Bird Song (72 page)

“Work what out?
 
What kind of relationship did we ever have if it started out with him lying to me?”

Graham nodded in understanding, and squeezed his arms around me even tighter.
 
“I don’t like the fact that any of this is happening, Grace.
 
I was genuinely starting to like the guy—I love his sister something crazy—and I know that despite all of the stupid things he’s done, he loves you just as much I love Lark—perhaps even more.”

“Are you actually suggesting I think about forgiving him when you’re not even willing to talk to Lark?”

“I just think that if there’s anyone out there who can keep you safe from this Sam guy it’s him.
 
I’ll deal with hating him for everything else silently if it means that he’ll stick around and keep this Sam person from hurting you again.”

I shook my head at the suggestion.
 
“I can’t.
 
I don’t trust him anymore, Graham.
 
I
can’t
trust him.
 
It’s not like he dated someone else behind my back, or lied about his age.”

“I know that, Grace.
 
He put your whole life in danger, but he’s also kept you safe, kept you alive all this time.
 
As much as I hate him, I
gotta
admit that if not for him, I wouldn’t be able to talk to you like this.”

I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth in his words.
 
I couldn’t do that, because doing that would mean taking that first step towards something that I no longer recognized.

Graham’s chin lifted and pressed down against the top of my head, his voice filling in the silence.
 
“This is so much more complicated than dating a normal person.
 
Hey, next time, choose a human to date, alright?”

I felt an odd sensation in my chest and marveled as it crawled up to my throat and came out in a sound that was similar to a strangled bit of laughter.

“I tried that once, remember?” I told him.
 
In that moment, an unbidden image formed in my head of two smiling faces, their bodies positioned in the same manner, their faces much, much older.

I could see their hands still clasped against her chest, his arms wrapped around her middle protectively, comfortingly.
 
They were staring at a series of images of what looked like joyous times together, memories captured in wooden frames lining the walls and shelves, as though each one had to make up for those that were missing somewhere else.

The smiles grew sad as their eyes traveled the veritable globe through those photographs, and I realized with sudden clarity that they were the only people in each one.
 
A lifetime of photos of just them, their smiling faces growing older with each progressing frame.

There was an obvious happiness in their faces.
 
But I could see something missing, something that felt strange, an almost mysterious emptiness.
 
I heard a shudder of breath and I watched as together their chests stopped rising, their bodies forever locked in a loving embrace.
 
I looked on as the room grew frigid at a frighteningly quick pace, and a familiar dark mist began to fill the room, swirling around slowly until from beneath its dark layer, Death himself appeared, his magnificent ebony wings extended, taking up nearly the entire room, turning it dark and foreboding.

His beautiful face was pinched in agony as he reached a hand to touch the softly lined cheek of the woman, his thumb caressing the now blue-tinged lips of her mouth.
 
He lowered himself to his knees and laid his head against her chest, sobbing as the sound he longed to hear did not greet him as it had always done.

He clutched at the bedclothes, his sharp nails turning them into strips of useless cloth as he tried to contain the emotions that roiled within him.
 
He cried out, and my hands instinctively covered my ears, but I heard nothing this time.

The glass in the frames began to shatter and rained over the entire scene, landing on the bodies and mixing with the crystal droplets that had begun to collect on the ground beneath the dark angel.
 
He angrily pried the man’s arms away from her body and pulled her up into his own.
 

He pressed his lips against her cold face, over and over again, each time whispering something to her, desperately waiting to hear her respond, but of course she never did.
 
He pulled something out of his front shirt pocket—a scrap of paper—and rubbed the surface with his thumb.
 
His wings blocked my view of seeing what exactly was happening to that piece of paper, but as soon as he was done, it burst into flames.

He sank to the floor, her body in his arms, and he slowly began to change, his hair changing color, becoming lighter until it was void of any color at all.
 
His skin began growing sallow and loose.
 
I held my hand to my mouth, horrified as I watched the pewter irises began to turn into onyx, the silver running out with the tears that continued to flow down his face.
 
His wings began to wither, the deep, midnight color fading to a dismal gray before disintegrating into a fine ash that blew into the cold, disturbed air.

He brought the woman’s hand over his chest where his cold, motionless heart had lain dormant for what appeared to be decades, and smiled.
 
I cocked my head to the side as I saw a faint ripple beneath the thin fabric of his black shirt, my eyes opening wide in shock.

“I’m coming, Grace.
 
I’m coming.”

He closed his eyes and I bit back a sob as I watched the rise and fall of his chest cease, the beating of his heart fade away like his wings.

My chest grew cold, the living heart inside sputtering at the shock of such an enormous, significant loss.
 
“No,” I breathed.
 
The sob I had held back finally tore through me.
 
“No!”

“Grace?”

The darkness of the room felt like the lights had just been flipped off as I blinked rapidly to adjust my vision to the sudden change.
 
Sweat began to bead on my forehead and in my hands as the temperature of the room was now considerably warmer.

“Grace, are you okay?”

“What?”

“You kind of freaked out on me for a second there, got all stiff and…cold.”

I began to giggle in nervous relief when I realized that the vision was gone, and my body was not laying in the arms of my dead angel, but rather those of my best friend.

