I stumble back, pulling Jude alongside. My ears ring as I push my way through the crowd, the dread I’d felt between my ribs sinking into my stomach. We reach the doors, and I yank my hand from Jude’s. I stalk away from the hall, from the people on the street.
Head down, Jude follows me in silence. I can’t look at him; I can barely breathe through the pain in my chest. Part of me didn’t believe it would happen—even now I can’t fathom that men will be hunting sirens as soon as tomorrow.
I reach the gates of St. Cecilia’s. Morning fog lingers over the yard, creeping across the grass and slanted headstones.
Without looking at Jude I say, “I can get myself home from here.”
He doesn’t move. “Are you sure you don’t want—”
I turn toward him. He takes off his cap, holding it in both hands. I can see his eyes, how soft and sad they are. “Moira,” he says, “I want to help you.” His voice wavers, and he swallows hard. “Why won’t you let me help?”
I look back at the churchyard. The wind nips at my fingers, and I feel that numbness extend to my heart.
“I’d like to be alone.”
“Moira, please…”
Turning on him, I hiss, “What did I say?” My hands are fists at my sides, and the darkness inside me surges, set on doing damage. “Just leave me alone, Jude Osric.”
He takes a single step back. With the look on his face, it’s as if I’ve slapped him. Guilt rushes in like a tidal wave, crushing me beneath its weight.
His eyes flit away from mine. In a small voice he says, “Right, then,” and his mouth twists, as though he’s trying to conceal his sorrow, to stow it away inside himself.
He brushes past me to continue down the street. I half want to call him back, but my pride is too great to allow it. Instead, I watch him go, watch as he ducks his head and buries his hands in his pockets.
He doesn’t look back.
I push open the gate to the churchyard. It’s quiet here, and cold, the smell of wet earth and stone so strong I taste them on my tongue. The stones are dark and discolored, the salt air eating at their edges. I wander through the rows until I come to the foot of my father’s grave.
In Memory of
GAVIN ALEXANDER
Loving Husband and Father
I sink to my knees, heedless of the damp. I trace over the letters carved deep into the stone and close my eyes, wondering if he sees me from where he is.
“I’m sorry, Da,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t…”
A lump rises in the back of my throat.
“They’ll be going out tomorrow to hunt the sirens. I tried to stop it. I tried to keep them safe. Now everything is falling apart, and I don’t… I don’t know how to put it right.” I curl up, digging my fingers into the wet grass. “If you were here, you could fix this. I know you could.” I grit my teeth as the tears I’ve kept in check well up and spill onto my cheeks. “I need you here, Da.”
In the silence of the graveyard, I tip my forehead to the earth. “I wish you could come back. I wish the Osrics would come back. I miss you all so much. Every night I wonder if it’ll hurt less in the morning, and it never does.”
Then I start to cry. And once I start, once I let it out, I can’t seem to stow it back away inside me. I think I won’t be able to stop.
“Da,” I choke out, “what am I supposed to do?”
A long while later, when I’m worn through and shivering in my coat, I catch the sound of footsteps. I scrub my face with my sleeve and look at who’s come to collect me. She stands with her hands clasped, melancholic. Her eyes regard the headstone before settling on me.
“Moira,” says my mother, “let’s go home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
AFTER WE GET IN, I wash up, slip on a clean dress, and look myself over in the mirror. I’m still red-eyed and wan, but neither is a lasting mark. If I’m to save the sirens, it won’t be done crying over my father’s grave. I also doubt it’s something he’d like seeing.
In the kitchen, my mother has prepared tea, and I take my seat at the table. As I do, my thoughts turn to Jude Osric. I fidget with the butter dish, biting my lip. I’ll have to go apologize to him.
My mother sits down across from me. I ask her, “How did you know where to find me?”
“Mr. Osric came by the house,” she tells me. “Said I should check on you.” She holds my gaze over her teacup, and her expression softens. “He seemed quite concerned.”
“I kissed him the other day.”
I keep my voice casual, glancing away from her as I set my teacup in its saucer. The words are meant to be an olive branch between us—a secret I’m prepared to share. And I prefer to tell her of my relationship with Jude myself, rather than have her hear it secondhand from someone else.
She stills, but the pause lasts only for a moment.
“Do you love him?”
I look up, startled. It’s not what I expected her to say. Judgment, I anticipated. A lecture on impulsiveness, perhaps, a word of caution. Not questions of the heart.
My cheeks warm as I stare at the plates cluttering the table. “I think I’ve loved him for a long while.”
My mother nods like I’ve told her something indisputable. “He seemed in much better health at the meeting. How’s he getting on?”
“He’s quite well, I believe.”
Or he was before I snapped at him. I think back on his face when I told him to leave, the hurt in his eyes before he walked away.
My heart aches as I remember I left my violin on Jude’s kitchen table.
“Tomorrow,” my mother starts, “I don’t want you going near the harbor. You’ll come into town with me.”
Imagined possibilities flare to life in my mind’s eye: the hunting boats casting off with the tide, cans of poison piled in the boathouse, siren blood staining the pier as their bodies are carried ashore.
I swallow.
It isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it happen. Jude and I will catch Thackery, and this whole business will be put to rest.
I wish I’d not missed Mass on Sunday. A few prayers seem more than in order.
Quietly I say, “You can’t keep me from the harbor forever.”
My mother purses her lips, but she doesn’t push the issue. Silence falls between us, but it feels tainted, burdened, weighed by the unknown.
After our tea I head out, making my way toward the lighthouse.
The sky is dove-gray and the first drops of rain land in my hair, but I tuck my chin into my coat collar, continuing along the path. The blue-and-white tower stands stark against the gloom, its light arcing out to sea. I set my sights on it as I cross the moors.
When I’m close, an inexplicable shiver runs over my spine. Something feels… off. I hesitate, studying the space in front of me, until I realize—the front door is ajar.
Not all the way open, just a thin gap where it hasn’t been set on the latch. Except Jude never leaves the door unlatched. Not that I can remember.
I suddenly feel very, very cold.
I’m left at a standstill when I reach the threshold, staring at the bright blue door. I imagine Detective Thackery coming to call while I was busy sobbing over what was already lost. I imagine Jude dying, Jude dead, his blood darkening the floorboards.