Page 45 of A Winding Wave of Magic
With some difficulty, I resisted the urge to throw both of them back at his smug face. “Your jokes are not funny.”
I returned his phone and tucked the card into the pocket of my shorts. I was meeting the end of my bravado and was starting to feel the now-familiar prickling behind my eyes as the gravity of the situation hit me. This man was here to show me Gran’s end-of-life wishes. Because her life was over.
And yet, no tears came. I didn’t particularly want to have a fit in the middle of the coffee shop, but the fact that I couldn’t, made me feel like a monster.
Frustrated, I hid my face behind my coffee cup and looked away until I could control the flush rising up my neck.
“Ms. Whelan? I do beg your pardon. Truly.”
Lynch’s voice was soft with concern. I looked back up at him, and he reached out, fingertips floating over my bare arm.
“May I?” he asked.
I swallowed. “All—all right.”
It was only for a moment, but concern welled from him. His obvious remorse calmed me immediately. More than that…there was something else in his touch that was soothing and stimulating at the same time.
I stared at his hand on my arm, wondering what it was that I was feeling. Certainly something I’d never Seen before.
He took his hand back almost as quickly. “I apologize. I’ve overstepped. I am a complete and total arse.”
I frowned. Was he talking about the touch or his previous comments? “It’s all right. I’m just a complete wreck right now and pretty much lack any sense of humor.”
“I can only imagine. And I’m not helping, which is actually what I am here to do. No more jokes, I promise. Would you still prefer to talk here?”
“Ah, um, no,” I said, suddenly conscious of my mottled features as Andy glanced over at us with concern. Maybe the spell wasn’t working quite as well as I’d thought. Or maybe it was just wearing off. “We can go back to the house.”
“Can I offer a lift? If I’m not mistaken, the house is a few miles from here, isn’t it?”
Lynch stood after tucking his document securely back into the briefcase and waited. When he caught my suspicious gaze, he rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t help it.
“I saw the address on the documents and looked it up on my phone, planning to find you there after breakfast,” he explained. “It was just luck that you happened in here.”
He fluttered his fingers with another impatient offer. When I accepted them, I immediately felt the cold, stark truth along with another emotion he was working hard to conjure and which was somewhat unfamiliar to him: empathy. He wanted me to know not only that he was who he said he was, but also that he was truly sorry for what had happened. Though he barely knew me, he somehow found himself wanting to assuage confusion and help however he could.
What’s more, he was as confused about the connection between us as I was.
I stood up and released his fingers.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “Let’s go.”
15
BLACKBIRD
A blackbird leads the loud song;
Above my pen-lined booklet
I hear a fluting bird-throng.
— ANONYMOUS NINTH-CENTURY POET, “THE SCRIBE IN THE WOODS”
It didn’t strike me odd until much later that Lynch knew exactly how to get to Gran’s house, address or not. It wasn’t the easiest place to locate, and most people would have needed directions to get there, even with the help of GPS. It wasn’t until we had already turned down the windy gravel path that I turned to question him.
He smiled. It unexpectedly lit up the interior of his rental.
“I’d already driven by looking for you yesterday,” he told me. “You weren’t here yet.”
