Page 32 of Dragon's Golden Mate
“I guess it wasn’t quite like this when you were raising us,” Chelsea said to Maeve. “You had a house full of girls.”
“Oh, you girls were just as silly,” Maeve promised her. “You played with your dolls and your horses, but you would’ve made good bucket heads, too.”
“That reminds me, Tina.” Chelsea arched an eyebrow at her sister. “I believe you stole my favorite Barbie.”
“Actually, I didn’t.” Tina adjusted her glasses. “We made a deal, and you had to give her to me.”
“We did not!” Chelsea protested. “Wait, is this about that contract you tricked me into signing?”
Tina shrugged. “You’re the older sister. Don’t you think you should’ve read it first?”
As they carried on their good-natured argument, Maeve drifted back into the past. She thought about those early days of motherhood, when she was figuring out how to raise girls and manage a coven.
She couldn’t think about any of it without thinking of Patrick. He’d been right there for her through all of it, listening to her late-night rants, getting up with one of the babies, telling her it was all right if she was too tired for their night out and they could just order takeout.
He was gone now, but she couldn’t abandon him.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an errand to run.” Maeve stood. She picked up her embroidery material and stuffed it in a cabinet so the boys couldn’t accidentally get a hold of it.
“Do you want me to run with you?” Tina offered.
“No. This is something I need to do on my own. Thank you, though.” Maeve grabbed her keys and purse. She kissed Corbin and Arden, delighted by their soft little cheeks even through her haze of grief and confusion, and headed out the door.
It was a short drive to her destination. She could’ve walked, but she was eager to get there.
A groundskeeper had his cart parked by the open gates. The back of it was packed with flats of flowers, and he was carefully planting them in the front beds along the road. Recognizing her, he waved his hand trowel.
She nodded at him as she passed by. “It looks lovely.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He went back to his work.
Maeve walked the winding path. She glanced at the headstones and memorials as she went. They belonged to people she’d never known, but their engraved names were familiar enough to her by now that she might as well have. They’d always kept her company during her visits.
The sun was setting, sending a brilliant orange glow through the sky and contrasting with the lush green of the grass. More of the groundskeeper’s work could be seen in circular beds around trees, next to monuments, and along the fences. It was a beautiful scene, one that deserved to be painted or photographed, but Maeve simply enjoyed it for what it was.
Cresting a slight hill, she turned off to the left, past more headstones that were familiar, until shecame upon the small bench. It was just big enough for her to sit down, and the stone was warm through her dress. No one else was there, yet she wasn’t alone.
“Patrick, dear,” Maeve began with a sigh, “I’m having a hard time. Nothing has been easy since you passed. There are good days and bad. I have the coven around me, and it’s continuing to grow. In that sense, I can’t complain. I shouldn’t complain. I should be focused on everything that’s going just the way I hoped it would.”
She studied his headstone, which she’d picked out so carefully. There had been an endless number of options. Some of the other grave markers around her bore photos or engraved pictures, or large angels with wings. One had been expertly etched and colored in such a way that the back of it looked like a beautiful painting. Maeve had gone for something simpler, knowing that was how her mate would’ve wanted it. His name and details on the front, and then the names of his wife and children on the back.
“You were the love of my life, Patrick. I knew it the moment we met. We both did. It was so exciting, and I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. What I hadn’t thought about, though, was that I might not get to spend the rest of my life with you.You’re gone, and even though I’m not truly alone, I’m still alone.”
Maeve often swore she could feel Patrick’s presence there. It was a warmth and a comfort, much like she’d felt when he used to hold her in his arms. She tipped her head back to let the sun shine on her face.
“I think it only makes sense that if the dead know anything, then they know everything,” she went on. “That means you know not only that Kendrick and I have been spending time together, but also how I feel about him. It feels strange to admit it out loud, though.”
Speaking to Patrick was like therapy. Things she couldn’t bear to tell anyone else often came out when she talked to him. He was safe. He wouldn’t judge, or perhaps he couldn’t on his new plane of existence.
“I know what I felt when Kendrick and I had both shifted. I’d been trying to brush it off the whole time, unwilling to see it because I didn’t think it could possibly be. I mean, you and I already shared a fated bond. But then he was in my head, and that can’t happen unless fate has decided there’s a connection between us. Patrick, I think fate is giving me a second chance at having a mate.” Warm tearsdripped down her cheeks, and she let them flow. “Oh, Goddess, I feel so guilty!”
None of this was ever going to get better until she let it all out, until she plunged down into the depths of her emotions and explored them fully.
“You were such a good husband, mate, and father. I know it’s impractical to think you were the only good man in the world. Plenty of people start new relationships after their loved ones have passed, but I didn’t think I could be one of them. Now it’s staring me right in the face, and I don’t know what to do about it. I feel so stuck.”
Patrick was there, but he was silent.
Maeve removed a handkerchief from her purse. It was a small square of linen, its edges decorated in intricate lavender crochet. No one carried them anymore, and it made her feel a bit like an old lady, but in a way that she didn’t really mind. This had been her mother’s, and her grandmother had done the crochet. Sometimes, there was nothing wrong with the old way of doing things.
