And then there was the girl. The blonde girl. All the blonde girls. All the dead blonde girls. Georgia was blonde. Even my mother, my mother had tried to warn me. All the signs . . . I’d seen them, and I hadn’t wanted to see them. I should have known! This was my life, it had always been this way.
I ran, berating myself, terrified, until I reached Georgia’s house. I flew past her little truck, up the walk, and pounded on her door like the mad man I was. When no one immediately came to the door, I ran around the side to the pair of windows I knew belonged to Georgia’s bedroom. For all I knew, they’d remodeled the interior and I was going to get an eyeful of something unwelcome, but I was desperate. I pressed my face against the window and tapped, hoping someone, anyone, would hear. I could see through the slats on the blinds. The mural I’d painted so long ago leapt out at me in dizzying color and I wondered how Georgia had ever gotten a decent night’s sleep in that room.
“Georgia!” I yelled, frantic. A small lamp on the bedside table was on but no one was in the room. I ran back around to the front yard, determined to go inside, whether the door was opened to me or not.
Georgia was staggering up the walk in a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt, her long hair swept up in a messy ponytail.
“Moses?” The relief in her voice matched the relief in my limbs, and I crossed the grass in three strides and grabbed her, wrapping her in my arms and sinking my face in her tousled hair, not caring whether I was overreacting. I had never been so relieved to be wrong.
“I was so afraid—” we said in unison. I pulled back slightly and stared down at her.
“I was so afraid,” she began again, and I moved one arm from around her back so I could smooth the hair from her face. She had a streak of something along one cheek, and her eyes were wide and her teeth were chattering. I realized she was shaking, and her arms were clamped around me as if she was trying to keep from falling.
“Georgia?” Mauna Shepherd stood in the doorway of her home with a rolling pin gripped tightly in her hands. I wondered briefly if she was baking or if she had actually grabbed it to defend herself against the man banging on her door.
“Are you okay, Georgia?” she asked, her eyes flying between us.
“Yeah, Mom. I am. But I’m going with Moses for a while. Don’t wait up.” Georgia’s voice was steady, but her body continued to shake, and I was gripped by fear all over again. Something had happened. I hadn’t been completely wrong.
Mauna Shepherd hesitated briefly and then nodded at Georgia.
“Okay. You know what you’re doing, girl.” She turned her attention my way. “Moses?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“I’ve had all the heartache I can take. Give me joy or go. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good. And time would be good too. Give us all a little time. Especially Martin.”
I nodded but didn’t speak. But time was not something I was going to agree to. Time had never been my friend. And I didn’t trust her.
Georgia
I LEFT MY ARMS AROUND MOSES as we walked and he didn’t press me to speak, keeping his left arm tight around my shoulders, his lips pressing into my hair every few steps. Something had happened. Not just to me, but to Moses too, and I could not stop the tremors that kept rolling down my spine. We made it to the front porch and I suddenly couldn’t face the inside of the house. I knew Moses had painted; I was sure he’d fixed the peeling section. He’d been working on the house since he’d arrived weeks ago. But I was afraid of the face on the wall.
“It’s cold, babe,” Moses said softly when I held back, urging me to go inside, and the endearment nibbled at my control.
“Let’s just sit for a minute, okay?” I whispered, sinking down on the stoop. The wind was inconsistent, gusting up for a moment before it laid its head back down and decided to rest. It reminded me of trying to get Eli to go to sleep as a toddler. He never wanted to give up, and he would try desperately to keep moving, up until the last second, and then he’d take a little cat nap, only to revive himself enough to sit up and try to play once more. Tomorrow it would be two years since I’d lost him and the memory should hurt, but I found I loved the soft comfort of random reminders.
“I haven’t cried today,” I realized suddenly, and Moses gave in and sat down beside me, his size and heat making me curl against him and lean my head on his shoulder. He ran a big hand over my hair and left it cradled against my face. I turned my cheek and kissed his palm and felt him shudder. Then he wrapped both of his arms around me so I could bury my face in his chest and he could rest his head on my hair.
“If you keep being sweet I will break my new record,” I whispered. “And I’ll cry again.”
“Crying from sweetness doesn’t count,” he whispered back, and I felt the moisture prick my eyes, just as I’d predicted. “Gi used to say happy tears watered our gratitude. She even had a cross-stitch that said as much. I thought it was stupid.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Ah . . . so Gi was a believer in the five greats.” I pressed my lips against his throat, wanting to get as close to him as I could.
“Gi was a believer in all good things,” he rubbed his cheek softly against my hair, nuzzling me.
“Especially you.”
“Even me,” Moses said, lifting his hand to my chin. “What happened, Georgia? Why were you afraid?”
“I did something stupid. Got spooked. Ran home like a scared little girl.”
“Tell me.”
“Nah. It’s nothing. But you were scared too. Why?”
Moses shook his head, as if he didn’t quite know how to start.
“I feel like I’m missing something. Or losing something. Or maybe it’s just the fear of never having it at all. I lost Eli before I even knew he was mine. And part of me is sure that history is going to repeat itself. There are patterns, Georgia, and . . .” he stopped as if he couldn’t explain, and I could hear the note of desperation in his voice.