Page 34 of Queen of Ruin

“I won’t dignify you with what Langley said to me at the dedication,” Darren laments.

“Then don’t, and stop thinking about it.”

“He said he was never in competition with my father,” he scoffs. “What a lie.”

“Darren,” I warn.

“Yes, dear.” He bats his eyelashes at me, and I turn his face back to the road.

“Just concentrate on driving. By the way, are we almost there?” I ask.

“It’s the same answer I gave you five minutes ago,” he says with an annoyed tone.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off.

We’ve been in the car for nearly four hours, and the countless games of I Spy, and guess what the vanity plate says, have run their course, especially since traffic has thinned, leaving behind big cities the further south we go. I’ve never been in this part of the country, and I watch as the scenery passes, with its rolling green hills and deep green forests.

I can see the tilt of his lip while he concentrates on driving and place my socked feet back on the dash, daring him to protest or push them off.

The sign up ahead points towards Clarksville as Darren exits the highway, turning onto a two-lane road that passes an old gas station and a few scattered houses before driving over a long bridge to get into downtown. The street is lined with stores on both sides. It looks like one of those quaint towns that you only see in movies, with brick buildings and green awnings with names like Sara’s Stationary, and Bella’s Bloom’s, written on them.

Even though Darren slows to a near crawl, it only takes what feels like a minute to reach the end of the block, and I crane my neck to read the sign on one of the stores, The Sweetest Secret.

“My mom used to take me there for ice cream in the summers,” Darren sighs, the store winking out of view as he turns the corner.

“It looks cute.” I turn back to Darren.

“I’ll take you there once we get settled,” Darren promises with a wan smile, and I’m eager to explore, but more eager to get out of the car because I’m tired of sitting for so long.

“Just like you promised to stop in Richmond so I could see the Edger Allen Poe Museum?”

“I missed the turn!”

“Liar.”

“Okay, you got me. I have no desire to see a museum dedicated to a man with terminal paranoia,” he spouts.

“But it’s Edgar Allen Frickin’ Poe!” I state, waving my hands in the air in frustration.

“Has anyone told you that you talk with your hands too much? I thought that was a Jersey thing.”

“How’s this for a hand gesture?” I give him the middle finger.

He laughs and shakes his head. “That’s not very ladylike.”

“I think you know by now, Darren, that I’m no lady.” I smile wickedly, and Darren licks his lips while gripping the steering wheel tighter.

We turn down a back road into a heavily wooded area full of tall pines, and glimpses of water glittering like diamonds between the tree trunks. It’s only a short drive before I can see a house up ahead. When the road curves and the trees open to give me a full view of the house, I realize it doesn’t live up to Darren’s description.

“That’s not a log cabin.” I point at the house with my mouth shamelessly gaping open.

“There’re logs,” Darren comments flippantly, as he pulls into the drive.

“Yeah, there’re logs, but that’s far from a cabin. I pictured something that looked like an outhouse,” I tease.

Darren laughs. “Kerry and Merrill Walker staying in an outhouse?” He makes a face. “Now that would be something,” he muses.

As soon as Darren stops the car, I open the door and step out. The house is made of wood logs, but there’s also a portico with large wood beams and stone walls that are offset by an interesting green metal roof. I thought the Georgetown house was beautiful, but this property is… magical.

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