Chapter 10 #4
“That’s nonsense. We agreed to spend time with your family.
To figure out our next step. If you need to go back for a little while, or even a long while, go ahead.
I’ll wait for you. We’ll figure out the distance.
We can still speak every day until you return or when I’m able to join you.
My parents... my parents… being gone… doesn’t change that.
I can leave here. Leave this house. You mean more to me than anything left here.
We can make our own future. Don’t throw this away.
I love you so much. You’re my mate. My everything.
I can’t live without you,” I argue, raising my voice even as it quivers uncontrollably.
“I made my decision,” he asserts in frightening calm.
Why won’t he listen to me? He can’t leave! I need to hold him. Kiss him. Make love to him until he sees reason. I try to break my hands free from his grasp, but he firmly locks them in place like he can read my mind.
“I am no longer your mate. Your commitment to me is dissolved.” His eyes shutter with an impenetrable barrier. His icy, detached tone leaves no room for misinterpretation. I’ve lost him.
“Don’t do this! It doesn’t make any sense. You’re not telling me something. What happened there? Is your family okay? I will help you figure it out! Anything you need! I can’t lose you,” I wail, hyperventilating and nearly breathless.
“I will always treasure our time together. But this is goodbye. Forever.” His eyes lower to my mouth and linger there.
His body draws into me slightly, pulling the faintest gasp from me.
At the sound, he stiffens up again, restoring that distance between us.
Before I can find my voice again, he abruptly raises my hands, still joined with his, and kisses them hard with a barely suppressed fervor he hasn’t shown in this entire conversation.
My breath hitches on a sob, making me gulp for air. He doesn’t look at me as he drops my hands. I reach for him out of instinct, but he steps back briskly to avoid me. And then he turns around and rushes away.
I try to catch up to him, but my shaky body won’t cooperate. “Don’t go!” I beg, openly sobbing as he reaches the door. He doesn’t even look back as he walks out of my life.
When I fall to the floor, there’s no impact.
Just nothingness. Like I’m sinking through it.
The blinding pressure in my head pushes away the world, all that’s painful, distorting and muting everything outside my mind.
I lose all sense of reality, my tether to it severed now that I’m completely alone.
There’s nothing left for me there anyway.
Norrell’s a ghost now. Another ghost in this house, haunting me the rest of my days. Until I’m a ghost too.
I discreetly wipe a tear from my eye as I step into the kitchen.
Norrell set the kitchen table exactly as we used to when it was the two of us here.
Our respective plates, his piled much higher than mine, sit in front of our preferred seats.
The sight makes my stomach lurch, throwing into focus the last time he did this.
It was the day he left. I would have given anything at that moment for him to stay.
Now I’d give anything for him to leave. There’s a bitter irony in that I’ll have to analyze later if I’m going to get through this meal in an agreeable mood.
Maybe even a touch pleasant if he’s lucky.
Taking a seat, I’m surprised to see an omelet on my plate along with the sausage links. He must have dug through my fridge for the vegetables and cheese. He brewed coffee, too, and poured some in my favorite mug. How did he know?
“Thank you, this looks delicious,” I tell him honestly. I cut a small bite of the omelet with my fork. It tastes as good as it looks.
“The vegetables in your crisper looked so fresh. I had a hard time choosing what to use,” he remarks.
“Probably from Taurus Farms. You might… not remember them,” I say unthinking, my correction sounding awkward.
“If they were at the farmers market, I probably would,” he answers smoothly.
“They are. It’s still going,” I confirm.
“A nice tradition in this town,” he observes around a bite of food.
My eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. This sounds like small talk.
“I guess that means you don’t have them in your settlement?” I venture to ask.
“Ah, no. Our market is a little different,” he answers enigmatically.
I shrug, unsurprised by his non-answer. “That’s too bad.”
Both cats laze next to each other in a sunny spot on the floor, idly watching us, like it’s been an uneventful morning. I’d reprimand them if I thought it would do any good. I know better. Instead, I roll my eyes at them.
“Those two are more trouble than they’re worth sometimes,” I say without any real teeth, pointing my fork in their direction.
“It looks like they wore themselves out playing with that eggshell before I took it away from them,” he says with a frown, drawing my eyes to the shape of his lips, a dangerous place to look.
Graceful clip-clopping down the stairs announces Cyrinda’s imminent arrival. Luckily, there’s some food left in the pans for her. She saunters in, already dressed and made up for the day like she has big plans.
She eyes the sausage and eggs with displeasure. “Is this all there is ready to eat? Well, I wanted to go downtown anyway. Get a shot of espresso. Maybe a croissant,” she says flippantly as she walks over to the table.
