Page 64 of Sorrow & Strangers

Unable to look at either Rafe or Alice right now, I stand up and walk across the room to the window, pressure building in my chest. “Mom? Dad?”

“Yes, my darling?” Farrah’s loving voice unravels one of the knots in my stomach.

“Rafe, he . . .” I swallow. “He did it for me.”

There is a long moment of silence before it seems to dawn on them.

“You saw Connor,” Uriel says, and it’s not a question, but a statement.

“I did.” Farrah’s whimper smashes through any strength I was holding on to. “He’s . . . he’s okay. He’s happy.”

“We knew something was different with him,” Farrah says, choking on a sob.

“We felt it, but we never thought . . .” Uriel can’t seem to finish the thought.

“I’m-I’m so, so sorry.”

“For what, kiddo?”

“It’s my fault that you’ve lost⁠—”

“Enough,” Farrah interrupts, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it when directed at me. Usually she reserves this tone for the twins. “No part of this is your fault. Do you hear me?”

“Okay, Mom,” I whisper.

“We love you so very much, Summer,” she says, sounding stronger, and I realize that this is what she does. Farrah is there for her kids, even above her own feelings, emotions, and needs. She was broken until she knew I needed her, and then she shoved her own distress aside. Mom mode activated.

“We love you and your brother,” Uriel says. I can hear the affection in his voice, and I know it’s directed toward his wife, whose strength astounds him even after all these years.

“I love you too.”

“You take good care of your brother, all right?” Uriel says.

“I promise.”

“And make sure you rest too, my darling,” Farrah adds.

“I will, and I’ll call soon,” I say, and end the call, turning back to Alice and Rafe.

Alice is just finishing applying a new layer of salve. She gently brushes her fingers over his wrist. “Look how well it’s healing,” she says.

I look and notice that his hand is almost completely reattached. When we found him in the crater his body made, it was hanging on by a nerve. “It’s incredible,” I say, grabbing the book and opening it again.

“What are you reading?”

“A book on demons.”

“Where’d you get it?” she asks, and I can hear the suspicion in her voice.

I shrug, not looking at her. “It was on the counter.” Her stare intensifies, and I glance at her. “What?”

“The stranger, then.”

I look back at the book, though I can barely see the words as they blend together. “Maybe.” Hopefully. While I don’t love the idea of him being in the bathroom with me, the idea of it being anyone else is even scarier.

“So we’re friends with him again?”

We?