Page 20 of What Happens at Nightfall

“You don’t need to walk me to the train. It’s only—” Jess dug into her bag with her free hand, pulling up her phone just far enough to read the time. “Wow. How is it ten o’clock?”

“Time flies when you’re confronting mortality?” Adam winced. That hadn’t come out quite as he’d intended. “It’s later than I realized. Let me call you an Uber.”

“You really don’t need to.” They’d reached the massive Gothic arch, now secured like a medieval portcullis. “I’ve taken the subway home later than this.”

“Probably for better reasons,” argued Adam.

“Usually for work. So not really. Look, I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“Here.” Adam dug in his pocket and found an old Wegmans receipt and a stub of pencil. Tucking his flashlight under his arm, he used his left palm as a writing desk and scribbled down his number. “Text me and let me know you got home okay.”

Jess tilted her head. “Do I look like your daughter?”

No. No, she didn’t. The strap of her bag pulled at her sweater, drawing it down on one side, revealing the tantalizing slope of a collarbone and the strap of a surprisingly brightly colored bra. Adam was grateful for the darkness, because he really didn’t want her to know what he was thinking.

Jess stuck the slip of paper in her pocket. “I need to text my best friend back anyway. Don’t worry. There are people who’ll worry if I don’t make it back.”

“Of course,” said Adam, feeling like a creepy stalker. There had been such a never-never land feel to the evening that he’d forgotten that they weren’t the only people in the world, marooned on the grounds of Green-Wood like Robinson Crusoe on his island. “I don’t want to sound weird but—thank you. This wasn’t the best of evenings, but your being here with me made it less terrible than it could have been.”

“High praise.” Before he could explain that he hadn’t meant it that way, she added, “I’m glad I made your evening suck less. Don’t you need to unlock the gate?”

“Oh, right. Yes.” Adam shone his flashlight through the bars to light her way down the winding path to the street.

Adam watched as she made her way to the sidewalk, her shadow falling strangely behind her. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw wings, but that was probably just her sweater flaring out at an odd angle. Shadows did strange things at night.

The monk parrots who nested in the gate shrieked loudly over his head as he turned back toward home—and Ben.

Look what you’ve done, a voice growled in his ear, low and harsh. If you’d been a better parent, none of this would have happened. If you’d been a better parent, you would have known where your son was tonight. If you’d been a better parent, your son wouldn’t be sneaking out to try to talk to his dead mother.

The shadows pressed in around him, tomb after tomb after tomb, endless memorials to the departed. Dredged up from deep down, where Adam had buried it, came the thought he couldn’t ever quite bury deep enough: If you’d been a better husband, Ben wouldn’t have a dead mother. If you’d been a better husband, Kate wouldn’t be dead.

If they hadn’t fought, she wouldn’t have gone jogging that day, snatching up her keys and her phone and slamming out. If they hadn’t fought, she’d still be alive.

He was the one who should have been hit by that car, not her. The kids would have been better off if it had been the other way around. Despair settled on Adam. Maybe the kids would be better off without him now. Maybe he was ruining their lives raising them in a cemetery. If he’d never taken the Green-Wood job in the first place, they’d never have been living here and Kate would never have gone jogging on that particular route, never been hit by that car.

It was all his fault.

Willow fronds brushed his cheek like a caress, and Adam felt the weight lift from his chest. Not entirely, but enough to breathe again.

“Thanks, buddy,” murmured Adam.

The leaves of one of his ginkgo trees drifted gently down towards him. Ginkgos usually lost all their leaves in one dramatic swoop, all dropping their leaves at once, blanketing the paths in gold. They were still at least a month away from the ginkgo leaf drop.

This leaf must have been loosened by the storm. It landed on Adam’s shoulder like a comforting pat from a friend.

At least he’d done right by these plants.

And he’d done the best he could for the kids, even if his best was pretty crappy.

The weeping beeches murmured reassuringly over his head. Every parent screws up their kids, they seemed to say. You’re not doing any worse than most.

Adam knew the plants couldn’t really talk to him, but there were times, especially early in the morning, when everything was stretching its leaves and shaking off the dew, when he could have sworn he heard, not words exactly, but something. Good morning. Thanks for the mulch. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but he did.

Kate had told him not to be ridiculous, a plant was a plant, unless they were the giant Ents from Lord of the Rings, in which case, run.

She was right, of course. She usually was. But Adam slowed down as he walked through the beech alley, the leaves a buffer against the doubts and fears that assailed him. Ben had done a stupid thing, yes, but that was what boys did. He’d done stupid things. Lots of them.

It would be okay. Mostly.