Her gaze homes in on Norrell’s chest. “You’ve got a little dirt on your pelt. What have you been up to?” she observes dryly, sounding suspicious of him.
Norrell’s lips twist into a wry grin, like he’s humoring her. “Yardwork. Figured Ada would need some help around the house since she is putting so much energy into hosting us. I bought a whipper snipper yesterday. I will get started with it after everyone else has woken up.”
My mouth gapes open, perplexed since I told him not to buy me gifts. Would that even count as a gift? “You did? Why would you do that? And do you mean a weed eater?” I question him while trying to tamp down my complete exasperation.
“I’ve always called them weed whippers. Whipper snipper makes no sense,” Cyrinda interjects, sounding haughty. She’s really elevated this whole notion of “taking sides” to the next level.
“I guess we’re all kinda right. It’s just a piece of machinery anyhow.” I offer them both a placating smile to try to smooth over this semantic disagreement.
“Not really,” she balks and marches out of the kitchen.
Norrell blows out a long breath. “She has not warmed up to me.”
It conjures memories of how he would bend over backwards for people, no matter how inconvenient.
Well, everyone except for me that is. I’m sure her blatant dislike of him sticks in his craw.
“She could start an argument in an empty house. Don’t take it personally.
But I don’t think you’re ever going to get on her good side,” I observe with a shrug.
Like I figured, he doesn’t look pleased by this. It seems that quality hasn’t changed in these long years apart. I continue eating my breakfast and try not to let myself dwell on it.
“I ran into your Uncle Walt on my way to the garden shop yesterday. He looks hale and healthy for a human male his age. I hope he and Acton are well. He did not seem like he wanted to talk,” Norrell notes.
I’m unsurprised. Walt’s eyes were always wide open to Norrell’s shortcomings.
He saw much of it before I did. His words at the time when Norrell left, We are washing our hands of him, still ring true.
I’ll do Norrell the favor this once and not rub it in.
But if Walt ever decides to give him an earful, that’s his issue to deal with.
“He is. We’ve all grown long in the tooth I suppose, except for Acton that is.” I huff a small laugh at Acton’s seemingly eternal youth.
“Long in the tooth. That would be an apt description for me. My tusks are longer than they used to be. Yours look the same, not that your dull square teeth could be mistaken for tusks,” he jokes with an amused grin.
It doesn’t exactly land. I’m not sure how to feel about him trying to act so familiar with me.
“Your tusks do look a little wilder,” I agree, trying not to stare at his mouth too long.
“But yes, they’re both well. Living life to the fullest now that Walt is retired.
They always have camping trips planned to regional forest preserves and national parks.
I keep… kept… Acton in steady supply of glamor charms for their travels.
When they’re home, they hike almost every morning.
I’m not sure Walt’s fully let go of his old job.
He likes to keep an eye on the condition of the trails, especially along the marsh where it sometimes floods. ”
“From what I remember, that sounds like him. Community-minded,” he says, looking thoughtful.
We fall into silence as we finish our meal and drain our cups of coffee, making us both aware of the sounds emerging from other parts of the house.
Taking my last bite, I subtly push the plate away from me.
Norrell stands up and takes both of our plates to the sink and starts washing them. I get up to pour myself more coffee.
“Thank you. Do you want more?” I ask, shaking the pot a little.
“Please,” he answers automatically. “So, when is that farmers market again?”
I look over at him, surprised. “Tonight, actually. It starts an hour before sundown so everyone can attend.”
“Were you planning on going?” he says the words carefully.
“Um, I was…” My voice falters.
“Then you will need someone to assist while your ankle is still healing. I will go with you,” he declares as if it’s a given.
I stiffen. I don’t want to spend even more time with him than I have to. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No, you will need someone to carry your bags. You cannot risk aggravating your ankle,” he persists.
“I can carry my bags. They’re enchanted to be weightless. I’ll be fine, I just won’t buy very much,” I object, my voice sounding insubstantial compared to his.
“Buy as much as you want. They will weigh nothing to me regardless of an enchantment, but they will still be bulky. I will drive us in the Wagoneer because you should not walk very far. We will go when it starts,” he decides presumptuously.
I draw back. My chest pounds wildly in panic. Is he serious? He’s proposing to go somewhere together in public? Where people might see us and assume we’re together again? That would draw way too much attention. It would be a disaster for me.
“I don’t think so,” I manage, my voice thick with unbidden emotion.
“You cannot walk there. And you should not drive. The movement of your foot on the pedals would not be good for your ankle. I do not see another way unless you want to skip this week,” he says pragmatically as he dries our plates, still watching me all the while.
I do, in fact, need to go tonight. This is so unfair.
I can’t trust my voice, so I just nod.