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January 11 - January 18, 2025
You should hurry before it returns, but don’t use the front door. Leave through the black door in the back, between the two bookcases. I promise we’ll see each other again. In the meantime, let’s keep this conversation between you and me a little secret. My name? Oh, you know my name, darling. You’ve heard it before. I’m Freddy in the Mourning.
One June, after Mom could no longer speak, we waded in the shallow while Dad held Mom in the deep. Mom returned with puffy eyes and no smile, and Dad returned without his wedding band. He’d said a wave slipped it right off his finger. After all this time, the ocean never returned her smile or his wedding band.
I tried to keep my thoughts at bay while pouring alcohol. What are you doing, Adora? my mind repeated as I layered the wound with medicine. But something kept me anchored here, caring for him, unable to stop. Mine, my heart proclaimed as I wrapped a bandage tightly around his torso. The sea gave him to me.
CHAPTER 27 STONE Circe returned the following day, swathed in layers—a fur coat, knitted scarf, and jeans so tight it could break the skin. She’d explained that the person who showed up was a maid named Alice. She’d insisted she wouldn’t return. While we searched for dry wood, the only sound was our footsteps in the snow. As I walked behind her, I wondered how small and delicate a person could be and yet still take up so much space in the forest, on the island, in my world. She was the sun, who shone a light on me, making me question if she were gone, who would I be, and would I exist at all?
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“I’m afraid since we’re not there to remind you, you’ll forget. Here’s a little hint.” She leaned in and snatched a shot glass from my hand. “The more you pretend it’s not there, the louder it screams,” she insisted, and threw her head back, swallowing the liquor in one gulp. When she finished, she turned the glass over and dropped it onto the table.
“No, you don’t have to do anything,” he said. “You’re the author. I’m just the blank pages you whisper your secrets to, then the thing you crumble and toss to the side. I’m the book in the palm of your hands. In the end, this story is yours. You can write it whichever way you want.”
Stone and I looked into each other’s eyes, watching me strike his cheek with my palm, and it hurts in my heart, not on my face. It hurts, but this wasn’t what he wanted me to see or feel. It was what came next, and our eyes catch, skin against skin, blonde wisps of hair in my face, flares of starved, green eyes, waves of warmth crashing into me one after the other, pure bliss, so light it could take me to my knees, so heavy it could take me to my grave; the feel of her bound to me, the taste of her on my lips, the smell of her surrounding me, the sound of her breathing, the way she’s holding
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