by Meg Collett
Her shoulders started shaking and the tears came faster. Someone else probably could have comforted Kyra with just a few simple words, but she knew none of them. But she did know the particular grief of losing a mother early in life.
In case Kyra felt as alone as Violet sometimes did, she closed the distance between them and took Kyra’s hand. She squeezed it to let Kyra know that at least right now, right here, she wasn’t alone.
Violet stood there as Kyra cried, their shoulders touching slightly, the stone angels silent around them, and the yellow petals fluttering in the salty breeze.
It was all she had to offer her friend.
* * *
Back home, after saying goodbye to Kyra and finishing her work at the cemetery, Violet biked up the hill to find Arie’s truck parked in her driveway.
She drew to a stop, the tips of her toes going to the ground for balance as she looked around.
He wasn’t nearby, or she couldn’t see him in the pre-dusk light. She doubted he’d let himself into her house—he respected her privacy too much for that—so he was working somewhere outside.
She thought about his leg and some of the thoughtless tasks she’d written down, and her heart panged with fear for him. She swung off her bike, letting it clatter to the ground, and rushed across the yard toward the lighthouse up on the hill.
The wind picked up, and far below, the waves crashed against the rocks, coating the air with dense moisture that dampened her face and weighed her shirt against her skin. She crested the little knoll between her house and the lighthouse and drew to a stop.
Arie stood in the wildflower field, his back to her as he moved through the hip-tall grass, his hands laden with a thick load of already plucked flowers. When he found another one, he pulled the bloom, his movements slow and careful and his eyes on the grass. He was oblivious to her standing behind him on the knoll.
She was about to call out to him, when he suddenly stopped and looked toward the bluff and the ocean below. Even from where she stood she could tell his eyes were closed, his mouth forming words that were impossible for her to hear. She wouldn’t have wanted to hear them anyway. The moment was a private one, and she’d caught him in a space of time when he was coming unbound a bit, his body swaying and his chest expanding.
She wanted to back away, but she wondered what he was thinking about, if he was praying, and who his prayer was for. She got her answer as he walked to the cliff edge, the red flowers tucked in a thick bunch in his arms.
One by one, he let the flowers fall over the edge. The spiraling wind would carry them out into the water. He moved deliberately as he released each bloom, his head bowed against the wind. The blooms in his hand resembled something more than just an infernal red weed. It looked personal, as if he were letting go of a friend he was saying a prayer for.
Violet eased back down the hill and returned to her house, leaving him to his moment.
Back on her porch, she sat on the stairs and waited, her arms wrapped around her knees. As the sun was tucking itself away into the horizon, Arie walked back. He spotted her easily enough and waved.
Once she was within earshot, he said, “I figured you were at the cemetery.”
“Just got back.”
Surprising her completely, he thumped up the steps and sat down heavily next to her. He was so close that their shoulders touched, his arm against hers. He sighed, and she felt his bones ease back into more restful positions inside his body.
The urge to tuck herself against his side compelled her so strongly she had to clench her teeth and remind herself they were barely more than strangers. Possibly friends, but nothing more.
“You don’t drive?” he asked, eyes on her bike, a heap of metal lying in the middle of the driveway.
She shook her head. The flash of the Lincoln and her mother’s face rising in the rearview mirror blinked through her mind.
“Another task down,” he said once her dark memories had cleared from the air.
“Oh, really?” she asked casually. “Which one?”
“Let’s put it this way: I now understand why you hate those red flowers.”
She put her chin in her hand and looked at him. “How many hours did it take you?”
He winced and rubbed at his stump. “Too many.”
“Arie,” she whispered, “please let me redo the list. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Why? You think I can’t do it?”
“I think,” she murmured, turning away, “I’ve given you a good excuse to prove something to yourself.”
He stilled next to her.
She licked her lips and forced herself to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Ever.”
The silence between them stretched to the point where she started going back through her words, wondering which ones had offended him.
“I think I’m proving something to myself,” he said.
There were times she truly hated herself beyond just looking weird and dressing oddly. She hated those things at times, but in rare instances, she hated herself and the way she simply was, because it was never enough. Like with Kyra earlier this afternoon and every other moment in her life when she just didn’t know what to say. She was useless.
She was still staring at him, feeling helpless, when he put his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her against his side and enveloped her in his warm vetiver scent. His plaid shirt rested against her cheek, and for one brief instant, her heart threatened to rear up in her throat and she wanted to pull away, but the moment quickly passed, and like she’d felt from him earlier, her bones eased inside her body and she leaned against him.
“I’m fine, Violet,” he whispered. His voice rumbled through his chest against her cheek, and she told herself she always wanted to be this close to feel his voice from now on. “I tell myself it’s just a leg. Others lost so much more out there. The moment that IED blew, I thought it was all over. I thought we were all gone. I don’t think it’s my leg I’m adjusting to. I think it’s that moment. It changed me. I’m trying to figure out how to move past it.”
“Do you?”
He looked down at her, but she kept her cheek against his shirt, her eyes on the darkening yard in front of them. “Do I what?”
“Do you get passed it? Maybe that moment was supposed to change you. You were doing a service out there, and true service must come at a price. You paid the price.”
