The ridge was harsh and savage in its beauty by daylight, just like the man who called it home, but by night, it was downright scary.
Giant evergreen boughs swayed in the constant wind that whipped down the ridge, the soft needles brushing the windows like fingertips all night long. I curled into the corner of the couch, frowning when I heard the faint strings of violin music enter my mind again.
Teeth on edge, I stood, wrapping myself in the blanket that still smelled like Maverick, and cursed him for not coming home.
I then began to wonder if he’d been hurt, If I’d been stubborn and stupidly irresponsible letting him stay away all day. Maybe he’d gotten hurt fixing that drain ditch and now it was all my fault.
The slow bleeding strains of a haunting and romantic classical song I’d heard before grew louder, and I began to grow sure that I was conjuring the entire audible daydream.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, certain it was coming from the same room as last night, the one he claimed had been locked.
The young face of the bride in the photo downstairs flirted with my vision, her long hair swaying in the wind as the notes of her violin carried into the air. I blinked, wondering if this was all some sort of waking daydream, the temptation to climb the stairs and follow the music was powerful.
I gripped the worn wooden rail, Maverick’s warning surging through me before the violin grew to a fevered pitch, a ravaged crescendo of a sound that caused a crack of pain to halve my mind like a lightning bolt.
“I need Maverick,” I said to myself, crushing my eyes closed and backing away from the stairs. The violin music grew louder in my mind, unbearably high pitched, only fading as I backed out of the house and down the main steps of the cabin.
The wind whipped my hair around my shoulders, a chill coursing down my spine as I turned, relieved when I found Maverick's truck still parked where he’d left it after rescuing me.
Wherever he’d gone, he was within walking distance.
I clung to the edges of the looming evergreen boughs, comfortable as I walked down the steep driveway. The rain had turned to a soft mist, milky clouds of fog hanging low to the ground and adding a sinister quiet to the ridge. I picked slowly down the path, coming to the corner that veered sharply to the right, where I’d lost control on loose gravel, washed away by the storm and taken out the ditch, causing more washout.
“Maverick?” I breathed into the night.
Only the salt-damp breeze off the bay answered me.
I followed the edge of the moonlight, walking carefully to avoid the slippery washed out edge of the road. When I came to the sunflower field, my car was parked just as I’d left it, along the edge with one wheel in the ditch.
Even in the darkness the sunflowers looked beautiful, the undersides of their petals silvered in the moonlight.
“Such a beautiful, sad place to live,” I hummed to myself, turning to take in the sparkling moonlit bay the sunflower field towered over. I walked across the gravel road, sneakers damp in the grass that ran along the shoulder. And then a dip in the grass nearly tripped me, and covered like a sunken grave, the body of a grown man in a sleeping bag sound asleep at its center.
“Maverick?” I bent, pushing the top of the sleeping bag down a fraction to reveal his dark hair. I shook him softly, hating to wake him, but hating to see him out here in the elements too. This man lived like he punished himself, I didn’t know why and I didn’t care, but I wouldn’t let him do it in my presence.
“Wake up,” I whispered at his ear, finally waking him.
His eyes fluttered open, confusion chasing away the sleep before they grew dark and angry. “What are you doing?”
“I came to ask you the same question, at least we’re on the same page about something,” I teased, rubbing my arms as the damp chill settled into my bones. “What are you doing out here? Trying to catch your death?”
His eyebrow arched before he turned back to the bay. “Maybe.”
“Come on, please come back to the cabin, I can’t stay there alone, the ghosts will get me.” I pushed at his shoulder, trying to get him to loosen up. He was tense, muscles bunched like marble. “Looks like they already claimed one victim tonight.”
That earned me a reaction, a ravaged grunt before he whipped the sleeping bag off of him and flung it around my shoulders. He moved quickly, zipping me up inside and then rubbing my shoulders as I stood in front of him.
“Come back to the house.”
“I can’t sleep there.”
“I can’t either.”
“The sound of the waves are the only thing that clear my head.” His confession surprised me.
“Maybe I should try it then.” I dropped to my bottom, trying to relax into all the stillness around us. The bay sparkled, the tiny marina lit in the distance as a single boat patrolled the bay.
“I need the quiet to hear myself think.” He crouched near the dying embers of his campfire, poking it with a large stick until the flames grew brighter.
