Spells for Forgetting, page 23
He propped himself up with one hand on the side of the truck clumsily, shaking his head. “I knew the minute you came back that this would happen. That you’d find a way to fuck everything up.” He laughed. “Nothing changes. After everything I’ve done for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to lie for me. In fact, you didn’t even give me a choice. And we both know you didn’t do it for me.”
He took three steps toward me, taking hold of my jacket and wrenching me toward him. “Fuck you, August!”
I shoved him off.
“Where were you when she had to take care of Noah? Huh?”
I swallowed down the nausea rising in my throat.
“Where the fuck were you when she buried Hannah? You weren’t here. I was.” He fumed. “But everyone wants you, right? That’s how it’s always been.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You think I’m an idiot? Lily was in love with you, you asshole.”
“You’re not an idiot. Which is why I don’t believe for a second that you just happened to not go to Washington State. And then just happened to get with Emery. You were after her the second I left. You forget that I know you, Dutch. Lily wanted me, fine. I didn’t want her. But you always wanted Emery. You were using Lily the same way she was using you, so don’t act like it broke your fucking heart.”
He leveled his gaze at me, his voice turning cold. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Emery’s the same desperate whore that Lily was, looking for someone, anyone, to climb into bed with her.”
I pressed my tongue to the back of my teeth, watching the glint in his eye. Before I could change my mind, I stalked past him, headed away from the truck. I wasn’t more than a few steps away when he started laughing again.
“You’re right. You were gone, August. And I didn’t even have time to be pissed at you about it, because all I could think was, I can finally fuck Emery Blackwood.”
I stopped mid-stride, watching my breath fog in the darkness before me.
“And I did. Over and over and over again.”
I was already walking back toward the truck, the beat of my footsteps inaudible over the sound of my racing heart. I couldn’t hear it when I took hold of his shirt and drove him backward. I couldn’t feel anything as I watched him stumble and hit the ground hard. I lifted my fist into the air and brought it down across his face, sending a flood of something hot through my veins. When I hit him again, I recognized it—that steady rage that coursed through me when I dropped the lantern.
I hit him again. And again. It wasn’t until his face was covered in blood and my fist slipped over his skin that I finally stood up off of him, the sound coming back into my ears. I blinked and the world came rushing back. The engine running. The woods. The pain in my hand.
I stepped backward until I was past the truck, eyeing the still shape of Dutch on the road. The headlights beamed over him, painting the road white, where only his boots were visible. And without a single feeling inside me, I turned and left him there.
Forty-Three
EMERY
I flicked on the lights and the buzz of the bulbs in the old outlets hummed in the still air. The pub smelled like ale, oiled wood, and freshly baked bread. Half of my childhood had been spent helping my dad serve beer to the tourists by day and to the residents of Saoirse by night.
After the orchard closed and the last ferry left, this place came alive with amber light, music, and laughter. In many ways, it was still my sanctuary. But I hadn’t seen my dad in days, and I hadn’t dared come to the pub when I knew he’d be here. After tonight, I doubted he would want to see me, either.
The ferry horn sounded in the harbor, followed by the call of seabirds hunting in the high tide. I willed myself not to look at the door. August hadn’t said if he was coming, I only hoped he would. If he didn’t, it meant that he was on that ferry to Seattle. That he was gone.
I didn’t have the letter, and for all I knew, it was blown out the open door, into the rain that night. But I did have the folder from the bottom drawer of my dresser. And I figured I’d leave it up to fate to decide whether I ever gave it to him. If August showed, I’d tell him what I knew. If he didn’t, I’d let it die with the rest of the secrets that strangled this place.
The door opened in a gust of wind, and August appeared against the dark backdrop of the street. His hair was windblown, his boots muddy, and I couldn’t manage to pretend like it didn’t matter. I was so happy to see him that I could feel the ache of it under my skin.
“Hey,” I said, coming around the bar to take two clean glasses from the shelf. I had butterflies in my stomach.
“Hey.”
“What’ll it be?” I lifted my chin to one of the empty glasses with a smirk, reaching for the brass tap. I was trying to make light of the moment, and August looked relieved by it. We were both tired of hard conversations.
“Lager.” He played along, making his way through the tables to one of the barstools. But the sight of him sitting there didn’t fit the images of the sometimes-awkward teenager I had filed away. He was a man now. Comfortable in his own body.
I picked up the glass and tilted the tap down, watching the white gold liquid fan against the side. When it was filled, I set it down in front of him. “Remember when we used to sneak in here and steal beer?” I said, before thinking better of it. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to pull them back in.
August smiled, but it fell a little, as if that particular memory stung when recalled. I knew that feeling. “I remember you puking off the edge of the dock in the middle of the night and having to hold on to you so you didn’t fall in.” He laughed suddenly, and the sound of it made me feel like the air was being sucked out of the room. I loved that sound.
