A NUMBNESS SETTLED OVER MAE and she still couldn’t believe what she’d found in her granddad’s hand. Now that the house was empty she could read it again.
She pulled the Bible from the shelf and curled up in the dining room’s window seat. Right now the sun was trapped behind passing clouds and the yard was as dark as her heart felt. She was meant to be choosing readings for the burial service, but all she could think of was the letter.
She pulled it from her bag, where she’d tucked it into the green book, and then carefully unfolded it. It was long, and written in his shaky handwriting. It would have taken him hours to write it, maybe days.
Dearest little Mae,
There is something you should know. When you found the book and brought it to me in the attic, I behaved irrationally. I knew it was my duty to pass it on, yet again, but I was frightened of what I might do with it.
Mae paused, looked out of the window. She remembered the terror on her granddad’s face that day. His paleness, that stammering as he tried to speak. The letter trembled in her hand and she smoothed it flat.
The book of rituals is not to be underestimated. Your sister knew this, yet I didn’t anticipate the lengths she would go to use it.
Ro had laughed at almost everything in life, except for the book. Mae knew that from the first and only time Ro had shown it to her, her breath laced with red velvet cake, her voice hushed, reverent.
When Roxanne was a child, she found the book in the attic and attempted to bring your mother back to life.
Anxiety clamped down on Mae’s chest and she closed her eyes. For a moment she was a little girl again, watching Ro carry an Easter basket. Watching her in secret, following her to the woods. Her sister had bent over the basket in her white dress, her hands busy in front of her, and when she turned, her dress had been a different color….Dark, dark red, streaked with blood.
Mae’s eyes shot open. She stared through the window at the woods where she’d hidden so long ago. Ro’s black door creaked open in her mind, and the woods spilled into the room, the smell of pine needles and dampness, the promise of hidden sweets, the giddiness of watching her older sister in secret. She’d wanted to jump out from behind the tree and surprise Ro that day, but the shock of the red dress had scared her. And then her granddad had appeared, yelling Ro’s name, swooping in to grab her basket, her knife, and the fat book that was lying on the ground. But hadn’t someone else shouted Ro’s name too?
Mae shook her head, trying to remember. She stared out at the trees from the window seat, left with the sense that someone else was there that day, but the thought was hazy, like a dream. She looked down at the letter again.
At that time she did not know—how could she?—that the raising ritual only holds its power over life within a year of death.
Within a year of death. That hot anxiousness gripped her again, right in the ribs. The anniversary of Ro’s death was tomorrow, the day of her granddad’s burial. This letter was proof that he believed in the ritual’s power, thought it could work. Was he telling her to perform it, or warning her?
Whatever you decide to do with the book—for it now belongs to you—I only ask that you leave me in peace; let me rest where I belong.
Mae’s mouth felt dry and it hurt to swallow. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of the last time she’d seen her granddad alive, standing at the attic window, waving to her. He’d died alone because she’d put off checking on him.
The ink swam in front of her and she wiped her eyes. Then there was the creak of hinges, the sound of the front door swinging open. Startled, she shoved the letter into her bag next to the book as heavy footsteps clomped down the hallway.
“Dad?”
Sonny appeared in the archway of the dining room wearing the same jeans and shirt he’d left the house in last night. One of his pant legs was shredded, and he had a gash along his forearm and a bruise on his cheek. “Time to go,” he told her.
“Time to go where?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
He ignored her. “Get in the truck.” His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at her from under his hat. “Go on.”
“But I’m choosing verses for the burial,” she said, picking up the Bible. “They need it by toda—”
“Don’t make me say it again, Mae Eliza.”
She shut her mouth, tamping down her frustration. She put the Bible in her bag and followed him out the door, the bolt scraping behind them as he locked it.
Outside, Elle was already standing beside the blue truck. She didn’t meet Mae’s eye. Her sister had sworn she wasn’t angry about the whole breakfast-for-dinner spying episode, but she’d been distant since then.
“Hurry up,” Sonny said.
A knot began to form in the pit of Mae’s stomach. She climbed into the middle, the seat scalding her skin. Elle got in after her, smashing her knees against the gearshift.
