be, filled with surprises. “I’ve done what I could.”
A wave crashed, drops of salt water landing inches from their feet. “I knew there was something about you. Why have you been protecting him? Who are you?”
Phaedra heard Ronan’s questions but seemed more interested in drawing curlicues in the sand with a sea reed. “That’s not your concern, Ronan.”
“Michael’s my concern! I love him!”
“I know you do,” Phaedra replied. “And that’s why I didn’t have to protect him from you.”
“But you did!” Ronan shouted, his voice louder than the crash of the waves. “You prevented me from seeing him when he needed me the most, when he was devastated and confused!”
Phaedra marveled at Ronan. Even these water vamps who breed out of love could still be aggressive when they became passionate. “Because at that moment, you would only have caused him greater devastation and greater confusion. He needed to be alone; he needed to be separated from you briefly to decide if he wants to return to you permanently.”
“If? If he wants to return to me?” Ronan looked at the majestic ocean before him and breathed in its calm, but the familiar smell of sea salt, the strong line of the horizon, nothing helped. “I don’t know what I’ll do if … if he chooses not to come back to me.”
Her hand felt so light on top of Ronan’s, like air. “Have faith, Ronan. The Well has never been wrong yet.”
Who is this girl? She knows about The Well, she knows everything about me and Michael. She definitely isn’t one of us, nor is she one of Them. “Who are you?” But she was gone. He looked all around him, scoured the beach, the mountains behind him, even the ocean, and nothing. It was as if she had disappeared into the water’s mist. At least she gave me hope, Ronan thought, hope that Michael would soon return and their life could begin.
Edwige had the same thought as she sat and stared at her painting. She had put her life on hold since Saxon’s death, no, since his brutal murder, but perhaps it was time to test herself, see if her heart, once so loving and eager, could be reopened by another man. Edwige hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure of herself. Can I actually do this? She started to dial Vaughan’s number but then set the phone back down onto its cradle.
Why was she so unsure about him? He was handsome, wealthy, successful, but for some reason he gave her cause for concern. Maybe it was simply because he disapproved of Ronan and Michael’s relationship, though she thought she noticed a softening where that was concerned. Maybe if she were as honest with herself as she liked to be with other people, she would recognize that it was because, since losing her husband, she had only used men for her own physical needs and never once contemplated allowing them to touch her emotionally. She rolled her eyes at her reflection in the mirror, turning her back on it when she could no longer stand looking at how distorted her image had become since she was made a widow.
Walking through a cloud of very fragrant and very expensive perfume, she said, “Edwige, it’s time to stop acting like a woman on the prowl and start acting like a woman on the verge of irreversible loneliness.” It was time to learn from her son, learn from his full heart and courageous spirit, and take action. As she left her flat, she made a silent plea to her dead husband. Forgive me, Saxon, for I really don’t know what the hell I’m about to do.
Now that he was back in Weeping Water, Michael felt the same way: He had no idea what he was supposed to do. It wasn’t that the town had changed. It was exactly the same, not a road, not a store, not a branch out of place. It was he; he had changed, changed inextricably. Even if he hadn’t come back as a vampire, he still would have felt the difference and so would the people around him.
“You’ve grown up, Mike.” R.J. was the last person Michael expected to see at his grandmother’s funeral, but here he was. It was like stumbling onto a lost photograph from the past. A flutter of nerves erupted in Michael’s stomach, joining the hunger pains that had yet to go away. But distance and time had changed R.J.’s appearance. Michael had never noticed the lines at the edges of his eyes—too many hours spent in the sun perhaps—the way his lips never spread out to create a full smile. “Looks like that school over there’s been good for ya.”
“Kind of,” Michael said. “It’s changed my life in lots of ways.”
R.J. looked around the cemetery grounds. “Your father didn’t come with you?”
“No, just Nakano,” Michael said, then noticed R.J.’s quizzical stare. “A friend from school. But he, um, he stayed back at the house.”
Wind whistled between the two of them, interrupting their shared silence. “Must be a really good friend to travel all this way with you.”
This was nothing, Michael thought. You have no idea how far I’ve traveled since I left this town. “Kano’s always looking for an excuse to get out of school.” Just like I was always looking for an excuse to stare at you. Michael was amazed that he was talking to this boy, this guy he had spent so many nights dreaming about, but his mind was so restless, his body so anxious, he didn’t even realize R.J. was nervous himself in his presence, and, yes, even flirting a bit. Perhaps it was all for the best. The time for flirting with humans was probably a thing of his past. “It’s, um, nice that you came.”
R.J. shrugged his shoulders. “Least I could do.” He glanced over to the quiet woman’s final resting place, a place Michael couldn’t bear to look at. “Your grandmother was … she was always good to me. Treated me nice, kindly, like you used to.”
Michael couldn’t help but think how unkindly R.J. would treat him if he knew what he had become. He was so wrapped up in his own anguish, he didn’t even realize R.J. was still talking when he spoke. “Thanks for coming, but I should be getting back now.”
Startled, R.J. swallowed the rest of his words. Michael probably didn’t want to hear how good he thought he looked anyway, how nice it was to see his face again, not at his grandmother’s funeral. So R.J. kept silent.
Just like his grandfather. He didn’t think there was any need to talk on the drive home while the stench of death clung to his truck, while he sat next to this stranger. No need to fill the Bronco with unnecessary conversation; just wait until you get home, have a beer, unwind, then you can say what’s on your mind. “You’re different,” he announced. “You haven’t been gone that long and it’s like I don’t even know you. Not really sure that I like what I see, either.”
Holding a coffee cup that his grandmother had washed hundreds, probably thousands of times before, Michael was instantly reminded of why he hated it here. The constant criticisms, the uncanny ability to point out flaws and never convey a kindness. Luckily, Michael wasn’t that scared, awkward boy he was when he grew up here. No, he hadn’t yet found his voice, not fully anyway, and yes, he was not at ease with his current state, but he knew that he no longer had to take crap from his grandfather. “It’s not like you ever took the time to know me when I was living under your roof,” Michael said. “I don’t really see what the problem is.”
Across the table, Nakano smiled. This old man made his own father look downright cultured. Michael was lucky that this one was the only remaining relative he had left in this dumb cesspool of a town. If the rest of them were like him, growing up here must have been unbearable.
“You watch your tone with me, young man!” his grandfather bellowed. “This is my roof you’re sittin’ under.”
“And it was my mother’s money that paid off the mortgage,” Michael retorted, watching the coffee twirl as he swirled his cup, coffee that he would never be able to taste again.
“Listen here! Just ’cause you’re goin’ to some fancy school don’t mean you can talk to me like you own me. I am your grandfather, you remember that!”
The chair creaked loudly when Michael pushed it back to stand; louder still was the whir from the pipes when he turned on the hot water to wash his cup. Michael had no idea where his future was headed, but he knew that it would not contain parts of his past. “You forgot a long time ago that I was your grandson, so do not expect me to get all sentimental now that you’re alone.”
His grandfather wanted to speak, he felt the need to, but he was dealing with so many unexpected emotions, he didn’t know which word to choose first, so he chose none. His wife of the past forty-two years was now in a coffin, buried in the ground next to his daughter. His grandson was here with some stranger, acting and talking like he had never seen him do before. He was alone for the first time in his life and he didn’t like it. He also didn’t like Michael’s defiant attitude or the smug look on the Oriental he brought into his house. Maybe if he cracked open another beer, he’d find the right words to say.
“That’s it, have another beer. That’s your solution for everything,” Michael said. “C’mon, Nakano, I need
