“I just, uh … I saw in the paper that Jenny passed. She was a student of mine. Back when I taught high school.” As he talks, my mind replays the pictures of him I found in my mom’s yearbook. “Haven’t seen her in … decades.”
“She moved around a lot.”
“Yeah. I heard that.”
An awkward pause hangs between us, and I hike my thumb over my shoulder. “You want to … go inside? The service is over. Everyone’s just doing the final respects thing.”
“No, no. I don’t want to intrude. I am curious, though. How do you …. How did you know her?”
“She was my mother.”
“Your mother?” There’s an edge of surprise in his tone, and he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “That’s interesting. I don’t suppose she had anything good to say about her favorite government teacher.” The laugh that follows is goofy and awkward, and somehow inappropriate for the mood.
“Um. We didn’t get along very well when she was alive.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.” He rolls his shoulders back and clears his throat again. “Say, I don’t suppose we could--”
“Hello, Isa.” The voice that interrupts is a deep rich sound that tickles my ear, and I lift my gaze past Boyd, to where Lucian stands behind him. Decked out in a perfectly tailored, crisp, black suit, he’s almost hard to look at, and my body instinctively responds, in spite of the bad terms we left on. Tucked in the pocket of his suit is a black rose that’s actually fitting for Lucian. Even at a funeral, though, he doesn’t belong in this town.
Boyd cranes his neck, and in doing so, stumbles back a step, chuckling as he catches himself. “Well, speak of the devil …”
I frown at that, not recalling any mention of Lucian in our conversation.
With one hand shoved in the pocket of his slacks, Lucian steps toward me, his other hand running across a day’s worth of stubble that draws my eyes toward the scar at his jaw. My heart literally aches at the sight of him.
“I’ll just … let the two of you have a moment of privacy.” Boyd steps down onto the sidewalk, twitchy and rolling his shoulders back, like he’s uncomfortable around the looming darkness that stands behind him. “Isa, we’ll catch up later.”
Ignoring him, I keep my eyes on Lucian, as he ascends the staircase. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard about your mother. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Crossing my arms, I peel my gaze away from him, noticing his car at the curb. The same car we almost had sex in, when I swore Lucian Blackthorne was the most incredible human being I’d ever met in my life. “I’m fine. I take it the roses were from you?”
“Yes. You look good.”
“It’s only been a week since I saw you last.”
“And I’ve thought about you every minute of every day since. It’s fucking maddening, the way you’ve infected my brain.”
I don’t bother to tell him that every night I’ve awakened in cold sweats, calling out his name. I’ve imagined his hands on me, his lips on mine, the lack of breath, the pounding of my heart, all the chaos that explodes around me when I think of him.
“Yeah, well. Too bad I don’t have a clue who the hell you really are.” I spin around to leave, but at the tight grip of my arm, twist to face him. “Let me go.”
“You’re the only person in the world who really knows me.” He gives a sharp tug that yanks me forward, and I fall into him. “Everything I’ve shown you is what I am.”
“I want to believe that. Believe me. I want to think I’m the only girl who cracked the Devil of Bonesalt. But I don’t think you’re that stupid, Lucian. I don’t think you’re that careless, to let some local girl into your world.”
He doesn’t respond to that, and instead traces a finger down my temple, his touch almost unbearable, as much as I’ve missed it. “I want you to come back. Come back to me.”
He cups my face and plants a kiss to my forehead, and I swear it takes every ounce of strength not to wrap my arms around him and get lost in his embrace. I want to, so badly. These last few days, I’ve felt lost, drifting. I’ve yearned for someone to pull my strings and ground me, to hold me down and keep me from losing myself.
“Whatever you need, just ask and it’s done,” he says.
“I need time.” I’ve spent the last few days convincing myself that Lucian killed Franco simply to protect me, without any other motive. That he isn’t the devil who tortures people for pleasure. “And answers.”
“Fair enough. I’ll give you time. But this thing between us? It’s happening, Isa.”
“We’ll see.” I glance back toward the funeral home, where I can see movement through the window of the viewing room. “I better get back.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Taking hold of my chin, he presses his lips to mine, and my head prods me to hang on tight and not let go. Instead, I break the kiss and step away, and if I thought my head was spinning before, I’ve gone full-on tilt-a-whirl.
He descends the staircase, the ease of his stroll like a man who can show up to a funeral without a care in the world, and leave as if he’s stolen the last sip of air.
I want to follow after him with blinders to what I’ve become privy to--the lies and truth that clash inside my head.
I turn around and head back inside the funeral home.
The ashes of my mother fill the urn that sits on my lap, while Aunt Midge drives us back to the house.
“She would’ve hated every second of that, your mother. Not one for attention.” Tears still weigh heavy in her voice, like she might break again.
“I never liked the attention, either.”
“You’d be surprised how much the two of you had in common.”
“Like what?”
“Piano, for one.”
I frown at that, staring down at the brass urn. “My mother played?”
“She sang and played and danced, and was smart and athletic. She was everything I wasn’t, and I spent years battling the jealousy.”
“Is that why you kept letting her in? Why you couldn’t turn her away?”
Staring toward the windshield, she shakes her head. “When you love someone, it’s hard to unlove them. They make mistakes, they do things you hate, things you don’t agree with, things that drive you absolutely mad, but when it comes down to it? You still love them. You can’t help it. I suppose that’s why I never really grasped the concept of Hell and the devil. The idea that God, or Jesus could turn his back on the ones he loves so much, just doesn’t make sense to me. Even if you murdered someone, Isa. I might be deeply disappointed, but to stop loving you? That’d be impossible.”
Her words somehow penetrate deeper than ever before, and I can’t help but think of Lucian.
“Aunt Midge, if I did something terrible, but I did it to protect you, could you forgive that?”
“Did you do something terrible?”
“No. It’s just a hypothetical.”
“Of course I’d forgive you. That’s what I mean. There is nothing stronger than love.”