Grave Phantoms
Page 82
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“Bo!”
His heart leaped. He swam toward her voice, arms cutting through the briny waves, until her shouts flooded his ears and he crushed her in her arms.
I’ve got you, he told her with his body. I’ve got you, and everything is all right.
TWENTY-NINE
Astrid couldn’t have guessed whether the swim to shore took thirty minutes or hours, but she was at times almost certain she wouldn’t make it. The water was shockingly cold, the waves rough, and she was too weak to tread water and had to rely on Bo to pull her along. The pounding surf towed them ashore toward a sandy stretch of land between a break in the cliffs, where neither of them moved for a long while. It was only because their bodies were wracked by intense shivers that they got to their feet and hiked up a trail bounded by coastal scrub, which gradually ascended until they spotted the dark lighthouse. Bo still had the keys to the cottage in his pocket—“Thank Buddha, Osiris, and Jehovah,” he exclaimed upon realizing it, though, at that point, they would have gladly broken a window to get inside—but they’d lost other things in the ocean, like his gun and the inner workings of her wristwatch.
“It’s ruined,” she said once Bo had stripped off their salty, wet clothes and wrapped them in a blanket near the wood-burning stove. She tapped the face of the watch, but it was no use.
“Maybe it can be repaired. We’re still alive, and that’s the most important thing, yes? They’re gone. All of them. They’re gone and we’re still here. That’s enough for now.”
She nestled closer, unable to get warm. Of course she was relieved to have survived that ordeal, though she worried that the taint of Max was still with her and wished Velma could confirm it was gone. But Bo was right: they’d won. Bruised and beaten, but still standing together.
At least until they’d have to telephone someone in the city to come get them. Would they slip back into their old lives? Sneaking around. Praying for a stolen moment alone when no one was watching or listening. Hiding.
“It’s not enough,” Astrid said. “I don’t want to merely survive.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can you do,” he said as he tightened his arms around her. “You survive as long as you can and wait for the right conditions to bloom.”
But what if those conditions never came? How long could they wait? She wanted an answer. Something definitive. A deadline when the waiting would end. But she knew Bo couldn’t give her that, so she just held on to him. She held on until the fire had warmed the ocean out of her bones. Until he lifted her into the small cottage bed. Until exhaustion pulled her into sleep. And when morning sun slanted over their faces, she woke with a clear head.
Yesterday’s nightmare was over. It was time to move on. She would tell him her new plan for the future. Their future.
“Happy New Year,” his voice said near her ear.
“Happy New Year.” She turned over to see his handsome face and curved a hand over his cheek. His hair was still matted with dried blood above his ear. “Does it still hurt?”
“My head’s killing me.”
“We should have called someone to get us last night. You need to see a doctor.”
He shook his head and ran a hand through her hair. “I wanted one more night with you.”
All they had done was sleep, but she understood. She wanted it, too. This togetherness. To wake up and feel his arm around her.
He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. “I think we need to talk about what happens next. About us.” Had he been reading her mind? Before she could agree, before she could even open her mouth to speak, he asked, “Do you love me?”
Her voice caught in the back of her throat. “So much.”
“Do you want this?” He didn’t explain, but she understood. This. “Knowing how hard it will be for both of us. Knowing . . . I can’t marry you. Do you still want this?”
“More than anything.”
He nodded briefly and blew out a long breath. “Then I want you to go back to school.”
Her hand stilled. “Back to school?”
“The semester starts in three days, so you’ll probably need to get on a train tomorrow or the next day.”
The heaviness that had lifted from her chest settled back inside as if it had never left. She sat up in bed, angry and hurt. “How can you say that? Did the last few weeks mean so little that you can just send me off with a pat on the back?”
He grabbed her shoulders, brow lowering severely. “Do you even need to ask me that? They mean everything, Astrid. They’ve turned my world upside down.”
“Then why do you want me to go?”
Brown eyes studied hers. His face softened. “Because I want you to be sure that school isn’t what you want.”
“It isn’t.”
“I want you to be sure,” he repeated. A plea. “And if it turns out that you change your mind, then we’ll find a way to make it work. It doesn’t change us. It’s not one or the other. Not us or school.”
This wasn’t her plan. Wasn’t what she wanted at all. She started to tell him what she had in mind. “But it’s not the only option. If—”
“Listen to me,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “If we’re going to do this, legally married or not, I need to be able to take care of you. I can’t do that from the basement of the Queen Anne. I need time to put things in order, to stand on my own. I need . . . to talk to Winter.”
