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Perhaps she was right. Perhaps darkness did have a way of following me around.
11
Damian
I startedmy morning with a workout in the gym on the property. Lifting heavy shit and dropping it was one of my favorite pastimes. Some people went to therapy—others went to the gym. I was the latter.
After my workout, I usually showered and then went to prepare breakfast, but on my last set of deadlifts, the doorbell rang, making me grumble with annoyance. I headed to the foyer and opened the door to find an older woman standing there with huge photo albums in her hands. I knew her, well, I didn’t know her, but I’d seen her at the funeral and when she did the wedding ceremony. She lived in the guesthouse on the property.
She had a head full of gray hair and wore a flowy hippie-type dress with white platform sandals. Even with the inches on the shoes, she only stood about five-foot-six. She was a tiny woman, but her energy felt larger than most.
“Hi there.” She smiled. “Even though I married you to Stella, we haven’t officially met and held a conversation. I wanted to give you time to settle in. I’m Maple, Stella’s grandmother—by heart, not blood.”
“She’s not here,” I commented.
“I know, it’s Saturday. She’s in town taking an art class. Can I come in?” Maple asked. Kind of asked, I should say. Come to think of it, it wasn’t a question at all as she pushed her way through the door. “Did you just finish your workout?” she asked, making herself extremely comfortable in said house.
“I wasn’t quite done yet,” I lied.
“Does lying come easy to you?” she asked, moving toward the dining room. She set her basket down on the table as I followed her. She turned my way and placed her hands against her hips. “Or does it make you feel a bit dirty?”
I don’t feel much of anything.
“Yes.” She looked at me with such a genuine look of concern as if she could read my mind. “I can see that.”
“I’m sorry, do you need something or—”
“I brought you some photo albums of Kevin’s photography. I figured you might like to see it, seeing how you’re a photographer, too.”
How did she know that? I didn’t talk to anyone about my photography hobby. Maybe she’d seen my cameras lying around or saw me outside taking photographs at the coastline.
She smiled. “I’m just gifted at reading people, son. Don’t let me freak you out too much. I only believe in good magic.”
What was she talking about?
“Anyway, I’m also here about my Stella,” Maple said, though I was still stuck on the magic comment. Was she a witch? What in the hell…?
“Oh?” I asked, trying not to be freaked out by this odd woman.
“Now, my Stella, she is sensitive. You can tell her feelings simply by looking at her face, and she is one to speak on her feelings, too. She communicates them. She wants to make sure everyone in every situation is comfortable, even if it’s at the expense of her own comfort.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m not like Stella. I’m more like you. A pessimist. A bit cold to the world.” She smiled and nodded once. “Someone who doesn’t feel much of anything. But the small number of things I feel, the small number of people I care for, I feel everything for them. So I just came here to say, if you hurt my Stella—”
“Maple—”
“I don’t like being cut off, son.”
I shut my mouth.
She continued. “If you hurt her… I will hurt you.”
The fire in her soul almost made me feel as if my own skin was set ablaze. “I understand.”
The harshness of her words evaporated a bit before her face eased up. “I’m sorry that the world hurt you.”
“Did Stella tell you that?” I huffed.
