Page 87 of Drawn in Blood
Ember nodded. “He’s my father. Did you know him?”
“I did.” She nodded with a small smile. “I knew your da’ very well. He worked as a fisherman at the docks, brought me in seaweed and jellyfish at least once a week. He was a good man, your da’. I’m Catriona.”
Ember felt her throat bob as she wiped away the tears pooled on her lower lash.
“You were about two when you left, I reckon,” Catriona said, as she continued to stock the shelves.
“I lived here?” Ember gasped. “Here in Torsvik?”
“Aye,” Catriona nodded, “I reckon you wouldn’t remember, but I remember you running up and down these streets very well while your da’ visited with William Olsen at the fish shop across the way. Has he not told you about William?”
Ember bit her lip as she shook her head.
“Is he here?” Catriona asked slowly, almost like she already knew the answer.
“No,” Ember replied quietly, “no, I’m sorry. He died when I was six.”
“Oh dear,” she frowned, “I’m so sorry to hear that. He was truly a lovely person.”
“He was.” Ember nodded, her chest beginning to tighten. She stood awkwardly for a few more moments before she bobbed her head and turned toward the door. “It was nice to meet you.” Shewas eager to get out of the shop, away from talk that made her feel anything.
“Come back soon,” Catriona said, as Ember headed toward the door. “I would love to hear more about how you’re getting on.”
Ember smiled and headed back into the bustling street. She walked past the fishmonger, imagining her dad spending his afternoons outside with the owner while a little Ember toddled around the village. She imagined drinking tea in the cafe down the road, spending warm, summer days on the beach. Torsvik wasn’t so different from Sigurvik, she was coming to find. Both towns were filled with ghosts. Ghosts of her childhood. The ghost of her father.
Ghosts of the life she could have lived.
She made it to the beach, wrapping her coat tightly around her chest as she sat in the sand. Grey clouds loomed overhead, waves crashing as she stared at the horizon. The air smelled like rain, and she thought about getting up and walking back home, until someone shuffled through the sand, sitting down beside her.
“Did Helvig send you to watch me?” Ember said, as she kept her eyes on the horizon.
“No,” Rowan replied, as she twiddled her thumbs, “I came on my own.”
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t hex you all the way to Timbuktu,” Ember said, as she flexed her fingers in the sand.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Rowan whispered. “I deserve it.”
“The pity party won’t work on me, Rowan,” Ember replied, as she rolled her eyes. “If you expect me to just forget all of the terrible things you did to me, you’re going to be very disappointed.” Ember ground her teeth. Who did she think she was?
“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered, wrapping her arms around her knees as she pulled them to her chest, “for everything. I truly am. I don’t expect your forgiveness.”
Ember’s jaw hung slack as she turned to look at the girl—the girl who used to be her best friend. The girl who was more like her than she would care to admit.
“Well, good,” she huffed, “because you wouldn’t get it anyway.” She kept her eyes set in front of her, worried if she looked at the girl, her cool composure would crack. “Then, why are you here?” she asked, shaking her head. “Come to catch up? See how everyone at Heksheim is doing? Ask about Fen?”
“Have you seen my mum?” she asked quietly, bottom lip almost quivering, like she was desperately trying to hold back tears.
The question caught Ember off guard, and her brow raised. “I saw her last year, after you disappeared.”
After you left.
“Is she… okay?” Rowan hesitated.
“As okay as a grieving mother could be.”
Rowan winced, not arguing with her choice in words.
Ember might have felt sorry, had she not remembered the woman’s face when she asked if she had seen her daughter.
