CHAPTER NINETEEN
SOJOURN
Welcome to Massachusetts.
I drove past the road sign at the very moment my phone began to ring. I glanced at the screen on the dashboard to see Dad's name.
I released a preparatory sigh, knowing Patrick must've said something, and I braced myself for the berating I was sure to receive as I answered the call.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey. So, quick question: is there a reason you didn’t tell us that you were running away for the weekend?”
I bit at my bottom lip, then said, “I'm not running away. I'm just going up to Salem for …” God, the lies were getting out of hand. And the problem with living in such a small, close-knit community was that those lies were easily found out once people started talking to each other. “I wanted to—”
“Patrick says you need to reevaluate some things.”
My jaw shifted irritably. “That's … that's not entirely the truth. That's what he assumed,” I said, the words flowing easily.
“Okay,” he drawled, skeptical. “So, then … what's up?”
How much do I want to tell him?
I couldn't give him everything. He'd stop me, just as Meg tried to. But I could tell him a little. I could give him a piece of the truth.
“I've been, uh … I've been having a rough time,” I began, my mouth suddenly dry. “Just … thinking about the past, and … you know, that kind of shit.”
Dad was quiet for a minute, then grumbled with an acknowledging sound. “I can understand that. We never really, um … I dunno … we never really addressed that the way we should've.”
Always we. Never your mom.
It'd been we since they'd met.
A comfortable, warm pressure bloomed in my chest as I gave my head a gentle nod.
“It's not anybody's fault, Dad. And to be fair, I've always been shitty at expressing myself and what I'm feeling. I just … need a minute. I have to … figure a couple of things out,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“You're staying with Aunt Stormy?”
“Yeah, just for a few days. I'll be back on Monday or Tuesday morning.”
“All right,” he said. “Your mother is freaking the fuck out, but you know how she gets.”
“Yeah, Meg's freaking out too. But seriously, I'm fine.”
“I know that,” he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. “But, you know, Noah … if you're ever not fine … if you ever get tired of fighting the bogeyman on your own …”
My throat tightened as I pressed my fist to my mouth before saying, “I know where to find you, Dad.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice gruff. “Just make sure I know where to find you too. I don't need to follow you, bud. I just need to know where to look.”
“Sorry,” I felt the need to say. “I didn't mean to hide anything from you guys.”
“Nah, we're good,” he replied. “Shoot me a text when you get there. And drive safe.”
“Will do. Tell Mom to relax.”
“She'll be fine,” he said. “Love you.”
“Yeah, love you too.”
The line went dead, and I was left to mull over the things he'd said. Would he feel any differently if he knew what, exactly, I was doing? Dad had gotten up to his own share of mischief, but someone had always known what he was doing—even if those someones had been the nefarious kind.
Nobody but Meg knew.
She's not stupid, I told myself. If she needs to, she'll spill the beans.
But she won't need to, I insisted, even as my heart sped and my gut warned.
Maybe I should turn around, it said, but I continued to drive my way toward Salem instead.
***
There was something awfully ominous and foreboding about driving through a dark cemetery, with nothing but the headlights and sparse lampposts guiding my way toward Aunt Stormy's house.
Charlie Corbin, the man she’d married, was the caretaker here, and the job provided on-site accommodations.
Which, I supposed, was nice for them, but I never liked it much.
I preferred her apartment on Lafayette, closer to the heart of town.
It was brighter, despite her taste in gothic decor and architecture.
More … full of life, especially in comparison to this place.
I'd only been here a few times over the years since Aunt Stormy had met Charlie, and it had always been during holidays with my family.
I'd never driven through these winding, haunted roads alone, and I wasn't ashamed to admit my knuckles had turned white, gripping the steering wheel, while my anxiety warred with reason at every turn.
Finally, I came to the cottage on the hill, which was thankfully well lit and welcoming compared to the land surrounding it. I parked on the road, just outside the stone wall marking the perimeter of their yard, and I quickly grabbed my bag and hurried up the path to the door.
Aunt Stormy didn't give me the chance to knock.
“You look like you've seen a ghost, kiddo,” she said, smirking.
“Has anyone told you how fucking terrifying it is, driving around here at night?” I asked incredulously.
She shrugged, stepping aside to allow me passage. “I don't mind it. I like walking around here after hours. It's peaceful.”
Once upon a time, Aunt Stormy had told me cemeteries creeped her out. I guessed after years of calling it home, she'd gotten over it.
“Peaceful,” I repeated. “Sure. That's one word for it.”
“Was Charlie right behind you?”
I nodded. “He locked the gate right after I pulled in.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “Might've stopped by the security office. We found some kids screwing around just a little while ago. They were actually two seconds away from fucking on the girl's father's grave. Can you believe that?”
Surprised, I barked out a laugh. “Holy shit. That's wild.”
“The really wild thing is that she didn't even hate her dad,” Aunt Stormy said, closing the door but leaving it unlocked. “She said she was ‘giving him a proper send-off and things got out of hand.’ I mean, whatever floats your boat, but … not in my graveyard.” She released a low whistle.
My eyes swept over the living room. It looked much like the last time I'd visited—cozy and homely.
