Page 184 of Nightshade

“I’m sure you don’t know him as well as you think.”

“You stay out of my cabin. You ain’t got no right snooping around my things!” Garic barked, swiping for the frame behind her back again. “Gimme what’s in it!”

“Oh, right.” Evie unclipped the back of the frame and tore out a piece of paper, throwing it back at Garic. “Almost forgot to return your bullshit daily affirmations.”

“Wretched girl!” Garic practically dove for the paper that’d fallen in the snow, the wet seeping over the page and smearing whatever had been written on the other side.

Staring down at him, Evie chuckled. “Stupid old man and your stupid affirmations. Your wife left you and she isn’t coming back. She’s probably fucking someone else now, so there’s no point.”

“Hey!” Stepping closer brought Evie’s scornful glare swinging back to me.

Growling, Garic pushed to his feet clutching the sodden page, and hobbled off toward his cabin a short distance away.

I turned my attention back to Evie. “What the hell is your problem? Were you born horrible, or did this evolve over time?”

“I’d watch yourself, girl. You may be the boss’s latest fucktoy, but he doesn’t keep them around for very long. And when he decides to discard of you, guess who he’ll come looking for.” She didn’t bother to wait for my response, and instead, spun away from me, heading back toward the cathedral.

I didn’t care about her, or what she said, anyway. I was more concerned with Garic. Abandoning the opportunity to bite back, I headed toward the cabin. When I reached the porch, Garic was sitting on a rocking chair, straightening the edges of the paper on his thigh.

Just based on his surliness, I supposed the man didn’t cry much, but the abrupt movements of his hands and forced exhales told me he was pretty upset. “I didn’t see any harm in what you did.”

As I expected, he didn’t answer, but kept to his task of trying to save the ruined page. From where I stood, I could just make out a few smeared sentences:

My name is Garic Wilson.

I was born in Nebraska.

I had a beautiful wife.

Her name was Samantha.

She had green eyes and blonde hair.

She loved flowers in the spring and sunsets over trees.

It was at that moment I realized what it was, and a heavy sadness bloomed in my chest. “You’re trying not to forget her.”

His fidgeting with the paper stopped, and he pinched his lips together, as if to hold back his anger. “I won’t ever forget her. Man doesn’t forget his own wife.”

It made sense to me now. All that time, I’d thought Garic was just a disgruntled old curmudgeon. Mean for the sake of being mean.

He’d chosen to remember his pain, and carried it with him every day.

“She sounds lovely.”

“Marrying her was the best thing I ever did.” His thick brows furrowed together, as he resumed his paper straightening. “I don’t give a hoot what anyone here says. I’ll see her again.”

After my encounter with Anya, I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. Wasn’t my place, anyway, even if I was only one of the few who seemed to have an awareness of what Nightshade was. Even if I could remember my life and my past, for reasons that didn’t make sense. Besides, fate could be fickle, and if my circumstances were anything to go by, it didn’t always play by the rules, either.

So, instead of telling him he’d never see his wife again, I said, “Sometimes fate brings people back into our lives when we least expect it.”

Garic looked up from the paper, and unless I was mistaken, the shine in his eyes held a glimmer of hope. “You actually believe that?”

After staring thoughtfully for a moment, contemplating the question, I glanced back toward the cathedral off in the distance. One that held far too many coincidences for me to keep denying the truth. I turned back toward Garic with a half-smile. “I’m working on it.”

56

Jericho