Page 246
Marian only closes her eyes.
“Of course he did,” she says, her voice trembling. “That boy spent his whole life throwing himself between you and whatever tried to get you.”
The words strike deep enough that I nearly fold as I look away, knowing how true her words are. No matter what, Arlo was always there, and it wasn’t until he was gone that I now see the extent of that because he never will be again.
CHAPTER 68
• Alessia •
THE FUNERAL HAPPENS at sunset.
They dig the grave near the old windbreak beyond the workers’ row, beneath the twisted tree where Arlo once carved mine and his initials into the bark with a rusty nail. He told me no one would notice but that he wanted proof we existed long after we were gone.
Everyone notices now because that tree grew up along with us, and the small writing is now stretched along its trunk, marking the tree as ours.
The whole farm comes. Even those too sick to stand are carried out in chairs and wrapped in blankets. All except Angie.
Kylian remains at my side, but a step back, close enough for the bond to hold me steady, far enough that no one feels forced to make space for him in their grief. Eagan stands with his head bowed.
Claudia speaks first, her voice rough but steady as she talks about a boy who worked harder than he should have, laughed louder than he was allowed to, stole apples he never admitted to.
People laugh through tears.
Then Marian speaks.
She tells them Arlo was born during a storm, that he never did learn patience, but that he learned to love.
I stand there with my hands clasped so tightly they ache.
When it is my turn, I do not know how to speak.
For a while, I only stare at the wrapped body lowered into the earth.
Then I step forward.
“Arlo loved this place more than it deserved,” I say. “He loved people who were hard to love, and he protected people who never asked him to, and he kept finding pieces of happiness in a world that tried to take every one of them from him.”
My throat tightens.
“He deserved more time,” I whisper. “He deserved a world kinder than this one.”
The wind moves through the tree above us.
“And because he did not get that world,” I say, my voice turning steadier, “I will spend the rest of my life trying to build one that would have been worthy of him.”
Kylian’s presence shifts behind me. I feel the bond warm. They cover Arlo’s grave as the sun disappears beyond the sea wall.
When it is done, I cannot feel my fingers, though I do not know whether the cold or grief is to blame. Marian touches my cheek, her thumb brushing the same place Arlo’s hand did before he died.
“He loved you,” she says.
“I know.”
“He would not want you to die with him.”
She turns toward the cabin where Angie is resting, and I follow.
Stepping inside the cabin, Angie is smaller than I remember. That is the first thought that enters my head when we step into the cottage, and it is so unfair that I nearly choke on it.
