Not One of Us(90)

I began to dig in earnest, upturning small clumps of clay mixed with sand. I only had a couple of minutes left until his patience ran out.

A tiny circle of silver glinted in the dark earth. Tears streaked my face as I held it up. The diamond was smaller than I remembered but was more beautiful, more precious than ever. I motioned for Zach to hand over the canteen and poured water over the ring, washing it clean.

“What do you think, Zach—should I wear it?”

“Ring,” he said, tapping my fingers.

I slipped it on. It felt right. Like this was where it belonged—attached to living flesh instead of buried underground. The time for mourning had long passed. I filled up the hole in the ground with the upturned soil and patted it down as smooth as I could. From the backpack I removed the LED tea light candle I’d brought, flipped the switch on, and set it atop the pile. I figured the battery would die sometime during the night. Maybe one day I’d return alone and light a real candle and stay until it burned out. For now, I had my brother, and that was family enough.

I took one last, lingering look at the turquoise sky visible through the canopy of ancient trees. “Forgive me, Mom?” I whispered. “I did what I thought was right. Zach’s in good hands. I promise.”

A gulf breeze rustled through the woods like a gentle affirmation. Mom had been a tender soul, unspoiled by Mimi’s inner darkness. Sometimes, as a child, I’d thought Mimi the stronger of the two, but today I knew different. With each generation that passed after Mimi’s tyrannical father, his influence had been diluted. I’d gather the best qualities from both of the women who’d raised me and move on. I stood, dusting dirt from the seat of my jeans, and smiled at my younger brother.

“Let’s go home, Zach.”





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my editors Megha Parekh and Charlotte Herscher for their assistance in developing my stories to their fullest potential. Their insight, vision, and editorial expertise are always spot on and delivered with large doses of clarity and kindness. I cannot thank you both enough for all you do for me.

And to my literary agent, Ann Leslie Tuttle of Dystel, Goderich & Bourret LLC, who was the editor of my very first published novel, a quirky mermaid paranormal romance/mystery that she spotted in the midst of thousands of manuscripts by unpublished authors. She remained my editor for numerous other books until, in a serendipitous turn of fate for me, she became my agent. Her unwavering advocacy means the world to me both professionally and personally. My deepest appreciation.