Page 3 of In the Light of the Moon

I kept my arm and hand a steady weight for him to press down on. And though I could feel him holding back, I remained still against the pressure until he was upright. He used the wall to support himself for just a second before pushing up to stand on his own two feet.

He took a long, drawing breath through his nose, and when he exhaled, his shoulders seemed to relax even more. His injured arm was still curled in toward his body, and his face was definitely banged up, but he otherwise looked like he would be okay.

When he slowly looked at me, downwards since he was several inches taller, he met my eyes for a brief moment and then settled somewhere on my forehead. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

My brows drew up at the center, “Are you sure? Do you live near here? Is there… somewhere I can take you to?” Well, looked like all of my good sense had flown out the window. I chewed at my lip again, trying not to let the swell of guilt and worry rise at the prospect of being away from home for longer. Granna probably wouldn’t care, but I didn’t like leaving her alone for longer than I absolutely needed to.

The man shook his head, “No, I’m fine,” he reiterated. “Ah, thank you. For your help.” He started to take a slow step forward, and I shuffled to the side to be out of his way.

My mouth kept opening and closing as I watched him take surer and surer steps, not toward the forest or the parking lot, but around the other end of the building. Across a grassyarea between establishments, I knew he would come upon more businesses and eventually the main road. Was he going towalk?

“Hey,” I jogged to catch up with him, and I saw his shoulders stiffen, though he kept walking. It was like his body was waking up, better able to push past whatever wounds he had with every step. “Are you just going to walk?—”

He didn’t look at me, but I saw his jaw clenching in the light from the street lamps and storefronts we walked under, “Please. Leave me alone.”

A choked sound left my mouth, and my feet stuttered to a stop.What the hell?

Again, I fought for what to say, but it was like I was stuck in place. He was at least well enough to walk, barely limping, but he couldn’t befine. Right?

In my indecision, he seemed to have picked up speed, and then he was across the empty street. I almost started following after him again, but I then thought better of it. I didn’t know this man, and he didn’t owe me anything. He was clearly an adult who could make his own decisions, and he was well enough to tell me that he didn’t want me to keep talking to or walking with him.

With a confused and frustrated huff, I forced my eyes away from his shrinking form and turned back toward Vinny’s where my old red sedan was the only vehicle in the lot.

I got in, closing and locking the door behind me before cranking the car to life. The twangy R&B music I’d been blaring on the way in made me jump before frantically dialing it almost all the way down.

When I backed out and started up the road, I tried to catch another glimpse of his white body dressed in dark clothing. But it was like he’d disappeared.

I gave up, and while I made my way home, a silly part of me wondered if I’d gotten all worked up trying to save a ghost.

CHAPTER TWO

Sylvie

The kitchen light was still on when I pulled up to the back of the house. It was after midnight, but I’d quickly learned that older people didn’t sleep nearly as much as I thought they would. Though my father had been in his late fifties, twenty plus years younger than Granna, he’d slept way more than she ever seemed to.

I strolled past the bursting flowers and greenery that took on a deeper color under the glow of the porch light above. My hand reached out to caress lush petals of white and red dahlias, and I hopped up the back wooden steps with ease. The screen door on the porch squeaked. Making a mental note to hit the hinges with some WD-40, I entered the kitchen after finding the door unlocked.

Before I could panic, I was met with Granna sitting at the small table under the large bay window with a book in hand and a steaming mug of tea before her.

I locked the door behind me and started to hang my purse on a set of small hooks. “Hey, Granna, how was?—”

She cut me off with a short hiss and a finger raised, eyes darting back and forth on her page. I snickered and busied myself by reaching into the pearl white, retro refrigerator that she’d somehow managed to keep up and running all these years.

The kitchen was a good size and always kept remarkably clean. I often had to shoo the woman away from standing on chairs to dust on top of the high cabinets or getting down on hands and knees to scrub the floors. While she was an active person, and typically sharp as a tack, I’d immediately noticed the passage of time and wear of the years when I moved in just a few months ago.

“Okay, sorry, sweetheart,” her soft voice was warm, “how was work?” Granna stuck an old leather bookmark in the center of her latest read and settled it on the table, giving me her full attention.

I poured a glass of lemonade from the half-full pitcher that took up a large amount of space in the fridge. It was lip-puckering tart and mellowly flavored with honey and lavender. I leaned against the counter and faced her. “It was,” my head ducked to inspect the floating lavender petals, fingers tapping on the sweating glass, “fine. Typical.” I shrugged. Not that Granna would think I was losing it or anything, but I still didn’t even know whatIthought about the encounter with that strange man. Had he made it to wherever he lived? Or was he lying behind another dumpster somewhere, even more injured—or worse?

Should I have followed him and insisted he accept my help? Or maybe I should have called an ambulance anyway.

“I don’t know why you insist on working at that place. You smell like grease, sweetheart,” Granna shuddered and took a sip of her tea. Her long, loose hair fell in pretty, gray waves. She’d never adopted the tendency of older folks cutting their hair in shorter styles. Admittedly not as thick as I remember it beingwhen I was little, her hair fell a considerable length down her back, and it shifted against her cotton nightgown.

“Well, it was the first place that was hiring, and I’m trying to find a different job anyway.”

“If I knew you were going to be moving in, I wouldn’t have sold the shop.”

“But if you hadn’t, the house wouldn’t be paid off. And I wouldn’t be able to come back and finish my degree,” I stood and leaned over to press a kiss to her head. She smelled like her favorite lavender soap and tart berries, and it further reinforced that I was where I wanted to be. After everything, at least I could call this place home.

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