He leans closer. “But you’re not just an ex-con. And something tells me he’s more than just a cop.”
“I know, Riggs. That’s what worries me.”
Ilie in bed later that night, staring up at the dark ceiling as the shadows dance across the room like ghostly specters. Rolling over, I try to get comfortable, but I toss and turn for the next hour as sleep evades me. After last night, I should be exhausted, but my brain refuses to switch off.
Unable to lie here any longer, I get up and move to the dresser. One of the loads delivered, courtesy of Jen, was clothes, more than I’ll likely ever need. I’m grateful, nonetheless. I rummage through and pull out a pair of black sweatpants and a black tank top, then find a deep mulberry-colored sweatshirt. I get dressed, and pull on some socks and my beat-up sneakers before I braid my hair to keep it off my face.
Humming a melody to a song I don’t know the words of, I grab the set of keys from the hook next to the back door and head out to my old barn. I locate the key to the padlock and, after a couple of tries, manage to open the slightly rusted lock. The air inside smells damp, but underneath is the faint hint of lavender and lilacs that I dried before I went away.
Much like the house, the barn looks like nobody has been in here for years, though probably not for the same reason. My father felt uncomfortable in this place, and now I wonder if it’s because he could sense magic here. He might not have any of his own, but he was definitely attuned to it. He seemed intent on converting me and condemning me for having it, and in the end, self-preservation won out. Part of me wishes I could ask him what the hell happened. Why would he do this, given all the risks involved? But my father always did think he was invincible. The only thing he might have been afraid of was me.
Maybe that’s all it was. Fear that my powers coming in meant I wouldn’t take his shit anymore. I don’t know. It’s impossible to think like a madman because he easily made choices that are abhorrent to me.
Picking up a bottle, I pop out the cork and take a sniff. The scent has faded over time, but I can just about detect the floral notes of wild roses and the astringent tang of nettles. Acne cream. I swore by it as a teenager and often found it going missing from my backpack at school. I figure other kids liked it too, even if they were dicks to me. That meant something. It brought a little kick to my twisted heart that if these people who loathed me so much liked my products, then they must be good. Of course, most people would rather be set on fire than admit to that.
I go through the space, taking in all the little bottles and labels I painstakingly wrote in my neatest handwriting, half hoping I’d make something that would cure my loneliness. A wonder cream that would dazzle a pretty and cool teenage girl with my abilities. We’d become fast friends, gossiping about stupid teenage shit that now seems both trivial and sad.
Realistically, it wouldn’t have mattered if I found a cure for cancer in this little barn of mine. People would still have shunned me. Sometimes I wonder how the human race has survived all this time without stunting its ability to learn and adapt, given its fear of anything new and different.
Reaching up onto one of the shelves, I pull down a little wooden box and flip open the lid, finding little bags of seeds I’d placed in here for safekeeping. Most people would throw them away, but I wasn’t most people.
I tuck the box under my arm and grab the gardening belt from the countertop as if it’s been lying there for fifteen years just waiting for my return. I move around to the other side of the barn, where the bags of soil lean against the wall next tohaphazardly stacked miniature terracotta pots. Dragging what I need closer, I get to my hands and knees and slice across the bag of soil, my senses instantly invaded with the soothing smell of earth.
For the next few hours, I lose myself, slipping into a peaceful trance as I lovingly pot the seeds that had been held captive as long as I have.
By the time I’m done, my back is stiff, and I ache all over, but my mind feels a sense of peace I’ve been craving for so long. I didn’t realize how much until the pull became too much for me to resist. My connection with this place has always been one-sided, taking from me more than it ever gave back. Any pleasure I found was tempered with pain and fear. A child’s mind can only process so much before it shuts parts down to protect itself. Now, after everything I’ve lived through and survived, I can feel what was taken from me slowly start to eek back in, fortifying my bones, pushing air into my lungs, and closing the loop that was twisted with knots.
I may have left as a broken girl, but the woman in me cannot help but wonder if being here might just make me whole again.
Chapter Fourteen
When I stumble into the kitchen, bleary-eyed the next morning, it’s to find Riggs at the stove cooking. The smell of frying bacon and eggs perks me up. I might not eat bacon, but I’ve always loved the smell of it.
I head straight to the coffee pot and pour myself a large mug before I engage in any kind of conversation. I take a sip, moaning softly at my old friend before I turn to Riggs and find him watching me.
“What?”
He shakes his head as if snapping himself out of a trance before grabbing the plates on the counter. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.” He places a couple of slices of buttered toast on each plate before grabbing the pan of eggs.
“Just eggs for me. I’m a vegetarian.”
“Perfect. More bacon for me.” He smirks as he scoops some scrambled egg onto my plate. “Sit. Eat.”
“You’re bossy in the morning.”
“You slept in later than I thought you would. We have things to do today, and places to go.”
“We do?”
“We do.”
Not having consumed quite enough coffee to have a whole conversation yet, I grab a knife and fork and dig into my food, taking a moment to enjoy the simplicity of breakfast in my own house and not surrounded by dozens of other inmates.
He sits next to me once he’s plated up his food, and we eat in companionable silence until our food is gone.
“So fill me in on what’s happening. I feel like I’ve missed something.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I answered your phone. It wouldn’t stop ringing, and it was driving me nuts. Anyway, two guys are coming out to check the cattle. I’ve fed the animals in the stalls but haven’t been out to the pastures yet. Thought I’d better check in with you first. I have another man willing to come this afternoon if the first guys don’t turn up.”
