Page 81 of She's Like the Wind
Maybe it was because I was unraveling the trauma in my mind, trying to heal, because when the nightmare struck that night, it wasn’t violent—but silent, like the air had collapsed on itself.
The crunch of broken glass.
Copper in my mouth.
The echo of Lia’s laugh in the cab of the car.
This time, she looked at me, calm as anything when I called her name, and said, “You don’t have to stay in the wreckage, cher.”
I woke up drenched in sweat, the pillow wet, my chest aching like I’d been sucker-punched.
The next morning, I texted Delphi, telling him I’d be coming in late to work.
I drove out to the cemetery in Metairie.
It had been a while since I’d been there.
I always thought that it felt more like a quiet city than a graveyard. Rows of marble crypts and live oaks draped in Spanish moss, everything sun-bleached and solemn.
The air smelled like cut grass and stone dust.
Angels watched from their pedestals with chipped wings, and names older than memory were carved into crumbling facades. It was peaceful in a way only New Orleans cemeteries could be—equal parts holy and haunted.
I stood at Lia’s final resting place for a long time, hands in my pockets, the morning air thick and buzzing with insects.
Her vault was modest—white stone streaked with age and weather, tucked into a shady corner of the cemetery beneath a low-hanging oak. The nameplate was bronze, already starting to patina, and someone—probably her mother—had left a bouquet of lilies not long ago because they were only slightly wilted.
There were no grand angels or marble columns, just a single carving above her name: a crescent moon and stars.
I knelt on the grass and placed my hand on the stone; it was warm under my palm.
“I never knew how to let the accident go,” I said out loud. “So, I just didn’t.”
My throat threatened to close. The emotions inside me were chaotic. But I kept going.
“I thought that if I loved someone else, I’d lose you—and eventually I’d losethem, too.” I stroked the stone. “Sometimes I don’t even remember what you look like—and I feel guilty. I lived, and you died. Would we be together? Married? Have a couple of kids? Who knows. But the thing is that I wanted those things—not just with you, but for myself, and I gave it all up because I was afraid to hurt like I had after you were gone.”
Some truths, as Auntie Griselle said, had to come from within; no one could tell you and make you believe them.
I was finally speaking my truth, the one I’d submerged beneath a mountain of fear.
I kissed my fingers and placed them on her name. “Goodbye, sweet Lia. Wherever you are, I hope you’re smiling.”
CHAPTER 28
Naomi
By the time I realized what was happening, I was already halfway into my third “maybe” of the week with Gage, who had been showing up like it was his new full-time job.
Never too much, though, and never demanding, just…consistent.
Sometimes it was coffee from Envie.
Sometimes flowers from Flora Savage down the street.
Sometimes macarons from Sucre.
Sometimes a bottle of vintage champagne from Effervescence.
