Page 28 of Stolen Harmony
His jaw tightened, but he just nodded, as if he knew how hard that was for me to admit.
I turned to the counter and tossed the bag of cat food down harder than necessary, the plastic hitting the laminate with a sharp crack. The clerk looked between us nervously, obviously sensing the tension but not understanding its source.
“That'll be fifty dollars,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
I pulled a handful of crumpled bills from my pocket and dropped them on the counter without counting, not caring if it was enough or too much. The clerk started to bag my purchases, but I snatched them up before he could finish, tucking the cat food under my arm and heading for the door.
The bell chimed behind me as I stepped into the cold air, and I could feel Elias's eyes on my back like a physical weight. I wanted to turn around, to say something that might undo the damage I'd just done, but the words wouldn't come. They never did when it mattered.
Chapter 8
Graveside Confessions
Elias
The wind cut through Harbor's End like it had a personal grudge against everything still standing.
I pulled my collar up and kept my head down, moving through the main street. The air carried salt and the promise of rain, that particular bite that came before storms rolled in from the Atlantic.
I'd been walking without purpose for twenty minutes, the bag of dog food from the pet store growing heavier with each step. The encounter with Rowan kept replaying in my head.
I understood the anger. Hell, I probably deserved it. But understanding didn't make it hurt less.
The post office steps were crowded with the usual collection of people who had nowhere better to be on a Tuesday afternoon. Mrs. Patterson and her sister huddled together near the entrance, their voices low but not quite low enough.
“…making a scene again at Anna’s place. Poor boy can’t hold his liquor any better than he can hold a conversation.”
I slowed my pace without meaning to, caught between theurge to defend Rowan and the knowledge that getting involved would only make things worse.
“Just like his mother in some ways,” Mrs. Patterson’s sister replied, her tone carrying the false sympathy that Harbor’s End specialized in. “Always was too sensitive for her own good. Some people just aren’t built for the real world.”
That was enough. I turned toward them, my voice calm but edged with steel. “Funny, I don’t remember either of you volunteering to help Elaine when she was alive. Seems to me you were too busy complaining about her garden blocking your view of the street.”
Mrs. Patterson’s mouth dropped open. “Well, I never?—”
“Exactly,” I said smoothly. “You never. Not when she needed friends, not when Rowan needed kindness. But I suppose it’s easier to gossip than to show up.”
Her sister bristled. “We’re only concerned. The boy?—”
“—is grieving,” I cut in, my voice low enough to make them lean closer, sharp enough to make them flinch. “And if Harbor’s End can’t find a better use for its afternoons than tearing apart someone who’s already hurting, then maybe the problem isn’t Rowan.”
Silence fell, the kind that made the air feel charged. I gave them both a polite smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Good day, ladies.”
As I walked away, I heard Mrs. Patterson mutter something under her breath, but softer now. Softer, because she knew I’d heard.
My jaw felt tight enough to crack teeth by the time I reached my front door. I shifted the heavy bag of dog food from one hand to the other, keys biting into my palm as I tried not to drop everything. Max greeted me with his usual enthusiasm, tail wagging hard enough to knock over anything that wasn't nailed down. His joy was uncomplicated, unconditional, thekind of welcome that never changed no matter how badly I'd fucked up the day before.
“All right, you win,” I muttered, setting the bag of food down just inside the door so Max could sniff it, his nose working overtime, already drooling at the promise of dinner. I scratched behind his ears while he tried to lick my face, twisting in his excitement. For a second, I let myself lean into the chaos, because at least Max never asked for more than what I could give. “Let's get you out of here.”
I clipped the leash to his collar and let him pull me back outside, his excitement infectious despite the weight sitting heavy in my chest. Max had been with me for three years now, a golden retriever mix I'd found at the shelter six months after the funeral. He'd been the only thing that had gotten me out of bed during the worst days, the only reason I'd bothered to buy groceries or remember what it felt like to be responsible for something other than my own misery.
Without really deciding to, I turned toward the hill that overlooked the harbor. The path was familiar in my bones, worn smooth by years of walking when the house felt too small and the silence too loud. Max trotted ahead, leash taut but not straining, glancing back every few steps to make sure I was still following.
The iron gates of the cemetery rose ahead, black against the pale sky. They'd been there longer than anyone could remember, wrought iron twisted into patterns that were supposed to be comforting but mostly just looked like bars. The hinges groaned when I pushed them open, a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet afternoon.
Max understood where we were going. He always did. Hispace slowed as we crossed the gravel path toward the newer section, where the headstones were still white and the grass hadn't quite learned to grow properly yet. Where the people who'd died before their time were laid to rest with flowers that someone still remembered to bring.
The gravel crunched under my boots, each step feeling heavier than the last. I'd been coming here every few weeks since the funeral, but it never got easier. If anything, it got harder, the weight of all the conversations we'd never have growing with each visit.
