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Devra squeezed her eyes shut. Mismatched flashes of memory surfaced. A sizzle. A crash. Pain. Fear. She rubbed her eyes and exhaled. “This is hopeless. As far as I can remember, December has always been awful. There was no inciting incident. The curse just is. Always was.”
“Your father might be able to help us. We should ask your brother too. He’s older, right?”
“Only by eighteen months.”
“Hmm. Then he might not remember much more than you do. But your father would.”
“He might.”
“We should go see him, then.” Bradley was suddenly on his feet. “Surely he’ll be able to recall when it started. And maybe he’ll have some insight into any objects that fell into your family’s possession around that time. He might even know what happened to your mother. Or at least have some idea of how we might track her down.”
He was putting on his coat when Devra scrambled over and grabbed his arm to stop him, his thick muscles flexing beneath her fingertips.
“I can’t go see my father, Bradley. We’ll just have to send him a text.”
“This is hardly the kind of conversation you can have over text message.”
“I guess we could risk a phone call.”
“Risk a phone call?” Bradley gave her a look. “Okay, what am I missing?”
Devra bit down on the tip of her thumbnail. “It’s difficult to explain.”
“Try. Please. I’m listening.”
Pain and uncertainty rattled inside her head.
My fault.
“Devra.” He inched closer. “What is it?”
“I didn’t tell you…my, um, my father. He’s sick.”
Bradley slashed a hand across the stubble on his cheek. “Oh.”
“He was diagnosed with coronary artery disease two years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“There’s more.”
He nodded and waited for her to carry on. For her to confess her sins.
“We only found out about his disease because he had a heart attack. On December twenty-sixth. We’d forgone any formal celebration for years by then, but I thought maybe we could all get together that year. Not on Christmas Day, obviously. But afterward. I was feeling so incredibly lonely. The Squally Project was struggling, and we’d lost half our funding. I was sure it was going to get shut down for good. I was…I don’t know what I was thinking, really. I just wanted to see everyone. To not be alone. So I convinced Papa and David we should get together. Then, before we could even sit down at Papa’s kitchen table, he clutched his chest. He went…so pale. Dropped to his knees. Cracked a patella. We rushed him to the emergency room. I was terrified. Because it was December. And I’d brought us together. Knowing what I know. And he—”
Her voice broke, and Bradley closed the gap between them, cupping her shoulders with his big hands. “His heart attack couldn’t have been because of anything you did in a single day. It would have taken months, most likely years, for his condition to have reached that stage. It didn’t just suddenly happen because you wanted to see your family during the holidays.”
“I get what you’re saying. I do. And logically I know it sounds like it makes sense. But at the same time, who knows what the curse is capable of?” She swiped a hand under her nose. “Anything bad that happens in December feels like it’s my fault.” She could feel the tears welling. “It was my fault, Bradley.”
“Devra.” He pulled her into him.
Her head seemed to fit perfectly on the slope between his shoulder and chest, the press of his collarbone holding back her tears. “I can’t shake the feeling that every time I dare to try and be happy, things only get worse.”
Bradley ran his hand over her back. A calming gesture that ignited her skin, sparks following his path and building heat. He smelled of peppermint and pine, and for once, these smells didn’t spark terror.
“Except today…” She hesitated. It felt risky to say, to admit aloud. But the confession was pounding inside her, wanting to escape. Bringing her head up to see him better, she admitted, “Today, I feel like maybe things could actually get better.”
Bradley’s hands moved upward from her back to her shoulders, rising infinitesimally higher.
