Page 43 of One Last Rainy Day
To say that whatever feelings I have for my aunt are complex would be a gross understatement. In the last handful of years, we’ve come to an understanding of sorts. In no way do I view her as a parent, but a parent is what she’s tried to resemble as of late—more recently in the months she’s convinced herself her death is imminent. Only escalating her illness with the way she treats her body, Delphine’s been trying to pass down what nuggets of wisdom she feels are fitting for me. To her credit, I’ve been listening.
For the most part, our efforts have proven worth it. We’ve salvaged what relationship we’re capable of—unless, during our conversations, I’m reminded of her cruelty early on.
Admittedly, seeing her so weak and terrified has beaten a lot of the resentment out of me. Even though a raging alcoholic, she was once a force to be reckoned with. A force that, at one point, Tobias and I found impossible to manage. Amidst her drunken ramblings over the years, some of her logic as Tobias, Sean, Tyler, and I strategized, was brilliant.We put it to use—especially her insight on fighting the machine we all loathe. In that, she’s inadvertently been a part of rearing the soldiers we’ve become, even if she lost the war of having her own role in our movement.
If and when Delphine loses this last fight, I’m unsure of how I’ll feel or what, and the idea of that has me mindlessly filtering channels as Cecelia softly whispers, “Romans 8:38-39.”
A flip of pages sounds between my continuous channel clicks as Delphine recites the designated passage. “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height or depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
A brief silence ensues before Tatie speaks up with a shake in her voice, her question posed to Cecelia. “Do you believe that’s true?”
Turning, I’m slammed into by the sight of Cecelia kneeling at Delphine’s feet as she offers more words of comfort. “Those are the only verses I’ve memorized. So, I guess, maybe, I want to believe it.”
Delphine’s eyes slowly lift to mine, and Cecelia’s deep-blue gaze follows. The second we connect, a tidal wave of awareness crashes into me. That’s when I see it, fuckingfeelit, and I’m not the only one. A heartbeat later, Delphine confirms it with a French whispered warning. “Elle est trop belle. Trop intelligente. Mais trop jeune. Cette fille sera ta perte...”She is too beautiful. Too smart. But too young. This girl will be your undoing...
*
Whoosh. Whoosh.
“What happened to your parents?”
Cecelia’s question during the drive back to King’s reverberates through the cabin of my Camaro as I exit, leaving her in the passenger seat. Feeling her heavy gaze following me as I stalk away, I don’t bother to acknowledge Sean, who stands shrouded in the dark just outside the bay. His own calculating stare adding weight to hers as I make a beeline for my toolbox while my heartbeat thunders in my ears.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Grabbing my toolbox from the garage, I press through the backdoor heading through our littered graveyard of forgotten cars toward the Buick.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
There’s always been an undertow-like grip in Cecelia’s gaze. A grip and drag I’ve successfully managed to dodge—until tonight—when she glanced up at me from where she knelt at another unknown enemy’s feet, her empathy and humanity on full display.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
That exchange was a bitch slap, forcing me to finally acknowledge everything I’ve been purposefully overlooking when it comes to Cecelia.
Propping the hood of the Buick, I plug in the extension cord attached to the shop light before sifting through my tools. Intent on losing myself in monotonous work, I toss them around as those seconds threaten to burn into memory while the goddamn whisper I’ve heard multiple times snakes its way in.
She knows.
The fuck she does, but our earlier exchanges indicatedotherwise as she picked up on every unspoken word between us.
She undoubtedly felt my annoyance with the fast conclusions she drew during our earlier errand. Not a minute later—while stowing away my gun—temptation reared its unwanted head as my fingers brushed her skin, gathering the rapidly building electricity as it pulsated between us. Our lips so fucking close it would take little to no effort to erase the distance and finally get a taste.
Not long after—while rolling through the drug store pickup—Cecelia’s jealousy emanated from the back seat, jealousy she didn’t bother to mask as the pharmacist eye-fucked me. She even took pleasure when Delphine slung insults toward the girl—as I did when I busted her, meeting her gaze in the rearview. That pulse pinged and lingered through the Camaro, even while Delphine rode passenger.
Sidestepping those urges was becoming first nature for me until those few seconds of eye contact in Delphine’s living room. The final straw was when Cecelia prodded me with the million-dollar question on the drive back to the garage. The answer to which would solve a lot of Cecelia’s mystery regarding me.
“What happened to your parents?”
My inclination was to reply with something along the lines of “your father found out about my parents’ plans to expose him, so he staged a plant explosion to silence them while scaring the fuck out of anyone else with ideas of attempting the same.”
That reply was suppressed even as it was constructed because of the concern in her tone—forme.
I could end this charade now if I wanted to. But somethingabout the way she spoke to Roman earlier today had me considering Sean’s pleas to try to see around the guilt by association.
What I didn’t expect was for it to happen. But in those short seconds, what I saw—felt—forced that disconnect.
For the first time, I saw nothing but her.
