Six Months Later – Abby
“It’s official,” Hawthorne says as he stares at me, Ezra, and Royal. We’re in his office, the one room in the house we dedicate to work. “The Benefactor knows about us.” Though I knew those words were coming out of his mouth, I’m still shocked at hearing them.
Honestly, I kind of thought this day would never come.
Royal stands behind me, while Ezra sits in the chair beside mine. Both get a little more rigid when Hawthorne says that, and Ezra is the one who asks, “And? Don’t leave us in suspense.”
As I wait for Hawthorne to respond, I toy with the shiny pendant hanging around my neck. All this time, all these months, and I only take it off when I have to. It was the perfect present; I’ll die on that hill.
“The Benefactor agreed that our work has not been disturbed lately, so if we can continue to keep it up, they see no issue with it. They agreed it’s a bit different, since Abby is officially part of the team. It doesn’t go against their rules of fraternizing outside of the house, with civilians.”
Royal harrumphs, “See? I fucking knew we were stressed about nothing.”
Adjusting his glasses, Hawthorne says, “Not necessarily. None of us could’ve predicted what the Benefactor would say. They made it crystal clear in the past that if any of us break the rules, we’ll pay for it dearly. There was no way to know how they’d react to this particular news.”
“So, when do I get to meet this mysterious Benefactor man-slash-woman?” I ask, shooting my shot like I have many other times.
Hey, I’m curious. Sue me.
“Never. No one meets the Benefactor. They are… they prefer to remain anonymous for obvious reasons,” Hawthorne says with a shrug. “It’s not something we can change, so please don’t try to push it, Abby.”
Seeing as how he is our only link to the Benefactor, there isn’t much I can do about it.
I throw up my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll let it be. Anything else, Boss?” I’ve found that Hawthorne doesn’t really like to be called that, and ever since I found that out, it’s pretty much all I call him, except when we’re getting down and dirty.
“The Benefactor relayed that I should be getting a new target within the week, so be prepared for another outing soon.” He stares at us, though mostly at me, and then he gestures for us to go.
Royal hightails it out of there, but I take my time in getting up and following Ezra out. Walking down the hall, he asks me, “You ready to go?”
“Hell yeah,” I say. “You sure you want to do this?”
His hand taps his pocket, and he says, “Yes. It’s time. I should’ve done it ages ago.” His blue eyes are on me right before we head down the stairs. Soon enough, we’re getting in the car and going out.
It’s so nice to be able to leave the house.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over that. Being stuck in that house for so long all those months ago really was a pain.
It didn’t feel like it at the time, but looking back, it definitely was.
You don’t realize how big the world is until you’re taken from it for a while.
Ezra knows exactly where to go, and as we drive to our destination, he reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Of course,” I say. “Whatever you need.” This isn’t the time for jokes or rambling on my part.
What we’re about to do is a big, heavy thing, and if we get there and he decides he’s not ready, then that’s okay.
We don’t have to do it today. In fact, we don’t have to do it, ever, if he’s not comfortable with it.
He heaves a sigh, and although he’s driving, he spares a glance in my direction.
A soft smile tugs at his lips. It’s not one of happiness, but one of acceptance.
I think he accepted it years ago, but he was too afraid to admit it to himself.
It took meeting me, learning to love me, for him to admit that he’s moved on.
We all have, as terrible as it might be. As hard as it is, as tempting as it is, you can’t live in the past forever.
Take Connor, for example. It took over a month for the authorities to find his dismembered body, and by the time they found him… he was pretty unrecognizable. A month is a long time for a body to go, even inside a house. I can imagine the flies and maggots; those little assholes always find a way.
What I cannot imagine? The smell. I’ve never been around a decomposing body before, but the smell has to be the worst.
So, yeah, the past is done. There’s nothing we can do to change it. All we can do is face forward and march onward—and do it together. Hawthorne, Royal, and Ezra. Without them, I’d be nothing. With them, I can take on the world and its terrors every damn day. Every girl should have a man like that.
Or more than one man like that. The more, the merrier.
We pull up to a jewelry store, and we get out of the car.
I follow Ezra inside. The store is full of glass display cases, so many shiny things to see.
