CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

By this time of the morning, the storm had cleared all but the most adventurous off the streets of Eugene. Thomas drove Haddie’s SUV east toward a dive bar he knew just a few blocks from her veterinarian. On the dash to her car, she’d argued to drive; he’d escorted her to the passenger side. Without speaking, the thrum of windshield wipers added a beat to the puddles that scrubbed the underside of the car. Water sprayed onto the empty sidewalks from under the tires. Almost no red lights from the cars ahead flickered in the downpour. A dull haze surrounded streetlamps and traffic lights. The city had been beaten into submission under the dark fury of the storm. The consistent downpour gave him strength to face the darkness that Haddie wanted exposed. He’d always liked storms.

I don’t want to lose Haddie. He would survive the loss, if it happened. He always had. The unexpected deaths of his previous family had taken him by surprise. He always outlived them, but these had died so young. His ex-wife had been seventy-three, but their daughter had been only fifty-four, and her son, his grandson, in his early thirties. The great-grandson survived. A twelve-year-old boy who lived now with his mother’s family, an aunt that had no bloodline to Thomas. He’d been distracted by the deaths and had been giving Haddie her space to deal with his — revelations. Now, she wanted it all. Her life had turned dangerous. He didn’t want to lose her, too.

At the stop sign, he turned left. A wave from his tires flooded over a gray sedan parked by a white picket fence. The rain had scrubbed the residential neighborhood. Debris piled at drains or drifted onto lawns. Even in the gray, it looked greener. A storm was good for the city. Perhaps he needed to look at Haddie as a storm — pushing the debris of his life to the corners and edges where it could be seen. He didn’t have to like it. This transition into understanding his life would never have been easy for her. The danger that crashed into her life made the timing wrong. He didn’t need a storm right now. She didn’t.

At the light, he turned right and pulled against the curb. Turning the engine off left them with the rain pounding on the roof and their silence. The bar’s neon light flickered in the window.

“Ready?” he asked.

Haddie grunted and opened her passenger door. A gust brought in the scents of rain and wet earth. She’d refused his jacket, but had to be cold. Keeping a jacket in her car would be a good plan. He’d avoided mentioning the suggestion when they’d left the vet’s.

Various sports lit the screens that dotted the walls, and one of the TVs blared a commentary while a seventies song played on speakers somewhere. Stale beer and fried potatoes scented the air. Three young people sat at the bar, while two older couples played pool. The tavern had been livelier the last time he’d visited. Years ago.

Gaiter and glasses down at his neck, Thomas led them to a table tucked in the corner. He could watch the door from there. Over the music, no one would hear their conversation.

A man with a tightly trimmed orange beard followed them and dropped two coasters on the table as they settled in. “What can I get you tonight?” He noticed, but didn’t flinch at the purpura.

Thomas pointed to Haddie. She shouldn’t be drinking on antibiotics, but she didn’t tend to drink heavily. Maybe she’d sleep in the car.

“Two Hearts.” She pulled out her hair and twisted it around her fist.

Thomas nodded. “Aquavit.”

The waiter shook his head. “We don’t have that.”

Thomas gestured toward the bartender, an older woman with dirty blonde hair tied into a ponytail. “They’ve had it before. Check.”

“Vodka?”

Thomas sighed. “If they don’t have aquavit, a good vodka.”

“Grey Goose? Absolut?”

“Yes.” Thomas likely would not get aquavit, even if the bartender did have a bottle hidden. He waited as the waiter scurried off. “Rock’s gonna be okay.”

“I know.” Haddie closed her eyes. They were dark-rimmed from the crying.

Rock had been a gift when she was seventeen. His dog, Tabitha, had died and Haddie had taken it hard. Thomas had found a friend with a litter and surprised her. She’d loved the pit bull pup and did well learning to train it. They’d been inseparable since. A gunshot wound couldn’t be taken lightly. The pup would need care and attention. Haddie would need help with that.

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They sat silently, he waited on their drinks before starting a conversation he wanted to remain private.

She resembled her mother, Nyra. Even his Anglo-Saxon genes hadn’t diminished her tawny skin, large eyes, and pitch-black, straight hair. Outgoing and vivacious, like Nyra. He’d left Haddie with his obstinacy, and hopefully nothing worse. Each child he fathered, he worried about. None had ever developed his particular afflictions.

Their waiter returned, carrying a shot and a bottle of Haddie’s beer. “Sorry. You were right. Said she hadn’t opened the bottle in a couple years.”

“Thanks.” Thomas tapped the rim with a gloved finger.

The waiter paused a moment. “Okay. If you need something, let me know.”

Haddie ran her fingers down the label of her bottle, wiping glassy beads of condensation into a drop.

