Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Kit
WHEN MARION, AGNES, AND I ARRIVED at the Public Gardens on Spring Garden Road, it was drizzling and brisk out.
The two of them shared an umbrella, and I walked close enough with mine to provide Marion a modicum of extra protection.
Open black iron gates with Public Gardens written in the arch stretching over the centre greeted us, glistening with mist. The weather couldn’t have more accurately reflected how I felt, but I put a brave face on and tried to be a good friend.
Even if the heavens were working against me.
“We should have come out on a nicer day,” I lamented as Marion hopped over a puddle.
“Oh, hush. What kind of people would we be if we were frightened of a bit of rain?” A teasing smile creased Marion’s round, pink cheeks.
“Dry ones,” Agnes replied, flatly. The corners of her mouth twitched up as Marion made a show of rolling her eyes.
“Warm ones,” I added as we continued along the packed dirt path through the greenery.
“Bored ones,” Marion countered. “Do you know what I was thinking of this morning?”
“What?”
“Remember that night we drank too much—”
“Which one?” Agnes interrupted, and I chuckled.
“The one where Kit and I swapped clothing because we thought it would be funny to have an impressions competition that you judged,” Marion replied, joy lacing her words.
“Oh, that one,” I said. “I still think I should have won.” I didn’t really. Marion was a born actress.
Agnes lifted a shoulder and tipped her head. “Marion was better. You were funny though.”
All three of us had been in stitches, inebriated and carefree. Until a phone call had come in. The one about Marion’s father.
“And when I made the arrangements to go home,” Marion said. “You had that same lost look on your face as you did when you arrived this morning. Like something wonderful was ending. So what’s got you all melancholic on such a beautiful day?”
She thought every day was beautiful, and I loved her enthusiasm, truly, but I couldn’t find any myself.
Last night, everything had felt momentous and right and I’d ached all over with it.
And again, this morning, wanting to be there for Gus as he faced his father’s funeral. But I hadn’t offered. Nor had he asked.
Because after all, the rising sun had signalled an end to our game of pretend, the light of day unmasking it for the farce it was.
As we rose and dressed, the canyon of old hurts had widened between us once more, killing the easy comfort we’d indulged in as silence took over.
Every heartbeat was a knife-edged, wounded throb, and I didn’t know how to make it stop hurting.
So Gus had left, and I’d lingered in the wreckage of my bed, his scent permeating my cooling sheets.
Had last night truly been the final act for us as lovers? Would we continue to work side-by-side to find my family and then never see one another again?
I hated the idea.
The longer I spent with Gus, the lower my defences fell.
The more I wished that I—that we—could let go of the past. I was so tired of being angry at him, of carrying that burden.
And even if I wasn’t quite ready to loosen my white-knuckled grip on the memory of his rejection, the fact I was considering it meant something confusing.
What if this was my heart slowly reaching for the one person it had ever truly beaten for?
A person I knew, knew, couldn’t be trusted with it.
I blamed my sudden chill on the rain slowly soaking my clothing.
The only benefit the weather afforded was the lack of other occupants in the garden, as far as I could see.
Still, I chose my words carefully when I responded to Marion’s question.
“My friend stayed over last night. One thing led to another…”
“And what? It was terrible? Didn’t live up to your memories? Most of us don’t look like our dog was hit by a car after we get—”
“No,” I interrupted, face burning. “It was perfect. It’s never been as wonderful with anyone else. Not anyone. But we didn’t do it out of some grand desire to be reunited. It was a distraction for—” I caught myself. “For my friend. And I don’t know, a selfish impulse on my part.”
“But you want it to be more,” Marion stated matter of factly while Agnes silently watched our exchange.
Marion was right, I did. As much as I wished I didn’t, I wanted Gus to want me here and now for who I was, not as an echo of our past or to assuage pain.
Something in me was cracking open. The wishes and hopes I thought I’d long put aside when it came to August North were trying to rip and gnash their way out, but I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let them.
“I don’t know if I can be so vulnerable with him again. What if it’s a mistake?”
The corners of Marion’s lips twitched up into a knowing smile.
“With the way he looks at you when you aren’t paying attention?
I doubt it. I could write a thousand poems about the longing and borderline despair in those soulful dark eyes.
” My heart squeezed as disbelief warred with pleasure.
Marion let out a dreamy sigh, and Agnes cleared her throat.
Taking Agnes’ arm, Marion laughed brightly.
“Oh, don’t go getting jealous, sweetheart.
His have nothing on your pretty, warm brown eyes. And I have written poems about those.”
A rare blush stained Agnes’ cheeks and she looked away. I’d blush too if someone had written the things about me that Marion had about her. They were intimate portraits of someone much loved.
We walked quietly as I digested what Marion had said.
Hope wanted to thrive even in the darkest corners of my mind.
Such an insidious thing, and I’d always been inclined to it.
Hope that people were better than they were, hope that the world would be kinder than it was, hope that in the end, good would triumph over evil.
It coiled around my heart and led to more disappointments than anything else. And yet…
“Let’s hear it,” I said, directed at Agnes. “I know you have an opinion. Let it fly.”
“Haven’t,” she replied tartly. “Other than if he hurts you again, I’ll cast a spell on him that he’ll deeply regret. You might wish to relay that.”
It wasn’t an entirely empty threat, but it made me chuckle anyway. I laughed even harder when Marion immediately perked up and said, “Oh, don’t worry, I already threatened him, that’s all taken care of.”
