Page 97 of Finding Noah

There was something awfully ominous and foreboding about driving through a dark cemetery, with nothing but the headlights and sparse lampposts guiding my way toward Aunt Stormy's house.

Charlie Corbin, the man she’d married, was the caretaker here, and the job provided on-site accommodations. Which, I supposed, was nice for them, but I never liked it much. I preferred her apartment on Lafayette, closer to the heart of town. It was brighter, despite her taste in gothic decor and architecture. More … full of life, especially in comparison to this place.

I'd only been here a few times over the years since Aunt Stormy had met Charlie, and it had always been during holidays with my family. I'd never driven through these winding, haunted roads alone, and I wasn't ashamed to admit my knuckles had turned white, gripping the steering wheel, while my anxiety warred with reason at every turn.

Finally, I came to the cottage on the hill, which was thankfully well lit and welcoming compared to the land surrounding it. I parked on the road, just outside the stone wall marking the perimeter of their yard, and I quickly grabbed my bag and hurried up the path to the door.

Aunt Stormy didn't give me the chance to knock.

“You look like you've seen a ghost, kiddo,” she said, smirking.

“Has anyone told you how fucking terrifying it is, driving around here at night?” I asked incredulously.

She shrugged, stepping aside to allow me passage. “I don't mind it. I like walking around here after hours. It's peaceful.”

Once upon a time, Aunt Stormy had told me cemeteries creeped her out. I guessed after years of calling it home, she'd gotten over it.

“Peaceful,” I repeated. “Sure. That's one word for it.”

“Was Charlie right behind you?”

I nodded. “He locked the gate right after I pulled in.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Might've stopped by the security office. We found some kids screwing around just a little while ago. They were actually two seconds away from fucking on the girl's father's grave. Can you believe that?”

Surprised, I barked out a laugh. “Holy shit. That's wild.”

“The really wild thing is that she didn't even hate her dad,” Aunt Stormy said, closing the door but leaving it unlocked. “She said she was ‘giving him a proper send-off and things got out of hand.’ I mean, whatever floats your boat, but … not in my graveyard.” She released a low whistle.

My eyes swept over the living room. It looked much like the last time I'd visited—cozy and homely. A plush velvet couch sat before a fireplace, and a woodsy-scented candle burned on the mantel beside a picture of Charlie's late brother, who'd died at the same prison Dad had been in. The same one as Levi.

Dad had been friends with Charlie's brother, Luke, and Levi had been present when he was killed by another inmate. I'd known all of this for years, yet somehow, the intricate webs woven by the threads of life never ceased to amaze me.

“You hungry?” Aunt Stormy asked, hurrying into the kitchen.

I dropped my bag on one of the two wingback chairs and stretched my arms overhead.

“I could eat,” I told her, walking toward the open doorway into a kitchen fit for a witch in the middle of a forest … or a cemetery. I reached upward to grip the doorframe, stretching my shoulders. “I had a quick snack before I left, but I haven't eaten dinner yet.”

Aunt Stormy opened the fridge door and peered inside. “Well, I made Cobb salad for dinner, if you want some.”

“That works for me.”

She pulled out a large bowl and popped off the lid. Then she bustled around the kitchen, grabbing a fork from a drawer and a dish from a cabinet. She nudged her chin toward the small, round table, fit for four people but rarely served more than two.

“Sit,” she ordered, and I listened.

As I ate, she got me a drink from the fridge—iced tea—and then took a seat across from me, resting her chin on her hands. With my mouth full, I caught her eye, and she gave me an affectionate smile.

“What?” I asked, chuckling and feeling a little too on the spot for my liking.

“Nothin',” she said, shrugging. “It's just nice to see you.”

It'd been about six months since we'd seen Aunt Stormy for Christmas. Mom talked to her regularly, but I couldn't say I was as good about keeping in touch. We sent messages every so often, to check in and say hi, but she'd taken a backseat to the other things in my life. And looking at her now, I suddenly felt guilty about that, especially when she'd been such an integral part of my world years ago, after the night Seth tried to end our lives.

While Dad had been in the hospital, recovering from his injuries and going through countless surgeries, Aunt Stormy had come back to be with us. She helped Mom care for me, she cared for Mom, and she made sure the two of us were eating and keeping clean clothes on our bodies. For someone who had been so quick to run away and start over in a new city, she'd been just as eager to come back and help when it was most needed.

“You look so grown up,” she said, a bit of melancholy touching her eyes.