One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(38)
“No, the car isn’t mine,” she replies politely, “excuse me.”
When he blocks her path, I feel the anger I just tempered flare again as the asshole speaks up, stalling her with small talk, his posture predatory, “I used to race back in the day. Just wanted to—”
Wrapping my fingers around his neck, I use the leverage to swat him out of the way. Cecelia’s eyes widen when he smacks into the side of the building before landing on his ass. She gapes at me as I snatch the bathroom key from her grip with my order—my patience thinned out. “Get in the car.” Lifting my gaze back to the store, I meet Tim’s eyes through the window before making my way back inside. Tim makes himself busy as I hand Zach the keys, elevating my voice. “See you both soon.”
Delphine’s pill box and trash can in hand, I stop outside of Tobias’s old bedroom door and twist the lock from inside in case Cecelia uses the bathroom and gets curious—which is likely since she bulldozed her way inside the house after I ordered her not to. Satisfied when the knob doesn’t give, I return to the living room where Delphine sits in her recliner, Cecelia hovering uncomfortably nearby as I set the pill box on her table and the trashcan within reach.
“All separated. Take them, Tatie, or you’ll get sicker,” I order, spotting the French translation Bible forever resting in her lap. “Too late for you, witch.”
We share a chuckle before she speaks up. “If there’s a back door into heaven, maybe I’ll find it for you too.”
“Maybe I don’t agree with His politics,” I add, unwilling to get into another spiritual debate.
“Maybe He disagrees with yours, doesn’t mean He can’t be an ally. And you forget I know you. And stop separating my pills. I’m not an invalid.”
Taking in her frail appearance, I can’t help my reply. “You’re doing a good job getting there. Don’t drink tonight. I’m not searching the house, but if you do, you know what will happen.”
“Yeah, yeah, go,” she dismisses me as I swipe the remote and begin clicking through channels.
The mood intensity shifts behind me before Cecelia speaks up, her question for Delphine. “Should we stay?”
“Not my first time. Go, the night is young, and so are you, don’t waste it,” Delphine gives in a typical reply, though her weak tone betrays the strength of the declaration.
Fighting the urge to snap out my rebuttal, I mutter it instead. “You are too.”
To say that whatever feelings I have for my aunt are complex would be a gross understatement. In the last handful of years, we’ve come to an understanding of sorts. In no way do I view her as a parent, but a parent is what she’s tried to resemble as of late—more recently in the months she’s convinced herself her death is imminent. Only escalating her illness with the way she treats her body, Delphine’s been trying to pass down what nuggets of wisdom she feels are fitting for me. To her credit, I’ve been listening.
For the most part, our efforts have proven worth it. We’ve salvaged what relationship we’re capable of—unless, during our conversations, I’m reminded of her cruelty early on.
Admittedly, seeing her so weak and terrified has beaten a lot of the resentment out of me. Even though a raging alcoholic, she was once a force to be reckoned with. A force that, at one point, Tobias and I found impossible to manage. Amidst her drunken ramblings over the years, some of her logic as Tobias, Sean, Tyler, and I strategized, was brilliant. We put it to use—especially her insight on fighting the machine we all loathe. In that, she’s inadvertently been a part of rearing the soldiers we’ve become, even if she lost the war of having her own role in our movement.
If and when Delphine loses this last fight, I’m unsure of how I’ll feel or what, and the idea of that has me mindlessly filtering channels as Cecelia softly whispers, “Romans 8:38-39.”
A flip of pages sounds between my continuous channel clicks as Delphine recites the designated passage. “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height or depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
A brief silence ensues before Tatie speaks up with a shake in her voice, her question posed to Cecelia. “Do you believe that’s true?”
Turning, I’m slammed into by the sight of Cecelia kneeling at Delphine’s feet as she offers more words of comfort. “Those are the only verses I’ve memorized. So, I guess, maybe, I want to believe it.”
Delphine’s eyes slowly lift to mine, and Cecelia’s deep blue gaze follows. The second we connect, a tidal wave of awareness crashes into me. That’s when I see it, fucking feel it, and I’m not the only one. A heartbeat later, Delphine confirms it with a French whispered warning. “Elle est trop belle. Trop intelligente. Mais trop jeune. Cette fille sera ta perte . . .” She is too beautiful. Too smart. But too young. This girl will be your undoing . . .
Whoosh. Whoosh.
“What happened to your parents?”
Cecelia’s question during the drive back to King’s reverberates through the cabin of my Camaro as I exit, leaving her in the passenger seat. Feeling her heavy gaze following me as I stalk away, I don’t bother to acknowledge Sean, who stands shrouded in the dark just outside the bay. His own calculating stare adding weight to hers as I make a beeline for my toolbox while my heartbeat thunders in my ears.