“What month is it?” she asked stiffly.
Sam’s hand touched the top of her back. “It’s Avril. Is something wrong?”
Numb, she straightened, closed the washer, and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of Cora’s murder.”
Sam did not look at her with pity, only understanding. “Would you like to hit something?”
His voice was so formal that she couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Dume and I meet at a special place and drink in her honor. We trade stories and those kinds of things.”
An awkward silence stretched between them, but she was too distracted to care as darkness blanketed her.
Holding her sister’s lifeless body as she screamed was somethingshe would never forget. Not that anyone would forget seeing their sibling murdered, but it often replayed in her mind in vivid detail.
“Do not get lost within yourself,” Sam said with such tenderness that it took her aback. “I know what it is like to lose a loved one, and if you allow your grief to pull you under, you might not reach the surface again.”
Her watery eyes met his. “I coped by killing,” she whispered. “I thought I would feel better if I could prevent others from going through what Cora did. Without it, I’m not sure if I want to reach the surface anymore.”
He leaned down and placed both hands on her shoulders, commanding her attention. “I know it is hard, but I learned that the ones we have lost are not the only people in our lives. A part of you will always be buried under the grief, but the rest of you belongs with those still here. Do not rob yourself of that joy.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. What he said was true, and she owed it to herself and the people she loved to be present. “Thank you.”
With a curt nod, he straightened. “Stop crying.”
A laugh bubbled out of her as she looked at her robotic guard. “You are strange, but I like you.”
Was that a flush she saw creeping up his neck?
“Earlier, you said today was Wednesday. What is the significance?” Sam asked, changing the subject.
She was still smiling at his obvious unease. “Yes. Dume, Kordie, Keith, and I used to meet every Wednesday afternoon. We decided last night in our group message to play catch-shot against another group from the rec. Sera knows them. She’s filling in for Kordie.”
Catch-shot was a sport Rory didn’t care to watch, but it was fun to play. It’s basically a big game of keep away with a batter, bases, and a lot of running.
Their group only played a few times before Kordie swore she would never play again.
Sam looked Rory up and down skeptically. “You play a sport?”
She pushed him, but his massive body didn’t move. “I’m aFey.I’m athletic.”
“If little Sera cannot play, I will take her place,” he offered, and Rory thought she saw a hint of excitement flit across his face.
“Come on, big boy, we need to stretch.”
That afternoon,Rory stared at her long hair with scissors in her hand. Despite loving it long, she couldn’t shake the urge to cut it off. There was no explanation for it.
“Drop those scissors, or I swear to theSeraphimI will dump an itching potion on your head!” Kordie’s voice yelled from her bedroom door, and Rory jumped at least a foot in the air with a screech.Why did people always sneak up on her?
Kordie made Keith drop her off earlier so she and Rory could ride to the rec center together. They’d hung out that afternoon, talking about her and Keith, much to Sam’s dismay.
Rory stared at her friend in the mirror like a deer shifter caught in the headlights.
“What are you doing?” Kordie hissed as she snatched the kitchen scissors from Rory’s hand.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I need to cut my hair.”
Kordie picked up a lock of her long hair, examining it. “Why?”
Rory rested her hands on either side of the sink. “It doesn’t matter.” She pushed off the counter and walked into her room to grab a hat from her closet.
