Page 83 of Light As A Feather
“It is,” I assure him. Scooting over, I make room for him beside me between the large rocks. I thought they’d hide me from the rest of the class to work in peace, but apparently, I overestimated the privacy someone could find on a crowded beach. “So, are you going to help me, or?”
A laugh escapes him. “Sure, why not?” My pride is wounded.
My short hair swishes over my shoulders as I turn to him with narrowed eyes. “Why is that funny?” I demand defensively, used to being the last to get the joke—usually at my own expense.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” He turns serious, his lips falling into a straight line. I hate that I’ve wiped the smile off his face. “Honestly?”
“No, lie to me please…” I say sarcastically.
His brow furrows again.
“Joking.”
“Oh…” There’s that laugh again, and without his smile accompanying it, I believe he wasn’t laughing at me. “Honestly, you umm, you make me a little nervous.”
“I make Hawthorne Addams nervous? There’s something I never thought I’d hear,” I say flatly, even though my stomach is doing a disturbing little somersault.
“Yes.” He laughs under his breath, long lashes brushing his cheeks. There’s that smile. I want to collect more of them, learnhow to earn them. “And I’m not embarrassed to admit it.” His expressive brown eyes hold mine, and I swear that my own reflection is kinder when I see myself there.
“Well, if I’m not too intimidating, you’re welcome to stay.”
He holds his hand out for the bone.
“Not this one, those ones,” I say, pointing to the pile of tiny dirty bones and shells I’ve collected.
“What do I do?”
“I’ll teach you.” Holding one in my outstretched hand, I reach toward him. When he takes it, our fingers brush for just a second. A second that turns into years as I see a version of him that’s much older but unmistakable, kissing someone like there’s never been anyone else, like she hung the moon—despite myself jealousy winds in my stomach like a tapeworm—but when he pulls away, I realize I recognize the other person, it’s me.
I pull back as if shocked, unsure what to make of what I just saw, only hopeful that it might be like the other things that come true inexplicably. I know it’s foolish, but the brief contact has left its mark on me, burning the gentle touch and the way he looks at me into a core memory.
I learned everything I needed to about Hawthorne Addams that day. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer, crouching in that sand for another half hour while I explained the intricacies of finding, cleaning, and repurposing bones.
I might be lost for now, but I have no doubt that he’s doing everything he can for me. He won’t let me get left behind.
Someone could tell me this is Hell, and I’d believe them with the way every inch of me burns with the loss of her. The love of my life lies across my arms, an empty vessel. A gorgeous painting in technique, missing the artistry of a soul. Her eyes are no longer a source of magic that sustains me, her chest—my ventilator—no longer rises and falls, her fingers no longer lace through mine, pulling me forward.
My world shrinks, narrowing into this black pit of despair where her body is all that I have left of her. I’ve been fighting this heartbreak for so long that I forgot to prepare for it.
My grief isn’t this raging, wild thing I expected it to be. It’s disturbingly quiet, subdued in the sheer magnitude of the loss that’s going to crush me. I don’t fight it. I want it to flatten me, reduce me to nothing. That’s all I have, without her, that’s all that this life is worth.
The grandfather clock continues to tick, but time stands still. Each moment that passes without her presence brings me closer to descending into madness. We had a deal:not even in death do we part.
So,where is she?
Why isn’t she here reassuring me?
Were we fools to believe that the afterlife was a given? That we’d never have to truly part. That even if she succumbed to her mortality, I could still reach across the veil and hold her close.
I don’t understand.
“Hawthorne,” Ozzie says as if it’s not the first time.
A response doesn’t come, only an agonizing burning.
“Montrose is here to help with her body.” I appreciate more than ever that Ozzie’s connections are vast—aren’t they always when you have money?
My eyes dart to the clock, the hands two hours farther along in their journey. Even still, it’s not enough time. It never could be. Pulling her closer to me, I reject the notion that someone could take her from me.
