Page 49 of The Spider & the Storm

But as much as I preferred days that were dark and dreary, I could also appreciate that days like this were meant to be taken advantage of. So, after unlocking the gate and using the recently repaired and returned backhoe to dig a few graves for upcoming funerals, I decided to head back home to chop some wood in preparation for the impending winter.

My backyard wasn’t much of a yard at all. A small patio that contained an even smaller grill, two lawn chairs—even though I could count on one finger the number of times Ivan and I had sat outside—a place to park Luke’s bike, a pile of firewood, a handful of logs waiting to be chopped, and a wide, flat tree stump on which to do said chopping.

A little garden Ivan had started during his time at the cottage was tucked into the corner of the walled-in yard. I hadn’t understood the purpose of it when I first accepted the job, even though I made it a point to maintain its vibrant greenery.

But one day—the only time we’d taken our coffee outside instead of staying in—Ivan had commented on how nicely I’d kept his garden, and I laughed, mentioning how ridiculous it was to have kept it at all when I was surrounded by well-maintained landscaping and flower beds on all sides of the cottage.

“But that’s all theirs,” Ivan had said, unamused by my teasing. He swept his arm out, addressing the surrounding acres of greenery and headstones. “This tiny piece of land wasmine, Chuck. All mine. Now, it’s yours, and it’s important to remember that. It’s yours to keep foryou. Take pride in what you do for them, but always take more in what you do for yourself.”

I had taken that to heart. Nothing had ever been truly mine before. Not after spending the first thirty years of my life in a house with members of my family and three years struggling to maintain the shell of something that had once existed.

Not once had I forgotten to water that garden ever since that conversation. There’d been days I was too bogged down by thoughts and memories and sadness to mow a section of the cemetery or times I’d overlooked trimming the bushes on my to-do list simply because of how daunting of a task it seemed to be. But that garden was always tended to.

So, after giving the flowers and shrubbery a good sprinkle of water from the hose, I wiped my hands against my jeans and turned to grab a log off the pile. Then, with it positioned on the stump, I wrapped my hands around the axe handle, lifted it up and over my head, and grunted as the axe came down hard, splitting the log in two.

It was primal, a connection to my oldest ancestors. The ones I knew nothing about, apart from the fact that I wouldn't be here had they never existed. I wondered what they would’ve thought about me now. Rapidly approaching middle age andunmarried. No children to speak of, nobody to pass my legacy on to. Reclusive and tending to the graves of the remembered and long forgotten.

What would they have thought about my past? Or better yet, Luke’s?

I sniffed a laugh at that as I shook my head, repositioning one half of the log on the stump.

THWACK!Another swing of the axe.

My nose burned at the thought of Luke, and the backs of my eyes prickled with an abrupt but heavy-weighted sadness. It always came on out of nowhere—the pain of missing my brother. It crept up on me when I least expected it, hitting hard and fast with such precision that I could barely see the log in front of me as I brought the axe over and down.

The pieces split and fell off the stump to meet the others.

My back dripped with sweat beneath my shirt, and with the weight of sadness sitting heavily against my chest, I planted the axe blade into the stump. Then, I pulled the shirt off and threw it aggressively to the ground, as if it alone were the distance and time separating me from my big brother.

Another log was set in place. The axe handle was gripped tightly in my palms. I squeezed the worn wood until my knuckles turned white, gritted my teeth, and set my jaw. An angry roar scraped against my throat as I swung, and upon impact, the log splintered, breaking into four pieces and falling to the ground at the base of the stump.

Relax. Let it go.

I let my lungs heave for one, two, three breaths before clearing my throat and shaking my head, chasing the pain andrage away. Reminding myself for the millionth time that this—being here—was for the better, that it was what we had both felt was best, given the circumstances. If only he—

A nearby tree erupted with the scattering of crows, taking to the sky in a burst of black and echoing calls. My heart hammered at the disruption to the quiet, sunny day, and I stared as they flew off, focusing on their beating wings and the heaviness of my breathing.

“Jesus,” I muttered, clasping a hand to my bare chest before turning to grab another log from the pile.

And that was when I saw her.

That woman.

The one I'd saved across the street, outside of the hotel.

The one who'd broken into my house.

The one with the longest, prettiest onyx hair I'd ever seen before in my life.

The one who emanated an aura so bright and tempting, beckoning me to investigate its glory, while the nerves in my gut and the panic in my brain told me to stay as far away from her as I could possibly get.

If only I could convince her to comply …

I said nothing as she walked toward me slowly, her heavy black boots thunking against the brick. My hands remained tight around the axe handle, although I wasn't sure I intended to use it. Not on her. But it made me feel better to keep it there between my palms, held in front of me, warding her off and forcing a distance I knew was best.

“Oh, come on, Charlie,”I imagined Luke saying.“Like you don't wanna see what else she has pierced.”

Shut the fuck up.

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