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“I was at your father’s funeral.”
“Oh.” I blanched.
“You probably don’t remember me. There were a lot of people.”
“And you had other things on your mind,” Rook interjected, his hand at the small of my back in a possessive touch. “This is my friend, Hawke Thornfield.”
“You have friends?” I asked Rook, attempting a teasing tone.
“Only a few,” Hawke chuckled.
“If anything ever happens,” Rook continued, his throat bobbing, “to me, I mean. I wanted you to meet him. You can… You can trust him.” I could tell this was painful for him—trusting someone—he was forcing the words out reluctantly. “He has your and Callie’s number. And I’ve added him to the contacts on your phone.”
“Okay,” I nodded, meeting Hawke's eyes, “thank you.”
He didn’t answer, and I glanced towards my parents’ graves, a little disappointed: I had an audience.
I’d wanted this to be private.
As if sensing my thoughts, Rook gently guided me towards it, reassuring me, “We’ll wait here.” Hawke, also, gave me a simple nod, a respectful silence falling between them.
All thoughts of the stranger fell away as I drew closer towards the gravestones, two somber sentinels where my parents lay. The atmosphere grew heavier, the dark clouds moving closer. There was a flash of lightning across the bay, a low rumble of thunder, a heaviness in the air that promised more.
In that flash, two skeleton heads seemed to flicker at me from their tombs, eye sockets dark and empty, leaving me with a dark foreboding.
Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come.
Swallowing hard, I approached mom’s grave, a heaviness settling in my chest.
I was here to let go of my guilt. To tell her how I really felt. To give her the goodbye I wish I could’ve given her a long time ago.
The gravestone was glossy black, with an intricately carved marble angel watching over her—still fresh-looking and clean. A sign of my dad’s devotion to her, and a reflection of her loving kindness to us.
A sudden wave of sadness overcame me, and I sunk to my knees, dropping the tools and clutching the poppet to my chest, where my heart was aching. “Mommy.”
A soft wind picked up, bringing with it the smell of brine and fresh earth. Of pregnant skies creeping closer, filled with rain and my grief.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I choked out, the words coming out in a rush. “I wish I could’ve…” Trying to put into words the twisting feelings inside me. “I wasn’t strong enough for you. And I wish…”
Angry, not knowing what I wished, I stabbed at the ground, loosening the grass and dirt. “I know it’s not my fault, but I…I can’t stop the guilt. It’s just there?—”
And then, a mist slowly rolled in, enveloping me in its hazy cloud, the ghost of my mother a strong presence within it. Surrounding me like arms, capturing me from behind, around my shoulders and chest. “Jibber babber, Jibber babber,” she seemed to whisper in my ears.
I stilled with the sensation, closing my eyes, remembering what it’d felt like to have her hold me. The wind picked up, the beat swelling in my ears, the whispers of her voice in one ear, then the other, whipping back and forth, “protect Callie.” Along with it, came the rain.
A flash of my purpose. My need to protect.
Grasping the trowel, I began to dig, and deep from within me came the pulsing of a drum. Like some of the Gullah ceremonies I’d heard, beating across the bay late at night. It seemed to thump with each stab of my trowel, “I should’ve fought harder!” Again and again, boom, boom, I stabbed, wishing it was Saul’s chest I was stabbing into. He’d stopped me, the callous bastard. Watched as she screamed, burning alive! “I’m so sorry, mommy.”
I growled out and deeper and deeper I dug, small pelting drops of water hitting my skin, lashing little strikes of pain, my guilt releasing from my pores.
“I couldn’t do anything about it—I know that, now. Saul was bigger than me. And I had no idea what was?—”
I sucked in a deep breath.
Knowing it wasn’t exactly true.
Knowing that, to truly let go of my guilt, I had to be completely honest.