Gold stuff, silver stuff, pretty rose gold stuff; it has everything.
Rings for men and women, fancy tennis bracelets.
Whatever you could imagine, they probably have.
The inside of the store is way bigger than its outside would suggest.
What sets this one apart from the others in the city is that it has a buyback program. It’ll buy back not just any jewelry purchased here, but also jewelry purchased elsewhere, provided it passes inspection.
We called, set up an appointment, and now we’re here.
We are greeted by a sales associate, asked if we’re looking for anything in particular, to which Ezra says, “We actually called and have an appointment with the jeweler to appraise a ring for a possible buyback?”
The associate, a middle-aged man, nods once. “Let me go grab Phillip.” He disappears into the backroom, gone for only a few moments before he reappears with an elderly gentleman who instantly introduces himself as Phillip.
Ezra shakes his hand, and then Phillip guides us to the side of the store, where a few chairs are, near the cash register. We sit, and Ezra pulls out the small ring box from his pocket, sliding it over to him.
It’s a waiting game after that. Kind of boring, but at least there are lots of shiny things for to look at while we wait.
The old man inspects the ring, using a magnifying glass to look at the diamond, and then he has some handheld tester that apparently can tell real diamonds from fake ones.
It must glow the right color, because Phillip nods sagely, though he doesn’t say a word.
“Were you hoping to trade in for store credit?” Phillip finally asks, carefully setting the ring back in the box.
“No, just looking to sell it.”
Phillip must be used to not asking questions. If people are getting rid of jewelry, there’s really only a few reasons why that would be: she didn’t say yes, the return window has passed, or a family member died. Or someone just really needs the money. Hey, you never know someone’s circumstances.
“Very well,” Phillip says, standing. “Give me a few minutes to do some calculations in the back.”
As he disappears to do just that, I cross my legs and study the store around us.
There are two other associates beside the one who first greeted us working, and a few people looking at things.
Cameras are in every corner of the room, along with those big, overdone signs that say Smile, you’re on camera.
“I’ve never been in a jewelry store before,” I say. “It’s so bright in here.”
“Has to be bright,” Ezra says. “Makes things sparkle more.”
“Makes sense.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t push it.
Now isn’t the time for small talk. This isn’t easy, even though he’s prepped himself for this day for what feels like forever.
This is a big step, a hard step, and I just want to be here with him, for support.
Royal and Hawthorne said they’d come, too, but Ezra only wanted me.
An eternity later—or more like ten minutes—Phillip returns with an offer in tow.
I’m sure everyone who works here is accustomed to haggling for everything, but Ezra takes the offer without a single attempt at trying to get more.
He wants to wash his hands of it and be done, and I can’t blame him for it.
Phillip makes it official, and soon enough we are strolling out of the jewelry store with a nice wad of cash.
In the grand scheme of things, it won’t do much for us, but that’s all right. It’s not about the money. It’s about what this step means.
The money, however, isn’t coming home with us.
We stop at a grocery store and buy a whole bunch of things—nice towels, various toiletries, feminine products, canned goods, and other types of things shelters might not normally receive like candy, gum, hand-crank can openers.
That sort of thing. We take everything we purchased with the cash to a local battered women’s shelter.
It feels good. Not in the same way it feels good to, you know, take the trash out so to speak, but still good. The women and the kids at the shelter need all the help they can get, and with the way society is going, they probably don’t get enough funding as it is.
It’s late in the afternoon when we finally get home, and before we enter the house, Ezra pulls me in for a quick kiss, thanking me again for going with him. “I don’t know if I would’ve had the strength to do it without you,” he whispers.
“Bull,” I tell him as I trail a hand down his jaw. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
We enter the house, coming upon Royal and Hawthorne in the kitchen, bickering about what to get for dinner. Friday night is our eat-out night. Or delivery night. Either one. Personally, I prefer getting delivery, because that means we can cuddle on the couch longer.
“Fuck that,” Royal is busy saying. “We just had Chinese last week.”
“I’m not suggesting we get Chinese,” Hawthorne shoots back, “I’m saying we try that new Thai place that opened up on Bourbon Street. Chinese and Thai are completely different, and if you don’t know that—”