I take a deep breath. A shadow hovers just beyond the perception of my sixth sense. My brain finally comes to. I must rouse myself.

  I try to uncurl from the cramped position I find myself in. My arms and legs are held next to my body as if I was caught in mid-air while trying to do a cannonball into the lake.

  I begin to panic just as my legs pop out of whatever blanket I was wrapped in. Then I remember. The sweatshirt.

  Keeping my eyes closed, fighting waking up, I hunt the sleeves. My arms slip into the soft material and I stretch, tempted to go to sleep once again. But wait, was there not something that woke me?

  I fumble my hood off my head and wince as the sun makes me see spots. Sitting up slowly, I rub my eyes with grubby hands.

  The last several hours come back to me in flashing scenes. Nightshade. Mom. The caring boulder that never fails me.

  I hear something shift behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin; I tell you true. In leu of jumping out of my skin, I whirl to face what is behind me.

  The instant my eyes spot him, I freeze. A mask falls over all of the emotions sparring for attention inside me. Nightshade.

  He is sitting on the ledge that is the edge of the nearest boulder. One leg dangles over the twenty foot drop. The other is drawn up towards him, his hand resting on his knee. His face. It is a mixture of hurt, caring, and . . . fear, maybe?

  I see him draw breath to speak, but before he can take the lead I begin talking. I tell him how much I hate him. How he deserved all the menial work I have been making him do as long as I have been his supervisor. How he failed. How I can take care of myself.

  Through it all, he sits silently with no reaction. Now, I am scared. He should be mad! Or broken! Years of his life were wasted because of me, and even now I hold him back.

  Silence falls. The wind blows as he thinks about all I said. I am empty. I have nothing to say, nothing to feel. Why does he not speak? Yell?

  When he does whisper what he wants me to understand, I lean forward to listen. I always do, I always have, I always will.

  His voice barely carries to my ears. What he says floors me. It breaks walls I thought were permanent. I blink, slowly it seems.

  “I just wanted to tell you I was sorry. I was my fault that your brother died. I deserve all the pain you could ever cause me.” His voice has a quality I have never heard in it before. Is he fighting tears?

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  My pride wars with my conscience. Right or wrong? Which do I choose today?

  Nightshade stands and begins to cross to the other side of his boulder to climb to the ground. His entire posture screams ‘broken’, and I KNOW it is my fault. I cannot live with this any longer. I choose right, even if it kills me.

  “Don’t go.”

  My first whisper is so quiet I can’t even hear it myself. My determination soars. As my father used to say, “If you are going to jump, jump NOW.”

  I pull fresh air into my lungs and scream as Nightshade disappears.

  “DON’T GO!”

  I begin to sob. Though that first step shattered my pride and hurt me terribly, it was the right thing.

  “Please, don’t go. I can’t continue like this! The hate I have held for you is infecting my soul. If I don’t change soon, I will never be whole again.”

  Tears blur my vision as I sink deeper into my boulder, letting it cradle me as a mother does her child. I feel as though all the pain in the world is my own fault. I will never survive under this weight.

  An awkward hand pats my shoulder. I blink away enough tears to see Nightshade’s own tear-streaked face. The wind whistles over the boulder. A vulture glides above us, waiting for this fragile friendship to break once again and die for good.

  As soon as I shift, the hand leaves. I push myself back up into a sitting position and fight to gain control. Unfortunately, my emotions are beyond even my own desperate grasp. All I can manage is a clearing of my throat, which burns and turns into a cough.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thanks.”

  The silence is brittle in our hands. I begin to think I will not handle the suspense. Finally, Nightshade rises and turns to leave. My words escape my mouth, by their own will.

  “I am so sorry. I have wasted years of your life. It wasn’t your fault that my brother died. I just needed someone to blame.” My voice is flat. Non-emotional.

  Nightshade does not turn around. But he does speak. His voice is sad, but calm. “Lark, Lark. I am sorry that your brother, my best friend, died. I would have blamed me in your place as well. I forgive you.”

  “Thanks.”

  A hole in my heart finally starts to heal over. I drop a single tear to the boulder as Nightshade walks to the edge and starts to climb down. I know this is goodbye.

  I stand. The wind whips my hair. But now, my heart is strong, so my body can handle it.

  “Goodbye.” To my shock, I sound satisfied. Not happy, for certain, but confident.

  “Angels hold your hand.” My brother made this parting saying. I have loved it for eternity is seems.

  Nightshade looks me in the eyes just before he disappears over the edge. His striking blue eyes hold pain and happiness at the same time. But he does give the reply.

  “Father hold your heart.”

  He is gone. He took the last of me with him. The difference between the last few years and now is that I know I will survive. I will get over this, though never forget.

  A pebble jumps to my boulder from the ground. I peer over the edge and Nightshade grins up at me. He tosses a wave over his shoulder and starts to jog away. How did he remember?

  Before my brother died, when something important to me happened, I would pick up a pebble and bring it home. When I had a moment, I would put it on a chain and attach a small note describing when and why I got it.

  On the day my brother and father died, I picked the blackest stone I could find and vowed to never pick up another. Maybe I should start doing it again.

  The pebble finds it own way to pocket where it nestles safely as I work my way home. Darkness falls as I walk, but my hope is still alive. I pray it does not die again.