I reached for the basket, wriggling my fingers to latch on to the handle, then dragged it closer. The towel I’d packed was still inside, and I used it to dry his hair, arms, and chest, being careful around the wound. Afterward, I tossed it towel to the side and pulled the blanket around him.
His painful sounds scratched my heart, and I willed my hand to comfort him. For a split second, my fingers hovered close to his hairline. Every piece I gave of me was a piece that could not be taken back. I knew this ... but I still pushed my fingers through his thick, white hair until he drifted into a deep sleep.
The next day,I returned to the cave.
He was asleep. I could tell he hadn’t gotten up or looked inside the basket because Dad’s clothes were still folded neatly. He hadn’t moved from the corner, and the blanket was still wrapped around him in the same spot I’d left him in.
I started the fire and pulled Mom’s book from my bag.
“I brought something,” I said to him, even though his eyes were closed. I took a seat beside him. “I haven’t been able to read it yet. But I was thinking, since you’re here, we could do this together so I wouldn’t have to do it alone.”
For hours, I read pages of Mom’s book to him while daylight broke through a sheet of gray and haloed the mouth of the cave. Only the stranger and me. Flurries caught on a breeze, movements lazy then darting like embers would do over a fire.
Each time I stopped reading, his eyes opened and he looked for me. Our gazes would tether and hold. He never talked to me. He never said a word, but my presence must have brought him comfort because after his eyes found mine, they fluttered shut again. Each time, I continued reading until he was in a deep sleep. Once his eyes flickered beneath his lids, hopefully dreaming of soothing dreams, I dragged my palm up and down his back.
When night was approaching, I inched closer to say goodbye.
“Until tomorrow,” I whispered, grazing the back of my fingers across his cheekbone.
The following day,I found myself racing under gray skies to him.
My secret in the cave. He was always where I’d left him.
The only light in the cave was from the flames, and the only darkness came from the shadows they cast inside. A low groan came from him, the pain waking him.
He looked up at me, and we stared at each other for a string of hard seconds. I found that we would do this often, and it had always put us both at ease. This quiet connection between us was a relic I wanted to collect.
I scooted closer until my knee touched his arm, and I stroked his head with my fingernails. “I’m sorry. I was in such a rush that I forgot the book today.”
With nothing left to comfort him, I started to sing. I didn’t know what made me do it. I’d never been the comforting type, but each time his eyes squeezed tight from the pain, it felt as if it were pinching my heart.
His groan began to fade, so I continued the song—a song I hadn’t heard since I was a little girl. A story about a siren who fell for a mere mortal.
It was a sad song, one without a happy ending. I didn’t know why it had dawned on me, but the man seemed comforted by it. The same way I once was.
When the song ended, his hand inched closer until his fingertips brushed the side of my leg. Like he was searching for me and wanted to be sure I was still here.
My breath held in my chest when his hand moved, fingers outstretched and splayed across my thigh. He squeezed it as if exhuming something from me and pulled me closer until his face was curled into the warmth of my skin.
I let my breath go and started the song all over again.
On the fourth day,the hidden sun hadn’t softened the dip in temperature from the night, so I heated soup and carried it back in a thermos just in case he had the strength to eat. This time, I was determined to get answers if he awoke, like his name and why he was lying in a coffin in the Atlantic.
I would like to think I was not a naïve woman. I understood what my sisters would think of me if they knew about my time with him.In a few short days, you’ve already formed an attachment to this strange man who hasn’t even spoken to you.And perhaps it was true. But what would happen if he said things I didn’t want to hear or accept?
With every small step to the cave, the point of my dagger pricked my hip, reminding me that even though I saved him, even though I built this unspoken bond with him, I couldn’t be opposed to killing him if need be.
Only a small number of strangers had crossed Weeping Hollow’s magical borders. Mr. Pruitt had warned us of witch hunters, whose hatred for us was the reason the town remained hidden from the outside world. It was why our ancestors escaped, coming here more than two hundred years ago. The safety of the town had to come first.
I’d brought Mom’s book with me and began to read aloud. Much like all the other days, the man was comforted by my voice. And after half an hour passed by a slow-burning fire, a painful breath sputtered from his lips. I closed the book and craned my neck to catch his eyes opening.
He looked at me for a moment with eyes that were two swatches of asphalt and lacking any substance. And heavily hooded lids that wanted to hide them.
He blinked his eyes away and whispered in a croak to himself.
His voice was smoky yet strangled. Almost like he didn’t mean to say anything aloud outside his head. But I couldn’t make out what he had said. I couldn’t make out if it was a spell he was chanting, a question, or his name.
And I wanted to hear him again. “Excuse me?”
