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When I didn’t respond further, he stepped back into the darkened hallway. “See you at rituals.”
I didn’t linger much longer but instead, tipped my glass to the photo, saying a final goodbye to the man who had been more than a best friend to me. Swallowing the remaining liquid, I placed it on the mantel beside the family photo, then turned and left.
Time to get Summer on her way, and say goodbye to the family forever.
CHAPTER 6
Rook
Stepping onto the back lawn, I found what I was looking for—Summer, standing in the graveyard of what was once a beautiful and sizable garden. Now, only the husk of what it had been.
For the first time since she’d returned, I realized how different she was from the young child I remembered—ten years old, at her mother’s funeral. Just like now, she’d worn her heart on her sleeve that day, with a sad, desperate look on her face. Then later, shell-shocked from what had happened.
I’d wanted to offer her comfort then, but Douglass had forbidden me to speak to her.
She was three years old the last time we’d spent any time together, clinging to my legs, crying that she didn’t want her Ookie to leave her.
And now, that childishness had melted away. In its place was a young and beautiful woman. She looked much older than her age.
The impending storm’s night air had blown her white-blonde hair into tangled tresses around her shoulders. Her eyes were red rimmed, cheeks stained with her tears. Brown and gray dust sprinkled her ass, and her dress was wrinkled from the waist down. Wild and unruly, barefooted, her shoes dangled from her fingers.
The expression on her face was filled with unrestrained emotion, and I had the thought that her tears weren’t from sadness, but anger.
In one hand was a glass of nearly empty red wine, the edges stained with dark crimson lipstick. After draining the rest, she threw it to the ground, the shattering sound echoing through the garden, then faded into the swamp just beyond the property line.
Angrily, she picked one of the few remaining and newly blossomed roses, fisting the petals, then tossed them to the ground.
She was chaotic and beautiful and savage: my worst kind of nightmare.
I preferred order and structure, a life that I could not only predict, but control. And, in an instant, I could see that she was a wild card—messy and unpredictable. She would be the high-risk bid at a poker table.
Despite having my task in mind—to steer her away from this dangerous world, I couldn't help but feel compelled towards her. Silently watching as she crushed the scarlet petals, then grabbed another handful, absentmindedly destroying what little was left of her mother’s labor of love.
“Damnit,” she brought her finger to her mouth, making my heart stop in my chest. She didn’t even seem to know I was here, staring at her like a wolf, prowling the garden after her.
“They’re rugosa roses.”
Her spine straightened in surprise, her face jerking towards me. “Oh.” Her lips parted in surprise, glossing as her tongue swiped nervously over them. “It’s you.”
“The roses. Your mother planted those because they’re wild and ferocious.” Like you, I wanted to add.
“What?”
“They’ll grow, even when left alone.” I nodded towards her bleeding finger. “And their thorns are known to bite.”
“I see.” She put her hand behind her back, hiding it from me. Then she stared forlornly out at the dead plants. “She loved her garden.”
I nodded. “She did.”
“You knew my mom?”
Disappointment coiled through me. In that moment, I realized I’d hoped that I might, at the least, seem familiar to her. “A little.”
“Enough to know why she planted these roses.”
My jaw tightened. “It was an offhand remark she once made at a party.”
“Oh.” She turned away from me, as if disappointed, and I wondered how often she got to talk to someone who actually knew her mother. It was painful for Douglass to speak of Melanie, and her sister likely didn’t remember much.
