Free Last Summer at Mars Hill by Elizabeth Hand

There was the crunch of gravel behind them. He turned to see his father, standing silhouetted in the soft glow of the embers.
    “Jason,” he called softly. “Would you mind coming back with me? I—there’s something we need to talk about.”
    Jason gazed down at Moony. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and he lowered his head to kiss her, her mouth still redolent of burnt sugar. “Yeah, okay,” he said, and stood. “You be okay, Moony?”
    Moony nodded, yawning. “Sure.” As he walked away, Jason looked back and saw her stretched out upon the gravel beach, arms outspread as she stared up at the three-quarter moon riding close to the edge of Mars Hill.
    “So what’s going on?” he asked his father when they reached the cottage. Martin stood at the dining room table, his back to Jason. He picked up a small stack of envelopes and tapped them against the table, then turned to his son.
    “I’m going back,” he said. “Home. I got a letter from Brandon today,”—Brandon was his agent—“there’s going to be a show at the Frick Gallery, and a symposium. They want me to speak.”
    Jason stared at him, uncomprehending. His long pale hair fell into his face, and he pushed it impatiently from his eyes. “But—you can’t,” he said at last. “You’ll die. You can’t leave here. That’s what Adele said. You’ll die.”
    Martin remained silent, before replacing the envelopes and shaking his head. “We don’t know that. Even before, we—I—didn’t know that. Nobody knows that, ever.”
    Jason stared at him in disbelief. His face grew flushed as he said, “But you can’t! You’re sick—shit, Dad, look at John, you can’t just—”
    His father pursed his lips, tugged at his ponytail. “No, Jason, I can .” Suddenly he looked surprised, a little sheepish even, and said more softly. “I mean, I will. There’s too much for me to give up, Jason. Maybe it sounds stupid, but I think it’s important that I go back. Not right away. I think I’ll stay on for a few weeks, maybe until the end of October. You know, see autumn in New England and all. But after that—well, there’s work for me to do at home, and—”
    Jason’s voice cracked as he shook his head furiously. “Dad. No. You’ll—you’ll die.”
    Martin shrugged. “I might. I mean, I guess I will, sometime. But—well, everybody dies.” His mouth twisted into a smile as he stared at the floor. “Except Mrs. Grose.”
    Jason continued to shake his head. “But—you saw Them—They came, They must’ve done something —”
    Martin looked up, his eyes feverishly bright. “They did. That’s why I’m leaving. Look, Jason, I can’t explain, all right? But what if you had to stay here, instead of going on to Bowdoin? What if Moony left, and everyone else—would you stay at Mars Hill? Forever ?”
    Jason was silent. Finally, “I think you should stay,” he said, a little desperately. “Otherwise whatever They did was wasted.”
    Martin shook his head. His hand closed around a tube of viridian on the table and he raised it, held it in front of him like a weapon. His eyes glittered as he said, “Oh, no, Jason. Not wasted. Nothing is wasted, not ever.” And tilting his head he smiled, held out his arm until his son came to him and Martin embraced him, held him there until Jason’s sobs quieted, and the moon began to slide behind Mars Hill.
    Jason drove Moony to the airport on Friday. Most of his things already had been shipped from San Francisco to Bowdoin College, but Moony had to return to Kamensic Village and the Loomises, to gather her clothes and books for school and make all the awkward explanations and arrangements on her own. Friends and relations in New York had been told that Ariel was undergoing some kind of experimental therapy, an excuse they bought as easily as they’d bought most of Ariel’s other strange ideas. Now Moony didn’t want to talk to anyone else on the phone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone at all,