Spells for Forgetting(98)

“You know, I always thought you loved her,” I said.

“I did.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. I hadn’t expected him to answer at all, much less admit it. People had been saying it for my whole life. That Jake had been in love with my mom for years before I was even born. That was one of the reasons the town believed he didn’t want to find the evidence to have me charged with murder.

“I don’t think it was any kind of secret.” His head tilted a little to one side. “I would have done anything for Eloise. And I did.”

My brow cinched. Whatever he was referring to filled the room with a deeper cold. The look in his eye was hollow, his voice distant.

“Then why’d you turn against her?”

“I didn’t.”

“All right. Why’d you turn against me? You know I didn’t kill Lily. You knew it the very first time you sat me in your office and asked me.”

His eyes shifted away from me. “We do what we have to do, don’t we?”

We weren’t talking about me or my mom anymore. “Emery.” The moment I said her name, his jaw clenched.

Emery was maybe the only thing in the world Jake cared about more than my mom. He’d had a choice, and he’d made it.

“Was she happy? Eloise?” he asked, studying my face for the answer.

If there was ever a soft underbelly to Jakob Blackwood, this was it. Right here. And if I wanted to, I could gut him. But I couldn’t pretend like I didn’t understand what he’d done and why. All these years, I’d thought he abandoned us, but he’d been trying to protect Emery. At risk to himself and anyone else who got in the way.

“Maybe, in a way,” I answered honestly.

He let out a long breath, giving me a nod. “Good.”

I had no idea if my mom had been happy in Prosper. She hadn’t been herself, that was true. But sometimes I’d thought she’d become someone else and she’d found a way to live with that.

“You know, if all of this is about the orchard, you can have it.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

I swallowed hard when his expression didn’t change. He’d already made up his mind about whatever we were doing up here. “Then what are you going to do?”

“I told you, we do what we have to.”

Bright, white light flashed on the window behind him and Jake stilled. I could just barely hear the sound of tires as he stood and paced to the door.

My pulse climbed, my hands slick where they were tied behind me. Two car doors slammed, followed by footsteps. My breath hitched as Jake turned the knob and the door opened. But when I saw who stood there, I froze.

Leoda Morgan.

The hood of her jacket was pulled up over a knit hat, and her small face was turned toward me. Jake stood well over a head taller than her and he opened the door wider so he could step outside.

She said nothing before the door closed and then there was the sound of voices. It was too muffled to hear over the roar of the wind and the waves crashing at the bottom of the cliffs.

My heart was at a sprint now, the sting of gooseflesh rising on my arms. Whatever was going to happen, it was bad. I could feel it.

I jerked at the binds tied around my wrists, rocking the chair with the force of it. But then the door was opening again, and Jake came back inside, pulling the knife from the pocket of his jeans.

“What are you doing, Jake?”

He didn’t answer, coming around me. A second later, I could feel the tug of the ropes as he sawed through them. When my hands were free, he yanked me up by my shirt, shoving me forward.

“What’s going on?” I glanced to the open doorway, where the headlights still glared.

Jake reached into his jacket and pulled the gun from his holster, holding it at his side. “Walk.” There was a finality in the way his eyes met mine, making my stomach drop.

I turned slowly before the sharp click of the gun sounded behind my ear. If there was a way out of this, I couldn’t see it. We were up on the east side of the island, where no one would hear a gunshot or the sound of shouting.

“Walk,” he said again.

I took a step toward the open door, then another. When I came down the stairs, Leoda was waiting, her breath fogging as she watched me. Behind her, Bernard Keller was standing with only his legs awash in the headlights.

Jake shoved me past the truck, toward the almost full moon that was rising over the cliffs. The tall grass that filled the meadow swayed back and forth around us and when we reached the edge, I stopped. Below, the foam of white crashed and dissolved on the stretch of black rocks.

“Give me your wallet.” Jake’s deep voice was closer now.

It settled in my mind, all at once, what was about to happen. He hadn’t brought me up here to scare me or threaten me. I was about to die.

The wind jutting up the rockface whipped around me as I turned to face him. “You don’t have to do this, Jake.” Nausea climbed up my throat.

I couldn’t feel my hands. Or the ground beneath my feet. I wasn’t even sure my heart was beating anymore.

“You shouldn’t have come back here, August,” he said. And he looked as if he meant it. As if he didn’t want to do what he was about to. But he was going to do it anyway.

The churn of the water and the scream of the wind filled my head before the faint sound of something else made me flinch.