Moon River (Page 21)

You know more than I give you credit, I thought.

We all know more than we give ourselves credit for. The problem is, there’s too much surface shit that gets in the way, too many clouds obscuring our thoughts, filling us with worry and doubt and fear. It stops us from tapping deeper within ourselves.

Good to know, I thought. But I have a hard time believing you could ever be afraid.

You would be surprised, Sam. For instance, I’m afraid now.

I caught his meaning. You are afraid that you might never come back.

Yes, Sam.

How do I release you? I asked.

You’re doing it now.

And how, exactly, am I doing that?

By reaching out to me, connecting to me, bringing me out of the funk I was in.

You call this a funk?

It’s the funkiest of funk, Sam. Limbo, actually. A dull state where days and weeks and months slip past, and I can only watch from a distance, watching as I act like a love-struck fool.

But you love me, too.

I do, Sam.

I’m sorry I did this to you, I thought.

It wasn’t your fault, Sam. I believe you didn’t know what would happen.

I wanted to bury my face in my hands, to hide the tears that had started to come, but I needed to hold tightly to Russell, to keep the connection.

Had I known, I thought, I never would have let things get as far as they had.

I know, Sam. I also know that you have total control over me. I am, quite literally, at your mercy. You could do with me as you wish. I would do anything for you. Or, rather, the cursed part of me would do anything for you.

The love-struck schoolboy?

Yeah, him.

I don’t want to control you, Russell.

I know you don’t, Sam.

But you need to know that there’s a part of me that I struggle with, a part of me that does want to control you. To use you, to make you do…

Your bidding? he asked lightly, laughing.

Yeah, that.

We all have our inner monsters, Sam. Yours is just a little more obvious.

I had given Russell a glimpse inside of me, of what I dealt with, and he had obviously sensed the demon within, the demon waiting to come out.

I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Sam.

Thank you.

But there’s one thing I do know above all else.

The tears were really flowing now. I felt them running unhindered down my face, into my sweatshirt.

I know that you will beat her, Sam. You will beat the shit out of her, too.

That’s just the boxer in you, I thought, and nearly laughed.

Maybe, he thought. But I also know this. There comes a time when we all have to stand up for what we believe. There’s a time for love, and a time for war. And your time for love is not now, Sam. Your time for war is now. Get her, Sam. Remove her and beat her back to wherever she came from.

And what of love? I thought, weeping silently.

Not now, he thought. And not with me, Sam. Not ever.

I buried my face in my hands, letting go of his own.

Release me, Sam, I heard him say from somewhere deep in my thoughts, his voice fading, now barely discernible. Release me…release me…

Chapter Twenty-three

Russell was gone.

I felt empty and alone and unlovable, almost suicidal. Almost. I would never leave my kids or my sister or Allison or any of my friends. No, not over lost love. But as I sat there at my kitchen table, my head in my hands and a cup of lukewarm tap water in front of me, I felt as if something very precious had been stolen from me.

Stolen by her.

The ability to love and be loved romantically.

I fought more tears, then decided not to fight them and let them flow and shook my head and cursed her and God and the Librarian and myself. I cursed the vampire who had first attacked me. I cursed Fang because I was pissed off that he left me. I cursed Kingsley for cheating on me, and cursed my ex-husband for abandoning me when I needed him the most. I cursed the stupid glass of water in front of me and the filthy blood in my freezer in the garage. I cursed my unattached garage because who buys a house with an unattached garage? My cheap ex-husband, that was who. So, I cursed him some more. And cursing him felt the best of all, and so I did that for a few more minutes until I couldn’t curse anymore and couldn’t see through the tears. I picked up the glass of water and threw it across the kitchen, so hard that it shattered into a million pieces and put a hole in a cupboard. I cursed the million pieces.

And then I was done cursing. I just sat there and wept, my mind empty. And later, when I was done weeping, I thought of one person. The person I missed most of all. Not Kingsley or Russell and certainly not Danny.

I thought of Fang.

I missed him so much that I thought I would scream.

And then I did scream.

Loudly.

So loudly that a dog down the street started yowling along with me.

Chapter Twenty-four

After I had cleaned up the glass, I made a mental note to call a handyman. I might have been able to fly to the moon and back, but I sure as hell couldn’t fix something like this.

As I sat back at the kitchen table, I got a text from Anthony. It was a close-up picture of his nose. Actually, it was a picture of the inside of his nostrils. It was kind of blurry. Under the picture were the words: Miss you, mama!

I wrote: Miss you, too, now go to bed.

Boo, he wrote. Then added: “ger”

Yes, booger. Go to bed. Tell your sister I love her.

Better yet, I would. I texted her cell phone directly, telling her I loved her and missed them. Her response was immediate: Anthony’s annoying me.

That’s all you have to say? I wrote back.

Well you know I love you, mom! Do I always have to tell you????

Yes.

Fine!! I love you! Better?!!?

Yes, so much better.

Gawd!!

I told her to go to bed, too, to which I didn’t receive a reply back. I sighed and turned my ringer off for a few minutes and got up from the table, found a pad of paper and a pen in my messy utility drawer, and sat back down.

I took in a lot of air, held it for a few minutes then expelled it slowly. I did this again and again, clearing my thoughts, ignoring my troubled heart. I continued doing this until I felt my hand jerk slightly. Followed by my whole arm, the pen began to move across the blank page as if on its own.

Three words appeared on the page before me: Good evening, Samantha.

“Is this Sephora?” I asked aloud.

My hand jerked some more. Yes, Samantha.

“It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

Yes.

“Does that bother you?”

I am here for you, Samantha, as I will be until time immemorial.

“You have nothing better to do?” I asked. It was meant as a flippant joke, but it came across as sort of rude to my own ears. “Sorry,” I added. “Didn’t mean that it way.”