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“It’s fine, Slade. I’m pretty sure I remember the way.” Salem laughs, and I pull my eyes from Astrid and turn to Salem.
“I’d feel better knowing I delivered you safely.”
“Lord, spare me from overprotective males. Fine, better get a move on before the boys revolt.” She looks over at Astrid, taking her in, before her eyes flick to me and back to Astrid.
“I’ll make you up a plate and put it in the fridge for when you want it, Astrid.”
“Thank you,” she whispers before I jog down the steps to join Salem. The sooner I can drop her off with the others, the sooner I can come back and find out what’s bothering Astrid.
I hold my elbow out for Salem to slip her arm into before walking her back to the main house. “Everything okay with you guys?”
She looks up at me and smiles that secret smile of hers. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I make a face that lets her know I think she’s full of shit.
She laughs and shakes her head, the tendrils of her light brown hair blowing across her face. “It’s nice, you know, having someone to talk to about things.”
“You have a house full of people up there who would hang off every word you say.”
She stops, making me stop with her. “You don’t want me talking to Astrid?”
“Don’t be stupid. I just meant that you always have someone ready to listen to you. None of us would ever judge you. You have to know that by now.”
“I do. Of course, I do. I love all you guys because of it. But it’s not the same as talking to someone who has lived it. It’s a bit like you listening to me whine about wearing high-heeled shoes. You might sympathize, but you’ve never worn the devil’s version of a torture device, so you don’t really get it.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her analogy. “Point taken.”
We walk in silence for a little while before I broach a subject, I’m unsure I should. “Do you find it odd that Astrid hasn’t had another vision?”
She shrugs. “I don’t have any idea how Astrid’s visions work beyond what she said. And before you ask, if you want more information, talk to her. I don’t want her to think that the talk we had this morning was a fact-finding mission. That’s not fair to either of us, and it will cheapen what I hope will become a close friendship.”
I hold up my free hand in mock surrender. “Calm down, mama bear. I was just asking. You like her, though, don’t you?”
“Of course, I like her. It’s hard not to.” She pauses for a minute before continuing. “She’s strong. You have to be to live with what she has and still be standing. But there is something so innately fragile about her too. Like her strength is steel shutters locking the world away from the soft-hearted parts of her. I haven’t had an easy life, but Astrid has scars so deep they make mine look like paper cuts.”
“She could just be showing you what she wants you to see.”
“I guess. But then she could say the same about us, huh? After all, you take her to bed every night and hold her in your arms, but right here and now, you are asking me about the woman’s character. Sounds to me like you should be careful about throwing stones, Slade. One might bounce back and smack you in the face.”
She doesn’t look at me as she walks off, heading up the ramp to the main part of the house. I hear the cheers as the door opens. I stand there and wait until the door closes behind her before making my way back home.
I mull over Salem’s words and sigh, feeling like a dick. She’s right, though she was nicer about telling me I’m a dick than I would have been had the roles been reversed.I need to be able to trust what I see instead of always looking for some hidden backstory that might come along and throw a wrench in the works.
I make my way around the back of the house, but Astrid isn’t on the porch anymore. I open the door and slip inside. Standing still, I listen for movement when I hear sniffling coming from Jagger’s bedroom. I walk toward it quietly and stand in the doorway, taking in Astrid sitting on the bed with her bare feet tucked up underneath her as she gazes out the window.
Sensing my arrival, she looks my way, swiping a tear that runs down her cheek. A slash of pain stabs my chest as I make my way toward her. Part of me expects her to retreat, but when I sit beside her, she leans into me and lets out a soft sigh when I wrap my arm around her. We sit in silence, the sound of our hearts beating in tandem the only noise in the room.
Her soft voice breaks the silence. “When I was four years old, I was kidnapped by a man who blackmailed my father.”
Her words suck all the oxygen out of the room. I want to fire a million questions at her, but Astrid is such a closed book, I don’t want to risk ruffling her pages.
“He had me for three days. I don’t really remember it. I vaguely recall being scared and confused, but that’s about it.”
“They catch the fucker?” My voice sounds thick and choppy, like I’ve gargled with glass.
She shrugs. “Nobody spoke about it afterward. Everyone forgot it happened and moved on with their lives.”
“That’s fucked up.”
