38. Summer
“I wantto spend the day together, and would like to make you breakfast,” Rook announced, “then we can do whatever you want.”
I cleared my throat, freeing the muddiness and regret stuck there. “I was going to ask—I’d like to go to my house today.” I gestured towards the top of the dressers, where he”d placed the poppet. “Kuru said to bury it somewhere special for protection. I”d like to bury it next to my mother”s grave.”
“Your mom would love that.”
We both dressed quickly, Rook once again donning his impressive suit like armor. I decided on a simple but elegant black dress to match my intense mood.
I wanted to honor mom today, in a way I couldn”t have done when I was a kid.
After suggesting we grab a coffee and pop tart to have along the ride, Rook sighed heavily and, growling that he was going to spank me, sat me at his kitchen counter. Hand-feeding me a nutritious breakfast and heated looks. Fingers constantly touching, stroking my skin. Pressing soft kisses and nibbles across my jaw and neck.
His obsession with me pulsing through the connection between us, turning me inside out. Was I dreaming?
After we cleaned, he slid his fingers through mine, holding my hand as we walked towards the car.
Rolling down the window, I closed my eyes, letting the air blow my hair as we drove. The atmosphere was heavy, charged with a humid, crackling energy. A flock of birds flew across the sky, away from dark clouds, looming, promising a coming storm. I felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for something, unease filling the cavity of my chest like a rising flood.
There was something familiar about this moment, about the way Rook was looking at me when I woke, and all throughout the morning.
It reminded me of my father, how he used to watch me after mom died.
The promise of regret and sadness.
As if...as if, letting me go would be painful, but he was going to do it anyway.
Undergrove. I suddenly remembered last night, his whispers late in the night. I’d been so sleepy, it had taken me this long to realize the truth. He’d told me his secret, the one Saul was searching for—the one thing that would release me from their contract.
The realization slammed into me like an anvil—he was giving me my freedom.
In that moment, I despised Rook.
Hated how easily he gave up—instead of fighting for us.
I”d wished that we”d never met.
Because this time, I wasn”t sure I was going to be able to survive the pain.
As we pulled up to Darkmoor Manor, there was a sleek, matte black Tesla waiting by the gate.
”He”s with me,” Rook explained, rolling down his window, punching in the code and drove up the drive, “Wait here.”
Taking a moment to get something out of his car, he opened my door, then crouched, “Give me your feet.”
Turning, he slipped my heels off, replacing them with muck boots, nodding towards the sky. “In case it rains.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking his hand as he helped me from the car.
Pulling me to him, he hugged me, kissing my temple, murmuring softly, “Of course.”
Questions swirled in my mind and as I made my way from the garden shed where I’d scrounged up some tools. I eyed the man curiously. With umber-dark brown hair and thick, vintage black glasses, he had the look of a rakish professor. His pants were grey tweed, with a white button up shirt, and a colorful tie that was slightly askew. He was handsome in a mature, intelligent way, and his whimsical mustard yellow muck boots made me smile.
And yet, when he turned to look at me, I could sense danger in him. He had the same sense of authority and command that Rook had.
“Summer. Nice to finally meet you again,” he said, stepping towards me.
“Again?” I shook his extended hand.
“I was at your father’s funeral.”
“Oh.” I blanched.
“You probably don’t remember me. There were a lot of people.”
“And you had other things on your mind,” Rook interjected, his hand at the small of my back in a possessive touch. “This is my friend, Hawke Thornfield.”
“You have friends?” I asked Rook, attempting a teasing tone.
“Only a few,” Hawke chuckled.
“If anything ever happens,” Rook continued, his throat bobbing, “to me, I mean. I wanted you to meet him. You can… You can trust him.” I could tell this was painful for him—trusting someone—he was forcing the words out reluctantly. “He has your and Callie’s number. And I’ve added him to the contacts on your phone.”
“Okay,” I nodded, meeting Hawke”s eyes, “thank you.”
He didn’t answer, and I glanced towards my parents’ graves, a little disappointed: I had an audience.
I’d wanted this to be private.
As if sensing my thoughts, Rook gently guided me towards it, reassuring me, “We’ll wait here.” Hawke, also, gave me a simple nod, a respectful silence falling between them.
All thoughts of the stranger fell away as I drew closer towards the gravestones, two somber sentinels where my parents lay. The atmosphere grew heavier, the dark clouds moving closer. There was a flash of lightning across the bay, a low rumble of thunder, a heaviness in the air that promised more.
