It took her ages to wipe off the counter with a rag before she turned and made her way slowly through the kitchen. Gradually, as I watched her, relief replaced the fear that had been washing through my body. She was safe. No vampire, no demons, no blood. She was fine.
I used the time between her disappearing from the kitchen window and exiting her front door to relocate to the bottom of her front porch steps and cast another spell for invisibility. By the time she cracked open the door, I was settled in a position I could hold for a while. Typically, Beverly only sat in her front porch swing for half an hour or less, but every once in a while, that time could double. The first time she’d altered from her nearly devout schedule, it was all I could do to refrain from standing up and revealing myself or having my leg, which had fallen asleep, amputate itself, the movement ending the spell in either case.
She curved into the corner of the swing, clutching a thick shawl around her shoulders despite the warmth of the evening. Her small feet dangled in midair, making her look like an ancient child. I swear I could almost see her shrinking before my eyes.
As ever, no sooner had she gotten settled and taken a sip of her hot tea than she began whispering. Praying quietly and fervently. She was so quiet that I could never make out everything she said, but I’d caught enough words here and there to know she prayed for the same thing every night. For Brett. For his safety, for the fight for his life, for his return. Every night, I also heard my name rise from her lips. For my safety, that Brett and I will find happiness together. It took me several nights to believe what I was actually hearing. Brett’s Christian grandmother praying for the success of her grandson’s gay relationship. Every time, it took all my strength to hold back my tears—for the beauty of her act, as well as the despair that her prayers were too late.
In my customary position, my back leaning into the brick retaining wall that bordered the steps, I let my eyes close, the hushed warmth of her prayers bringing me fleeting peace. The initial reason I began my nightly haunts of Beverly was to protect her from the vampire, as well as to feed my hope that Brett might show up unannounced. However, at this point, I was honest enough to admit these prayers, these brief moments that allowed my brain to quit moving and aching, were probably the reason I continued to return. If the vampire was going to use Beverly in his search for Brett, he would have done so by now. As for Brett, he’d cut off contact with his grandmother for years before this round of silence. I knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. But what if…?
She didn’t cry during her prayers very often. She did for the first week or so, but as the weeks passed, her eyes dried. Her prayers never did. Tonight, the tears made silent journeys down her cheeks. Maybe we were both feeling a little tender this evening. I hated to see her pain, but it was also nice. Nice that someone else was hurting for the same reason as me. My family was sympathetic and hurt for my pain, but Brett’s absence didn’t affect them directly, as it did me. With Beverly, well, we both cried for the same cause. Unlike me, Beverly never seemed close to anger with her grandson, only overwhelmed with worried love. My anger seemed to be devouring my love, and chewing with intense relish.
Her prayers always ended in prolonged silence. Just sitting in her swing, sometimes eyes sealed tightly shut, other times gazing out over the La Jolla coastline. They were slammed shut tonight, tears somehow finding passage. I imagined her waiting to hear her God’s voice. Maybe direction of what she should do, maybe affirming her concerns, maybe offering nothing at all. He sure wasn’t offering me anything. Then again, I hadn’t been able to ask.
Wiping her eyes, she slid tenderly off the swing and padded toward the door. Not even halfway there, she paused. She stood there so long I started to get concerned. At last, she turned and made her way back to the swing. She dusted off the side of the orange cushion she’d been sitting on, then pulled herself up on the far side of the swing, her feet once again making her look like an odd child.
Her voice was nearly as quiet as when she prayed. “Why don’t you join me tonight?”
I felt my invisible eyes widen. She couldn’t be talking to me. Maybe she was praying again. Imploring God or the Holy Spirit or some such rhetoric.
Her eyes momentarily traveled over the porch and the immediate front yard. “Join me on the swing, Finn. We don’t have to go through this alone.”
My breath caught. How did she know? How the hell did this little old woman know I was here? She couldn’t. She was guessing or something. I could wait her out. She wouldn’t stay in the swing all night.
As the tears began to flow again, her voice nearly dissolved in the night air. “Please.”
She didn’t jump when I became visible as I stood up. Her head simply turned, and her sad eyes met mine.
“How long have you known?”
With a trembling hand, she patted the cushion where she had been sitting earlier.
I only hesitated for a moment before climbing the stairs and taking the few steps to stand in front of her. “Beverly, how—”
Again she patted the cushion, fresh tears spilling.
As if compelled, I sat beside her and wrapped my arms around her miniscule body. I felt one soft sob wrack her, and that was all it took. My anger was tossed aside like a comforter in summer, and the heartbreak returned with gale force. My throat let out an inhuman crack, and suddenly she was supporting my weight, her tears intermingling with my own.
It might have been only a couple of minutes, but I suspect it was closer to fifteen or twenty by the time both of us regained any semblance of control. She dabbed at her eyes with the small fabric napkin before handing it to me. I blew my nose without embarrassment. We were past any formality or pretense, this little lady and I.
I pulled my legs up onto the swing and wrapped my arms around them. Instantly, I felt closed off from her, and I lowered them once more. “How long have you known, Beverly?”
She gifted me a sad smile. “I thought I felt you here two nights after I found you and Brett in the office. It was a few days before I began to trust my instincts and believe you were with me. You’ve been there every night, except for last night.” Absentmindedly, her right hand rose to flutter over her heart. “You were here that first night, weren’t you?”
Unable to make my throat unclench, I nodded.
“I thought so. That’s when I knew something was wrong. You wouldn’t have been here if everything was okay.” She lowered her hand, her fingers intertwining and finding rest in her lap. “I also knew Brett was alive. You would have let me see you if the vampire had hurt him.”
When I didn’t respond, her voice rose a bit, not much, but enough to betray her panic. “He is alive, right?”
“Yes.” I swallowed to stop the croaking sound. “Yes. As far as I know.”
She impossibly slouched more, the relief stealing some of her strength. “Praise you, Sweet Lord!”
The waves at the shore caught my eye. The white spray exploded as it crashed into the rocky cliffs. Farther down, the beach stretched out in its glittering serenity. Visions seemed to dance in the moonlight, of a much younger Beverly, terrified as the demon sprawled over her, raping her within the short distance from the safety of her front doors.
Her frail, speckled hand reached out and clenched over mine. “Don’t think about it. It will do neither of us any good. It was a lifetime ago.”
Leaving the past on the beach, I returned to the delicate pillar of strength beside me. “Are you a bit magic or something? You knew I was here. You know my thoughts.”
