Spells for Forgetting(51)

August watched me. “What are you doing?”

I pressed the phone to my ear.

“I’m calling Jake.”

He shook his head, the expression on his face resembling something like pity. “They’re not coming, Em.”

I stood there, rigid, as the ringing on the other end of the line went on. And on. No one picked up. I wiped the burn of smoke from my eyes, dialing again. Still, there was no answer.

Thunder broke in the sky overhead, followed by the tap of rain on the rocks. My hand felt numb as I hung up, the phone dangling from my slick fingers.

“They’re not going to set the fire and then come put it out,” he said.

“What?”

“You think this truck just burst into flames?” He almost laughed. “Come on.”

I stared into the fire until my eyes ached, nausea rolling in my stomach. He was right. Someone had set it.

“Em.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.

Another crack of lightning unleashed the rain, and it began to fall, making me shiver.

“They did this. You know they did.”

They. He wasn’t just talking about Jake. He was talking Saoirse. All of us.

“No, I don’t.” I didn’t look at him, because I couldn’t. I didn’t want to think about what he was saying, what it meant.

“You can’t seriously still believe that these people—”

“Why? Because I’m still here?” My voice rose. “You don’t get to disappear and go make a life for yourself and then come back and pretend like you know everything about us. Not everyone on this island is your enemy. Some of us have been paying for our loyalty to you for a long time, August.”

He fell silent, the look on his face changing.

“Why did you come back here?” I said, weakly.

His jaw clenched. “To bury my mom.”

“Is that all?”

Again, he said nothing. And what could he say, really? What was done was done.

“Look”—his voice was suddenly softer—“I’m sorry. For all of it.”

My hands fell heavy at my sides. “Are you serious? Now you want to apologize?”

August exhaled. “I wanted to apologize the other night. But I didn’t know what to say when Dutch showed up. I know things weren’t easy for you after what happened, and I—”

“How the fuck would you know? You weren’t here.” I glared at him, furious.

“I know.”

“You left.”

“I know,” he said again.

“You left me.” I almost didn’t recognize the sound of my own voice. “And I don’t care if you’re sorry.”

I shoved past him, breathing through the sharp pain in my throat as I followed the light of my front porch across the road. The door was still wide open, and I climbed the steps with my frozen, bare feet, slamming it behind me.

A moth danced around the light hanging over the dining table. Beyond it, the fire in the living room had shrunk down to embers and the house was colder, the warmth sucked out into the wind.

I looked down at my numb hands. The creases were marked black with soot and I reached up to pull a leaf from where it was stuck in my braid. If someone had set the fire…of course someone had set it. But if it had caught the house, if the wind had pushed it just a little farther before I saw it in the trees…I didn’t want to think about what could have happened.

This town had seen what a fire could do.

I flipped on the switch in the bathroom, catching my own eyes in the mirror. A fury burned behind them that I hadn’t seen in years. It was both familiar and foreign. And the thought that kept finding me was that I was feeling something. That fact alone was a stark contrast to the numb emptiness that had marked my life for so long. It almost scared me.

I turned the knob on the tub and sat on its side, pulling my foot into my lap. There was a diagonal bloody slice along the arch where I’d stepped on something. Maybe a stone. Maybe glass.

I pulled my nightgown off as the tub filled, dropping it on the floor. It would have to be cut into rags or thrown in the garbage. There was no getting that smell out—I knew that from experience, too.

Slowly, I lowered myself into the hot bath and let myself sink under the surface. The roar of the water filling the tub drowned out the rush of thoughts skipping through my head, but when I came up again, I still felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I pulled my knees into my chest, hugging them to me. I’d thought nothing could be worse than when August left. But it turned out, his return hurt even more. If I just hadn’t seen him. If Nixie hadn’t mentioned Prosper. If it weren’t for the letter—

I watched the ripple on the surface of the water, my heart stopping. The letter.

The water sloshed over the lip of the tub as I stood, snatching the robe from the hook. I wrapped it around me as I came down the hallway dripping, my eyes flitting over the living room. The blanket I’d had wrapped around me was still on the floor where I’d dropped it in front of the door.

I picked it up, shaking it out frantically.

Nothing.

The sound of my own breath rang in my ears as I turned in a circle, studying the room. I pulled the cushions from the sofa and scoured the floor before checking the papers on the kitchen counter. When I didn’t find it, I went to my room, crouching down beside the bed and pulling the hat box of letters from beneath it. I clumsily thumbed through the envelopes. It wasn’t there.