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I started walking in my fastest waddle toward the river. I had to put some space between myself and the realization that I had, once again, lost my sister. So many holes had formed in my heart, I could almost hear the wind whistling through it.
As a reflex, I went out into Savannah, my hometown, trying not to think how the city had been changed for me. So many parts of my city had come to seem polluted. I’d grown up playing in Oglethorpe Park. Now were I to walk its paths, I would either think of Gudrun, or feel the loss of Peter eating away at my heart. Looking across at the Candler Oak, I would sense if not see the remnants of the spell my grandfather had placed there to protect Savannah from the child-murdering demon Barron. Of course now, rather than feeling proud of Granddad, I would be left to wonder how he could have deserted his first family.
The good people of Savannah, the same I’d grown up with, befriended, loved, and tried to help whenever I could, they were rejecting me now my powers had come to me. The change in their attitude was not overt, but I still felt a chill in my heart as true friendship turned to mere politeness. All the same it hurt like hell to be rejected by the people of the city I loved, no matter how polite they were when building the walls between us. I knew the change wasn’t their fault; regular folk just kept witches at an arm’s length. Maybe this aversion on the part of the everyday Joe to those of us who had magic written in our very DNA had developed as a defense.
I realized there wasn’t a single sidewalk in this city I hadn’t walked a rut in. For the first time in my life, I began to see Savannah as the small town it was. A small town with no room for the outsider, even if that outsider had been born and raised here.
The only time I’d ever really been more than a stone’s throw from it was when I visited Oliver in San Francisco after I’d graduated high school. After growing up in the low country, the hills amazed me. I loved the city and its vibrancy. The way it gravitated toward the new, despite its Victorian façade. Still, at that point, I couldn’t imagine anywhere as home but Savannah. Now I wished I had traveled more. Gone to New York and Paris. But not even a year ago, it seemed like I had all the time in the world to see the world.
Was this how it had been for Ginny? Had the feeling I had right now been the same seed that grew into a harvest of bitterness in her heart? Had she felt trapped, regretful? Had the response of Savannah to her power caused her to come to feel like an unwanted guest at the party? I would not end up like she had, though. I had love in my life. I had someone to live for. Someone who in the end was far more important to me than I was even to myself. I may have lost my husband, but I still had my son, and I forced myself to hold on to the hope that nothing would take him away.
I would have to avoid passing directly in front of the Cotton Exchange. Now, the image of my mother’s torso bound to Old Rex would be forever burned into my mind’s eye. I could swing wide and head down East Broad past the Pirates’ House. I ran inventory of recent trauma. No, the Pirates’ House was still good. Nothing heartbreaking or terrifying had occurred there. Yet.
I could avoid the Exchange area entirely by cutting east down Bay. I stopped dead in my tracks. The green space in front of the exchange was called “Emmet Park.” I couldn’t believe I’d never before made the connection, but another realization piggybacked on that thought. I sighed and let my head fall forward. “You’ve been doing a good job hiding, but I know you’re here. You might as well go on and show yourself.”
The thin air before me opened like an envelope and out stepped my nearly seven-foot friend. “I’ve had to work hard,” Emmet said, “to keep up with your own magical growth spurts. It appears you have surpassed my skills.” He seemed both proud and disappointed in the same moment, never fearing even for a split second I’d lay into him. How many times had we had the talk about stalking?
Another day, a lifetime ago, I would have let him have it with both barrels. Today, I was glad to see his face. “Yes, your creepy habit no longer goes unnoticed.” Even my sarcasm had lost its edge. Only when I took his arm did he seem in the least bit unsure of himself. “Walk me to the water?”
He looked down at me, his dark eyes the promise of a well-needed respite, his strong arm a promise of shelter. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
I found myself leaning on his arm for support, taking more comfort, no, more pleasure from his strong and solid body than a married woman—for I still felt married—should. People would talk if they saw us. People would talk if they still even remembered Peter, that is. His Fae mother implied that as Peter reintegrated into his rightful world, he would be disentangled from our reality, every memory of his existence eventually erased from this world. How would it work, this forgetting? Would it roll back like the reverse of a pebble dropping into a pond, his memory receding first from those who knew him least, working its way back to the center, to those who loved him most? Would I be the last person on earth who remembered Peter Tierney had ever existed? Had Peter already forgotten me?
“We will work together to preserve his memory. For the boy.”
I jolted to a stop. Emmet might just end up catching an earful today anyway.
“Too intrusive?” he asked.
I realized from his tone this was an actual question, not sarcasm. “Yes. Way too.”
“I’m sorry.” He began walking again, pulling me along. I didn’t resist.
“How could you read me so easily?”
This time it was his turn to stop dead. He looked at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. “You don’t realize you are broadcasting your thoughts?” He looked me up and down. “Your emotions are wafting off you. Even the stray dogs are crossing the street to stay out of your path.”
“Shut up and walk.”
He did as he was told, for about four and a half steps, then he started talking again. “Colin will know of his father. He will be proud of who Peter was. We will tell him Peter loved the two of you very much, but the pull of his natural world was too strong. We—”
“I’m not sure what all this ‘we’ is about, Emmet. There is no ‘we.’?”
He looked down at me, and this time his face betrayed an absolute conviction. “I, of course, will raise the child as my own. I will be a father to Colin.”
“I don’t remember asking you.” I didn’t know how to react, how to feel. I was touched by his devotion, angered by his sense of proprietorship, annoyed by his poor timing, shamed by how badly I wanted to throw myself into his arms, frustrated by having to choke back the urge to slap him cross-eyed.
He stopped again. I realized I was not going to be seeing the river today. “It wasn’t necessary for you to ask me. I already love the child as my own, and you know I love you.”
“Emmet,” I sai
d, his name carrying the sound of my exasperation, “I am not ready to even consider moving on from Peter. You have to remember, it isn’t like I’ve lived years as a widow. I’ve only just lost my husband.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he said, and I was surprised to hear my vexation matched by his own. “But you have to remember I have waited for you my entire life.” I started to speak, but he held his finger up to my lips. “You don’t have to love me. I don’t expect you to lie with me. I just want you to allow me to act as your support. To fill the void that has been created in your and Colin’s life. I’ll make an excellent father.” He tapped his forehead with his finger. “I’ve got the experience of eight men and one Jewish mother filed away in here.” He was referring, of course, to the nine witches, including Rivkah, who had created the golem from driveway dirt. When the line’s power struck him and turned him into a real boy, he retained the memories of their life experiences.
I had come across the first stirrings as he rose from the earth. The sight of him had terrified me. Now he frightened me in a different way. I knew he was right. Colin couldn’t hope for a better father, other than his own, that is. But I wasn’t at all ready to entertain his plans. I pushed Emmet’s hand away. “I know you care. I do. But you can’t replace Peter.”
“I don’t want to replace Peter. I want to dedicate my life to preserving his memory. To raising his son. To cherishing the woman he too loved . . .”