“We were stupid,” I said, filling my own glass.
He nodded, picking up the beer with his left hand and taking a drink. “Yeah, we were.”
I let the quiet of the empty pub fall between us.
“Didn’t know if you would come,” I said.
“Me, either.”
My eyes flicked up, meeting his. He really did look so much the same as back then. His jaw was squarer and covered in a thicker scruff, but in his eyes, he looked just the same. I didn’t know why I hadn’t really been able to see it then—that pain that seemed to live there. He’d done a horrible thing, but I had the feeling that this was the first time I was seeing August Salt clearly.
I searched for something to say. I could feel the clock ticking down, and when August left Saoirse again, he wasn’t coming back.
“I guess you have to get back to your classes?”
“Not until next semester. I took a leave of absence when my mom got sicker.”
I ran a finger along the groove in the wood countertop. They’d still taken care of each other up until the end. “What exactly do you teach?”
He smiled, as if he was amused by the interrogation. “I have two classes right now. ‘Early Medieval History’ and ‘Archaeoscience and the Rise of Capitalism.’ ”
“Archaeoscience,” I repeated. It wasn’t what I would have guessed he’d end up doing, but somehow, it fit.
“What?”
“It’s just funny. I was the one who wanted to go to college.”
“Yeah. I think maybe that’s why I went.”
My hand slipped from the lip of the glass. I didn’t want to know what he meant by that. “Are you…” I wasn’t sure how to ask it.
“Married?”
I nodded.
“No. I don’t have anyone serious in Portland.”
I wanted more details than that, but I didn’t have the nerve to pry. I’d noticed the first day I saw him that he wasn’t wearing a ring.
“What made you stay?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
It was a sad answer, but it was true. There was nothing I could tell him about my life that he couldn’t guess, and the thought was embarrassing. I’d never had the reasons for leaving that he did, but I’d wanted a life that was my own. I’d wanted one with August.
“I guess when my mom got sick, I just stopped thinking about leaving. I felt like my dad needed me, but that’s probably just what I told myself because I was too scared to go.”
The words were more honest than even I’d expected. When he didn’t press, I was grateful.
He reached for the glass again, and my eyes focused on his right hand that was still tucked into his pocket. When he caught me staring at it, his jaw clenched.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I gave him a knowing look and he gave in, reluctantly pulling it from his pocket. My mouth dropped open when I saw it. The back of his hand was busted up, his knuckles bloodied.
“What happened?” I reached for him, pulling the hand toward me and spreading the fingers across my palm.
But when I looked up, August wasn’t listening to me. He watched my face from inches away, his eyes trailing down to where my hands were wrapped around his.
“What happened?” I said again, this time angrily.
“Dutch.”
I leveled my gaze at him, tilting my head to one side. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
When August didn’t answer, I dropped his hand on the counter and he winced as I turned on my heel, pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen. I pulled a clean towel down from the shelf and turned the tap to warm, soaking it.
“Guess you heard then,” I called out.
August stayed quiet.
I wrung out the towel and went back out to the bar, where August was draining his glass.
“He’s not a bad guy, you know,” I said.
“I know.”
I wasn’t sure why I’d felt the need to say it. Maybe because I knew what I’d put Dutch through. But I’d always been clear about what we were. He just hadn’t wanted to really believe it.
“Here,” I said, holding my hand open.
August hesitated a moment before he set his into it again, and he watched as I wiped the blood from the skin and inspected each finger. I felt the bones one by one, making sure they weren’t broken.
“He was drunk,” he said finally, as if that was some kind of explanation. “It didn’t go well.”
Of course he was. “He was angry you told me about Lily. I guess I should have warned you.” I dropped the rag on the counter.
We stared at each other, the ease that had been there between us a moment ago gone now. August lifted his empty glass between us.
“Can I get another or was that last call?” He was wearing a stiff smile.
I almost laughed. Now he was the one trying to make light of the moment. “Sure.”
I refilled his glass and came around the counter to take the stool beside his. I couldn’t help but notice that for the first time, it didn’t feel like we were strangers.
“You said you have something to show me?”
My mouth twisted to one side. I stared into my glass, asking myself one last time if I was sure. It took several seconds for me to reach inside my bag and finally pull the folder free. I dropped it between us with a slap and picked up my glass, gulping until my eyes watered. There was no going back now.
“What is this?”
“Something you should see before you go.”
His expression changed, eyes dropping to the folder for a moment before he picked it up. I watched as he opened it, reading over the words.
It was the deed to Salt Orchards.
He looked up at me again. “Where did you get this?”
“The records office,” I answered.
August leaned onto the bar, waiting.
“I went after your grandfather died to look at the will. I thought maybe there would be an address for you and Eloise or something.”
His mouth tilted as what I’d said sank in. I’d gone looking. He had to already know that, but it made me feel empty and naked before him.
