The Line

Page 55

He threw his cup to the ground, the last of his coffee bleeding out onto the bricks. He gave me one last look, got into his car, fired up the engine, and headed west as quickly as the wheels would carry him.
I watched the taillights of his car buzz down Harris Street and lost sight of them a little after he crossed Bull. I knew I could never love a man who would desert my sister without even saying good-bye, and I could certainly never love a man who was a coward. I picked up the spent cup, Jackson’s last insult to Savannah, and threw it away in a trash can in the park. I walked my bike home and spent a lot of time wondering how much of what I’d loved about Jackson had been real, and how much I’d invented myself. The Jackson I’d grown to love was not the man who had just left. He was in all probability a creation of my own mind, no more a real man than Wren had been a real child.
I arrived home and leaned my bike back up against the garage. Sunrise met me in our garden, and with a jolt I realized that it was my birthday. Our birthday, I corrected myself, as I sent a wave of love out to Maisie. I hoped that in time she’d be able to forgive me for everything that had happened with Jackson. I hoped that her vision of him would grow as clear as my own suddenly had.
I was glad that no one had locked the kitchen door after I’d left. When I stepped inside, Ellen was waiting for me at the table all by herself. “Hey, you,” she said. “Get in here and let me see your hand.”
For the second time in twenty-four hours, someone took my hand and erased an injury. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since Connor had been the one to cure me. “I know you’re tired, but sit with me for a while,” Ellen said.
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I just want to get to bed. You could use some sleep too, I’m sure.”
Her face was drawn, and she looked much older in the golden light coming through the window than she ever had before. “No,” she said firmly. “I need to tell you a few things first, and then we can both get some sleep.”
“All right,” I capitulated and sat down next to her.
“First of all,” Ellen said. “Happy birthday.” She smiled at me. “No, I didn’t forget. None of us did, but I doubt that we’ll get around to much celebrating today.”
“It’s all right,” I said and yawned, hoping that Ellen would take it as the signal it was intended to be.
Ellen reached out and took my hand. “I also want to be sure,” she said, “that you know that I will always be there for you. I loved Erik, your father, and in spite of what happened between him and Emily, I believe that he loved me too. I know he loved you girls. He once told me that not claiming you as his own was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he agreed that it was better if Ginny never learned that he was your dad.”
“But how could you overlook the fact that he had children with your sister?” I asked.
She took a moment to consider her response. “He was a special man,” she finally said. “I loved him more than life itself, and he was my son’s father. Somehow I managed to forgive him. He deserved children, and Ginny kept me from having any more after Paul was born. I am glad that you were born. When Erik rebelled against his family, they disowned him. You, me, Maisie, and Paul were all he had in this world. I think that made it easier for me to get over his fling with Emily.”
She reached down and uncovered an old photograph she had been shielding from my sight. “I don’t have a lot of things to share with you from his life before we were married, but I do have this. It’s a picture of Erik’s grandmother, your great-grandmother. Her name was Maria.”
She had clear and perfectly spaced eyes, arched eyebrows, and heart-shaped lips. The photo was black and white, but I was sure that the woman’s beautiful long hair must have been the same shade as Maisie’s honey blond locks. “She looks exactly like Maisie,” I said, taking the picture into my hands to investigate it more closely.
“Yes, she does,” Ellen replied. “But even though you look more like your mother, I can still see a bit of Maria in you.”
“May I keep this?” I asked, growing almost enchanted by the face staring back at me from the photo.
“Of course. It’s yours,” Ellen replied.
“Thanks,” I said, starting to stand, but Ellen reached out and stopped me.
“Sweetie, there is one more thing.”
“Okay,” I said, her tone worrying me.
“Last night after you came home from the fire, I sensed something when I hugged you. Things were too wild last night for me to try to verify it, but I’d like to do that right now, if that’s okay.”
“Aunt Ellen, you’re kind of scaring me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, standing up and leaning over me. “It’s nothing to be frightened about.” She lowered her hand to my stomach. “Sweetheart, it’s just as I thought. You’re pregnant.”
THIRTY
Just shy of three weeks had passed since my last Liar’s Tour. I was sure that my pack of suburban dads had already pretty much forgotten about me, wrapped up as they were in soccer matches and sales meetings and reporting deadlines. Since I’d dropped them off at the Pirate’s House, they had fought with their wives, made up, mowed their lawns, and played a few rounds of golf. I’d probably never cross their minds again. But I was sure I’d never forget them, because the hours I’d spent with them had marked the end of my normal life. From the moment I saw Jilo in Colonial Park Cemetery and got it in my head to pay her a visit, my world had gone mad.
Ginny’s murder and the drawing of lots. Maisie’s jealous rage and disappearance, even if only temporary, from my life. Jilo’s spells pulling me into her dark world then sending me running into Peter’s arms. Grace’s revenge and my borrowing Oliver’s power. Connor and Wren. The fire and dark spirits that had fed on them. Jackson, and Jackson’s departure. The microscopic infant in my womb.
I found myself sitting on the base of the Waving Girl statue at the riverfront, staring out at the water and wishing for a return of the simple life I’d always known. All of a sudden I understood Florence, and why she’d come out here for forty years waving her apron. She wasn’t waiting for a man, she was hoping for the return of the girl she’d been before her life had been turned upside down. I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the heart to lie about her again.
I was going to have a boy, Ellen told me, provided that I chose to have it. It, he, would be healthy, she assured me, if I decided to carry him to term. The embryo was only a few days old, and it would take hardly any witch magic at all to undo the union of sperm and egg. If that’s what I wanted, it could all simply go away, like it had never happened.
I watched the light gleaming on the river, and my hand fell instinctively over my stomach, protecting the blooming life I knew was there, even though it would be days before there were any non-magical signs of its existence. I’d never judge another woman for doing away with an unexpected pregnancy, but abortion was not for me. There were no two ways about it. I would have this child, even if it meant risking my life like my mama had done. And that meant that I would forever be linked with Peter. I’d have to find a way to forgive him, because my baby was not going to grow up without his father. That didn’t mean I’d ever be his wife. I wasn’t sure I trusted him, and I could never marry a man unless I trusted him. To be fair, I wasn’t so sure I trusted anyone anymore.