I wondered whether or not, without the influence of the Elders and other patriarchs—almost entirely shifters, according to Hart—the families would disperse or whether they would stay. Whether they would cling to their toxic faith or reevaluate it.
I didn’t hold out a lot of hope for the latter.
Either way, none of them seemed to care about what had happened to Momma, much less Rachael.
So it was me, Elliot, the representative from the funeral home—the same one we’d used for Momma—Helen, and Ray.
Helen looked sad, and I knew that she’d at least known Rachael a little. I wondered whether or not Rachael had been like Noah and me—prone to sneaking through the woods to the Hills’ property in search of snacks or even just to pet the alpacas. Or maybe Helen had just met Rachael on the rare occasions that she’d walked up the hill to ask to borrow a few eggs or offer extra cucumbers or tomatoes.
One of the funeral home workers, Hart, Ray, and Elliot all stepped forward to lower the coffin using a four-handled strap contraption, the four Arcanids—because the woman from the funeral home was a shifter of some kind—easily managing the weight.
For some reason, that hit me the way that nothing else this whole goddamn trip had.
How easily her body was lowered into the earth. How fragile it had been.
How brutally violated.
If we’d stayed, it would have been Noah.
I didn’t realize I was crying until Elliot returned and reached up, wiping a tear off my cheek before pulling me into his arms.
I closed my eyes, letting the silent, almost calm tears wet his shoulder even more than the heat of the summer day.
I owed her this much.
Because it hadn’t been Noah, but it had been her.
I sniffled, then raised myself back up to my full height, although I kept a hold of one of Elliot’s hands with the one that wasn’t on the cane.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the grave and the ghost I suspected was there watching. “I’m sorry for what they did to you and I’m sorry that no one ever loved you for who you are. And I’m sorry that we never got a chance to get to know you—the real you.”
Ward wasn’t there, so if there was an answer, I’d never know it.
But I hoped she at least could take some peace from it.
And I hoped that I could, too.
I had never been sorelieved to be sitting in a car staring down the barrel of a two day drive than the morning after we re-buried Rachael. Hart had been waiting for us downstairs when we checked out of the Howard Johnson, which had started to feelfartoo familiar for my comfort levels. I almost felt bad that most of the desk staff knew us on sight, since if I had my way, we wouldnever, evercome anywhere near Staunton, Virginia again.
Hart had hugged Elliot, then told him to not drive like an asshole if he wanted live goats and chickens by the time we got back to Wisconsin, and then sobered up as he looked at me.
“Don’t you do anything fucking stupid, you hear me?”
I frowned. “What would I do that’s particularly stupid?” Not that I haven’t done my fair share of stupid things, but I felt like this was a more specific warning than that.
“I don’t fucking know,” came the slightly exasperated response. “Catch on fire because you insist on running into burning buildings? Get some sort of goat-borne disease? Break your fucking knee again and fall down the stairs? Don’t do any of that shit. Because we’ve buried enough goddamn members of your family for a whole fucking lifetime, okay?”
I cocked my head at him. “I wasn’t planning on any of that,” I said. “But okay.”
Then I found myself being hugged. “Don’t break his heart, okay, Seth?” Hart murmured into my ear.
I hugged him back after a split second of surprise. “I like you, too, Hart,” I whispered back, earning a laugh.
“Also,” he said, a more familiar sardonic gleam in those lavender eyes when he pulled back from the hug. “I think you made the right call. The Mayses are some fucked up nutters.”
“Fuck’s sake, Val,” Elliot muttered, rolling his eyes.
Hart grinned. “The Cranes, for the record, are also batshit, but in a less destructive sort of way.”
