Page 103 of The Outsider
Later in the week, I visited the Armstrongs and gave Allie her new books, which she showed a surprising amount of enthusiasm over. Along with the vampire book, there was another called Help! My Boyfriend is a Werewolf, and Allie giggled at the faded illustration of a wolf-boy and a teen girl on the cover.
“What’s a werewolf, Claire?” she asked. “Do you know?”
I launched into a brief explanation of werewolf mythology, along with a simplified history of how it’d been around for thousands of years.
“So, they accused real people of being werewolves?” she said, mouth hanging open. “That’s so stupid.”
I smiled. “Yes, but people back then believed all sorts of things that we might think of as silly now.”
“What kind of things?”
“The Fountain of Youth,” I answered with a giggle. “Just a small sip was enough to keep you young forever. Or eternal life, like with vampires.”
By the time Sarah checked on us in the living room, the afternoon was nearly over, and I’d spent the better part of two hours answering Allie’s endless stream of questions. It felt good, like slipping into an old pair of shoes that fit just right. For her part, Allie was intelligent, funny, and a good listener. I thought she could be a good student, if she had a teacher who bothered to engage her in the learning process.
“Sarah,” I said, pulling her aside into the kitchen, “I’d like to ask you something. I know school still isn’t running yet, and…well, I’d really like to tutor Allie in the meantime, with your permission. I used to be a teacher, and I think I could help her—and Jake, if you like—stay up with their studies. I’d hate to see them slide backwards.”
Sarah gave me a surprised look. “You’d do that? For what?”
“Oh, nothing,” I hurried to say. “I don’t want anything. I just…I’d like to feel useful, and I think your daughter is bright; she just hasn’t been given the right opportunities.”
She still looked mildly baffled, but she smiled.
“That’s kind of you,” she replied. “But I’ll have to give you something for your trouble. I’ll send you home with dinner every day that you come teach them.”
I beamed. “That’ll be plenty.”
On a blustery winter afternoon a couple weeks later, I returned from visiting Isla and Noah to find the house empty. John wasn’t working till that night, and the chores were done, so I’d expected he’d be home. When afternoon turned to evening, I started to worry and went to look for him on the property.
Even as dusk fell over Summerhurst, I headed out into the snow. The night was clear but as cruelly cold as ever, my windswept cheeks stinging. Flashlight in hand, I ventured around the barn, the chicken coop, and the stable, but John was nowhere in sight. I walked across the length of the homestead, searching, but didn’t find him. Just as the shadows lengthened and I was beginning to worry, I spotted a faint light in the distance, nearly concealed by a copse of trees at the very edge of the homestead, near the woods.
My boots crunched through the thick blanket of fresh sparkling snow as I followed the light. The trees were strangely arranged in a nearly circular shape, which seemed deliberate. Only a sliver of light was visible through them, but as I approached, John’s voice, soft and sweet, reached me.
“We did it, old man,” he said with a mirthless chuckle. “Brought the PNCs back. We got even more than you wanted. That’s what you’d call rising to the occasion, huh?”
I peered around a tree. John was on his knees in front of a polished slab of stone, a large shovel beside him. A nearby pile of snow indicated that he’d had to dig it out.
Next to him sat a lantern, illuminating the text on the gravestone and casting long shadows in all directions.
Oisín Madigan. 2014-2095. Father, grandfather, soldier.
Aoife Madigan. 2012-2095. Mother, grandmother, healer.
He knelt on the grave of the only parents he’d ever known.
“I kept my promise,” John continued, his voice rougher. “Didn’t know, at the time, that you wouldn’t be here to see it, but…”
He paused briefly. “But we saved our people. Our home. I like to think you’d be proud.”
My throat constricted, and I was frozen in place. It felt like I was witnessing something deeply private, but I was unable to look away. This sweet, vulnerable John that so few people knew had always held my heart captive.
John gave another chuckle. “And while I was gone, I met a girl. Finally, right? I can practically hear Granny’s relief. I’m going to marry her in the spring.” Another pause, and then his voice broke as he said, “You’d have loved her.”
I couldn’t stay hidden anymore; my heart would burst. I walked toward John and dropped beside him in the snow. He didn’t seem surprised by my sudden appearance as I put my arm around him and lay my head against his shoulder.
We didn’t speak for a long moment. The flickering lantern light and the whistle of a winter breeze over the snow were our only companions.
Finally, I said, “I’d like to sing a song for them—taught to me by my father, long ago. Would you like to hear it?”
