CHAPTER 20
BLANCHETTE
We set out later than planned. Apparently inspectors from the forest service and a surveyor had shown up late that morning, all apologies and clipboards.
Jonathan could’ve pushed it off, but there were details he said needed to be handled face to face.
He mentioned that his father used to always say, You don’t know the kind of deal you’ve made until you’ve looked a man in the eyes.
Somewhere along the way, I guess that trait stuck to him too.
By the time Jonathan circled back, May had me laughing over brunch. Later, I slipped into the lake again. Even though it wasn’t the Aurealian Sea, being in the water felt like something I’d lost, returned to me.
Still, I could tell Jonathan hurried through his morning tasks…
permits, signatures, walking the property lines, because he didn’t want my time at the Hollow eaten alive by his daily obligations.
Too much of that already filled his life.
With luck, he was trying to keep it from spilling over into mine. At least for this weekend.
I’d asked him why I never saw anyone around.
Since I’d been on the grounds, I hadn’t seen any other guests at the B&B.
He’d admitted it was intentional, so that he could focus on me without distractions or responsibilities pulling him away, like so often happened.
Hearing that confession, I had to admit that it made my belly flutter in delight…
and maybe something that resembled fear.
Fear because he was making it all too easy to catch feelings for him.
I’d caught sight of him while I’d been in the lake. He’d been speaking with one of the inspectors, stopped next to cabin number five…but I’d felt those sapphire eyes on me as awareness had lapped against my skin, like the ripples in the lake.
Our kiss last night was still fresh in my mind.
When I closed my eyes, I could remember the soft heat of his lips, the unexpected swell of delight, surprise, and need that had coursed through my veins.
I’d been shocked by the surge of hunger I’d felt for him, as if he’d unstoppered a vial of it within me.
His kiss, his touch…it had felt like a relief.
Watching him with the inspector, I’d felt like a giddy teenager. Graymore couldn’t feel farther away than in that moment. Part of me mourned when I’d have to leave again, when I’d have to leave Jonathan.
Then the other part of me, the voice growing louder and louder since I’d returned to Everwick, asked, Why can’t you stay?
I’d been running from Everwick for so long, trying to avoid the familiar streets, the familiar faces, because they all proved to me what I hadn’t accepted yet: that I’d never see my grandmother again.
But Jonathan had showed me that there weren’t boogeymen hiding down the narrow alleys of Everwick, waiting to snatch me up in grief. Instead, the memories that rose were bittersweet, but they felt comforting. And instead of running away, what if I came home?
That was the question I pondered until my fingers were pruned from the water as I tracked the sun across the sky.
Jonathan collected me from my cabin shortly after the inspectors left.
Now, late afternoon, we were finally moving.
But it was still summer and so the heat of the day was still settling, though the sun was beginning to lower.
We’d have just enough time to reach the patch, fill our bags, and, if we kept pace, catch the sunset on the way back down.
Jonathan kept stride beside me, and I noticed, really noticed, how I’d prepared this time.
Sturdy shoes instead of the impractical ones I’d worn before, a small pack slung over my shoulder with water and bandages, a light jacket tied around my waist since it was cooler deeper in the forest. I felt more comfortable and oddly proud of myself for it.
“I see you packed light,” he teased.
My eyes cut his way, amused. “After our first hike, I learned a thing or two.”
He smiled to himself, and I caught the faintest flicker of warmth in his expression before he looked back to the trail.
The trail narrowed as we pressed westward, roots twisting underfoot. Birds trilled high above. The light thinned through the canopy, slanting in golden patches. We walked in comfortable silence for a while. Then I asked him quietly, “You grew up here your entire life?”
“Yeah,” he said, holding a low-hanging branch out of my way on the trail. “I know these trees better than I know people. My dad, Foley, used to bring me up here as a baby. My first steps were taken in this forest.”
The name jarred something loose in my brain that I couldn’t place. He very rarely talked about his father, but there was no denying that I was curious. I just hadn’t wanted to pry if he thought it might be a too-personal intrusion. Now, however, I found I couldn’t pass the golden opportunity up.
“And…what was he like? Your father?” I asked, trying to keep my tone nonchalant.
