Page 53 of The Woodsmoke Women's Book of Spells
“Cora said... she said she would handle it. When I left, shewas holding the book, and she had this look about her, this determined look. Can you remember when we snuck in and Carrie showed it to us? We must have been fifteen.”
“I remember. You kept asking Carrie if we could leave. You didn’t want to get too close to it, like you were afraid, or spooked by it.”
“I was afraid for good reason,” Jess says numbly. “We shouldallbe afraid of that book. Of the old tales.”
“Go on.”
Jess breathes in through her nose and shrugs. “After Carrie left, I cried myself to sleep every night. I was heartbroken. I’ve never known pain like it, knowing that Carrie was gone and it was my fault. I thought you’d both stay, I never thought...”
“You cursed us. You—you meddled with my feelings, my emotions—”
“No, absolutely not,” Jess says, her voice intense. “I would never, ever do that.”
Tom is quiet for a moment, and Jess wonders if his memories are clicking into place in a new way, rearranging themselves to fit with this revelation. Is he remembering that morning when it seemed as though a hole had been rent in a gauzy panel, letting in the stark colors of the world, rushing in sharp as knives?
As Jess watches him, Tom remembers cringing away from the path laid before him. The plan with Carrie to move away and leave behind everything they had always known. He didn’t want to leave, but he wanted Carrie, he was sure of it. He wanted to hold her hand in his, to make her happy. But he hadn’t told her about the apprenticeship, about the deposit on the house... and it plagued him. He woke up one morning a month before the wedding and it was like he was seeing clearly,feelingclearly. When he saw Carrie later that day, sunlight no longer danced around her.
It danced around Jess.
He draws in a shaky breath, pushing his fists into his eyes. “After Carrie left, you and I kissed. That night at the bar, when I was playing in the band still. And it felt so right, being with you...”
“I’m sorry, Tom. Truly,” Jess says, tears prickling her eyes. “But at the same time, I’m not at all. I love what we have here. I love what we’ve built together.”
Tom slowly lowers his fists, placing them on the kitchen table and stands, pushing the chair back suddenly. “I have to end this, Jess. Once and for all. This all has to end.”
Jess gulps, swiping at her tears, standing up to follow after him as he lunges for the door. “Tom, wait, please—”
“Not this time,” Tom says sadly. “Not this time. It’s my choice. My decision and my life. We’re all too tangled up, and it’s holding us back, isn’t it? I have to fix this.”
“How?”
“However I want to, Jess,” he says. He turns to her, features regretful, drawn in lines of sorrow. “However I think is best.”
Then he’s gone.
Jess stands in the doorway, blood-hot panic coursing through her. She shivers as she clutches her belly and watches the car as it pulls down the road. Watching her first love, her only love, leave her.
“No, no, no...” she whimpers, pushing the door closed on the night. She hunkers down on the other side of it, tipping her head back as her migraine takes over, exploding like a bomb. All she can do is sit there, trapped in the tempest he has left her in.
Chapter 41
Carrie
When I hear the knock, my mind leaps to Matthieu. I trip over my own feet on the way to the door and throw out a hand to catch myself. My breath is uneven as I grip the handle, pulling it open, heart pounding in my ears—
“Oh,” I say, deflating against the doorframe. “It’s you.”
“Can I come in?” Tom asks, face set in stone, just like the last time. I haven’t seen him since that night he sat in my car, which feels like a lifetime ago now. Only a handful of months have passed, but everything is different. And somehow we have managed to avoid each other in this small, sleepy town.
I shrug, not bothering to show him false politeness—we’re too far past that now—and move off into the cottage, beckoning with a hand. He shrugs off his coat, unlaces his boots, and then follows me to the kitchen. I sit on a barstool at the island, and he takes the other and drags it a few paces away. We eye each other, and I wonder what he’ll hurl at me this time. What I’ve done to overstep some invisible line he’s drawn around himself and Jess.
“There’s no easy way of saying this,” he begins, clearing his throat. He breaks eye contact, gazing toward the window, a dark maw opening onto the night. “But it has to be said.”
I reach for the bottle of wine in front of me, tipping a couple more inches into a long-stemmed glass. I swirl it around, watching the ruby liquid stick to the sides like a rising tide. “Do you want some?”
“I’m driving.”
“Sure.” I pause, taking a tiny sip, and look over to find him staring at me. “Well, go on, then. Tell me.”
