Chapter 35 Deirdre
Deirdre
“And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.” Edgar Allan Poe
Iwake to the sound of gulls outside the window and the soft hush of the tide rolling against the harbor.
For a moment, I forget where I am.
The quilt is cool beneath my fingers, the air thick with salt and sun, and Kieran is sitting in the chair by the window, a shadow against the light.
He’s watching me.
Not in that way that makes me self-conscious or nervous, but in the way he always does, like he’s measuring every breath I take, weighing whether I’m steady enough to keep moving forward. His protectiveness shines through his broody exterior.
“How long was I out?” My voice is rough, my body heavy but calmer than before.
“Two hours.” His voice is steady, but relief threads through it. “You needed the rest.”
I push myself up, hair tumbling into my eyes, and peer through the window. Afternoon light bathes everything in gold. Avalon shimmers below, the ocean reflecting sunlight like scattered embers. For a heartbeat, the beauty almost lets me forget.
Almost.
“It’s time.”
Kieran stands, crossing to me. No arguments. No suggestions to wait. No treating me like I might shatter. He simply takes my hand, pulls me to my feet with a grip that anchors me.
“Then let’s go.”
We climb in silence. The fog of exhaustion has cleared, leaving only a quivering tension and anticipation in its wake. At the hilltop, my father’s name waits, carved in stone. I haven’t been here since the day I was forced to let him die alone.
“You see it, don’t you?”
I nod, my throat tight. “The cemetery’s just up there. Past the old chapel on the right.”
Kieran doesn’t rush me. The path climbs steeply, stone steps carved into the hillside, edged with wild grasses and stubborn blooms that lean toward the sea.
He keeps pace with every step, his hand brushing mine now and then, grounding me.
The sound of the town fades behind us—the laughter, the chatter, the bells from bicycles—until all that’s left is the crunch of gravel beneath our shoes and the whistle of the wind through trees.
The chapel stands weathered but proud at the crest, whitewashed walls streaked faintly with salt and time. Beyond it, the cemetery spills across the slope, rows of markers angled toward the harbor as if even in death no one can turn their back on the sea.
The cemetery gate comes into view. Rusted iron, weathered by salt, standing crooked against the afternoon sun.
Kieran pushes it open, the metal groaning in protest. He steps aside, letting me go first.
My breath stutters as I walk past the gate. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might break my ribs.
I step into the stillness of Avalon Memorial, the air heavy with silence and the sacred memory of the souls that lie here.
My feet carry me without hesitation, across gravel and grass. We reach the far corner, where the ground dips slightly, until the name stares up at me from a simple stone etched clean against the earth. My throat closes as soon as I see it—the headstone, simple and modest, like he would’ve wanted.
My fingers tremble as they trace the cool edge of the stone.
My throat burns.
“Hi, Dad.” The words are fragile, breaking in the middle. “I—I made it back.”
Everett Ravencroft
1959–2005
A Gentle Soul, A Steadfast Father
“She carries with her courage, and my love will always light her way.”
His last message to me.
The sight knocks the air from my lungs, and the words blur as my eyes sting with tears. I sink to my knees in front of the stone, my hands trembling with the flowers we had brought. I press the lilies against the base, the stems bending as though they ache with me.
Memories flood in—the weight of his hand on my shoulder the day I left, the envelope he pressed into my palm, the way his smile carried all the faith in me I couldn’t yet carry for myself. I blink hard, but the tears still fall, hot and stinging.
Kieran kneels beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t interrupt. He just stays. An anchor in the storm.
“I wanted to tell you,” I whisper, as I lay the flowers down, and graze my fingers against the stone as if it were his face, “I wanted to say thank you. For pushing me to leave. For believing in me. For giving me the chance to chase my dreams.” My chest shakes, my voice splintering.
“I don’t know if I’ve made you proud yet, but I am trying. ..”
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to the stone, the coolness seeping into my skin. “I miss you.”
And in that moment, kneeling at my father’s grave, Avalon spread wide below, the sea singing its endless hymn, I feel the past and present blur.
Kieran’s hand stays over mine, grounding me against the stone’s chill. For a long moment, he says nothing, just breathes beside me, his presence enough. But then, quietly, his voice threads into the stillness.
“Everett Ravencroft,” he begins, formal in a way that makes my throat ache, like he’s addressing a man still alive, still here. “I don’t know if I have the right to speak to you. I never met you. But I know your daughter.”
My breath catches.
“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he says, his voice low. “Braver than she realizes. Smarter than half the people who whisper about her. She fights for herself, even when the world stacks against her, and she fights for the people she loves with everything she has.”
His thumb strokes gently over my knuckles.
“You gave her the chance to start over. And I want you to know—I’ll spend every day making sure she doesn’t regret it. That she has the life you wanted her to have.” His voice dips, rougher now. “That no one takes her from me.”
Tears blur my vision until the stone shimmers, his words carving into my heart.
He squeezes my hand once more, firm, like a vow. “I can’t promise I’ll always be the man you would’ve chosen. But I can promise I’ll never let her stand alone.”
I bite my lip hard, trembling, torn wide open between the grief for the man I lost and the love I feel for the man kneeling next to me. I would have never met Kieran had I not lost my father.
The sea crashes against the rocks below, steady and fierce, as though he’s answering our words through the ocean.
I press my hand against the stone again, whispering through the tears, “I think you’d have liked him, Dad.”
The tears come and go in waves, sharp and sudden, until there’s nothing left but the hollow ache they leave behind. I don’t fight the silence. I let it wash through me. I let myself be still.
When I finally lift my head, my cheeks are damp, my throat raw. The stone blurs through the last of my tears, but I manage a shaky smile.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the grave, to the man beneath it, to the memory that never let me go.
After awhile, Kieran rises first, then offers me his hand. I take it, his grip firm as he pulls me to my feet and into his warm body. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t let go. His hand strokes my hair as though memorizing this moment, the same way he memorizes everything.
“You’re not alone in this,” he says quietly.
I nod, pressing my hand against his chest just for a second, grounding myself in the steady rhythm of his heart before stepping back. Together, we leave the grave behind, the chapel casting long shadows as the sun sinks lower over Avalon.
As we descend the steps of the hill and leave the tenderness of this goodbye, another current stirs.
Something darker.