“The deed to the orchard was filed, though.”
I took the papers from his hand, finding the last one and setting it down. I said nothing as he read it over slowly. When he got to the bottom of the page, the muscle in his jaw ticked again.
I set my finger on the signature that sat on the last line. His signature. “You didn’t sign this, did you?”
“No.” I watched as he slowly put it together.
“I knew it wasn’t your handwriting when I saw it.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said, almost to himself. “My grandfather left the orchard to the town when he died.”
That’s what everyone had been told. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to decide how much to tell him, how far I was willing to go.
“If he did, then why would they need you to sign it over?” I said.
I could see him figuring it out, the way I had, as he read Nixie’s signature below his.
He pressed a clenched fist against his mouth as he read over the document again. “What exactly are you saying?”
I drew in a long, measured breath. “I’m saying that Lily isn’t the only reason they weren’t happy you came back.”
Forty-Four
AUGUST
The morning ferry had come and gone and in an hour, my flight would be taking off from Seattle.
I wouldn’t be on it.
I cracked an egg into the pan, reading over the deed again as the kettle began to hum. The news that Henry had left the orchard to the town had surprised both my mom and me. He’d never wanted the town to have it, but in the end, I figured that he’d been forced to accept that I wasn’t coming back to Saoirse and that there was no one to give it to. Now it seemed the stubborn bastard hadn’t been so gracious after all.
I waved away the steam from the kettle when it began to fog my glasses, and I pushed them up my nose, reading my name again.
The date by the signature was almost four months after my grandfather died. According to Eric, that was enough time for the will to be probated and recorded. Once that was done, they’d only need a lawyer to transfer the deed and a notary as witness: Bernard Keller and Nixie Thomas.
If Emery was right, they probably weren’t the only ones involved. To pull this off would have taken the entire town council.
Before the fire, my grandfather was convinced the town was after the orchard. Once he was gone and there was no one here to stop them, they’d taken it. They sure as hell didn’t think I’d be back. And of all the people they could put in charge, Dutch Boden had landed the job. There was some kind of sick symmetry to that.
The kettle began to squeal and I picked it up, pouring as I finished the line of type I was reading. The water spilled over the rim of the cup and the kettle slipped from my fingers, splashing as it hit the counter.
“Fuck!” I flung the water from my hands, turning on the tap and letting the cold run over my knuckles. They were pink and swollen this morning, the skin cut up and stinging.
I set the kettle into the sink, abandoning the cup. I’d gone without a decent cup of coffee for more than ten days now. I could go one more.
A knock at the door sounded and I peered around the cabinets, eyeing the window. The top of Emery’s head was visible through the glass and I moved the pan from the burner, cursing the fact that I could still recognize her like that. I’d know her anywhere. Her hands, her frame. I could pick out the sound of her voice in a sea of people if I had to.
I came around the counter, crossing the living room and glancing down at my packed bag still sitting by the door. Emery looked up at me with tired eyes when I opened it. She was wrapped in a thick gray sweater, her hair haphazardly braided over one shoulder. A thermos was cradled in her arms.
“Is that coffee?”
“Smelled the burned grounds when I was here yesterday.” She handed it to me, staring at my face with an almost grin pulling at her lips.
“What?”
“Your glasses,” she said, the smile finally breaking in a slanted line. “I’ve just never seen you wear glasses before.”
I pulled them off, embarrassed, though I didn’t know why. Why did it feel so familiar, her showing up at my door with coffee and commenting on my glasses? Just laying eyes on her made me feel grounded in a way I never did.
“Did you talk to him?” She didn’t wait to be invited inside, stepping past me.
“Yeah.” I went back into the kitchen, pulling down another coffee cup from the cabinet. I’d had to walk up and down the road to find a signal to call Eric, but I’d gotten him long enough to get the answer I needed.
“What did he say?”
“He won’t really get a grasp on what’s going on until he sees all the paperwork. He’s requested the original will that was filed with the county. When he gets it, he’s going to call me.”
She nodded, but her gaze was on the countertop, as if she was lost in thought. Dark circles shaded the fair skin beneath her eyes and the angles of her face were more severe.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” I said, filling the mugs.
“I haven’t,” she muttered.
I watched as she picked at the loose thread of her sweater. She always used to do that. “What is it?”
“I just hoped he wasn’t actually a part of this. My dad.” I set down the coffee in front of her and she picked it up in both hands, like she was warming herself with it. “But he had to. They all had to know.”
“Why did you tell me if you thought he might be involved?” I asked, studying her. That wasn’t like Emery. The Blackwoods had always been tightly knit and loyal. I’d been cut out of that equation a long time ago. It had cost her something to give me the deed to the orchard. She didn’t owe it to me, but she’d done it.
“I’m just so tired of all the lying,” she said.