A plush velvet couch sat before a fireplace, and a woodsy-scented candle burned on the mantel beside a picture of Charlie's late brother, who'd died at the same prison Dad had been in. The same one as Levi.
Dad had been friends with Charlie's brother, Luke, and Levi had been present when he was killed by another inmate. I'd known all of this for years, yet somehow, the intricate webs woven by the threads of life never ceased to amaze me.
“You hungry?” Aunt Stormy asked, hurrying into the kitchen.
I dropped my bag on one of the two wingback chairs and stretched my arms overhead.
“I could eat,” I told her, walking toward the open doorway into a kitchen fit for a witch in the middle of a forest … or a cemetery. I reached upward to grip the doorframe, stretching my shoulders. “I had a quick snack before I left, but I haven't eaten dinner yet.”
Aunt Stormy opened the fridge door and peered inside. “Well, I made Cobb salad for dinner, if you want some.”
“That works for me.”
She pulled out a large bowl and popped off the lid. Then she bustled around the kitchen, grabbing a fork from a drawer and a dish from a cabinet. She nudged her chin toward the small, round table, fit for four people but rarely served more than two.
“Sit,” she ordered, and I listened.
As I ate, she got me a drink from the fridge—iced tea—and then took a seat across from me, resting her chin on her hands. With my mouth full, I caught her eye, and she gave me an affectionate smile.
“What?” I asked, chuckling and feeling a little too on the spot for my liking.
“Nothin',” she said, shrugging. “It's just nice to see you.”
It'd been about six months since we'd seen Aunt Stormy for Christmas.
Mom talked to her regularly, but I couldn't say I was as good about keeping in touch.
We sent messages every so often, to check in and say hi, but she'd taken a backseat to the other things in my life.
And looking at her now, I suddenly felt guilty about that, especially when she'd been such an integral part of my world years ago, after the night Seth tried to end our lives.
While Dad had been in the hospital, recovering from his injuries and going through countless surgeries, Aunt Stormy had come back to be with us.
She helped Mom care for me, she cared for Mom, and she made sure the two of us were eating and keeping clean clothes on our bodies.
For someone who had been so quick to run away and start over in a new city, she'd been just as eager to come back and help when it was most needed.
“You look so grown up,” she said, a bit of melancholy touching her eyes.
“I'm getting old,” I replied, shoveling another forkful of salad into my mouth.
“Which means I'm getting old,” she countered, a look of horror and disgust blanketing her features.
“Nah, vampires don't get old.”
“Tell that to my wrinkles,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “And the gray hairs I keep having to cover. My God, they multiply every damn day. I can't keep up with it.”
“Just go gray,” I suggested. “Then you could be the old crone on the hill and scare the shit out of the kids.”
“We already scare the kids,” she grumbled. “Live in a cemetery. Gives you instant scare factor.”
The front door opened, and Aunt Stormy stood to greet her husband from the kitchen entryway.
“Hey, Spider,” she said softly with a smile. “Where've you been?”
“Stopped at the security office,” the long-haired, tattooed gravedigger said, wrapping his arm around her waist and giving her forehead a kiss. “Just to make sure Todd took care of those kids.”
“You should've told them the cops were coming,” Aunt Stormy replied, shooting a wink my way.
Charlie regarded me with a smile. “I should've. Knock some sense right into them.”
“Could've waved the gun around a bit,” I said with a waggle of my brows.
“Oh God, you brought your gun?” Aunt Stormy groaned. “Why? You expect you'll need it on your little trip?”
When I had asked Aunt Stormy if I could stay for the weekend, I had told her it was to see an old friend who'd moved to the area and to spend a bit of time with her and Charlie.
It was a grossly exaggerated version of the truth, and it was entirely different from what my parents thought of this impromptu little sojourn.
But I figured, if she compared notes with Mom, it would be simple enough for me to say that Meg and I had found ourselves at a bit of a crossroads and I also needed time to clear my head.
Convenient timing, I'd tell her, and it'd be fine.
But no matter what the reason, none of them explained the need to bring my firearm.
“Habit,” I told her with a sheepish grin.
“Oh, duh,” she replied, laughing like it was the most obvious answer. “Well, anyway …”
She turned back to Charlie, who filled her in on his trip to the security office, and I dropped my gaze to the dish in front of me. I ate mindlessly, mulling over my plan for the next couple of days.
As luck would have it, Tomas Nolan had been buried at a cemetery not far from the one I was staying at. Sure, it would've been more convenient if he'd been buried here, but let's be honest … I thought it would've scared the hell out of me—to think the man's spirit could come haunt me in my sleep.
Anyway, the first step in my plan was to spend Saturday stopping by his grave and paying my respects.
Then I was going to head over to The Llewellyn Family Funeral Home and chat with the director.
Tomas had been murdered twenty years ago. It was unlikely I'd find much, and I knew that. Hell, there was a good chance this entire ordeal would be a complete waste of my time, but I had to try.
That was what this was all about.
Trying.
Trying to make peace. Trying to tie up loose ends. Trying to lay a night to rest that'd been haunting me since I had been a little boy.
And if I couldn't do any of that, then at least I could say I did what I'd set out to do.
Try.