Spells for Forgetting(9)

Houses, jobs, boats—they were all passed down from one family member to the next, keeping just about everything on the island the same for the last hundred years. Even the fire hadn’t been able to sink it.

“She wanted me to bury her here. Is that going to be a problem?” I dared him to argue. I almost wanted him to. I wasn’t the scared, stupid kid I’d been when we left.

Jakob thought for a moment, and I could see that he was weighing his options. The blowback from the town. The attention it would bring him. There was no telling how long they’d punished him for everything that happened after we left, and I was sure they had. That was how things on Saoirse worked. But I didn’t give a shit about any of that anymore. I hadn’t for a long time.

“Is Zachariah still…”

I wasn’t sure how to ask. Was he still living in the old cabin? Still managing the cemetery? Was he still alive? If he was, he’d have to be pushing ninety these days.

“He is,” Jake answered.

“Who can I talk to about selling the cottage?”

An expression I couldn’t make out passed over his face, but when he shot me a glance over his shoulder, it was still cold and distant. I thought maybe I imagined it. “I’ll send someone over.”

The brakes squealed as the truck slowed and he turned the wheel, pulling into the overgrown drive. My heart instantly came up into my throat as the cottage came into view. It sat back from the road, half-covered in honeysuckle and blackberry vines. The porch was sinking on one side, the windows clouded, and it hurt even more to look at it than I’d guessed it would.

“I want you back on that ferry the moment your mama’s in the ground. Understand?” Now he was the one daring me to argue.

“Believe me, I’m not spending a single minute here that I don’t have to,” I muttered.

Jake took hold of the gearshift, sliding it into park, and the truck jerked to a stop. “I mean it, August.” His heavy words filled the cab of the truck as his hands tightened on the wheel in front of him.

There were rules on the island that everyone followed. An understanding about what was expected of the people who lived here. I’d grown up with that weight on my shoulders—the orchard, my family name. But that all changed the night of the fire.

I closed up my pack and climbed out, following the nearly invisible walk that led up to the small house. The sound of the truck faded as it pulled away and when I turned back, Jake was gone. But the coiled knot in my throat tightened when my eyes lifted to the trees across the uneven dirt road. Hidden behind the grove of redwoods was the Blackwoods’ house.

I pulled in a forgotten breath when the burn lit in my chest. The thick branches shook in the wind and I could see glimpses of the porch beyond them. There was no car in the drive, but it was clean and lived in, and my stomach sank when I spotted the tended garden. There had been a part of me, a big part, that had hoped I would find the Blackwoods’ house empty. But it looked like Noah and Hannah still lived there.

I pulled the key from my pocket and spun on my heel, following the steps up to the porch. My reflection was hazy on the glass as it flit across the window, but there was something out of place about it. I was a thing that didn’t belong. I took another steadying breath before I turned the lock and pushed the door open. The stale scent of dust and paper met the damp air of outside and the stillness between the walls made goosebumps lift on my skin.

The years hadn’t been kind to the old cottage. A dark water stain haunted one corner of the wall and the window beside the dining table was cracked. I let the pack slide from my shoulder onto the wooden rocking chair as I stepped inside and set the urn on the small wooden table. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched at all, everything exactly as we left it. The dishes on the shelves. The books on the mantel. The photographs. It was all just as I’d last seen it.

That morning, we’d woken before dawn and packed only what would fit into a single suitcase. Then we’d walked the dark road into town, headed for the harbor. And before anyone even knew we were leaving, we were gone.





Five


    EMERY


I waited for the morning rush to clear out of the shop before I hung up my apron and pulled on my jacket. The café and the bakery would have lines spilling from their doors for the lunch hour, but my father would still be getting ready to open the pub for the afternoon crowd.

Rivulets of rainwater hugged the sidewalks, where bundled-up tourists were hidden beneath bouncing umbrellas. Canvas totes filled with red and gold apples were hung over their shoulders and children lugged pumpkins cradled in their arms.

Golden sunlight had burned off most of the morning fog, but it was already disappearing behind the darkening clouds. The sun would retreat as we headed into winter. With the light would go the tourists, and our island would return to the quiet town no one came to visit much except in autumn.

I pulled the hood of my jacket up and crossed the street to Adelman’s Market. The wood-framed doors were propped open to the rain, and I could see Etzel ringing up customers behind the huge window. The family name was painted on the glass in old world letters that had been touched up a hundred times over the years.

“We’ll need a new roof before next winter, that’s for sure. Hell, all of us will. And I’ll be spending the weekend mopping this floor.” She prattled on to a man at the counter as I ducked beneath the curtain of rain spilling from the gutter.