Page 137 of A Heart So Haunted
Only ever this one.
I knelt down in front of it. Pulled the weeds away with pops and rips until the name was visible. Some of the letters were muddled, eroded with time. Moss had found homes within the divots of the small headstone.
My breath shuttered.
Emma stepped up behind me. “Who are you—” She stilled.
I ran my fingers over the name.
Hadrian Belfaunte
Son—Friend—Husband
April 23 1855–August 8 1890
A long, swollen pause.
“Landry,” Emma whispered, her voice barely audible. “Whose grave is this?”
I blinked at the dates. His time of death hadn’t changed. The article in the paper had said 1890 of natural causes. Of course, I only had the photocopy, which I hadn’t dared to look at. It was still too painful.
Maybe there was a part of me that thought his date of death might have changed. But all it did was settle like rocks in my gut. Because if it hadn’t changed, that meant he was well and truly gone. No tangled threads left behind.
Similar to how I felt looking at Aunt Cadence’s urn, which had found its rightful place in the library on top of the mantel my mother had raided, I felt a presence. Even if he wasn’t really here. He was.
Just not really. But it was as close as I’d ever get to him again.
“You know … Hadrian?” At the time, I’d made up an excuse. I’d said he’d had a family emergency and had to leave. Both Emma and Sayer had asked what happened, if he was okay, and I’d been vague.
But now—I needed to tell her the truth. I needed to be honest.
I squinted; glanced up at her.
“What, did something else happen?” Her expression twisted, earnest. “His mom’s okay, right? Or …?”
I nodded. Took a deep breath. If I told her, there were no more secrets. No more holding my own baggage.
I needed to ask for help, even if it meant opening up a bit. Not all the way, but enough.
Tears slipped down my cheeks. The thoughts had plagued me since Hadrian left—what would have happened if I’d never come across the door? If Aunt Cadence hadn’t passed when she did, would I have ever found him? Would he have been left in there for another decade or two, or until Aunt Cadence sold the house for something a bit smaller when her knees didn’t love the stairs anymore? Or wouldshe have eventually let curiosity get the best of her, as she’d mentioned in the safety deposit box letters? Would he have found me anyway?
Or would we have never crossed paths at all?
A swell of emotion bubbled from the darkest parts of my soul.
“Em, sit,” I urged. She immediately knelt beside me in the grass and tucked her legs like we used to as children, facing me.
“I’m a little confused and you’re scaring me,” she said, attempting a tease.
I tried to smile. “I’m going to start from the beginning and you need to promise you’re going to believe me,” I said.
She nodded. “Don’t I always?”
“I mean it.”
“So do I!” She laughed. “Stop crying, you’re making me nervous.”
I rubbed the heels of my palms against my eyes. Gathered myself with an inhale, and said, “Do you remember when that book nook turned on and off by itself?”