Gus
AFTER I’D FINALLY GOTTEN HOME FROM my father’s funeral, I’d been so wrung out, I hadn’t been capable of much more than climbing the stairs to my room and collapsing on my bed.
I’d slept fitfully, my leg almost as sore as my soul.
No matter what position I tried or how many pillows I propped myself with, relief never came.
The prying looks I’d gotten while I was sitting in back at the church and then the awkward conversation I had with a tearful Hazel kept repeating in my head.
This morning I was walking with a more pronounced limp after all the driving and standing around. The last thing I’d wanted to do when I woke up was get out of bed and push through the pain to get what needed doing done. But I’d managed anyway.
First stop had been my mother’s to check on her.
She was elbow deep in bread dough, channeling whatever emotion my father’s passing had stirred up into kneading.
And worrying for me and Henry, but I’d be fine, and Henry probably would too.
In the light of day, I didn’t know why I’d fallen apart and went in search of Kit after getting the news.
I would’ve said my father hadn’t meant anything to me since I was seventeen, but it turned out some part of me still cared.
And even though I told her I didn’t, Mum always saw the truth.
She’d loaded me up with two freshly baked loaves wrapped in dish towels.
One for me, and one to drop off for Kit.
Which was her gentle way of making sure I had company while ensuring she could be alone to think.
Now I was standing on Kit’s doorstep, because who else could I talk to about the memories my father’s funeral had stirred up?
George had been there too, but he was as bad at this stuff as I was, and Henry was back at work.
For this I needed Kit, and I idly wondered how the hell I’d managed to survive so long carrying everything inside me when it all wanted to pour out bloody at his feet.
The door opened, and the words I’d rehearsed in my head to explain my presence dried up and shrivelled, replaced with concern.
Kit’s typically neatly styled hair was sticking up oddly.
The dark circles that had been beneath his eyes since he’d gotten home were worse.
His skin was paler too. “What happened?”
Kit blinked a couple of times, then nodded his head to gesture me inside. I followed him in, and without a word, he retrieved a letter from the dining room table and fiddled with it for a moment before he handed it to me.
It was addressed to Kit, and I recognized the handwriting. My heart tripped over itself. Ted.
Dear Kit,
I don’t know if you’ll ever find this. If you’ll even come.
I hope you won’t—think you won’t. Not with things coming to a boil overseas.
But in case you do, because I know you feel guilty enough it might sway you, even though I told you a thousand times I understand, I’m leaving you a warning.
You’ve got to let me go, Kit. Don’t try to find me.
There’s someone powerful who—God, I don’t want to say too much and put you in danger, but I don’t know how else I’m supposed to get you to take this seriously.
You can’t go asking around about me, or sticking your nose in this, because it’ll get you killed.
And I know we don’t really say it, but I love you.
You’re my brother. I don’t want anything to happen to you.
If I could explain everything and keep you safe, you know I would.
But we’re okay, all right? Me and Mary-Alice.
So please, Kit, don’t come looking.
Always your favourite brother,
Teddy
“When did you get this?”
“Last night. I was thinking about my mother. She had a charmed music box we loved. My father had its twin. When you put a letter in one, it appeared in the other. She said she’d given him his as a gift when they were courting.
After she died, my father threw them in the trash.
I waited until he was dead asleep and snuck down to rescue them.
Hid them underneath the dresser in our room and only brought them out to show Ted when I was sure our father wasn’t home.
” Kit’s mouth pursed slightly, and his eyes went glossy and too bright.
“We used to leave notes in there for each other. Why didn’t I check when I first got here? ”
“Lovely, the better question is why would you? You probably hadn’t thought about those boxes since you left.”
“I should’ve taken one with me when I took off. He could’ve written to me right away. And now he’s got himself into something he can’t handle and he’s running. That’s not like Ted, he never runs from anything. He must be so scared.”
My heart clenched hard at the shimmer of despair in Kit’s gaze, and without thinking, I reached out and pulled him to me.
Kit stayed stiff just long enough I started to think I’d made the wrong call.
Then he melted against me, tucking his face into the crook of my neck and inhaling deep.
With a sudden stab I realized how much I’d missed this.
Missed having someone to touch and hug and comfort without having to find words.
There hadn’t been anyone since Kit. I hadn’t wanted anyone else. Not like I’d wanted him. No one else could live up to him, anyway, so what was the point?
I wanted to tell Kit everything would be okay, that we’d find Ted and make things right, but he and I both knew I couldn’t guarantee any of it. Stroking my hand up his back, I settled it at the nape of his neck and gave a soft reassuring squeeze. Kit let out a slow breath, warming my skin.
“I can’t give up on looking for him,” he whispered, like he was worried I would agree with Ted and tell him to let go.
A part of me did want to tell him to drop it, to keep him safe and sound and out of danger, but he was Kit-damn-Daring.
He’d been in danger for the last six years, and I had no right to try and swaddle him.
“We won’t,” I said just as quietly.
All I could do was stand by him and help if I could.
Because the more Kit ended up in my arms, the more I wanted and needed him.
It was like parts of me had been frozen over and numb and I hadn’t even noticed, and now he was thawing those parts.
It was like pins and needles as circulation returned.
It hurt, but it was vital. A sign of life.
I just had to try not to lose too much of myself in the process.
“Did you find both of the music boxes or only one?”
“Just one,” Kit replied. He bit his bottom lip. “I sent a note back right away, but there hasn’t been an answer yet.”
“Keep writing. Ted won’t be able to help replying if you keep trying.”
“And if he doesn’t write me back?”
“We keep looking. Now we know he’s out there somewhere, and we’re nowhere near giving up yet.”