In that flash, two skeleton heads seemed to flicker at me from their tombs, eye sockets dark and empty, leaving me with a dark foreboding.
Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come.
Swallowing hard, I approached mom’s grave, a heaviness settling in my chest.
I was here to let go of my guilt. To tell her how I really felt. To give her the goodbye I wish I could’ve given her a long time ago.
The gravestone was glossy black, with an intricately carved marble angel watching over her—still fresh-looking and clean. A sign of my dad’s devotion to her, and a reflection of her loving kindness to us.
A sudden wave of sadness overcame me, and I sunk to my knees, dropping the tools and clutching the poppet to my chest, where my heart was aching. “Mommy.”
A soft wind picked up, bringing with it the smell of brine and fresh earth. Of pregnant skies creeping closer, filled with rain and my grief.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I choked out, the words coming out in a rush. “I wish I could’ve…” Trying to put into words the twisting feelings inside me. “I wasn’t strong enough for you. And I wish…”
Angry, not knowing what I wished, I stabbed at the ground, loosening the grass and dirt. “I know it’s not my fault, but I…I can’t stop the guilt. It’s just there?—”
And then, a mist slowly rolled in, enveloping me in its hazy cloud, the ghost of my mother a strong presence within it. Surrounding me like arms, capturing me from behind, around my shoulders and chest. “Jibber babber, Jibber babber,” she seemed to whisper in my ears.
I stilled with the sensation, closing my eyes, remembering what it’d felt like to have her hold me. The wind picked up, the beat swelling in my ears, the whispers of her voice in one ear, then the other, whipping back and forth, “protect Callie.” Along with it, came the rain.
A flash of my purpose. My need to protect.
Grasping the trowel, I began to dig, and deep from within me came the pulsing of a drum. Like some of the Gullah ceremonies I’d heard, beating across the bay late at night. It seemed to thump with each stab of my trowel, “I should’ve fought harder!” Again and again, boom, boom, I stabbed, wishing it was Saul’s chest I was stabbing into. He’d stopped me, the callous bastard. Watched as she screamed, burning alive! “I’m so sorry, mommy.”
I growled out and deeper and deeper I dug, small pelting drops of water hitting my skin, lashing little strikes of pain, my guilt releasing from my pores.
“I couldn’t do anything about it—I know that, now. Saul was bigger than me. And I had no idea what was?—”
I sucked in a deep breath.
Knowing it wasn’t exactly true.
Knowing that, to truly let go of my guilt, I had to be completely honest.
To her, the swamps that we both loved, and, to myself.
I had one last thing to confess.
The one thing I’d never told anyone—the poison that seeped through me every night.
“And…” I inhaled another breath, afraid to let it loose. I choked out a half-sob, then sucked it back in.
I could be brave. Just like mom.
I steeled myself, my lips parting, “…I was afraid,” I finally confessed, instantly loosening something inside me, the words rushing out now. “I was afraid of the fire and getting hurt.” A few tears dripped from my eyes, mixing with the weeping from the clouds overhead. “I was too afraid to fight hard enough. I wish I was stronger. Braver. Not afraid of the fire. And it cost you your life.”
The wind grew stronger, so strong I could barely see for the wind whipping my hair. The fog thickened, surrounding me, washing over me.
”Jibber babber, Jibber babber,” her voice whipped through my ears, “wept the trees, stark and bare…White, skeletal hands, reaching from their lair…
…they were coming for me.”
Lightning struck overhead, thunder rolling across the sky.
A memory escaping. I gasped.
She’d tried to protect me.That night. She’d known it was Saul. And she woke me, not the crash. Shook me, her trembling voice urging me to run before she passed out.
Oh. God.
The fear she must’ve felt—for me. The child she’d loved.
The pounding inside me swelled, mercy in its wake, the sound of her whispers, “I never…never…blamed you.” I closed my eyes, inhaling a deep breath, taking it in. A peace washing over me.
She hadn’t blamed me for her death… “Jibber babber, jibber babber.” Sigh. “Jibber babber, eternal bliss.”
It would be okay.
I sat back on my heels, dirty from the soil. …we are but made from dust, and to dust shall we return…
The fog swirled, slowly lifting, until I could once again see the bay. “Protect her,” I pressed the poppet to my lips, whispering my own spell. I imagined my mother out there, her soul being carried to the underworld by the river. “The spirits are watching over you, now.”