Thomas took a sip. A good bottle, notes of caraway. Sometimes he lost his sense of taste after using his power. He stopped procrastinating. “Go ahead.”

“How did you get those bruises, the purpura?” She spoke quickly, jumping into it.

“I used my power. I try not to.” He knew it didn’t fully answer her question. She needed to absorb it slowly. He wouldn’t believe it if someone told him.

Haddie closed her eyes, her fingers tightened on the bottle, and she took a sip. “Power?”

“I don’t understand it. Somehow, first only when I was frightened or angry — I do something.” He spoke slowly, pausing between each sentence. Not long enough that she would think him finished. “It came with a shout the first time. There is another sound that comes with it. A higher note, like a bell. I can control it better now. It causes my skin to get these, and my joints to ache.” He wouldn’t tell her of the images yet. They were nightmares from someone else’s life; they weren’t his memories.

Haddie stared at him. She likely thought him insane. How could he explain this? He’d struggled with the reality for centuries — with his own experience as proof. Now, she had minutes to absorb. She pulled the beer to her lips and left it hanging there, not drinking.

Without taking a sip, she returned the bottle to the table. “Okay.” She swallowed and gestured in the air. “What exactly does this sound do?”

Thomas finished his aquavit and moved the empty shot glass to the edge of the table. He’d welcome an interruption. “Things — and people — disappear.”

Haddie laughed. An outburst that caused a man at the bar to look over and smile. She continued in short bursts, ranging from chuckles to cackles. She didn’t believe him. She thinks I’m insane.

“Okay,” she said. “So one day, I’m assuming centuries ago —” She paused, taking in a breath. “You shouted and made someone disappear.”

Actually, three people. “Yes.” Thomas considered asking for the bottle.

“You realize, I’d imagine, this sounds improbable — impossible — insane.” She took a swig and looked up to the ceiling.

“Very much so. Precisely why I’ve never told anyone.” He glanced as the waiter started toward them. “But not just for that reason.” He tapped the edge of the shot glass when the man reached them.

“Another?” The waiter pointed to the beer Haddie clutched.

“No. No, I need to stay sober for this.” She chuckled, but took another sip.

They sat in silence while the waiter retrieved another aquavit. Haddie wouldn’t look at him. Holding her beer, she stared at the table.

The shot glass arrived, and Thomas took a sip. “You’ve asked for these answers. Asked me to be honest. I understand you can’t accept what I say. I love you, Haddie. Where do we go from here?” He took a deep breath to quell the anxious tightness in his chest. I can’t lose Haddie.

“You’re right. My bad.” Her tone resigned, she shook her head slowly.

This wasn’t like Haddie. She didn’t give up. Something brewed under the surface. The clipped, excited commentary from the TV sank in around them between songs. The aquavit warmed him, but didn’t sooth the aches in his joints.

“No,” she said, “you can’t just be insane.” She tapped the table. “Go ahead. Do it. Use your power, make something disappear.” Her tone said that she didn’t believe, not that he wouldn’t, but couldn’t do it.

“No, not here, certainly. I will though. We just need to be somewhere private.” He didn’t relish the pain. It wouldn’t make it any easier for her. How could he expect her to come to grips with this?

She closed her eyes. “Okay. Let’s go with how you ended up centuries old, but were only born a few decades ago. That actually seems easier to believe. How — I don’t know.”

“I was biking in Iceland. I have — had friends there.” Technically they still lived there. The trip wouldn’t happen for a couple years yet. “I got in an accident, and when I woke, I was in a different time. The roads were gone, my friends were gone. All I had was the bike and my supplies.”

He’d never understood any of it; how could she? Decades had passed before he’d resigned himself to acceptance, not understanding.

“Surely there was something more than an accident?” She had an angry tone.

There had been the woman standing on the roadside, dressed in a parka or some hooded cloak, glowing. How crazy did he want her to believe he was? “A woman on the road.” He finished his second aquavit.

“Of course.” Haddie finished her beer, placed it on the coaster, and stood up. “Ready?” She had an odd strain to her words and the flinch of her shoulders.

His shot glass hung in his fingers, forgotten. “That’s it?”

“Dad,” her face threatened to crumble into tears. “I — just can’t.” She stumbled up out of her chair, more frantic than anything else.

His heart dropped. She thought he was crazy. He needed to let her think on it a bit. Come back with more questions. He would end up giving her a demonstration. Too close to the last, his skin would not fare well. It didn’t matter. His clients hardly cared what he looked like.

“Okay.” With protesting knees, he winced and stood. “Let me clear our tab.”

Haddie walked as if he hadn’t spoken, heading for the door. He pulled his wallet out and headed for the register at the bar, flagging the young waiter across the room. Patting the keys to her SUV in his pocket, he watched her head out into the storm.