“That’s pretty grim.”
“It’s so perfect for where we are, though. Most cities are proud to be the birthplace of someone famous. Baltimore, in an odd sort of way, is proud to be Poe’s place of death. It’s quirky and offbeat, and I actually love that.”
The bar was crowded for a random Tuesday in late December, and we were lucky to get a table. It seemed to be about an even split between locals and tourists, and the atmosphere was friendly and upbeat.
Devon and I hung out for nearly three hours. He spent some of that time telling me stories about Baltimore, and some of his experiences growing up here.
I switched to coffee after the first hour, but he kept drinking and was definitely tipsy by the time we called it quits and he requested another rideshare. When we went outside it was cold enough to see our breath, so we huddled close together and I put my head on his shoulder.
After a while, Devon muttered, “I’m so fucking selfish.”
I leaned back so I could meet his gaze. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I want to spend every minute I have left with you.” His eyes were full of anguish as he whispered, “And I don’t want to die alone. I’m terrified of that. But how can I do that to you? It’ll be awful for you if you’re there at the end. I should take you home to San Francisco and go off on my own to spare you that trauma.”
As I steadied his swaying with my hands on his shoulders, I said, “Let me make one thing perfectly clear—I want to be with you, Devon.Always. These next few weeks are probably going to be pretty stressful for you, and I’m staying right here, by your side.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” I hugged him tightly and told him, “I would never abandon you when you needed me the most.”
The next morning, I woke up before Devon and slipped out of bed. As I fished through my suitcase for something to wear, I glanced around the room. It was fairly generic, with pale blue walls, dark wood furniture, and blue and white striped curtains.
When I’d commented on it the night before, Devon told me he’d packed up all his childhood things before he left for Asia and stashed them in the attic. He did that because he didn’t expect to come back alive, and he wanted to spare his mom and Ed that painful task. Hearing that had made my heart ache.
After I showered and got dressed, I went downstairs in search of coffee. Belinda was in the kitchen, making a mess while attempting to bake sugar cookies, and she greeted me with awarm smile. “Good morning, hon. There’s fresh coffee, and Ed bought croissants. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. Devon’s still asleep.”
“Did you boys have fun last night?”
“We did.” While I told her about the restaurant and the bar, I filled a mug, added a splash of milk from a small, white pitcher that was shaped like a cow, and sat down at the kitchen island. Then I asked, “Where’s your husband?”
“Out doing some last-minute holiday shopping. I told him he didn’t need to do that, because there are already a ton of presents under the tree. But that’s Ed for you. No matter how much he does, he always thinks he should be doing more.”
“He’s a really nice person.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She took a seat beside me as she changed the subject. “Now that you and I have the chance to talk one-on-one, please tell me honestly, how’s Devon?”
“He um… I mean, he’s fine…”
“Did he tell you not to bring up the curse because it would upset me?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what he said.”
She sighed and wiped her hands on her red apron, which was already smeared with flour. “I’m worried about him, more than ever now that his thirtieth birthday is so close.”
“But you don’t believe in the curse, do you?”
“Oh no, not at all. But he does, so I’m worried that he might be starting to unravel, if you know what I mean. He’s always all smiles whenever we talk, but I think some of that might be a mask to hide what he’s really feeling. What do you think?”
I took a sip of coffee as I considered the question. Then I said, “I think Devon’s a pretty complicated person. He really does seem to be happy most of the time, and he’s all about living in the moment. At the same time though, he truly believes his daysare numbered, and I don’t get it. He’s logical in other ways, so why does he whole-heartedly believe in that curse?”
Belinda sighed softly before telling me, “I’m pretty sure he chooses to believe it because it alleviates some of his guilt.”
“What does he feel guilty about?”
“The death of his father.”
