I rocked her, using my teeth to peel the glove from my hand, then smoothed her hair off her forehead before laying my palm against it. It was the only thing I could think of to do.
She was feverish beneath my palm, but at my touch, she stopped fighting me. All that was left were her cries as she melted between my legs.
I rested her head against my shoulder and stroked her chest, flicking through her memories until one surfaced:little feet slapping wet sand on a shore, head turning, a giggle escaping; a woman chasing her with a smile and adoring eyes, laughing, sunlight bathing my skin.
I squeezed my eyes shut. This had to be her and her mother. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to keep going, the memory too sensitive for a man who’d been betrayed by one.
Alas, I couldn’t help myself, and my palm sank between her breasts just asI’m scooped up and swung around; I’m hugged, I’m loved, I’m adored; “My sunshine,” she sings. “I got you.”
And it ripped open my chest, feeling how it should have felt to be loved by a mother.Control yourself, don’t react, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I repeated with my chest burning, sadness crowning.
Despite all efforts, I turned my head, and a burst of emotion broke out of me, tears pooling in my eyes.
I threw my head back and swiped a palm down my face.
As much as I wanted to let go of the memory, I couldn’t. It was warm here, and I didn’t know why I was torturing myself like this. Even though the memory wasn’t mine, the way this woman looked at me made me believe, even for a moment, that I was treasured, too. And I finally knew what it should have felt like to be accepted by a mother.
Circe’s next breath came out caught up and broken.
She was still crying but could finally breathe.
Not the same crying as before but lighter tears.
Ones from bliss rather than misery.
My heart pounded. Could she see the memory too?
It had never been possible before, and I should’ve known better than to hold on to hope. To think something I’d been cursed with could be helpful and ease her pain was foolish in the least.
It’s not possible,I reminded myself. But whenher mother ran into the ocean with us in her arms, a small smile tore across Circe’s lips, and it felt like my heart burst through my bones.
The words “My god” escaped me as I dropped my head into the curve of her neck.
She can see it. It’s possible.
I kissed her cheek and felt her salty tears slip down my lips.
“It’s going to be all right,” I said, hearingchildlike laughter swirling around us as we splashed in the shallow.“We got you.”
The muffled knocking sound continued, and I glanced behind me at the window where Circe had stood.
Wistoragicwas written several times into the fogged glass.
Two very different scripts.
As though it were written by two very different people.
CHAPTER 25
ADORA
December 2, 2020
57 days until the Crimson Eclipse
60 days until the Cantini-Sullivan wedding
Daylight invadedand filtered through my shut eyes.
