilly's, solid and soothing. She was there, still, chest rising and falling with steady breaths. They were alive; they still had time.
Forcing the blanket of tiredness off her eyelids, Lilly popped one eye open. Then, with some effort, she opened the other as well. No matter how much her body wished she used an hour or two of sleep there, she couldn't give in. She had to remember how it felt down to the littlest of details. She had to remember Ronnie.
Lilly found her laying down with her eyes closed and her hands folded on her stomach. The sun picked the perfect moment out to tangle in Ronnie's hair and brush gently against her peaceful face. Her eyelashes fluttered like little butterflies, and Lilly found herself charmed once again. Bold and bright, soft and kind, all of it together.
(Later that night, when Hank Grogan's car would be long over the Old Canada Road, Lilly would roll over to count the lashes on Marge's healthy eye through the darkness of her room. It was completely silent aside from Will's soft snores from the other side of the bed they somehow all fit into. It turned out he stayed; they cried and held him close all the same. It was just the three of them now. They'd share the bed like they did with Margie when they were little, so long and so close, because none of them ever wanted to sleep alone again. Their eyes, all of them, would be red and swollen. A tie this time.)
Despite the calm Lilly and Ronnie found themselves in, Lilly's heart wouldn't stop thumping like she just ran a mile. Damn it. That was the closest they'd ever been, and it would most surely be their last in a long time.
If that time would ever come again.
Now or never, Lilly. Pick your poison.
"I have something for you." She reached into her sweater pocket, fishing out the gift she spent the entire night preparing. It was silly— one of the silliest ideas she's ever had. But it felt right more than it could ever feel weird, and it costed a lot in Lilly's world.
Ronnie's doe eyes opened wider. She sat up just a bit while Lilly backed her shoulders more into the net behind her before she could catch herself for it. "A paper boat?"
(You are a goddamn lifeboat. The fog dissolved for Ronnie's voice only. It's never been more clear, not to her.)
"Yeah," Lilly said. She couldn't help but look to the side, like it would hide her from Ronnie's gaze. "I… It's not exactly the match, but. I thought you'd— Maybe, you'd want to have it. So you won't forget."
Lilly thought, for the longest time, that there were more things she wished to forget than there were ones she would like to remember. A part of her still dreamed of it: to forget. She had a feeling her wish would be granted one day, a day she would be old enough to allow herself to get foggy in the mind and rusty in the legs. Then it would all slip away from her, distant and unimportant, and she would finally let herself breathe with a full chest. But that would happen someday. Today she wanted to remember. All of it: the good, the bad, and the Ronnie. Especially Ronnie. They wouldn't have met without those memories, after all. Even if she was the one who dragged her into that mess to begin with. Ronnie having to leave was Lilly's fault. The least she could to make up for it do was to give her something to remember why she left in the first place.
What Lilly did came to her over dinner last night and caught her and her mother off guard. Terri Bainbridge had almost dozed off by her bowl of soup with a cigarette in hand—both of them unfinished—but nearly jumped out of her seat when Lilly dropped the spoon on the floor with a loud clank. That was her version of a lightbulb flickering above her head, and the idea that came to her was bright enough to rival that metaphorical lightbulb with ease. A letter. How come she never thought of that before? She dropped her bowl into the sink and rushed upstairs while their dog happily barked before Terri could process any of it.
Lilly found writing things down rather soothing. Who knew that she could get some things off her mind with a flick of the wrist, at least for a while, knowing that they were now stored somewhere other than just it? Somewhere timeless and trustworthy, more than her head could ever be. She had to get through a bunch of drafts before her thoughts translated clearly to the paper; it worked out in the end, as much as it could, and Lilly felt almost proud of herself. That didn't happen too often. She read the letter over and over again, picking it apart and crossing words out. It took a toll on her, but brought much more satisfaction when it came together. Lilly thought, in a way, that seeing everything she remembered so messily in her own mind laid out in front of her as one story, clear and complete, helped her sort it out in her hand. Even if just a little.
(She'll have to come back to the pen one day; recalling the story she lived through was one thing, but creating a whole new one from scratch intrigued her way more now.)
Lilly poured it all there. Blood on her face and Ronnie's hands on her shoulders, all the words she regretted and wanted to remember forever: the clown and the dagger, anchors and lifeboats. Marge and Will. Rich. Matty. Teddy, Phil and Susie. Herself, Lilly. What she really felt when Ronnie held her face back in the woods.
She folded the paper into a boat when she was done, just like she learned from Marge when they were younger and played together in the rain. Almost all of the boats they made got lost to the water, but she hoped that this time Ronnie would keep it close and safe.
So you won't forget us. So you won't forget me.
