Graveminder

“We both know”—he kissed the curve of her shoulder—“that if we made love”—he leaned back and watched her face as he slowly traced the contours of her right side—“it would mean something”—he kissed her gently—“to both of us.”

Then he pulled away. “I’ll agree to one thing, though: it wouldn’t be the start of a relationship. We started a relationship years ago.”

She stared at him, but still didn’t say a word. The expression of shock on her face was almost enough to make him waver; he forced himself to hold her gaze—in part because the sight of her nearly naked body wasn’t doing much for his resolve either.

Before he could give in, Byron stood, reached down, and pulled the bedcovers farther back. “I’m a grown man, Bek. Don’t throw challenges at me unless you’re sure you’re ready for the results.”

“You’re telling me no?”

“I am,” he said.

Wearing nothing but her panties now, she slipped into the bed. He pulled the covers up over her and walked away.

When he reached the door, she spoke. “Byron?”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“I’m not ready for any of this. For us or for being the Graveminder.”

“Being ready doesn’t matter sometimes. There is an ‘us,’ and you are the Graveminder.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He opened the door.

“Byron?”

“Yeah?”

“I still want you to sleep in here.”

He looked back at her. “Just sleep?”

Rebekkah didn’t answer. He could see her chest rising and falling, and he counted each breath. Several moments passed, and then she said, “No, that’s not what I want, but anything else would matter to both of us.”

“I know.” Byron smiled and closed the door. It wasn’t exactly a full admission, but it was progress.

He climbed into bed and pulled Rebekkah close to him.

Chapter 38

REBEKKAH SLIPPED OUT OF THE BED WHEN SHE AWOKE. IT WASN’T MUCH past sunrise. The light of the new morning poured through the curtains she’d forgotten to draw last night. She stepped past the worn board that had creaked for as long as she’d had a room at Maylene’s. Sleep was out of reach, and if she was going to be awake with too many thoughts on her mind, she was going to do it with a cup of coffee in her hand.

She’d slipped on her discarded nightshirt and made it as far as the door when Byron spoke.

“Running or just can’t sleep?”

“It’s morning,” she said in lieu of answering the question.

Byron squinted at the light outside. “Not by much, Bek.”

“You don’t have to get up.” She curled her hand around the glass doorknob and opened the door. Somewhere downstairs Cherub had begun proclaiming his need for kitty food. The familiarity of the sound made Rebekkah smile. Some things were constant, and in light of the myriad oddities of the past two days, that constancy was very welcome.

Byron sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll make breakfast if you start coffee. We need to see the town council or the mayor. Might as well get started.”

Rebekkah thought of the platters of food that Maylene’s neighbors had left for her. Most of them weren’t breakfast foods, but she’d seen at least two cold-cut trays in the fridge. Between the ham and cheese and various fruit baskets, she and Byron would find plenty to graze on. She told him as much.

“You can have cold food if you want. I’m making eggs and ham.” He rubbed his face and blinked a few more times.

“Not everything changes, hmm? You’re not any more alert when you first wake up than you used to be. ”

Byron lunged out of the bed, covered the few feet to the doorway, and pulled her into his arms. “I can be when I need to.”

Rebekkah put her hands flat against his chest and looked up at him. “Hmm. Byron or coffee? Sex or food?”

“If you have to think about it, there’s no contest.” He brushed his lips over hers in a brief, chaste kiss.

“I’ve been thinking about you for years, B.” She ducked out of his arms and out the door.

In the kitchen, she fed Cherub, started the coffee brewing, and pulled out a tray of cold cuts and bread. While she waited for the coffee to percolate, she sat down and nibbled on the food she’d set out on the table. The sounds of the shower upstairs made her smile. Having another person there made it easier to avoid the thought of living alone in the big old house.

Living here alone.

With a start, she realized that she couldn’t ever leave Claysville now. As the Graveminder, she was trapped. It wasn’t that she wanted to go somewhere specific or do something specific; it was simply knowing she could go anywhere, do anything. She’d avoided entanglements for most of her life. Run from them. Now her future, her address, her connection to Byron, her commitment to Charles: so many things had suddenly been decided for her. They had been decided already; I just didn’t know it. Rebekkah thought back to the letter Maylene had left for her. These are the things she didn’t want to tell me.

Rebekkah rinsed two mugs, set one by the coffeepot, and then poured coffee in the other for herself.

Byron came down the stairs. His hair was damp and stuck out in tiny tufts revealing that he’d just finished towel-drying it. He didn’t pause on his way to the coffee.

“I can’t leave,” she said aloud, testing the words, gauging the panic they’d bring.

“I know. That’s what I was trying to tell you yesterday at Sweet Rest.” His face was carefully expressionless as he poured his coffee. “I don’t know how strict that is or ... well, much of anything. I signed a contract, but that’s binding me, not you.”

She gaped at him. “You signed a contract ? Promising what?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t make eye contact with her, but he came to sit across from her. He rolled a slice of ham and a slice of cheese together and ate the breadless sandwich.

“You don’t know what you signed? How could you sign something you didn’t read?”

He shrugged. “Situational factors.”

“ Situa — Are you serious?”

Still not looking at her, he rolled up several more pieces of cheese and ham. “Yep.”

Rebekkah pushed away from the table and walked over to the window. He had no idea of what he’d agreed to, but he’d signed. She hadn’t even been given that option. She folded her left arm over her stomach as she stood and sipped the coffee she held in the opposite hand. Behind her, she heard Byron push out his chair and pour himself more coffee.

“Do you want eggs?”

“No.” She didn’t look at him.

He opened cupboards; the clatter of bowls and pans were the only sounds for a few moments. Then he said, “We were with Charlie. Dad told me that I either signed or I stayed behind. I drank with the dead. They set me up to do so, but I did it all the same. I didn’t know that by signing, I was killing my father. All I really knew was that if I didn’t sign, I was leaving you.”