“Where are we going?” Mae asked, but neither of them answered. She glanced at the gash on her dad’s arm. The blood had dried to a blackish color and was bright red in the middle where it hadn’t scabbed over. “What happened?”
He didn’t say anything, just switched off the radio to hot silence. The knot in her stomach tightened as the truck jostled onto the dirt access road that ran through their property. Branches scraped across the windshield as Mae turned to Elle and raised her eyebrows, silently asking her to explain.
Elle shook her head—quick, like she didn’t want their dad to see—and then went back to staring out the window. Mae glanced over at Sonny. His ponytail was greasier than usual, grayish-brown strands were sticking out of a twisted rubber band, and the bruise on his cheek looked painful. He smelled of liquor; the whole truck stank.
“I can drive,” she offered, but he glared at her.
She was nervous, sweating now. Sunlight filtered through the branches and fell over the truck’s battered hood. Mae glanced down at her bag and tried not to think of her granddad, or the last part of his letter, but it was seared into her mind, as hot as the sun that sent her eyelids red when she shut them.
And remember, when the night is at its darkest, that the answers you seek can be found in King James.
And remember this too. You are quiet yet brave, Mae, which is why I have chosen you. You make me proud; you have always done so. I am blessed to have you in my life.
Your loving grandfather,
Grady Deacon Cole VI
The truck rocked over a pothole, and Mae opened her eyes and squinted at the sunlight. The bag felt sweaty on her lap; everything felt wrong. The letter was hidden under the canvas with the green book and the Bible. The answers you seek can be found in King James. She knew her granddad had been trying to comfort her, thinking she’d find some sort of peace by reading the Bible like he had, but he was wrong. Nothing could make this better. It wasn’t fair that he’d died alone, and it wasn’t fair that Ro had too and that everyone thought Cage had done it. It was an accident—she’d fallen off the boat and hit her head, drowning before she could be saved. Cage had dragged her to shore and done all he could, but no one would trust his word. Too much added up against him. He’d asked Ro to marry him and she’d said no; Lance had seen him running away from her body. She could forgive him for that, for running, even if he couldn’t forgive himself. And now he wanted the green book to bring her back, to make all the pain go away.
She wanted it to go away too. But if she brought him the book, he’d see the sketch of the ring. He’d figure out what it meant, just like she had. Would it make him feel even worse than he did now? There was a shrillness inside her head, the start of a headache coming on. She gripped the bag strap and closed her eyes.
After everything that had happened, she’d only been able to visit him twice in the past few days. He was still sick, but his fever seemed better. He hadn’t eaten anything she’d left for him in the barn, though. Only one piece of bread had been touched—its crusts peeled off and cast aside. When she’d held his hand, he felt hot, but his face was peaceful, even with that cut on his forehead. She liked how when he wasn’t sleeping his eyes would steal all the beauty, pale blue cutouts from the very sky itself. She hoped he’d be awake later today when she checked on him. No matter how painful it was, she had to tell him about the ring. She owed him the truth.
Sonny passed the highway turnoff. He was holding the wheel like he might be strangling it, his eyes intent on the dirt road. They should be getting on the highway, not going straight—this way would only take them to the dock or the barn. All of a sudden Mae’s heart felt like it was in her throat, and she forced herself to breathe.
“Dad?”
He didn’t answer. She looked at Elle for help, but her sister turned away, and all she caught was the back of her head, a sheen of sweat on her neck. Sonny was still bearing down on the wheel, his hands clenched tight.
“Where are we going?”
He glared at her again, and Elle kept staring out the window. “I think you know,” he said.
Mae’s heartbeat ratcheted up. She had to concentrate on getting air, on filling her lungs. He couldn’t be going to the barn.
Sonny pressed his foot down on the accelerator, and the truck picked up speed. The trees were blurring past now, and Mae held her bag tight and glanced at Elle again. Why was she so quiet? Then it hit her—Elle had told him about Cage. Sonny was going to confront him. In the rearview mirror she could see her dad’s gun rack, the rifles mounted on it, and she felt a surge of fear. Maybe she could stop him before he got them unloaded, but if he had his pistol in reach she’d be useless.
She leaned forward and popped open the glove compartment, peering inside. A whiskey bottle, tobacco, cigarette papers. That was it—no pistol. But she knew he sometimes kept it by the driver’s-side door.
