“I’m sorry. Did you ever—were you ever close?” She had tried to remember, but though she’d had a crush on him, she didn’t remember seeing him with his dad all that much.
“I mean, yeah. We played ball, and we worked together to fix up my car when I was in high school. But he isn’t the most open-minded person.”
“Did he grow up here, too?”
“Not Phantom Bayou, but another small town.”
“How did he and your mother meet?”
“College. But not a university. A small Christian college.”
“The preacher and the witch. That’s just so wild to me. Are your grandparents religious? Do they still live here?” She didn’t remember them from her summers here. Maybe a mention or two from Susan, but she didn’t know if she had ever met them.
“They moved to Baton Rouge when the factory closed. They wanted to be closer to doctors and hospitals as they got older. Fortunately, so far, neither has needed them. And yes, both are pretty religious, my grandmother more than my grandfather.”
“I’m just trying to work out how your mother turned to witchcraft with that kind of upbringing and schooling.”
“Rebellious, maybe. Or curiosity. I don’t know.”
That made sense, especially if she was friends with Marie.
“Do you wish you could have gone to college?” he asked, his voice low in the dark.
“I mean.” She traced the stitching on the quilt. “It would have been nice to have friends instead of rivals. To buy books instead of knives. Though I still have some of those knives.”
“But none of the friends.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve wondered, a lot lately, if I’m built to have friends. Maybe I’m not. I had a few people try to help me with the trial against Dylan, but once I lost, everyone disappeared. Not even so much as a couch to crash on.”
He hmphed. “Did you ask?”
“What?”
He rose up, propping his head on his bent elbow. “You forget that I’m getting to know you pretty well, Erielle. Did you ask for help? I can imagine you asking for help with the trial, with getting back at Dylan, or whatever. But for something that would just benefit you, I don’t see you asking for help.”
She pressed her lips together, emotions she couldn’t identify swirling through her head. Did he know her that well? Because she hadn’t asked for help with money or a place to stay. Her pride wouldn’t have allowed it.
That was also why she hadn’t asked her parents for help. She knew without a doubt that while they might have offered it, it wouldn’t have been unconditional. Which was why she had just depended on herself.
“If this house hadn’t been an option, maybe I would have asked,” she admitted.
“I’m glad you had the house as an option,” he said, taking her hand across the mattress. “But you should learn to lean on people.”
“I’m leaning on you pretty hard right now. Louis, too. Hattie and Allison, Marie and your mom.”
“You are,” he conceded. “Maybe it was a lesson you needed.”
“Maybe.” She let her eyes drift shut. “College would have been better, though.”
She drifted to sleep with him tracing circles on the back of her hand.
The room was pitch black when she sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding against her ribs as if she’d been running. She didn’t need a lamp or a clock. She knew exactly where she was.
For a beat she just sat there, palms gripping the quilt, breath ragged. The thought was so clear, so loud it felt as if someone had whispered it in her ear.
She leaned across the mattress, fingers closing on Samson’s shoulder. “Sam,” she hissed, giving him a quick shake.
He stirred, rubbing at his face, hair a dark tumble across his forehead. “Wh—Erielle?” His voice was rough with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