“Except it impacted my entire life. I step on that moment every day, all day long.” He rapped his knuckles against the fiberglass socket of his prosthetic, the sound muffled beneath his pants but still there.
She turned her face against his shoulder so her lips brushed against his shirt as she said, “I think life is about stepping on many of those moments, right?” She eased back to gauge whether she was saying all the wrong, most awful things. Because who was she? On some days, she couldn’t even leave the house for the fear in her heart. She had no idea what it was like to be a solider fighting in a war, but she was human. She could try to understand. “You just limp a bit as you step through life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
The sky out by the lighthouse was burnt red, the clouds loose tendrils fading to a murky orange. The way the last bit of sunlight shone through the top of the forgotten building, it looked as if the old light was back on, beaming out across the sea. The dusk cast just the right amount of shadows that the lighthouse appeared the way it had once been: a proud stand against the night’s perils, a welcome home or a long farewell.
Arie tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, drawing her attention back to him once again, and his fingers lingered a bit on her skin. Deep in her chest, her breath caught. He spread his hand against the side of her face as if he was holding his breath too. He trailed his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.
Her mouth parted. If moments were things that could change lives and exact tolls, she wanted to gather this moment up against her chest and hold it tight.
She wanted to let it live on and on in her mind, with this exact tingle spreading down her spine, causing it to ache with a fierce fire she wanted to burn her forevermore.
But Arie’s thumb paused and his brow furrowed as if the moment was something altogether different to him. He pulled back, dropping his hand from her face, and Violet felt the loss deep in her marrow.
“I should get home.”
She nodded because the words crashing around in her head were too impossible to say.
“I’ll be out tomorrow to work on the next task.”
He was already standing, letting the cold breeze seep back against her. He stepped forward, limped slightly, and corrected his gait.
“Bye,” she called out to him.
With his back to her, he nodded, his words impossible to say too. The truck engine roared to life, and the gravel crunched beneath the tires as he backed away.
She looked back out at the lighthouse, and its cracks and broken glass showed clearly against the dark sky. The illusion was lost.
13
On Halloween night, Violet stood in front of her mother’s mirror and stared at herself.
The Ghost of Canaan stared back.
Her hair hung in loose, silvered coils down to her waist, the curls sleek and precise thanks to Kyra’s curler. Stevie had done Violet’s makeup, ringing her eyes in soft neutrals and applying mascara to her already long eyelashes so that her eyes stood out wide as saucers on her pale face. Her mouth was painted blood red, and a subtle contour hollowed out her cheeks.
In the white lacey dress with a high neck and long bell-shaped sleeves, she looked similar to a dead Victorian noble lady. She smoothed down the flowing skirt, which hugged her hips before fanning out below her knees. The toes of her black ankle boots peeked from beneath the lace hem.
She pushed a loose curl behind her ear.
Stevie had put her in charge of the sweets-and-treats table, and she had to get the macarons out of the oven soon. There just wasn’t enough time to second-guess what was about to happen tonight. It was too late for that.
The party was set to start in a few minutes, and Tooty already had the music going outside. The lights Stevie had ordered were lit up all along the bluff, casting a shining luminescence over the cliff edge that not even the drunkest partygoer could stumble over. Violet’s stomach flipped with nerves, and she worried they hadn’t ordered enough barriers. They hadn’t counted on the lights to keep everyone safe, so Hale and Arie had spent all day lining up sand-weighted barriers along the edge.
With one final glance at her mother’s dress, her wedding dress, she forced herself to move away from the mirror.
Violet hadn’t mentioned that fact when Stevie had pulled it from her mother’s closet earlier today, squealing over the vintage lace. Kyra had agreed it was stunning, especially after they’d seen it on Violet. It fit perfectly. Wrapped up in the lace and silk, Violet felt a little safer tonight, as if her mother was with her every step of the way.
Back downstairs, she gathered up the plates to take outside. She’d spent most of last night and the entire day today baking and decorating, the oven running twenty-four-seven without a break. It had heated the kitchen to such a degree Violet had to crack a window.
Rows of macarons, cake pops, brain-shaped brownies, monster sugar cookies, cupcakes, and orange-chocolate-dipped pretzels lined her counters and kitchen table. A small army wouldn’t be able to get through all the food she’d baked, but Stevie had told her to make all she could.
Violet chewed on her lip as she studied the sweets. Maybe she should have—
“I might have taken a couple.”
She spun toward the door. Arie leaned against the frame. She wondered how much work he’d done today and if he’d sat down at all, but as she took in his costume, her thoughts were quickly derailed. He’d changed into a black tux, the bow tie loose around his neck and the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. The suit jacket was a little dusty and worn with age, and his hair was slicked back from his face. He looked extra tanned from all the work he and the Cooper brothers had done outside this weekend. He noticed her inability to form words and smirked, his dark eyes shining.
Her saliva dried up in her mouth.
“Ah,” she fumbled, her fingers threading through the ends of her hair just for something to do. “Took a couple what?”
“Macarons. They were the bad ones though, so don’t worry.”