She was gone.
Would never return.
And she never blamed me for that night.
I would follow her path and release my guilt.
“Protect Callie,” the faint, final whisper before it was gone, the rain slowing into nothing more but a mist.
I placed the poppet into the ground, gently moving it to face my mom. “Keep her safe.” I placed the dirt over it, covering it carefully, infusing my heart into it. Willing it to watch and protect over mom in ways that I couldn”t. “I’m sorry you left us too early. That they took you from me. From Callie. I need you to know I love you. I will never, ever forget you.”
After a long moment, I stood, dirty and wet but knowing one thing:
The only thing that mattered most was protecting Callie now—with, or without, Rook.
I left one last promise before turning away, “I swear I’ll protect the ones I love, just like you.”
* * *
”I need to find Benson,”I said, passing by the two men who’d stayed in the pouring rain, waiting for me.
Rook’s sharp gaze followed me, watching my every move. I returned the tools to the shed, then walked the path towards Benson”s cottage, with Rook and Hawke on my heels. I could feel their eyes on my back, burning into me.
It was strange that Benson hadn”t come out to meet us. He was always so attentive. Plus, he didn’t answer my text this morning—I needed to make sure he was okay.
When he didn”t answer my knock, I tried calling him. I could hear his phone ringing, but he didn”t pick up. His car was parked behind the house.
Something wasn’t right.
Despite the warm humidity, an eerie chill crept up my back.
“Summer?” Rook stood next to me, his strong body-heat a contrast to the rigidity my body had taken on. ”Is everything okay?”
”I”m not sure,” I said, ”It”s not like Benson to not answer.”
I slowly reached forward and twisted the doorknob.
To my surprise, it was unlocked.
I took in a deep breath, and walked inside.
There was a strange stillness to the house. No wafting smell of coffee or the small sounds of puttering around in the back room. His plants in the front foyer looked a little wilted.
I crept inside, calling out, ”Benson?”
There was no answer. Glancing in the kitchen, I could see a newly cleaned pan, plate, spatula, and fork drying next to the sink. Still feeling Rook and Hawke at my back, I turned towards his bedroom—maybe he was taking a nap?
I was sure his treatments were exhausting—I wouldn’t be surprised if he was sleeping through the noise we were making.
But, his room was empty.
His bed was made, his clothes neatly hung in his closet.
Frowning, I noted the rest of the house was empty.
In the living room, there was a partially filled coffee mug, but it looked cold. It was on the coffee table, resting next to a historical thriller book.
The book was open, with its pages facing downward. From the couch, I took in the row of windows. “Maybe he’s in the marsh,” I announced.
Rook nodded, “Maybe.” Though neither him nor Hawke looked convinced.
As I made my way deeper into the mire, my unease grew stronger—the unease in my stomach now tightening my chest. Rook and Hawke spread out, moving so quietly it was uncanny.
Something really wasn”t right.
It smelled fresh from the rain, though I was glad Rook’d brought my muck boots, because they sunk into the mud as I walked, and the water went to my ankles.
The birds were back, circling overhead.
I followed their gaze, troweling through the tall grass and mud until I saw something that stopped my heart.
It was Benson, laying on the ground.
“Benson!” I ran to him, falling by his side. He wasn’t moving, his body looking so small on the ground. Still wearing his suit and bow tie, now muddy and wet. His gold rimmed glasses knocked to the ground. I shook him. “Benson!”
He didn’t move.
Panicking, I shook him again. Mind racing, I tried to remember my first aid—tilt the head. Open the mouth. Push in a breath.
Once, twice,my thoughts a tangled mess as I tried to remember what to do. Something about the song, Staying Alive.
Bending over, I began CPR, my mind screaming. No! He couldn’t be dead.
”Summer.” Rook grabbed my shoulder, but I pushed him away.
“I have to save him,” I growled out.
”He”s dead,” Rook insisted after a long moment. Gripping my face, he pulled me to him and away from Benson. His fingers strong on my chin, he forced me to look in his face, ”He”s dead, baby.”
”He”s not,” I shook my head, trying to hold back tears, ”I have to save him. You don”t understand. I have to.” He’d been the grandfatherly figure my whole life. He couldn’t just die on me like that.
”Summer,” his voice was gentle, “look.”
Turning my face, he showed me the proof. I”d been so panicked to help him, I hadn”t seen the bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.