She slowly lifted the slice of pizza from off the plate, never taking her eyes off me. “Right. That's exactly what a psychopath would say.”
“Yeah, probably,” I agreed with a resigned nod. “But would a psychopath offer to show you those records? Because I could get my hands on them, if you—”
“Oh my God!” Ray swatted my arm with the back of her hand. “You’re not showing her anything. She’s just being stupid.”
Before anyone else could say anything, Barbara, Ray's mother, put a cork in the conversation by asking her daughters how work was going in their respective fields. Stormy worked at a tattoo shop up in Salem as the resident body piercer, and I snagged the opportunity to warm her up by asking if she could get me any kind of discount.
She snorted at the question and gestured toward the old, faded tattoos on my arms. “Why? You wanna cover some of that crap up? Or do you just need someone to put some new holes into your body?”
I laughed. “Both.”
She pursed her lips, continuing to study me with that ice-cold stare, before nodding. “We could probably work something out, if you wanted to take the trip up to Massachusetts.”
Ray smiled at her sister's hesitant turn toward more friendly territory. “Maybe we could take a long weekend up there soon.” She curled her arm around my bicep. “I mean, if you can get the time off work …”
“Yeah, I'm sure Howard wouldn't mind giving me a weekend off. I haven't called out of work since I started.”
Stormy was slow to smile, but there it was, daring to peek through her rock-solid exterior. “Let me know, and I'll talk to the artists at my shop. I'm sure Blake or Cee could squeeze you in somewhere if you give me enough of a heads-up.”
The mood was lightened then when it was determined that the three of us would take a little road trip up north to visit Stormy—something Ray had apparently never done in the years since her sister had moved away from Connecticut. I assumed it had something to do with her being a single mother needing to work a full-time job with little downtime to do things like take vacations and visit her big sister—until I walked out of the house after dinner to stare out toward the cemetery across the street.
Stormy followed. “Hey.”
I turned to look down at her, startled by how short she actually was when her toughened demeanor had the ability to look me straight dead in the eye.
“Oh, hey.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against one of the wooden posts holding the roof over our heads. “Look, I'm sorry for being such a bitch.”
“It's cool.”
“No, it's really not, but okay.” She chuffed and turned her attention to the headstones behind a wrought iron fence. “My sister doesn't have the best luck with men. I don't know how much she's told you, but—”
“I know enough,” I muttered through a jaw that immediately pulsed with anger and hatred toward a guy I knew wasn't far from where I stood.
Where are you now, Seth?
Are you with Levi? What about Mom?
Do you know I'm right here, practically in your backyard?
I dare you … I dare any of you to show up and ruin this shit I have now. I fucking dare you.
Stormy grunted and nodded. “Yeah, so you understand why I was a little skeptical when she announced she was bringing home an ex-con to meet the family.”
“I absolutely do.”
“And here's the other thing.” She repositioned her combat boots against the wooden floor. Crossing one leg over the other, locking her arms tighter against her body. “I remember when that guy died. I remember when they arrested you. I was there. Rain wasn't, but I was. I saw it all happen.”
My lips rolled between my teeth as I nodded slowly. It made sense. Stormy was around my age, and if you had grown up in this shithole of a town back in the day, you had either hung out at The Pit—may it rest in Hell—or you hadn’t gone anywhere at all.
“I got out of here that summer,” she explained. “After what happened, I knew I had to leave, or I never would. So …” She cleared her throat, as if to wipe away the past that would never truly leave any of us alone. “Anyway, when she told me she was spending time with you, you can see why I wasn't happy about it. Like, I had told her to take Noah and get the hell out of here, and she did, but then she goes and starts spending time with the freakin' guy who killed—”
My eyes darted toward hers, and she dropped her apologetic gaze to the porch floor.
“Sorry,” she quickly injected. “I know it wasn't on purpose. It's just … there's fucking … fucking Seth, and now … you …”
“Hey,” I said, not intending to sound harsh and menacing, but I did. Because … well, I guessed I didn't particularly appreciate being lumped together with a piece of shit who had to force himself on someone to get what he wanted. And when I had Stormy’s attention, I added, “I am not him.”
“No,” she replied, nodding as her triple-pierced bottom lip was clamped between her teeth. “I wasn't sure about that before, even after Rain told me what you had done for her … you know, back then …” Her gaze volleyed toward my scar, then back to my eyes. “But now, after actually meeting you, I see now.”
“See what?”
She cocked her head and stared at me like the answer was obvious before she replied, “That you might not have killed someone intentionally back then, but for her … you would in a heartbeat.”
***
Stormy was intense, and being in her presence was soul-sucking even if I did appreciate her company—especially after getting the conversation on the front porch out of the way. So, after a little time passed, filled with more conversation and dessert, I told Ray I needed to get some more air and thought I’d take a walk across the street to the cemetery. She offered to go with me and admitted she had enjoyed hanging out there when she was younger.
“The dead can't hurt anyone,” she said with a melancholy smile.
But even though I rarely turned down her company, I did then. Because truthfully, there was someone—an old friend—I wanted to see, and I didn't want anyone else to witness my collapse, in the event it happened while in his presence.
So, I walked across the street alone and remembered that night years ago when I'd dropped her off just a few houses down. I remembered thinking she was so young—”She's a fucking kid, you asshole.” Funny how a gap of a few years could matter so much when you were that young. Funny how it didn't matter now. Funny how I couldn't stomach the thought of wanting her then, but wanting her now filled more moments in my day than I could count.
But thoughts and images of want and desire vanished the second I passed through that wrought iron gate and into the cemetery I hadn't visited since shortly after my grandmother's death. I had wanted to see my grandparents' graves when I was younger, but the shame of what I'd been doing prevented me from stepping onto the hallowed ground. The fear of facing their disapproving ghosts had kept me away, and now, I walked past the row I knew they lay in and quietly apologized for not stopping.
“I've already seen you guys before,” I told them, as if they might be listening. “And I'll come back. I just have to do this first, okay? I just …”