Gran reaches a curled old hand into the lime-green bowl that sits in her lap.
"Since I realized what you meant by it," I say. "Love is the light … and the shadow, too, isn't it? Bright and happy but also sad and painfully dark at times. You were talking about loving Mr. Cadwell that day in the kitchen, weren't you? You wanted to protect me from that kind of joyous pain with Beau."
"Willow, you're too observant for your own good."
Gran removes small, chopped chunks of unseasoned pork and chicken-bone and all-from the bowl and throws them into the front yard. The crazy woman.
"Here gator, gator, gator," she calls sweetly.
Wouldn't you know that only seconds later, a gator emerges. Then another. And another. As though she up and called them by their first names. They don't bother getting close to the porch steps. They prefer to stay on the muddy, mossy ground where they can collect their treasured treats and escape quickly. Funny that they are more scared of Gran than she is of them.
"How are my babies today?" she asks, like she's talking to beloved furry friends.
"Lord, Gran. You and your pets."
She grins. "Well, now you know my darkest secrets. I can't stop feeling like these gators need a friend, and I never did stop loving the crooked boy next door."
There's a shine of tears in her eyes.
"May he rest in peace," she whispers.
A car pulls into the driveway, careful to not hit the gators. Jorie steps out of the passenger side and says goodbye to her mother. As though the gators don't bother her one bit, she walks past them and heads toward Gran and me.
"Will you be okay, Gran?" I ask. "I'll cancel my plans, you know I will."
"Don't you dare do such a thing," she says, throwing the last of the treats into the yard, some even into the open mouths of the gators. "Go have fun. Be careful. And if you do decide to give that damn boy your heart, don't make the mistake of giving him the best part of it like I did, okay?"
"But Gran, that's the only way to really love, isn't it?"
I'd rather have my heart infected with love than live a day without it.
…
"Y'all better spring for a new boat soon," Jorie says. "Only a thin layer left to this one. Reminds me of the crust on the pan after your grandma bakes that delicious cornbread of hers. Which, by the way, I'm looking forward to eating when we get back."
I smile at my best friend as I row leisurely through the murky water. Today it's colored like honey, sun shining brightly through it to illuminate an underwater forest of lily roots and green vegetation. A timid breeze softly brushes hair away from my face, and I have to squint through the blaring brightness of the day.
I pat my bag out of habit, just to make sure I have my phone. Never can be too careful, since they still haven't caught the Mangroves Murderer. Pretty sure Jorie and I would make the perfect victims if we don't keep our wits about us. I have my phone. I have the shotgun under my feet. And I have a will of steel. Nobody's taking me from this swamp. And they're sure as hell not taking this swamp from me. I plan on enjoying it, no matter what the killer has done. I refuse to be a jack-in-the-box, stuffed inside the house, waiting to explode out. Life is meant to be lived, damn it. The dead girls, and hearing about Beau's grandpa passing, have taught me that.
Jorie smacks loudly on her gum, blowing bubbles so big they almost cover her face, reminding me of bright-pink balloons. She pops them and starts all over again.
We haven't spoken of our last fight, sweeping it under the rug where we can pretend we don't know it's there. We row under a thicket of leaves. Here, the water points us to a channel, trees like walls on either side.
Jorie sits at the front of the boat, picturesque with the swamp all around her.
There's a spot I'm taking her to where the ground is raised into what could almost be called a hill. The gators don't often trek up it, making it perfect for sunbathing. Gran showed it to me a couple of years back. Said it's one of the only places that stays constantly dry. Unless a hurricane blows through and the waters rise enough, which hardly ever happens. I even brought a bag full of stuff-sunglasses, bottled water, magazines, and a few books. A girls' day all the way. A quiet spot for Jorie and me and no one else.
When we pull up, I slip out my phone and quickly shoot a message to Beau, asking him how he's doing, knowing he's grieving his grandpa's passing and that he and Charlotte are planning the cremation. I tell him that I'm at the hill in the swamp with Jorie and that I'll stop by his place later tonight. I place my cell back into the zippered part of my bag. Who knows if the text will actually go through, horrible as the service sometimes is.
We climb the hill to the top where a perfect circular sunspot awaits us. Jorie smiles at the sight.
"Well, haven't you just found a slice of heaven?" she says. "Come on. Might as well take advantage."
I lay two towels on the ground, which is mostly dirt and rocks and the occasional grass shoots. The rocks are uncomfortable at first, but after a minute, we get used to them. Jorie holds up the books I brought.
"Is this a romance?" she jokes, waggling her eyebrows.
"Yeah, I suppose it is."
She reads the back of all three, picks one, opens it, and rolls over onto her stomach so that she can place the book on the ground while she reads. Then she sits up, as if in afterthought, and pulls off her clothes to reveal a red one-piece underneath.
I take off my shorts and tank top, but unlike her, I have a bikini on underneath-blue with white stripes.
I pick one of the books she discarded and open it. Out of habit, I place a bookmark at the beginning of the next chapter. The sun beats on our skin over and over again until it burns.
Hours pass just like that. Jorie and me soaking up the day, my bookmark making its way farther and farther into cracks between pages, and not a single mention of the murders that tried to taint such a gorgeous place.
38
Beau
Making arrangements for Grandpa isn't easy, and since Charlotte and I need a break from it, and Willow is off with Jorie, according to her text, I invite Pax and Grant over. Charlotte decides to lock herself in her room. Probably best, since Grant won't stop staring at her.
"I'm sorry about your grandpa," Pax says, glancing around the cabin as though he might catch sight of him one more time.
"Me, too," Grant adds.
"Thanks." I sigh. "It's hard, you know? But at least Charlotte and I get the house."
"That's great." Pax smiles. "You can keep your things and memories here."
"But you're not eighteen," Grant says. "Think you can get away with it for a few weeks until your birthday?"
"I think so, yes."
That's the hope. I'll pack Grandpa's things away eventually. Maybe put them in the attic. I don't think I can stand to part with them just yet, or maybe ever.
"I'm not sure what we'll do with the spare room when his things are gone," I say, thinking aloud. "But hey, I guess we'll have space if you ever want to stay the night."
It helps to think of the positive and not of Grandpa's passing. I smile, act like I'm okay with it all. It's better than accepting my friends' looks of pity. Grant humors my attempt at lightheartedness.
"I'd give anything to stay here." He glances at Charlotte's bedroom door. "And speaking of, when are you going to hook me up with your sister?"
He attempts to smile, but I see that it's only halfhearted. Maybe he knows just how bad it hurts to lose my grandpa and just how much I need normalcy at the moment. His jokes and cheerfulness are a routine I welcome.
"Close to never," I reply.
"Come on," Grant says. "You know we'd make a good pair."
"It's better for you if I don't."
"How's that?"
We take a seat in the living room. Flip on the TV. It feels strange to not have Grandpa here anymore.
"Because she'd eat you alive."
Pax laughs, shoulders shaking. "He's right, she would."
Then he turns to me, a slight smile still on his face.
"Would you hook me up with your sister, though?"
I grin. "If you're so brave, ask her out yourself."
I'm not the overprotective brotherly type, as they know. They need to have the guts to ask her themselves. She wouldn't settle for anything less.
"You know I can't do that," Pax says, making sure to keep his voice low so Charlotte can't hear us in the next room. "She scares me."
I get that a lot. Not many have the guts to talk to Charlotte-girls or guys. I understand why. She can be downright intimidating most of the time.
"Not me," Grant says. "I'd walk in there and talk to her right now."
"I'd bet my life you wouldn't," Pax replies.
Grant grins and does what we knew he would, which is not knock on Charlotte's door or talk to her but instead wish from afar.