The Wish Collector
Page 41

“You tried to jump off a bridge?”
The man chuckled though there was something painful in it. “Nah. Drugs and alcohol were my ledges.”
“Oh.” Eddy turned toward the water again, looking into that swirling vastness once more. It looked choppier than it had before. Colder, darker.
“Thing is,” the guy said from behind him. Eddy looked back at him again. “Thing is, we could use a guy like you. A retired soldier who’s already trained.”
Eddy frowned. “Use me for what?”
“The Brass Angels.”
“You’re a Brass Angel?” Eddy had heard of them. They were a volunteer crime-fighting force in New Orleans who patrolled high-crime neighborhoods.
“I’m the head of the New Orleans chapter as a matter of fact.” The man moved closer. “Name’s Augustus Bryant.”
“Eddy Woods.” Augustus took another step closer, reaching his hand out to shake.
Eddy reached out tentatively, taking it. Augustus gripped his hand and though his hand was being held tightly, something inside of Eddy loosened. Eddy pulled in a huge breath.
“Come on down, Eddy. Maybe we can talk about how you can fit with us.”
Eddy paused for the fraction of a moment, recalling the wish he’d made earlier that day. The wish he’d called stupid a few minutes ago. I wish I had a reason not to jump from the CCC tonight. Anything.
Anything, he’d asked for. Well this was something wasn’t it? Hell, it felt like something. It felt like the first something in a long, long time, maybe since that day he’d seen his buddies blown to smithereens in front of his face. That day when he’d stood up with nary a scratch on him as the blood of the men he’d been laughing with moments before rained down from the sky to drench the sand in shades of scarlet death.
Eddy gripped Augustus’s hand and stepped down from the ledge. Augustus didn’t let go.
“I know, man. I do. Feels like it’s too painful to live in a world where God allows things to happen like what you’ve seen. Nothing makes sense. No purpose.”
“Yes,” Eddy said, something else unknotting inside of him, making him feel weak.
“Yeah,” Augustus said. “Yeah.” He looked straight into his eyes. “There’s light in the darkness, man. I promise you. And you’re going to be a part of it. There’s no one better than you to be a part of it.”
Eddy swiped at the tears that had filled his eyes, suddenly so overwhelmed with gratitude for the trickle of hope moving swiftly through him that he could only nod.
“Come on out, guys,” Augustus called, and Eddy’s head whipped to the side where two men emerged. As they stepped from the shadows, Eddy’s heart jolted. One of them was wearing a skeleton mask that covered half his face.
“What the fuck?” Eddy muttered.
Augustus chuckled. “That’s what I thought too.” He gestured to the man without the mask, the man who didn’t look much less sinister with the tattoos marking up his face. “That’s Ruben.” Then he pointed to the guy wearing the skeleton facade. “And that’s Jonah.”
Jonah walked forward and shook Eddy’s hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Eddy.” There was something in his eyes, some deep solemnity. Eddy didn’t know the exact reason why, but he bet any guy who went around wearing a mask had some kind of story to tell.
“Jonah.”
Augustus smiled, putting one hand on Jonah’s shoulder, and one on Eddy’s. He looked at them, something that looked like pride shining from his knowing eyes. “We’ve got ourselves a kickass team.”
Eddy laughed. Nothing about him felt kickass, but something about the motley crew surrounding him offered quiet calm. And he could live with that. He could live with that.
**********
“How are you, Jonah?”
“I’m good.” He smiled as he swiped the rain that had fallen earlier that evening off the garden bench and sat, leaning back and wiping his wet palm on his sweatshirt.
“You sound good. I can hear it in your voice.”
He leaned his head back, closing his eyes to the stars, bringing the memory of her lips to the forefront of his mind.
That achy pulsing took up in his veins, and he supposed he should hate it—hate that it signified what he couldn’t have—but he couldn’t manage to do it in that moment. He felt too good, too filled with something that felt dangerously like hope.
Jonah heard something that sounded like a drawer opening and closing. “Are you just getting home?”
Clara sighed. “Yeah. Late practice. When I get off the phone with you, I’m going to take a hot shower and then fall face first into bed.”
He couldn’t let himself think too much about that hot shower and less about Clara in bed, but the face first thing made him think of her fall. “How’s your head?”
“Better. I had a bit of a headache earlier today, but a couple more Tylenol took care of it.”
She paused for a moment. “Jonah, I didn’t ask why you were following me last night. I don’t mind,” she rushed on, “in fact, I’m grateful you were, but . . . well, why? Why do you follow me?”
Jonah opened his eyes, his gaze moving between the stars that made up the big dipper.
It was so clear tonight, so vibrant, and bright. Those stars, they’d watched it all unfold, every story since the beginning of time. He wondered how many times their hearts had been broken by what they saw.
“Because I want to be near you,” he said without considering his words. I crave you. I want to protect you.
There was a small pause and Jonah’s heart jumped. He sat up, blinking. “I’ll stop,” he said, letting out an uncomfortable chuckle. “I wasn’t always this creepy. It’s just—”
“Stop,” she said softly. “I want to be near you too. You don’t have to follow me anonymously. I want to be near you.”
Jonah’s heart jumped again, this time with happiness, though that thread of disappointment, of the knowledge that he could never have more than what they had right that moment, pulled at his joy, making it feel tight and breakable.
“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, perhaps sensing that his thoughts were meandering toward bleakness, “I called because I looked through Justin’s folder during lunch today.”
Justin’s folder. He loved that his brother was a real person to her, loved hearing her acknowledge him. “Yeah? What’d you find?”
“Something interesting, actually. Do you know a lot about Reconstruction?”
“The basics, I guess. That after the Union won the Civil War and millions of slaves were freed, there were lots of societal challenges.”
“Yes. And did you know that the man Astrid Chamberlain married, Herbert Davies, was a champion for the rights of former slaves during that time?”
Jonah frowned. “I didn’t know that, but I never knew a lot about Herbert Davies.”
“Apparently, he was a prominent activist. I still need to read through all the information your brother printed, but what’s really interesting is that some of what I read implies that his wife, Astrid, worked alongside him in his efforts. There are letters included in the file where they trade ideas about his work.”
“Huh,” he said. “I mean, it’s good to hear that one of my ancestors was on the side of right. But what do you take from all that?”
“I don’t know yet.” Her voice was thoughtful. “I guess it speaks to Astrid’s later beliefs on the subject of slavery. And it makes me question what her role may have been in her stepsister’s tragedy. Nothing that I’ve heard, until this, indicated Astrid might have been sympathetic to Angelina’s circumstances, or that she might have disagreed with her family’s owning of slaves.”
“Huh,” he said. Although in all honesty, Jonah couldn’t see how the information shed any more light on what may have happened so long ago in the very place where he was sitting.
He glanced at the broken fountain, empty except for the small amount of accumulated rain and the leaves that had fallen into it and turned to muck. Right there. Right there was where Angelina had felt so barren of hope that she’d taken a razor blade to her own wrists. A tiny shiver went down his spine.