“Well at least you’re laughing.”

I shook my head.
 
“I’m sorry, Graham.”

“Don’t apologize.
 
I kind of miss your dorky laugh.
 
It reminds me that you’re not dead.”

At that, my laughter turned semi-hysterical, which in turn reminded me, too, that I wasn’t dead.
 
At least…not yet.
 
“Don’t insult my laugh—it’s unique.”

“Yeah, like a hyena.”

I maneuvered my arm just enough to elbow him in his ribs playfully and we were both consumed by laughter as he feigned a mortal injury to something other than his pride.

When we both calmed down, our laughter subsiding into the quiet of the darkened room, I heard him sigh into my hair.
 
“Grace, are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” I told him honestly.
 
“I’ve got a lot of thinking to do—I’ve avoided it these past few days, but I can’t keep doing it.
 
I can’t run from this, and I definitely can’t hide from this, which means that I can only face this head on.”

“I’m going to face this with you, Grace,” Graham said reassuringly.
 
“You’re not going to do this alone.
 
I’m here for you.
 
I’m not running away this time.”

“I know,” came my somber reply, but I also knew that whatever the end results, I didn’t want Graham to have to face this alone either.
 
“Graham?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Talk to Lark.”

I grit my teeth and held my breath as I waited through his silence for a response.
 
Finally, after a long sigh, I felt him nod his head.
 
I exhaled in relief and allowed the first genuine smile to cross my lips in days.

“Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you do
me
a favor?”

I hesitated answering him, fearful of what it was that he’d want from me in return, but he was my best friend and whatever he wanted, I felt compelled to at least consider.

“Anything.”

“Could you take a shower?
 
Because, no offense, but you reek!”

“Oh!” I gasped, and twisted in his arms to begin pummeling him, our laughter mixing in the dark room, filling the house with the first sounds of happiness in nearly a week.

“I’ll let you get your stuff,” Graham said after pinning me to the bed and proclaiming himself the winner when I finally relented and agreed to take a shower.

“See, that’s a problem.
 
I haven’t done any laundry since before the wedding—my dad usually does it—so I’m clear out of clothes to sleep in.”

“Hold on,” he said and ran downstairs.
 
A few minutes later he reappeared with several items in his hand, one of them being his old freshman wrestling shirt.
 
“Here, you can wear that and these.”
 
He handed me a pair of boxers.

“Ugh!
 
You want me to wear your underwear?” I gasped.

“What!
 
They’re brand-new.
 
Mom bought them for me in Florida, but I never got a chance to wear them because I came straight back here.
 
You can roll the waist so it’ll fit you better, but at least you won’t have to do laundry tonight, right?”

I nodded and thanked him begrudgingly.
 
I quickly grabbed a pair of my own underwear and then headed towards the bathroom.
 
I placed the clothes on the bathroom counter and turned to close the door.

“Ouch!”

I jumped onto the counter, nearly falling into the bathroom sink in the process, and grabbed my foot.
 
It was bleeding from several tiny cuts.
 
I peered down onto the floor and stared in shock at the tiny, reflective glass shards that covered the tiled ground.

“Grace?
 
Are you okay?” I heard Graham ask from behind the door.

“Graham, did you use this bathroom at all this week?” I called out.

“Uh…no.
 
I’ve been using your dad’s.
 
There’s a tub in that one.
 
Why?”

“I think Stacy might have dropped something in here—there’s glass all over the floor.”

I heard him groan at the sound of Stacy’s name.
 
“Are you bleeding?”

I nodded then laughed when I realized he couldn’t hear a nod.
 
“Yes.
 
Could you get the broom and dustpan for me, please?”

When he didn’t answer, I assumed he had already left to go and get them.
 
A loud knock followed just a few minutes later.

“Are you decent?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

He opened the door and immediately began to sweep the floor towards the shower stall, stopping only to begin sweeping the little razors into the dustpan.
 
Once he was sure he had gotten everything off the floor, he squatted and began to examine my feet.

“This is pretty bad, Grace.
 
They’re all in your feet.”

“No, really?”

We spent the next hour laughing and cursing as he plucked sliver after sliver of glass from my feet, placing each bloody one on a napkin next to me on the counter.
 
By the time he was done, he had removed almost thirty tiny shards from the soles of my feet.
 
He quickly bandaged my still-bleeding feet and carried me back to my room.

“So much for that bath,” I joked.

“I’m going to kill Stacy when I see her—forget cancer.
 
She’s going to have to deal with me now,” Graham growled as he stalked back towards the bathroom to gather the dustpan and the napkin.

“I hope it wasn’t expensive,” he called from across the hall.

“Hope what wasn’t expensive?” I shouted back.

“Whatever it was that broke.”

I shrugged my shoulders.
 
“We don’t really have anything expensive in this house.
 
You know that.”

“Yeah, well, last I heard, crystal was pretty expensive.
 
Plus, it does a number on your feet.”

I looked at my bandaged feet and then groaned as I saw the familiar honeycombed bruising start to form across them.
 
“Oh, Robert…what did you do?” I breathed.

“What?”