Page 80 of Anorthic Anarchy

“I said I would grab her, Mr. Freidenberg.”

The bear ignores Sev and lifts me into his arms, carrying me to the Hummer. “Livia!”

His wife shuffles closer to me. “I’ll go with her. Ari, come with us.”

“I’m coming, too.” Mr. Donovan has been eyeing me strangely as I lay silent in Mr. Freidenberg’s arms.

Setting me upright like a doll, my body leans against Arianna’s as Livia gets in beside me. Mr. Donovan rides in the front seat and turns to stare at me. He’s the only one who is reallylooking. Everyone else seems to be worried about me. But I’m not really here anymore.

“You look like your brother.” Tears flood to his eyes, and the look on his face sayshe knows. He understands exactly what I’m going through. When he speaks again, his voice is strained. “He was, uh, a good man.”

Arianna’s arm tightens around me as she places her lips to my forehead and Sev drives us to House Strauss. Even though I know nothing of these people, I just slump. My will for anything has been left behind with my love.

I know my legs operate because I walk inside the front door. But it’s like a movie happening to someone else. Pain sears in my soul so deeply, I don’t think I’ll ever recover.

If Bert didn’t exist, then I wouldn’t want to, either.

Somehow, I’m situated in a guest bed in a room I’ve never been in. The women bring me food and drinks that I reject. The men stand around and pace, murmuring softly to each other.

Calum Von Dovish and his wife appear at the door, bringing with them a calm presence. “Well…my sources say Clavius and Herodius are no more. From this city, anyway.”

“We need to establish a vote soon. For the people,” his wife says, nodding to everyone in the room.

Mr. Von Dovish approaches me with normalcy, not like the others. “What your husband did saved us all. He’s the true savior of Gnarled Pine Hollow.”

Everyone in the room nods and mumbles their respects while I wallow in agony. Not even able to speak.

The hairy man in the back of the room clears his throat. Mr. Freidenberg says, “Whatever you need, we’ll take care of you.”

Mr. Donovan still eyes me carefully, like he’s seeing a ghost. “You belong to us now.Allof us.”

People move around me, and events happen. Noises are made. Sometimes light is turned on. But I’m nothere. Not really.

One of the women comes to sit at my bedside every day. Livia brings her son, and I rub my belly while lying in a semi-coma. She plays with him, feeds him, burps him, and talks a lot about how to care for a baby. While I listen with some interest, I revel in her prattling distraction from my thoughts.

On Arianna’s days, she organizes my closets in my new room. I can’t return to the one my love and I were in. She plays with my hair, even washing and braiding it while I sit and stare at my gaunt cheeks in the mirror. Like a drill sergeant, she orders the minimal staff I have left around and makes me pancakes that I can barely eat. There’s some comfort in the steaminess of it as it hits my face, though.

When Asa Donovan sits in the wingback chair next to my bed, his leg bounces constantly. Like he can’t sit still. He usually stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking, but then he paces. It’s as if he understands what needs to be done for me, but can’t bring himself to do it.

Let’s face it. I’m a dog that needs to be put out of my misery.

“Tell me about my brother,” I ask one evening, when Asa’s looking even more miserable than I feel.

Running his hands through his hair, he pauses in his steps and spins to gaze at me with wide blue eyes. “Uh… Um. Sure. Okay.” He sits down again and clears his throat while rubbing his palms over his jeans repeatedly. “Well, Astrid.” He says my name like a foreign word. “I loved him.”

A gasp parts my lips as I sit up in bed, the comforter falling, exposing Vincente’s white T-shirt I haven’t taken off for days.

He continues with a rough swallow, voice clogged with emotion. “And he loved me.”

“He loved us both,” Arianna says as she returns from the kitchen with a tray filled with fruit and pancakes. I reach for the tall glass of orange juice. “And he loved his motorcycle, too.” A glimmer of a smile crinkles the corner of her eyes.

“He taught me to ride, in fact.” Asa seems to loosen up and leans over to snag a pancake from my tray. “And these were his favorite.” He holds up the treat before stuffing it in his mouth.

That day, I get lost in their stories. Their laughter. And their tears. Before they leave, both beg me to come home with them and see where he’s buried.

But it’s too soon. I can’t go. I can’t leave my husband, and his spirit is here in this house with me.

My favorite days are when Veracity stays with me. Instead of pity, or encouragement, or activity, she just sits still. The first few days, she didn’t even speak, only sat in the corner in the striped chair, pulled out a ball of yarn and knitted. That’s it. She just sat there even while I sobbed. Occasionally, she’d hand me a new box of tissues and gather the old ones. It’s as ifIwas enough, just in the state I was in. I didn’t have to become something else.

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