Ronnie paused, stretching the silence out long enough for Lilly's hands to begin to tremble. Did she hate it already? Was it too childish? Even worse, too sentimental? She wouldn't handle it, she knew she wouldn't. Ronnie just stared at her for a while. But then, slowly, she took the boat out of them. When Lilly looked up again, Ronnie was smiling. Not just at the boat; at her. "As if I ever could forget you, Lilly Bainbridge."
Something warm and gentle bloomed in her chest and on her cheeks. She hoped it was true, she really did. "Yeah," she said. "That would be hard to do."
They stayed like this for a little while, smiling each other's way. Then Ronnie placed the boat on one of the boxes nearby carefully, using her now free hands to reach into the pocket of her shirt. "I have something for you too."
That caught Lilly off guard; she almost lost the balance, barely holding onto the hammock's net with both of her hands. Ronnie straightened up, her hand now curled into a fist with something small inside. Lilly's eyebrows flew up her forehead. "For me?"
"I don't see anyone else around," she said, looking like she was holding back a laugh. "Of course it's for you. Here," Ronnie opened her palm, and Lilly's eyes caught a glimmer of sun on the metal inside. She knew what it was, and it took her a good deep breath to not let out any surprised gasps at the sight. "The spare key to the Capitol's back door. There's no chance the new guy knows about that, so unless they change the locks—" She rolled her eyes at the thought. "—And they won't. It took them two years to replace that damn broken door for the staff room. So you get a free pass for the rest of your stay in his hole."
Lilly blinked, reaching her hand out hesitantly. Ronnie caught it with the fingers of her left, putting the keys right into Lilly's palm and closing it with her own. She swallowed thickly. "Thank you, Ronnie," she said, quiet and soft. "I'll have to muster up some serious courage to be back there, but… It means a lot." Lilly paused, feeling the silence creep up at them again and rushed to add something just to not let it settle. "Margie and Will will be stoked, I'm sure."
Ronnie chuckled, but it didn't reach her eyes: they stayed glued to Lilly's palm. "They better be."
They left the hammock at last. The soda drinks were both warm by the time they finished them with a view on Derry. In times like this, basking in the golden sun and near-summer breeze, it was good at pretending that nothing ever happened. Lilly almost let herself believe it at times. Maybe, if it was any other town, she would settle in two decades, give or take. But in Derry the evil never truly left, and they were all walking on the back of a sleeping beast, pretending they didn't know it was there. Waiting.
She spent most of her life dreaming of leaving it one day. Her and Marge used to make plans. Maybe they would go to New York, or to Massachusetts, or all the way across the pond and settle in a tiny house on the outskirts of England. Anywhere but Derry, right? That would be nice, to have that dream come true in some reality. Lilly knew, in the back of her mind, that it would never happen in the one they lived in.
(Marge was going to have a son. She'll have to stay in that godforsaken town, and Lilly was going to stay right there with her. Will would choose to stay as well, for the rest of his unfairly short life; months down the line, on one of the sleepovers they held weekly in Marge's perpetually empty house, he would tell them about what he saw when he was in the lights. A part of it, at least. Lilly had a feeling it wasn't all; Will avoided their eyes for a while after telling them about the vision. It was them. The seven of them, kids who would kill IT. Lilly thought then, laying on her back and staring at the ceiling with Marge and Will asleep on her sides, that it was too fitting for the clown to have just made it up. The lucky seven. They would win, of course they would.)
Ronnie didn't say much since the hammock. The paper boat was back to her hands, carefully inspected by her watchful eye. Lilly was sure she caught a glimpse of her writing, but didn't unfold it just yet— Lilly did tell her to wait until she was out of town, her last act of cowardice.
If Ronnie hated her after reading it, she would prefer not to know. For better or worse.
Seconds ticked away like bombs. Lilly's fingers drummed anxiously over the railing as she stole all the glances she could. Any time now, it would all be over.
"I have to go," Ronnie finally said, and Lilly closed her eyes. She knew those words would come and she dreaded the moment, but her heart felt the lightest it did in a long while. "My dad's waiting. He'll have to send the Hanlons looking for me if I don't show up before five."
