“You took your necklace off,” I tell him, trying not to sound accusatory. He looks away and shrugs.
“I decided I don’t need it anymore. You can have it, if you want.”
I stare at him, my mouth open. “You haven’t taken that thing off since you got it, because mom liked the idea that you’re protected when you wear it.”
His icy blue gaze impales me. “Mom’s not here anymore, Calla.”
I swallow and it hurts. “I know that,” I answer, the words raspy. He nods.
“Good. So you can have it if you want it.” He gets to his feet wearily and my heart explodes into a puff of dust.
“I’ve gotta shower,” he says quietly and leaves without another word.
I’m quiet as I stare out the window, staring at the ocean. Boats glide on the horizon and I can’t help but wish I was on one, floating far, far away from here.
But if that were the case, I’d be sailing away from Dare. And I can’t do that. Not now.
I shower and brush my teeth, then lock my bedroom door before pulling out Finn’s journal. Curled up in my window, I force myself to read the words because I’ve been putting it off and now is the time. Flipping the mysterious tarot card absently over and over in my fingers, I stare at another of Finn’s strange symbols and read his words.
Death is the beginning.
Mors solum initium est.
The beginning beginning beginning beginning
I need to start
I startle as I read the scratched words, the ink ground into the paper like Finn had used all of his strength. He needs to start what?
A new beginning?
Or death?
My heart pounds hard against my ribcage as I mark my page with the tarot card, then cram the journal back between the mattresses before I clatter down the steps.
“Have you seen Finn?” I ask my father when I meet him on the stairs.
“No,” he answers. “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” I sigh because I’m so sick of him asking. “I just need to find Finn.”
I find him where I always find him lately, down by the woodshed, chopping wood. More wood, although we have fifteen piles already.
“Why do you keep doing this?” I ask him hesitantly. I approach him slowly so I don’t startle him because he’s holding an ax, after all.
He looks up at me, the light shining in his pale blue eyes.
“The exercise burns stress.”
“Ok,” I answer. “Finn, you’d tell me if you were feeling really bad, right? Like, you wouldn’t do anything stupid?”
His forehead wrinkles and he leans against the ax handle. “Stupid like what, Cal? What are you talking about?”
I sigh because he knows what I’m saying, he’s just trying to make me say the words.
“You wouldn’t try to hurt yourself, would you?”
The words taste hateful and awful, but I ask them anyway.
Finn stares at me seriously.
“Calla, if I wanted to hurt myself, I wouldn’t try. I’d just do.” But when I start to cry out, he hurriedly continues. “But no. I don’t want to hurt myself.”
I stare at him, desperately wanting to believe him, but so sure he’s lying.
“I think you should go to Group today,” I tell him slowly, gauging his reaction.
He shrugs. “Ok. I was planning on it anyway.”
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he answers firmly. “Let me finish here and then take a shower.”
He splits another piece of wood and tosses it into a new pile. I shake my head as I walk to the house. Dad will have enough wood to last five winters.
I hesitate at the porch, playing with the idea of going to talk to Dare, but as I stand there trying to decide, I see him pacing back and forth behind the cottage, talking animatedly on his cell phone. He paces up, waves his hands, his face set in stone, then he paces back, doing the same thing.
He glances up and sees me, and his dark eyes hold mine for just a moment, black, black, black as night, then he turns his back and paces away.
Who is he talking to so intently?
Questions swirl around me as return to my room to fold up Dare’s sheet so that I can take it back to him later. Who is he talking to? For that matter, as long as I’m asking questions, who is Dare here to visit? He’d said he was visiting someone in the hospital. He never said who, and he never said why he wanted to rent an apartment here when he lives in England. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own stuff and in my own fascination with Dare himself, that I’ve never asked.
That’s going to end today.
I wait patiently for thirty minutes because that’s got to be enough time to wrap up a conversation.
I take the sheet and knock on Dare’s door.
He opens it immediately and looks devastatingly handsome in a snug dark shirt that complements his dark eyes.
“Hey,” he greets me. “You look like you feel better.”
“Thank you for taking care of me last night,” I tell him, flushing a bit. It’s embarrassing that he saw me puke my guts up. “I’m a bit humiliated.”
“Don’t be,” he says politely, oddly formal considering I slept all night in his arms. He doesn’t make any kind of move to invite me in, but instead stands planted in the middle of the doorway.
“Well, I am,” I answer back in confusion. “Is something wrong? I can’t help but notice that we’re still standing on the porch.”
He shakes his head. “Of course not. I’m just a bit busy at the moment.”
He’s so cool and detached, sort of aloof. I stare at him, not sure what to say.
“Did you need something?” he prompts me, his eyes glinting in the light.
“I…yeah,” I stammer. I thrust the sheet at him. “I just came to give this back to you. And to get my shorts.”
“Sure. Hang on.”
And I swear to God, he closes the door in my face. I’m still stunned when he re-emerges a few minutes later with my shorts.
“Here you go,” he hands them to me.
I stare at him, never more confused in my life.
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
His face seems to soften for a minute, then it smooths back into an unreadable mask. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just busy. I’m sorry.”