In the Waning Light

by Loreth Anne White

Oh, the secrets we keep. How we deceive ourselves, often in the name of love . . .

But she was still missing a chunk of memory. How did it all tie together?

. . the ways in which we deceive ourselves . . . what misguided action we take in the name of love

“She’s dead.” “Her ghost isn’t. She’s inside me. Ghosts don’t die. You can scrub people and places out, but you cannot destroy the ghosts.”

Think like a cop: don’t necessarily aim to kill, but aim to stop—with whatever force required—the threat.

“So many little secrets,” Meg whispered, the scant energy she had left draining from her body. “So many consequences as people tried to protect those they loved, and they all intersected over the years . . .”

“You were right, Jonah, but not in the ways I at first thought. I did need to come back and rewrite the past within new context. Not only did it reveal the truth of what happened to Sherry, it showed me who I was, who I always had been, at the core. How, for all these years, I’ve been trying to run from my true self, mold myself into a woman I thought I should be, that you wanted me to be, but always, underneath, lay this struggle to reconcile those disparate halves. And this is who I am.”

name, a word, but it’s a strong one; stronger than any magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration. And when I saw Blake again after we thought he’d died, as I held his son’s hand in that hospital room, I finally understood how, sometimes, “Home” is not a place. It’s a person . . .