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Glancing back to the window, I study Annie’s sleeping face for another beat, willing myself to commit it to memory in case this is the last time I ever see her this way.
The thought alone is enough to send pain worming through my chest.
Deep down, I know despite my best intentions that I’ll be back. I’m a strong, stubborn man—always have been—but this woman is my Achilles heel.
Dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces, I set myself loose on the wind, drifting over the sleepy town of Nightfall, finding joy and heartbreak in every scene playing out beneath me. In one yard, a couple share a hammock, whispering from beneath the blankets piled on top of them to fight the cold, their laughter as sweet as a love song. In another, a small boy cries in his treehouse while his parents shout from inside the house. He clutches a whimpering golden retriever puppy to his chest, but the poor dog can’t take away his pain any more than the boy can heal his parents’ wounds.
Again and again, I see the twin coins of what it means to be human playing out in the lives of those still awake at this late hour.
The spider is right. Suffering and joy each have their season, but they also have a cost. Even if I could be convinced that joy is my birthright, I don’t know if I’m willing to pay the price for it.
Nothing lasts forever and happiness is fleeting. I might have a few good years with Annie, maybe even a few good decades, but she would eventually be taken from me. Her mortal life would end and my season of joy with it. Then, I’d be right back where I am now, lost in a grief so intense it feels like I’m trapped in a dread-filled freefall.
But after losing Annie the agony would be fresh again—an open, screaming wound instead of the throbbing scar I carry with me now.
Best to stay as I am and spare myself both new joy and new pain.
Coward.
The inner voice is right. I am a coward and more selfish than I realized until my chat with the spider. It’s just another reason Annie is better off without me.
I know this, but that familiar longing is still pulsing through my veins as I rematerialize at my cottage to find all the lamps off inside and the door hanging open on its one unbroken hinge.
Instantly, I fear for Laura, but she emerges from the reeds behind me a moment later, her bellow as anxious and fearful as any I’ve heard from her, even in the days when she still suffered from nightmares of the night her mother died.
I open my arms, and she falls against me, forcing me to brace one leg behind the other to keep from being knocked sideways into the dirt. She hugs me tight, moaning a string of swiftly spoken Bear that I can’t understand.
But Edmond can.
Rubbing her head, I assure her, “It’s all right. You’re safe, and we’ll call Edmond tomorrow.”
She moans even more pitifully, the sound pitching sharply up at the end.
“No, not now,” I say, her longing so clear I don’t need a talent for animal communication to understand her. “His gift doesn’t work over the phone, and it’s too close to sunrise for him to make the journey from the estate. But we’ll contact him as soon as the sun sets tomorrow evening. He’ll come right away, and you can tell me everything.”
She pulls back, bobbing her head slowly in agreement before pointing toward the hills and bellowing again.
“The person who broke in came from the mountain?” I ask.
She nods again and makes several large motions with her paws.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” I pat her shoulder and ask the most important question at the moment, with only an hour remaining before sun-up. “Is it safe to sleep here today? Or should we find another resting place?”
Laura’s brown eyes fill with fear, but she doesn’t immediately give me an answer one way or another. She chews on a paw, cocks her head to one side, then finally, plops down heavily on her bottom and lifts her palms to the graying sky.
I frown. “You don’t know? How can you not know?”
She shakes her head and pats the fur near her eyes, making more urgent grunts and moans, but I can’t make sense of her noises or the gesture. In the end, I decide we’re better off playing it safe and assure her, “All right. We’ll sleep in the catacombs instead of the caves, stay closer to town and help in case we need it. Just let me look inside before we go. I want to see if the person who broke in left any clues behind.”
Laura groans and points toward the sky, clearly concerned about the rapidly approaching dawn.
“Yes, I know. I’ll be quick. Gather what you want to take,” I say, nodding toward her den on the other side of the cabin.
With one final disapproving groan, she lumbers off to collect her things. I’m guessing her favorite blanket and whatever toy she can’t stand to be parted with at the moment.
I climb the steps and ease through the splintered door, my gut twisting as I survey the wreckage inside.
My desk is splintered to pieces and personal letters and documents litter the floor, but it’s the opposite side of the room that makes my heart thud miserably in my ears.