She felt shaky, ramped up with adrenaline. Maybe she should just come clean, try to talk him down. “Dad, I—”
He turned, and the look on his face silenced her. His knuckles were white over the wheel. “It’s gone on for too long, Mae.” His voice was raw as the truck shot forward.
“Slow down,” she begged, but he wasn’t listening. She steeled herself for the accusation: she’d been helping Cage, and he’d never forgive her. Trees were whipping past them, the shocks bouncing over the dirt. They veered to the right of the fork, heading uphill toward the barn. Mae’s heart was in her throat; they’d be there any moment. Panic welled inside her, she felt like crying. “Dad, please slow down.”
The truck lurched over another set of potholes and her mind flashed to Cage, sprawled on the raft in the barn. He was too weak to run, to defend himself.
“Elle!” she called out, too sharp, but her sister shook her head again, staying out of it. The barn was less than a half mile ahead. “You’re going too fast, Dad.”
He clenched the wheel tighter and she scanned the woods. There was movement ahead, but instead of Cage’s dark hair and lean height, she saw a glint of blond. Fern was standing at the side of the road, close to the edge. Sonny wasn’t slowing down, and then Mae realized he didn’t see her, he wasn’t going to—
“Stop!” she shouted, and she did the only thing she could: she yanked the wheel. She felt the sharp pain of slamming into the dash as Sonny hit the brakes and the rear wheels locked. Elle screamed as their whole world started turning, the truck spinning past Fern, impossibly close, the tires screeching as they finally jerked to a stop near a tree.
“What happened?” Elle asked, her eyes wide. “Is that Fern?”
“Goddammit,” Sonny swore, his eyes on her as she ran off into the woods. “Kid came out of nowhere.”
He opened his door, got out, and then walked to the front of the truck and kicked at the fender. Mae jumped out after him, found him bent over the hood.
“Please talk to me,” she said softly. If they could just talk…She braced herself, ready for his anger.
Her dad turned away, pulled his hat down. He fumbled for his pack of cigarettes. “Wanted the boat,” he muttered, and it took her a moment to catch up. “Wanted to do something as a family. Take you girls fishing like I used to.”
Mae leaned against the truck as it all sank in. Sonny hadn’t been going to the barn for Cage, he’d been going for the boat, and she’d almost confessed everything.
“Being at the house…” Sonny trailed off as he struck his lighter. “Jesus. I can’t even make it to the water anymore.” He took off his hat and ran his hand through his ponytail. “Fishing reminds me too much of her. Everything does. My mind’s messed up.”
“It’s okay,” Elle said, coming around the other side of the truck, “it’s okay, Dad.”
But Mae knew he wasn’t able to shut the pain behind a door in his head to mute it, and even then it built and built, always threatening to come out. She could feel the heaviness in the air. It was never going to be okay unless Ro was here again, alive and grinning.
Heat thrummed off the car, hit her in waves. She put her hand on the hood of the truck, felt the warmth travel up her fingers. She wanted to fix this, fix her dad, but she didn’t know how.
“Your grandpa, I should have taken him out more.” Sonny’s voice broke, his hand shaking as he inhaled. “He loved fishing. Taught me everything I know. But did I help him this year? Spend time with him when he was sick? No, course I didn’t.” He shook his head, almost dropped his cigarette. He was upset, agitated; she’d never seen him like this before.
“He was happy being at home,” Mae said, wanting him to feel better. “He liked being around us. You did the best you could, Dad.”
Sonny inhaled again, his hand with the cigarette still shaking. “No, I didn’t. Your grandpa, now, he was a good father, especially after what I put him through. Didn’t ever want to do a thing he asked, laughed at his ideas, told him he was an ignorant old man. He adopted me when no one else would, and I treated him like shit.”
Mae felt the air leave her chest. Adopted? She glanced at Elle and saw the shock on her face too. “What did you say?” Mae asked, her gaze darting back to her dad.
“He took me in.” He exhaled, his eyes far away, staring into the distance.
“You mean—” Elle started, and then gave up and just looked at him, waiting.
He’d gone silent, but after a minute he shrugged. “I was four or five then. My mom worked near the Childers place, helped out with the stables, did some cleaning around town, that sort of thing. She got sick and didn’t make it, and your granddad took me in.”
