Page 114 of Corpse Roads

Clusters of hibernating blackberry bushes wind around the white picket fence. A tall apple tree dominates the garden, casting shadows as snowflakes continue to fall.

No flowers are blooming at this time of year. The fruit growing has been stripped from its brambles, consumed and tossed aside. It’s like the whole garden is trapped in a deathly state of stasis.

I wonder how many times I crossed their minds. Did Giana see my face the day her second child was born? Was I even an afterthought?

“We can go in when you’re ready.” Hunter fastens his silver-grey tie in the driver’s seat. “I’d like to set off this afternoon though.”

I lick my cracked lips. “Sure.”

His ringtone pierces the tension between us. With a quick glance at the screen, Hunter ignores the third call this morning.

He’s been dodging calls all weekend since we stayed for an extra couple of days. I needed time to think and come to terms with my entire life being ripped apart overnight.

It wasn’t so bad, sharing a cramped hotel room with Hunter in the dead of winter. Things feel different now. He actually sees me for who I am, and we’ve talked through the news until I felt able to face Giana myself.

His phone rings again.

“Answer if you need to.”

“They’re all adults,” he says, switching it off. “I run that company all year round. They can cope for another day on their own.”

“I really don’t mind.”

He reaches out to take my hand over the console. “Well, I do mind. You need me more right now.”

The feel of his fingers clasping mine makes my pulse skip a beat. I’m still not used to the casual affection he’s started to give. I half expect him to throw me out of the car and tell me this whole thing was a dumb mistake.

“Do I look alright?” I ask apprehensively.

“You look fine, sweetheart.”

Dressed in plain blue jeans and a loose linen shirt, my parka keeps me warm against the early December chill. I’ve left my mousy-brown hair loose and natural, spilling down my back.

“What if she doesn’t remember me?” I slip a hand into my hair and pull sharply. “What if I don’t recognise her?”

“Harlow.”

I stare ahead, gripping a strand of hair.

“Harlow, look at me.”

Hunter’s coffee-coloured eyes stare into mine when I muster the courage to look. He strokes his thumb over my cheek with a smile.

“It’s going to be okay. I’m here and we can leave at any time. You don’t owe her anything, alright?”

I make myself nod. “Alright.”

Exiting the car, he circles around to let me out. I leave my phone and small handbag behind. The only person who needs to know where I am is right here, pulling me into his arms.

Hunter is dressed in his usual battle armour—a blue dress shirt and matching navy pea coat that complements his still-tanned skin. He’s cleaned up his beard and pulled his hair into a neat bun, highlighting the old scar that bisects his eyebrow.

“I told her to make sure the kid wasn’t home,” he explains as we approach the cottage. “Figured that would be too much.”

“Thank you.”

The red door stands out against the snow-covered garden. It’s stark, a violent shade of crimson, spilling blood across the lawn in a curtain of mortality. I’m almost afraid to touch it.

There’s a car covered up in the driveway, and Hunter takes a quick glance under the plastic sheet.

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