Jonathan made a sound in the back of his throat. “Stubborn. Rough. A man of the old world, born two centuries too late. He didn’t believe in softness or excuses. Just work and discipline. And fists, when words didn’t connect.”
I glanced at him, hearing what went unspoken, making me frown. He kept his gaze forward, stepping over some bare roots. His expression struck me as careful.
“Your father hit you?” I asked, the question taking form before I could think better of it.
“Sometimes,” he replied, making my chest squeeze. “Depends on what I did. It wasn’t exclusive to me. My mom, at one point, finally had enough and left when I was ten.”
I stopped on the trail, a momentary pause while I digested the raw admission, feeling it weigh on my shoulders. “Jonathan…I…I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. Long time ago.”
He wasn’t meeting my eyes, however. I had the strange sensation that he very rarely gave a voice to what he was confiding in me. “What…what was your mother’s name?”
“Grace,” he replied.
“Did you ever see her again?”
His eyes met mine, but his gaze was unreadable.
We were both stopped on the trail, Jonathan reaching out a hand to place on the trunk of a nearby tree.
“Once. When I was older. She had moved overseas and gotten remarried to a gentleman who wore scarves indoors and drank licorice tea.” He shook his head faintly.
“By the time we met, she felt foreign and had this entirely different life and family. So, not enough between us to keep in touch.”
I ached even more for him, though I knew he likely didn’t want my sympathy. “Was she a good mom while you had her?”
His smile was wry, “She was kind…but drank too much, truth be told. And when that happened, she was a whole different person. After she left my father, he got worse. Kind of gave up on everything. I held a grudge for a long time at both of them. Her for leaving, him for staying.”
He motioned with his head for us to continue, and I fell in step slightly behind him as he forged the path.
A while passed as we walked. Then, in a lower voice, he added, “We had a fight. Years ago. A bad one. I said things I can’t take back.
So did he. It got physical. I…I hit him.
First and only time. Knocked him down. Told him he’d die alone. And he did.”
I felt almost…guilty that I couldn’t relate. That I didn’t know what to say, that I couldn’t help.
He paused. “Weird how you can come to physical blows but the verbal one was final.”
His fingers curled around a small branch and snapped it off as he passed.
“May was the one who called me when he passed. Said he’d been sick for a while. I didn’t even know.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again, feeling a surprising heaviness in my chest. I didn’t know what it felt like to grow up with that type of violence…but I knew what it was like to be left behind. I had my own sad story, but not like this.
He nodded but didn’t look at me. “When I walked off this land, it felt like I dropped an anvil I’d been carrying since I was a kid. But now…sometimes I wonder if walking away made me any different than my dad.”
“You are different,” I said. “You came back.” The trail tilted upward. I adjusted my pace, climbing alongside him. “Did you ever forgive them?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, “Eventually…yeah, I did. I was ruining my life holding on to blame. So, I let go. It wasn’t wisdom. I just got tired of being mad.”
He slowed his pace and looked at me then. And in that brief glance, I could see the man he was now mixed with the boy he used to be—angry, hurt, alone in the woods, but still reaching for something better.
“Sometimes it’s good to put the burden down—know what I mean?” he said gently, then added, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to dominate the conversation and litter this trail with my garbage. I don’t usually talk about this stuff.”
“It’s okay. I appreciate you sharing with me…honestly. I mean, I asked. I was being nosy. Too nosy, my grandma would’ve said,” I added, trying to lighten the mood.
He blew out a breath. “I don’t mind. You can ask whatever you want, Red. I can always choose to share or not.”
The little nickname brought a flush a warmth spreading in my chest. “I noticed you never really talk about your parents, so I was curious.”
“Likewise,” he said, brushing aside another branch for me, his brow raising when our eyes met over his shoulder. The words caught me off guard.
I looked away, squinting at the sunlight slanting through the trees.
For a moment, I was right back in the accident…
the car seat. I didn’t remember much detail, but I could always remember the feeling and some fragments.
Metal groaning, glass breaking…the smell of gasoline and acrid, bitter smoke.
The quiet of being alone in the back seat after the accident and then the sudden yelling and commotion that ensued once I was found.
How fast a life changed and the world could shift…even now, it still astounded me.