“Thanks, honey,” I mumble.
“You’re welcome, baby. I’m sorry your day sucks.”
“Me too.”
He kisses my temple and then looks over to his dad, but his eyes stop on the roses that are sitting on the counter. “Some guy delivered those?” he asks. I swallow and look at Asher’s dad. He hasn’t told him about the card yet. Mr. Mayson looks at me then at Asher. “What aren’t you telling me?” Asher asks his dad.
“When I pulled up, November came outside and found a card.”
“Where is it?” Asher asks. I can see his body expanding and his muscles bunching under his shirt. Mr. Mayson hands Asher the card that is now inside a gallon zipper bag. The card is open so we can see the inside and outside of it. Asher looks at the front for a second and sees that it’s a picture of New York and then he flips the bag over. I can tell that he’s using all of his control to not rip the thing in half.
“What does this mean?” Asher sounds wild and nothing like himself.
I pull my phone out and Google the words that are written in the card. “The person who wrote on my living room wall also wrote this poem,” I tell Asher and his dad.
“We know the other poem is called November. What is this one called?” Asher asks.
“Anticipation,” I tell them and get a shiver down my spine when I read the poem aloud.
‘Coming events cast their shadow before.’ I had a vision in the summer light— Sorrow was in it, and my inward sight Ached with sad images. The touch of tears Gushed down my cheeks:—the figured woes of years casting their shadows across sunny hours.
Oh, there was nothing sorrowful in flowers
Wooing the glances of an April sun, Or apple blossoms opening one by one Their crimson bosoms—or the twittered words And warbled sentences of merry birds;— Or the small glitter and the humming wings Of golden flies and many colored things— Oh, these were nothing sad—nor to see Her, Sitting beneath the comfortable stir Of early leaves—casting the playful grace Of moving shadows in so fair a face— Nor in her brow serene—nor in the love Of her mild eyes drinking the light above With a long thirst—nor in her gentle smile— Nor in her hand that shone blood-red the while She raised it in the sun. All these were dear To heart and eye—but an invisible fear Shook in the trees and chilled upon the air, And if one spot was laughing brightest—there My soul most sank and darkened in despair!— As if the shadows of a curtained room Haunted me in the sun—as if the bloom Of early flow ’rets had no sweets for me, Nor apple blossoms any blush to see— As if the hour had brought too bright a day— And little birds were all too gay!—too gay!— As if the beauty of that Lovely One Were all a fable.—Full before the sun Stood Death and cast a shadow long before, Like a dark pall enshrouding her all o’er, Till eyes, and lips, and smiles, were all no more!
“That sounds a lot more threatening than the last poem he left,” Asher says, looking at his dad. I look toward Mr. Mayson too. His face is blank. “What do we do?”
“I need November to tell me about the delivery and anything that she can remember from when she was attacked in New York. I also need to know if either of you have noticed anyone out of place or someone who made you uncomfortable.”
I look from Asher’s dad to Asher and see that his body is still ready for attack. I lean forward on the counter and grab his shirt at the back and drag him toward me. Once he’s close, I wrap my arms around his middle and lay my head on his back. I feel his hands rest on top of mine then he takes a deep breath and his body relaxes.
“I need to go out to the car and get my notebook. When I come back in, we can talk.”
Asher turns to face me and pulls me closer to him. “I’m really sorry about this,” I mumble into his chest, letting his smell relax me.
“Don’t apologize about this. It isn’t your fault.”
“Maybe I should lea—” The words are not even out of my mouth before he cuts me off.
“Don’t even fucking think about leaving me.” His arms go super tight around me like he is expecting me to vanish into thin air. “I will track your ass down and drag you back here. I want you to listen to me.” His hands hold my face, and his lips come closer to mine. “Dad is on this. I’m on this and now I’m putting Kenton on this. We will find out what’s going on and who is doing this. And while we’re doing that, you will be safe.”
“I would die if something happened to you because of me,” I whisper my biggest fear and then do a face plant into his shirt.
“Baby,” he says, running his hand down my back. “The worst thing that could happen is if you left me and I had no way of knowing that you were okay. I won’t let anything happen to you and I will make sure that nothing happens to me either. Do you think I would let something happen to myself, knowing that there are about six guys that I knowwaiting to take my place?”
“You know you’re crazy, right?” I ask in all seriousness. Only he would say one of the reasons he was staying safe is so random, non-existent guys don’t try to take me away.
“No, I’m selfish. I know what sleeps next to me every night. You are mine, November. Until the day you leave this earth, you are mine. And I take my responsibility very seriously.” What could I say to that? Before I say anything, his dad comes in the front door carrying a notebook and a file.
“Alright, let’s get started,” Mr. Mayson says, setting his stuff down on the island and pulling out the stool to take a seat. Asher kisses my forehead then jumps up next to me on the counter, grabbing my hand.
I tell them about the delivery then about the attack. Then I remember the roses that had been outside the apartment door when I got home from the hospital in New York. I had never gotten flowers before, and my mom would get them all the time from whatever man she was seeing, so I assumed they were for her. I took them into the apartment and left them on the counter. I never even thought about them again until that moment.
“White roses,” I whisper to myself.
“Pardon?” Mr. Mayson asks.
“White roses were left outside my apartment door after I was attacked. I thought they were for my mom but I guess maybe they weren’t.”
