Beautiful Graves(27)

“Uh . . .” The sound of a yawn and a female moan pierces through the air. She says, “Renn? Are you already up? Should I get my surfboard?”

He is losing himself in a girl. Dad’s been saying he’s been doing that a lot. I sometimes wonder if Renn always needs a woman by his side to tell him how loved he is because of me. Because of what I did to our family.

“Renn?” I ask when his “uh” is not supplemented with any other words.

“Sorry. Yeah, got your package. That was some rad-ass shit. Thanks, sis.”

He always calls me sis. Even when things are bad. I love him so much for it. For his ability to act civil with people he loathes.

“Happy birthday.” I hope he can hear the smile in my voice, because it hurts my face. “How’ve you been, anyway?”

“Good. Yeah. Listen, so, we need to talk.”

There’s commotion in the background. The girl next to him got up too. “I’ll go get my car,” she says, and she sounds so much older than his twenty years, and what the hell is going on? I am suddenly freaked out that I have no idea what’s happening at home. Or whatever is left of it, anyway.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Things are changing. You need to come here.”

I’m silent for a moment. Dad said the same thing, more or less, but he insisted that they were both healthy. Now I’m starting to think he lied.

“Are you guys okay?”

“Physically? Yeah. Top condition.”

“Money problems?” I ask. Unlikely. Dad is the most fiscally conservative man I know. He has a great job. Mom was the one who made uncalculated money moves, and he still loved her.

Renn snorts. “No.”

“Mentally . . . is there . . . I mean, are there . . . ?” This is a hard one to articulate.

“It’s nothing like that. Nothing apocalyptic.” He sounds short, annoyed.

“Then what’s going on?” I press.

“It’s not for the phone. Just come home. You’ve been gone for years. I know you’re pissed with yourself, and honestly? Dad and I are pissed with you too.” It hurts to hear, even though I already knew that. “But now there’s shit to deal with, so it’s time to drag ass back home before it’s too late.”

Late for what? I’ve already lost you.

“I’m coming,” I say defensively, sitting up straighter in my bed. “At Christmas. I already told Dad.”

“Christmas is too far away. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

“I can’t help that I have a job, Renn.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Your job’s the last reason you’re staying away. We both know that.”

A loud, lengthy honk pierces my ear through the other end of the line, followed by, “Are you coming, or what?” It’s the woman he’s seeing. I already hate her. Can’t she see he’s busy?

“Yeah, yeah,” Renn mutters, sounding completely bored with her existence. To me, he drawls, “Thanks for the gifts. Just remember next time that material stuff means jack shit. When we need you, you aren’t here.”

The line goes dead.



A storm rolls over Salem that day to complement my shitty mood. I have a shift at Witch Way Out, and I’m working on autopilot. Whenever the shop’s empty—and it’s mostly empty, seeing as nobody in their right mind is strolling the streets in this weather—I use the time to call Renn. I get his voice mail again and again. Something stops me from leaving a message. I don’t know what it is. Or maybe I do—I have no good excuse. He is right. They need me to be there for whatever reason, and I’m not ready to face the wreckage I left behind. I’m so much better at sending birthday gifts and cards and letters.

Dom texts me throughout the day to make sure I’m okay. I don’t bring him up to speed on my family drama. He has a day off today, but we can’t meet. I have to go and give a tour right after my shift. When I close the shop for the day and prepare the register for tomorrow, I hear a knock on the glass. At first, I think it’s hail.

But when I look up at the display window, I find Dom plastered against it, holding soaked flowers and a clichéd heart-shaped box of chocolate.

Rain pours down on him, rolling along his nose, stroking his cheekbones. His hair is drenched and jet black. I’m worried he’ll catch a cold. I think I’ll always be a little freaked out about Dom’s health, knowing what I know. I bolt to the door, then unlock it as I pull him inside.

“Jesus, Dom. What are you doing?” I usher him inside.

“Wooing you with a romantic gesture, I’m hoping.” He shakes the raindrops away like a dog after a bath. “Is it working?”

I laugh. “Not if you end up catching pneumonia. If I have to visit you at the hospital, I’ll be pissed. Hospitals aren’t my favorite.”

“Ha!” He raises his fist skyward. “She cares. I knew it.”

I grab a quilt from behind the register, the one Jenine, my boss, usually lets her dog sleep on, and wrap it around his shoulders.

“Hope you’re not allergic, but this quilt is the equivalent of seven big-size dogs.”

“You’re smothering me with all your love. I can’t take this anymore.” Dom leans down and drops urgent, desperate kisses all over my face. His lips are cold and wet. I giggle as I stumble backward, trying to hold his face and pull away. But he stalks me across the room until my back is pressed against the wall, and we are tucked far away from the display window view, between crystals and the tarot section. He drops the flowers and chocolate to the floor with a thud. His rapid-fire kisses continue down my neck. My willpower to take care of this crazy man is diminishing, replaced with white-hot need for him.