Page 50 of Midnight Valentine
“The fire started between the walls. Something to do with an arc failure. The firemen explained it, but the bottom line is that Theo, somehow, was outside my house when it happened. The question is why?”
Suzanne runs a hand over her head, smoothing away a few dark tendrils that have escaped from her ponytail and are trailing into her face, teased by the ocean breeze. “Did you ask him?”
“Of course I asked him. And he did his usual impression of a slab of granite and refused to answer.”
I don’t mention his strange note. It feels too intimate, as if telling someone else would be breaking a confidence. Spilling a secret meant just for me.
Suzanne draws a breath, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He does have a reputation for being nocturnal.”
“Yeah, one of the firemen said that he wanders around at night, keeping his eye on things.”
“So maybe just chalk it up to coincidence. He happened to be wandering in your neighborhood at the right time.” When I give her a dubious look, she adds tartly, “Hey, you’re the one who thinks everything is pure chance.”
There’s chance and then there’s circumstance, and I know Theo’s arrival wasn’t a random event. He was here at that time for a reason, even if I don’t understand what that reason is.
Yet.
My intuition and common sense both tell me it has to do with whatever his obsession is with the Buttercup. He’s already admitted in an email that the house feels like true north to him. But no matter how obsessed I was with something, I wouldn’t be hanging around it in the middle of the night.
Have you forgotten all the midnights you spent on your knees on the banks of the Salt River?
The thought sends a spike of pain straight through my heart, as if it’s been lanced by a spear.
Suzanne glances at me sharply. “You okay, sweetie? You just went white.”
It’s times like these I wish I had a face that didn’t display every emotion I feel like a neon sign. Normally when I get emotional, I try to cover it up with a laugh or a sarcastic comment, but something moves me to tell her the truth.
Looking out at the white-capped waves, I blow out a hard breath. “After my husband died, I used to go to the bend in the river where I’d scattered his ashes and sit there for hours by myself. Sometimes all night. I’d sit and listen to the crickets and watch the stars move across the sky and talk to him. I’d tell him everything I was doing, how life was going, what new movies were out that he’d want to see. It took more than a year before I realized I wasn’t really mourning him.”
My voice drops an octave. “I was waiting for him to come back.”
I meet Suzanne’s startled gaze. “Cass was gone for fourteen months, and I still didn’t believe it. That’s when I started going to therapy, because I knew my heart couldn’t be trusted to tell the difference between reality and a beautiful, long-dead dream.”
Suzanne looks traumatized by my confession. She says faintly, “Oh. Honey. That’s…”
“Depressing as hell, I know,” I say drily. “I’m a laugh a minute, aren’t I? Sorry I blurted that out. My head’s all over the place this morning.”
“Don’t get down on yourself.” With a tender, motherly gesture, she tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.” She hesitates for a moment. “Are you still seeing a therapist?”
“I was, right up until I moved here. But honestly, Suzanne, no amount of talking in the world can change the past. We’re all stuck with our scars and our sad stories. I think the more I talked about my pain, the worse it got, like picking at a scab so it could never heal over. Now I’m just resigned to the fact that all my happy years are behind me.
“But I’m luckier than most. That’s what I tell myself on the bad days: in a world full of temporary things, I have this love that will last forever. Even though Cass is gone, our love isn’t. And that’s how I live.”
“Oh, crap.” She blinks rapidly and waves a hand at her face, her voice tight. “I think you’re gonna make me cry.”
I smile at her. “Good thing you’re not wearing mascara.”
She pulls me into another hug, whispering into my ear, “I’m so mad at myself about the other night. Drinking before I drove over. It was so stupid and reckless, and I’m just so, so sorry—”
“You’re forgiven,” I say, cutting her off. “But do it again and I’ll take a bat to your knees.”
We pull apart and smile at each other. Then she swipes at her watering eyes and straightens her shoulders. “Threats of violence. I knew you were a badass, despite this whole No Fucks Given Barbie thing you’ve got going on.”
“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds unwholesome.”
She suddenly notices what I’m holding in my hand and brightens. “Hey, is that a bear claw? I love those things!”
“Of course you do.” I hold it out to her. “Mazel tov.”