Lilly nodded, lowering her head. She wished, selfishly, that Ronnie didn't have to leave. That she would stay in this stupid, cursed town with them— with her. That they would sit in the hammock until they were blue from cold and jump into the quarry once summer would hit, splashing around and diving in to find Marge's lost on the way glasses underwater. She wished they would start high school together and talk smack behind Patty's back, wished to see Will join that club he'd been talking about and wished to see Jessica around more after that. They would spend days at the Standpipe and nights at Marge's house, because her parents would never be there and they'd have the entire place to themselves. She wished, just the tiniest amount, that they'd be brave enough for another movie night. She wished they would live to see prom just to ditch it and drink for the real first time. Maybe Lilly would steal a kiss, and maybe Ronnie wouldn't hate her for it. Maybe they'd see Margie's face gain all the color back after she'd meet that boy with big glasses who would get her name wrong at first, and Lilly would realize why Frank wanted to hang out with them after all. Maybe they would stay for her wedding, and maybe they'd stay for Will's too, and Lilly wouldn't have to sit there alone when he would sob all the way through Jessica's vows. Maybe they'd live to see their own— She wished that was possible. She wished Canada would treat Ronnie better than the States did, and she wished she could go too. She wished to be with Ronnie. She wished, she wished, she wished. "Yeah."
"I'll write to you when I get there. Both of you," she added, elbowing Lilly's side just a bit. It turned out rather weak, but the electricity still sparked through her ribs, staying there long after Ronnie put her hands back to the railing. "Tell Marge I said hi."
"Will do." She smiled. Ronnie and Marge grew so close so fast; she just wished it would've happened without a fire and a funeral in-between. "She'll miss you."
They both knew she would. Marge spent their last real evening together as four between Will and Ronnie, glued to them both almost like she hoped they wouldn't leave if she just morphed into them. She fell asleep then, with her head on Ronnie's shoulder and her legs thrown over and tangled with Will's, and Lilly had to blink all of her tears away because she knew she would never put an end to crying if she allowed herself to start.
(She couldn't hold herself back when Maggie and Wentworth brought little Richie to meet Mike for the first time that summer. The boys fell asleep in one crib, head to head on the pillow Charlotte personally made for her grandson. Lilly held herself together bravely just until Will teared up; Jessica had to shush them all with watery eyes of her own just so they wouldn't wake the kids. It almost worked: Richie began to cry too. He always had that loud mouth on him, since the very beginning. She saw just a bit of herself in him then, the first down a long line.)
All of Marge's excitement for summer died and rotted somewhere in the Black Spot, hand in hand with Rich. They were finally one the same page here: Lilly anticipated it to be the loneliest summer in her life, even lonelier than the one she spent locked up in Juniper Hill. Unlike Marge, Lilly never got excited over seasons. They barely felt any different in Derry. Fall was forever tarnished with her birth, winter was harsh, and summer got even harsher at times, but nothing could ever be as cruel as spring. She knew that now, standing at the end of it.
Ronnie closed her eyes, turning her face to the sun. Lilly tried her hardest to picture this moment with the camera of her mind, accurate down to the smallest of details. She'll remember that. A shame she couldn't stay in it any longer. "She better write back to me then, or I won't believe any of that talk."
(They would write back, all three of them. How many letters would be answered was a question of a different kind. One that older Lilly would have to face someday.)
Lilly just nodded along, catching a small smile between her teeth before it could grow bigger. Words just wouldn't come to her anymore, and she knew well that it was a harbinger of tears. She wouldn't let them fall just now, not in front of Ronnie. So she stayed silent, watching Ronnie tuck the paper boat into her shirt pocket (the one over her heart, Lilly noted, feeling her own race stupidly fast).
She turned to face her, and Lilly couldn't bring herself to do much more than to look back at her. Ronnie wasn't too different, not until Lilly realized that the silence on her part was caused by the sparkle of tears in the corners of her eyes. Oh, no. Her lip wobbled. She couldn't hold it in that time. The dam broke, and they were both sobbing just a blink after.
It was Ronnie who wrapped her arms around Lilly first. Lilly simply gave in, face to her shoulder and hands on her back, as tight as she could bring herself to hold on. It came to her as a passing but loud thought then, that it was the first time they ever did a proper hug, just the two of them. First and maybe last. That only made her sob harder, soaking Ronnie's white shirt with tears and snot. Ronnie wasn't much better: her quiet sobs coming somewhere near Lilly's chest would tell her that her sweater wasn't going to get any drier. She didn't mind. Of course she didn't.
"I'll tell her that," Lilly managed to croak out finally, resting her cheek on her wet shoulder. Ronnie's response was a wobbly sniffle, and was gone with one final squeeze of her arms around Lilly.
"You better. I'm going to check, you know," she said, stepping backwards to the staircase, eyes never leaving Lilly's. Just for that moment, selfishly, she allowed herself to think that Ronnie was trying to remember her too. "Later, Lilly."
Dear Ronnie,
I'll miss you more than anything.
"I'll see you around," Lilly said, wiping the tears off her cheek with the back of her hand.
The shadow of the staircase didn't come fast enough to take Ronnie's smile away from her, for one last time.