“Bad ones?” Her eyes narrowed. “There were no bad ones.”
“Fine. You caught me. I might have stuck my finger through a few to make them bad.”
She sighed. “Did they taste okay? I was worried about the amount of salt I put in them, but it was more humid today and I—”
“They were the best things I’ve ever tasted.”
The way he looked at her as he said those words had a lick of flame crackling in her belly.
“At least,” he said, his voice deeper, “so far.”
It sounded like a promise.
“I swear on those chicken nuggets I got for lunch and never had time to eat, if you two don’t stop swooning at each other and get out there to help, I’ll have Tooty play country music all night!” Stevie elbowed past Arie into the room, her cheeks flushed and her eyes unblinking with wild excitement that might have been bordering on a caffeine overdose.
Her silver wig trailed over her shoulders, and the ivory dress she wore had a dipping neckline that showcased her curves perfectly. Her face was pale beneath dark eyes and a purple lipstick. For tonight, she was the Ghost of Canaan too.
Somewhere, Kyra wore a similar costume, hers a little looser around her belly.
All the women Kyra and Stevie had personally invited would come in their best Ghost of Canaan impersonations. It had been Stevie’s idea. Violet wouldn’t stand out tonight, not in the slightest. There would be Ghosts everywhere.
Stevie glanced between them, noting Violet’s averted eyes and Arie’s smug look. “Oh. Did I interrupt a moment?” she asked sweetly, eyelashes fluttering. “Well, too bad!” she snapped, her face instantly turning into her best drill sergeant imitation. “We’ve got shit to do people! Oh! Are those macarons?”
“Don’t you dare.” Violet swatted her hand.
“I’ll help Violet carry out the food,” Arie said, steering Stevie back toward the door when she reached for the cake pops.
Over her shoulder, she threatened, “That better be all you help her do.”
She darted out the door. Violet looked at Arie and blew a piece of hair out of her face without saying a thing, but he knew.
“Yeah,” he said, turning to the containers of sweets, “me too.”
She smiled as he gathered everything up. She followed behind him, her own arms loaded down. A brisk All Hallow’s Eve breeze had kicked up outside, and the sugar dusted atop the candies she carried tickled up her nose.
For the first time since she’d gone into the house early this afternoon to finish baking and get ready with the girls, she got to take in the transformation of her yard.
Like thousands of stars, twinkling lights wrapped through the bare limbs of every tree. Fog curled along the ground from the machines hidden in numerous bushes. Cheap, mostly plastic streetlamps looked ancient and spooky in the dark and lined narrow, winding paths between the food and drink tables, the dance floor, and to the lighthouse higher up on the hill.
Music thumped through the speakers Stevie had rented. The bass echoed deep in Violet’s stomach, and up on the stage strung with cobwebs and jack-o’-lanterns, Tooty, dressed in an inflatable T-Rex costume, DJed. His large, slightly terrifying plastic head bobbed as he danced above his controller and mixer, the turntable spinning a record beneath his fingertips. His stage was right next to her house, adjacent to the food and punch tables, where Arie and Violet arranged the treats onto the decorative holders.
Farther down the stretch of land along the bluffs, over the field of wildflowers plucked free of red, the lighthouse was
lit up, similar to the homing beacon it had once been. One bright light circled at the top, casting a spiraling spotlight across the ground and over the bluffs, down toward the ocean.
From the murky glass, when the light hit just right, Violet caught sight of a woman’s silhouette, her hair blowing in the wind as she looked out over the ocean from her perch along the outer railing, high up in the building.
For a second, Violet’s heart stopped.
“Do you like it?” Arie asked, coming up next to her shoulder. “It’s just a cut-out with a wig.”
She glanced back at him. “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.” His eyes slid over her face, warming her bones better than any furnace could. She tried not to melt right there on the spot. “Are you doing all right?”
“I’m making it.”
“Good. I’ll go get the rest of the food. Take a look around.”
He waved her forward, into the fog swirling around her ankles. Shadows flickered back and forth across the ground; Stevie said lighting made a party, and Violet finally understood why. Even just a few feet from her house, she entered another world. The trees above her dripped with cobwebs that danced in the twinkling string lights. Behind her, the music pulsed, and in front of her, the lighthouse stretched into the sky, the Ghost along the railing haunting even though Violet knew it was fake.
She walked some more, angling out of the fog and away from the dance floor, which was just plywood painted black and weighed down with large rocks. Closer to the bluffs, the wind whipped across the ocean harder, threading her dress around her legs, her hair fluttering behind her back.
She tasted the brine in the air and heard the crashing waves far below. The lights played across the water, illuminating the splashing froth as the waves collided against the craggy rocks.
She glanced back. Her house was lit up with countless battery-powered candles. They sat in her windows, fluttering similar to a real flame. The house looked as though it was smiling at her, but to everyone else, it would probably look spooky, bent out over the ocean, the gargoyles grinning down at the party with flashlights taped inside their mouths to make them appear alive and hungry with their stone leers. The ironwork along the windows and roof looked spikey against the night sky, the wood detailing in the gables a bit worn for wear and showing it as the lighthouse’s spotlight flashed by.