“Why don’t I feel good?” I asked Arthur as we drove to our next destination, our second-to-last before we could go back to Phoenix and see Kelly.
“Because you’re a much better person than I am,” he replied.
“Explain.”
“You feel like shit because you used your power to hurt and intimidate someone else.”
Shit.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
I did to Bob exactly what he did to Kelly. I was the bully. I forced him to do what I wanted.
“It’s not a bad thing, Maeve. You were raised in a Christian household. I’m guessing you were taught to turn the other cheek if someone tried to hurt you. That’s why you never fought back at any of the horrible kids at your school. That’s why you tried to get us to help Dora instead of letting Blake tinker with her head. That’s why you wanted Blake to stay even when the rest of us didn’t trust him. You try to see the good in people. You try to understand them before you judge them. Maybe all the fire and brimstone stuff didn’t fly with you, but it looks like some of the best parts of your parents’ religion did. That’s the kind of person you are, Maeve. You don’t want to hurt people. You don’t even want to hurt the fae. And you hurt someone tonight. But you shouldn’t feel bad. That guy was a wanker. A total gobshite, Flynn would say. I’m not going to waste a moment of my life feeling sorry for him, and neither should you.”
I reached across and wrapped my hand over his.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Remember that I set the fire,” he added. “You’re not responsible for that.”
“Yeah, but…maybe we should go back and help.”
“The fire department is on it. Do not feel bad, Maeve. You did a good thing tonight.”
I rubbed my temples, trying to shake off the horrors of Uncle Bob’s nightmares, the sickening satisfaction I’d felt in my gut when he screamed as his shirt caught fire.
I’m not so sure.
We drove on in near silence, heading back through the village and out into the desert. “Here,” I jabbed my finger out the window. Arthur stopped the car and reached across to squeeze my hand.
The moon shone low over the desert, highlighting the silhouettes of the rows of graves lining a wide, dusty path. The car’s stupid round headlights illuminated rustic wooden crossesand piles of white stones that outlined the plots. Bright floral wreaths and Mexican statues dotted many of the graves. The place had a humble vibe about it – the sky didn’t press down oppressively, squeezing my grief on all sides. Instead, the open desert air made my head feel light, my thoughts floating away on the cool breeze.
There was a fancier, more modern cemetery in the next town over, but my parents had wanted to be buried here, where they had lived and worked and loved and fought to glorify their god’s name.
My fingers dug into the leather seat. Arthur stepped out of the car, stroking his beard as his mouth hung open. “This place looks like something out of an old Western film.”
I tried to say something, but words wouldn’t form. At least my Uncle’s nightmares had disappeared from my head. They’d been replaced with my own.
Arthur opened my door and held out his hand. I took it, allowing him to pull me out of the car. The heat of his palm scalded my skin, but I didn’t flinch away. Arthur’s fire was part of him, and I liked…no, I think Ilovedevery part of him.
He’d done what he did tonight for me.
We walked down the rows, not saying anything, seeing but not seeing the graves with their bright decorations. My heart pounded in my ears. So many dead people who were so loved.
“Here,” I stopped in front of two graves near the end of the row. They shared a single tombstone, as they shared everything else in life.
Matthew And Louise Crawford
Weep Not, We Are Angels Now
I sucked in my breath, my chest constricting. I sank to my knees in front of the stones, feeling the warmth of the desert through the thin fabric of my skirt.
“Do you want me to leave?” Arthur whispered.
“No. Unless you have to leave, because of…”your mother. Because you understand. You’ve also stood in front of the grave of someone you love and known that a slab of cold, grey stone was all you had left.
“I won’t leave you. I’m right here.” Arthur rested his hand on my shoulder.
