Spells for Forgetting(8)

The stream of tourists poured onto Main Street, but I followed the alley behind the buildings that edged along the water. Any minute, the fishermen would be headed back in with their morning catch and every shop would have its doors propped open. It was the tail end of apple picking season, one of the busiest times of year. In another couple of weeks, the ferry schedule would change and the island would fall quiet. That was when Saoirse’s demons would return and I’d be long gone before that happened.

By the time I reached the chapel at the end of the street, the rain was hitting the hood of my jacket in sharp taps. My boots mucked through thick piles of fallen autumn leaves and umbrellas opened one by one in the crowd as they cut left, toward the orchard. But I took the dirt road up into the trees to the right.

The giant evergreens that filled the woods stood impossibly taller than I remembered, and the thought made my throat feel tight. I’d never loved it here the way everyone else seemed to. To me, the island had always been a stone tied around my ankles, and everything that could have been was no more than the puddle of light on the surface as I sank. The only hope I’d had here was in the thought of leaving and I’d gotten my wish, even if it had looked different than I thought it would.

I could smell winter in the air, but it was still a ways off. It would be another couple of months before the snow began to fall and the island took on that unnerving silence. It was a hollow sound that didn’t exist anywhere else. That, too, was something I’d tried and failed to forget.

The hum of an old engine sounded at my back as I crossed into the trees and I kept my eyes ahead, my grip on the strap of my pack tightening. There was no way to stay unseen on this road. The only place it led was one of the few places the tourists didn’t go.

The safety of the Everdeen campus felt far away now. The old oak desk in my office, the stained-glass windows and narrow hallways of the buildings. I’d taken the job in Portland to make my life feel bigger, but even with a full classroom and the bustle of the university, it had somehow stayed small. Nights in my apartment were quiet, other than the rote greeting from the old woman who lived next door as I punched in the door code each evening. The only friend I had that transcended the bounds of the occasional after-work beer was Eric, and I’d never been any good at dating, either. That was one of many curses I’d taken with me from this place.

An old blue truck rattled past me at a clip too fast and just when I thought it would keep on going, the one working taillight glowed red. The tires popped on fallen twigs and buried stones as the truck pulled onto the nonexistent shoulder and I stopped mid-stride when I realized that I recognized it.

The last time I’d seen that truck was after Jakob Blackwood, the marshal, gave me a black eye.

The driver’s-side window squeaked as he rolled it down, and one big-knuckled hand hung over the door as he watched me in the side mirror, waiting.

I cursed under my breath, staring into the trees for a moment before I started walking toward him. This was one meeting I’d known I couldn’t avoid.

Exhaust pumped from the tailpipe, drifting into the road, and I stopped in front of the window. Jakob blinked before his gaze found me. His deep-set eyes were more gray than blue now, but the set of his mouth hadn’t changed. He was a proud, stubborn bastard and he still hid the whiskey in his veins fairly well.

“Guess I should have known someone would have already called you,” I said.

Jakob pulled the hat from his head and set it on the dash. “Get in.”

I looked up the empty road in both directions before I eyed the vacant seat on the other side of the truck. I hated the man, but I’d need him if I was going to do what I’d come to do.

The pack slid from my shoulder as I rounded the hood and jerked the stiff passenger-side door open. Jakob didn’t say anything as I climbed inside, shifting back into drive and taking off before I even had the door closed.

He kept his attention on the road. “What are you doing here, August?” His deep voice was barely audible over the sound of the engine.

“I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business, Jake.”

He looked at me then, his gaze refocusing as if he was suddenly unsure of who’d climbed into his truck. The marshal hadn’t taken his eyes off me in the months before I left Saoirse, and they held the same accusation now that they did then.

When he didn’t speak, I reached for my pack, opening it up to take out the small urn.

He looked at it, his lips parting and then pressing together.

“Came to bury her,” I said.

His jaw ticked as he fixed his eyes back on the road, but I still caught the flash of pain that surfaced there. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, sounding as if he meant it.

The words made me grit my teeth. He’d turned his back on us after what happened. They all had. I’d grown up with Jake filling the place that my father left when he took off. He’d taught me how to fish and change a tire. Picked me up from school when it was storming.

I swallowed hard, pinning my gaze out the window, where the rain was beading down the fogged glass. I didn’t like thinking about those days. In the end, he’d been just like the rest of them.

The sight of a few cottages appeared behind the swaying branches that lined the road. The Elsners’. The Hersches’. The Kellers’. I knew every house like I knew every row of trees in the orchard. I could still walk them in my mind. Sometimes, I did.