Page 25 of Moonlight and Mischief
“Yeah, but what bothers me is how thoroughly he blamed my dad. If they are such good allies, he wouldn’t do that, unless he had a really good reason.”
Pausing, she frowns. “You’re right. That’s really suspicious.”
My hand flops down, brushing across her upper back. “Maybe it’ll be obvious at the Alpha Counsel. I’m sure Hawthorne and Heath will see right through any shit they try to pull.”
“Are you worried about seeing him?” she asks quietly, and I know she doesn’t mean Zephyr.
“No, it’ll be fine. He can’t do anything to me.” I say, wishing I fully believed it. I know my pack will keep me safe, but that doesn’t mean my parents won’t find a way to attack me with their words and accusations.
Before she can ask another question about my problems, I shoot back. “Why do you do chores at your dad’s? It seems strange. I mean, your brothers are older, Indigo is almost an adult…”
Her lips thin, but she doesn’t try to spin it or lie to me. “My dad is busy and it’s hard for him to take care of the cabin. My mom always did pretty much all the housekeeping.”
Her mom. I knew nothing about her mom. “I didn’t know, you’ve never told me,” I say quietly, hoping she’ll continue. She obliges.
“She died from complications from having Cobalt. So it’s been about ten years. I was twelve.”
“You tried to fill her shoes taking care of the boys?” I guess.
Her voice shakes a little. “Lots of moms helped take care of Cobie. It wasn’t like I was caring for a newborn or anything.”
“How did your dad handle everything?”
Marigold wets her lips and I follow the motion as she presses them together between her teeth. “Not great. He kinda shut down. Indie and Cobalt needed all of his attention, so I took care of myself and tried to help as much as I could.”
My hand runs down her arm again and back up. “That sounds hard.”
She raises her chin and meets my gaze. “Honestly, the hardest part was missing my mom, especially as a teenager.”
“I’m so sorry.” Gently, I tuck her hairbehind her ear.
“I feel awful, because there are people like Slate who lost a parent within the last few years, and for me, it’s been a decade. I don’t feel like I have a right to grieve after all this time. But I do. Something reminds me of her, like when Crickett makes her favorite snickerdoodle cookies, or rainy days, those were her favorite, and it feels like it’s fresh. Like I just lost her.”
Her confession hangs between us. I’ve never lost a parent, so I have no idea how that feels. After how terrible my parents were, I can’t imagine missing them with any intensity.
“What would you tell a friend who was grieving?” I ask.
She exhales slowly, her face relaxing as she thinks. “Um, that it’s okay to feel sad. That it’s going to last a long time and never really go away,” she answers, her words starting slowly and picking up speed, “and that your sadness will start to mix with happy memories eventually, and it’ll be nice to remember them, even if it still hurts at the same time.”
I study her face as her emotion seeps out. “So isn’t that what you should tell yourself?”
A smile flashes across her face and she reaches out and smacks my abdomen. “I get it, you goober.”
“Hey!” I yelp, grabbing her upper arms and pullingher hands out from under her chin. She shrieks, trying to swat me again, her smile becoming a genuine grin.
MARIGOLD
“How are you doing?” Hazel asks, her amber eyes watchful as she sips her lemonade. It’s hard to hide anything from her, and I don’t want to, but there are a few things I’m not ready to share.
“Fine.” My tone is light.
We’re settled around a picnic table, kids running back and forth in a vigorous game of tag. Usually, our girls' lunch is the highlight of my week, but today I’m feeling a little wary.
“That was pretty awkward on the hike yesterday. I don’t know why Jasper asked that. I wanted to smack him.” She wastes no time getting to the source of my uneasiness. With a lopsided smile, Hazel sets her drink down and the ice clinks against the glass.
A blush creeps up my neck and I slowly exhale. “It’s okay. We talked about it. He was being stupid, but I’m not mad.” My fingers run over the worn grooves in the picnic table, smooth from years of daily use.
“I’ll still smack him if you want,” Hazel offers. Her nose scrunches up, making her look deceivingly unthreatening.
