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Bradley held his breath, waiting for the answer to a question that had tormented him for well over a year.

“Maybe,” she said. “But who knows? That was the problem, not what happened, but that I couldn’t remember it either.”

Bradley’s hope plummeted. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, I owe you an apology too. I hate that I left you thinking everything was your fault. It wasn’t like that. It was our fault. Us. Together.”

Our fault. The words rolled around his busy brain. It made him feel better, in a way, to spread the guilt around.

“We both got too caught up in the fun, the lifestyle. The truth is, we weren’t good for each other, Bradley.”

A truth that stung, because he’d thought they were pretty great together.

Yet when he looked back on their relationship now, it was about as clear as a wet painting dropped in water.

The bus driver signalled to him that he had one minute to get back on the bus.

“I’d still like to make it up to you.” Bradley shivered and stomped his feet to keep warm. “If there’s anything at all I can do?”

“Just live a good life. You’re a good guy, and you were a pretty great boyfriend too, most of the time. I called you today to tell you that most of all. No hard feelings.”

Bradley felt his reply snag in his throat, unsure whether it was still just sleet running down his cheeks. He’d spent so many nights hating himself, so many nights imagining her yelling at him during this conversation, prepared to grovel for her forgiveness. And here she was, simply handing it to him.

“I’m really glad you’re sober, though,” she said. “I hope now you can find some happiness with someone who’s better for you than I was.”

“Wow, um,” he cleared his throat of emotion, “thanks, Melissa. I wish you all the best too.”

The bus driver was officially waving both his hands at Bradley to get back on the bus. He said a quick goodbye, and they shared some half-hearted parting words about finishing this conversation in person sometime. Then Bradley dashed back to the bus.

He felt different now, carrying her forgiveness instead of her anger. Maybe she was right that a partier and an alcoholic were always headed toward disaster. But that didn’t change the fact he’d done something out of character that night, something cruel, and he would never know what that was.

He would just have to live with it.

Bradley was unable to find more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep on the bus, his thoughts flitting between his conversation with Melissa; the showdown with Charlotte Montgomery; the ticking clock of the curse; Devra, always Devra; and how he could possibly make up for this disastrous trip; how he could convince her Charlotte Montgomery was a liar; or worse, what if she wasn’t?

And suddenly they were back in Calgary.

He was getting out his keys when he noticed Devra had paused several feet behind him in the parking lot. He swivelled in his boots. “Aren’t you coming?”

She didn’t reply.

“Devra, please, get in. We’ll figure this out.”

His chest constricted. He thought this was it, that in another second, she would turn away and be gone. Forever.

“I don’t believe her,” she said.

For a beat, he thought he’d misheard her, filled in what he wanted to hear. But her words echoed loud and clear. “You don’t?” he asked a little too excitedly. “Really?”

She tilted her head. “I don’t think I do. Or maybe I’m not entirely sure. Maybe I don’t know what to believe anymore. But what I do know is…my mother is kind of a bitch.”

Bradley couldn’t help but laugh. “She is. A complete and utter bitch.”

Her lips curved upward. “And you’re right. One way or another, it’s time we figure this thing out. I need to see it through.” Her posture straightened. “Remember what you told me, about how good it felt to start driving again?”