“We had no idea,” Elle said. She sounded as dazed as Mae felt. Adopted. He’d never said a word about it…but it explained a lot: Why he never talked about his childhood. Why he’d never wanted his portrait added to the family collection. Why he didn’t mind selling Blue Gate. Maybe part of him had always felt the way she did—like she didn’t quite belong anywhere, didn’t fit.
“Probably should’ve let you girls know.” Sonny stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. “Just didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it was a long time ago.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Too long. Figured it didn’t matter anyway.”
But it did matter. All the worry Mae had over telling Cage about the ring slipped away. He was more a Cole than they were.
“You could have told us,” she said. “You can tell us anything, Dad.” Then her throat clenched tight as she thought of the lies she’d stacked up lately. Maybe they’d all been doing the same thing this past year. The three of them, full of secrets.
Sonny’s eyes settled on Elle. “I know you want that hotel thing,” he said. “But we need to move. Nothing good ever happens here. Can’t take much more.” He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.
“Dad, we’re here for you.” Elle put her arms around him. “We’ll always be here.”
Mae wanted to hug him too, she wanted to tell him that she loved him, but what would he think of her helping Cage? She flinched inside, felt shame run all the way down to her toes.
“You okay to go home?” Elle asked, and after a minute he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, watching the ash from his cigarette float down to the dirt. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. We all will.”
Mae squeezed his hand and he managed a half smile. He was far from fine; it was all over his face—he needed some good news to shake him out of his grief. They all did.
“Come on,” Elle said, “let’s go home.”
Sonny’s eyes narrowed on the trees, in the direction of the barn, and Mae felt her heart skip. “Hey, Fern!” he called. “Get on over here!”
“Hey, Mr. Cole.” Fern was running toward them now, her Invisible Man T-shirt tucked into her dirty shorts, her curls falling across her eyes. “What are y’all doing besides almost hitting me?”
Sonny scratched at his ponytail again. “We’re gonna go eat some lunch,” he said, his voice gruff.
“I’m pretty hungry,” Fern said, dancing from leg to leg.
“Thought you were. Fern and Mae in the back. Elle’s driving.”
Mae almost smiled. He was trying, he really was. She was still worried, but this was like the tiniest sliver of hope. Sonny tossed the keys to Elle as Mae got up on the bumper, holding out a hand to Fern.
“That was a pretty close call,” Fern said. The truck engine revved over her voice. “Also, you’re not a very good liar.”
The gun rack was digging into her back, and Mae tried to scoot over. “And I suppose you are.”
“Well, I can keep a secret,” Fern said. “I’ve kept yours, you know. And Lance’s too, since he needs my help.”
Mae tensed. “What secret?”
Fern poked Mae’s ribs. “Wouldn’t be one if I said it out loud.”
So she was bluffing. Mae relaxed, leaned back against the truck, trying not to look too interested. They were closer to the house now, farther away from the barn. She needed some quiet to think, a slender paintbrush in her hand, but after a few minutes she felt sticky fingers grab her elbow.
“Here’s another secret, Mayday. It starts with I.” Fern edged closer, breathing into her ear. “Initiation.”
It was so unexpected that Mae couldn’t hide her shock. She fumbled her words, the question catching in her throat. “What do you mean?” she choked out. “Where did you hear that?”
Fern smiled. “I know another one too,” she said, “and it’s gonna come true tomorrow. On the beach.”
The truck rocked onto the driveway, nearing Blue Gate, the spire on the roof jutting up through the trees. Tomorrow her granddad would be buried. Tomorrow was the anniversary of Ro’s death. Mae’s eyes welled up, and she couldn’t help but ask. “What?”
Fern held a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Shh,” she whispered, “he’ll hear us.”
“Tell me,” Mae said, sounding harsher than she meant to. “Tell me what you know.”
Fern smirked as the truck pulled in front of the house, wrenching to a stop as Elle parked and shut off the engine.
“Fern!” Mae hissed, but the girl only laughed as Sonny and Elle got out, slammed their doors. Mae knew she’d been played, and Fern knew it too. She couldn’t risk asking her anything more if they weren’t alone.
“You’ll see,” Fern whispered. “Tomorrow will be here sooner than you think.”