His heart leaped. He swam toward her voice, arms cutting through the briny waves, until her shouts flooded his ears and he crushed her in her arms.
I’ve got you, he told her with his body. I’ve got you, and everything is all right.
TWENTY-NINE
Astrid couldn’t have guessed whether the swim to shore took thirty minutes or hours, but she was at times almost certain she wouldn’t make it. The water was shockingly cold, the waves rough, and she was too weak to tread water and had to rely on Bo to pull her along. The pounding surf towed them ashore toward a sandy stretch of land between a break in the cliffs, where neither of them moved for a long while. It was only because their bodies were wracked by intense shivers that they got to their feet and hiked up a trail bounded by coastal scrub, which gradually ascended until they spotted the dark lighthouse. Bo still had the keys to the cottage in his pocket—“Thank Buddha, Osiris, and Jehovah,” he exclaimed upon realizing it, though, at that point, they would have gladly broken a window to get inside—but they’d lost other things in the ocean, like his gun and the inner workings of her wristwatch.
“It’s ruined,” she said once Bo had stripped off their salty, wet clothes and wrapped them in a blanket near the wood-burning stove. She tapped the face of the watch, but it was no use.
“Maybe it can be repaired. We’re still alive, and that’s the most important thing, yes? They’re gone. All of them. They’re gone and we’re still here. That’s enough for now.”
She nestled closer, unable to get warm. Of course she was relieved to have survived that ordeal, though she worried that the taint of Max was still with her and wished Velma could confirm it was gone. But Bo was right: they’d won. Bruised and beaten, but still standing together.
At least until they’d have to telephone someone in the city to come get them. Would they slip back into their old lives? Sneaking around. Praying for a stolen moment alone when no one was watching or listening. Hiding.
“It’s not enough,” Astrid said. “I don’t want to merely survive.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can you do,” he said as he tightened his arms around her. “You survive as long as you can and wait for the right conditions to bloom.”
But what if those conditions never came? How long could they wait? She wanted an answer. Something definitive. A deadline when the waiting would end. But she knew Bo couldn’t give her that, so she just held on to him. She held on until the fire had warmed the ocean out of her bones. Until he lifted her into the small cottage bed. Until exhaustion pulled her into sleep. And when morning sun slanted over their faces, she woke with a clear head.
Yesterday’s nightmare was over. It was time to move on. She would tell him her new plan for the future. Their future.
“Happy New Year,” his voice said near her ear.
“Happy New Year.” She turned over to see his handsome face and curved a hand over his cheek. His hair was still matted with dried blood above his ear. “Does it still hurt?”
“My head’s killing me.”
“We should have called someone to get us last night. You need to see a doctor.”
He shook his head and ran a hand through her hair. “I wanted one more night with you.”
All they had done was sleep, but she understood. She wanted it, too. This togetherness. To wake up and feel his arm around her.
He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. “I think we need to talk about what happens next. About us.” Had he been reading her mind? Before she could agree, before she could even open her mouth to speak, he asked, “Do you love me?”
Her voice caught in the back of her throat. “So much.”
“Do you want this?” He didn’t explain, but she understood. This. “Knowing how hard it will be for both of us. Knowing . . . I can’t marry you. Do you still want this?”
“More than anything.”
He nodded briefly and blew out a long breath. “Then I want you to go back to school.”
Her hand stilled. “Back to school?”
“The semester starts in three days, so you’ll probably need to get on a train tomorrow or the next day.”
The heaviness that had lifted from her chest settled back inside as if it had never left. She sat up in bed, angry and hurt. “How can you say that? Did the last few weeks mean so little that you can just send me off with a pat on the back?”
He grabbed her shoulders, brow lowering severely. “Do you even need to ask me that? They mean everything, Astrid. They’ve turned my world upside down.”
“Then why do you want me to go?”
Brown eyes studied hers. His face softened. “Because I want you to be sure that school isn’t what you want.”
“It isn’t.”
“I want you to be sure,” he repeated. A plea. “And if it turns out that you change your mind, then we’ll find a way to make it work. It doesn’t change us. It’s not one or the other. Not us or school.”
This wasn’t her plan. Wasn’t what she wanted at all. She started to tell him what she had in mind. “But it’s not the only option. If—”
“Listen to me,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “If we’re going to do this, legally married or not, I need to be able to take care of you. I can’t do that from the basement of the Queen Anne. I need time to put things in order, to stand on my own. I need . . . to talk to Winter.”
