Fragile Darkness (35 page)

And the tears spilled over.

They were all there, all except—

But then the softest hum moved through me, and with it I turned, and saw him, too. Saw Dylan standing by himself, cleaned up now, his hair dry and falling against the big white bandage at his brow, his jeans and T-shirt fresh, and … the little stuffed puppy in his hands.

*   *   *

“I don't want to go inside, not yet.”

At the door to the condo, Aunt Sara turned back toward me. From inside, the red and brown of brick shone through the scrape of white.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I nodded, and after one last lingering look, she and Julian went inside, and I went to the stairwell, and climbed. At the top, I turned my key in the dead bolt, pushed open the metal door, and stepped back into the night.

Clay pots sat everywhere, big and small, some with purple-and-gold pansies, some empty. A few round tables and chaise lounges sat scattered around, along with a telescope.

And with a quick thought of the dragonfly in my bedroom, the one of blown glass, I walked to the edge of the rooftop patio and breathed in the night.

A moment. A breath. The blink of an eye.

That was all it took for life to change.

And you never knew when that moment, that breath, was going to come.

“Your grandfather was right,” I said, turning back to find Dylan standing by a beautiful cobalt planter. “You can't yank the sun from the sky just because it burns.”

Shadows slipped through the soft play of accent lighting, emphasizing the stillness to him.

“But that's what I was trying to do,” I whispered. Creating an ending where there wasn't one, because moving forward hurt.

“I see it now,” I said, holding out my hand.

Eyes burning, he stepped toward me.

“If every time you're afraid, you turn on the lights, you'll never see the stars.”

But I saw them then, saw them finally, an endless sea of white twinkling against the darkness.

Forever.

 

Epilogue

We drove through the night.

In the stillness of predawn, we parked, and I reached for the door handle. But I didn't open it, not at first, not without turning back and lifting my eyes to his.

He didn't say anything, and neither did I.

We both knew it was time.

Turning, I let myself into the soft swirl of the wind, warmer now with spring fighting off winter, stronger here so close to the surf. Louder.

At the end of the path, where the weathered boardwalk ended, I kicked off my sandals and stepped into the sugary white sand.

Fading glimmers of moonlight played against the waves, bringing a soft glitter to the ebb and flow of darkness. For a moment, I stood quietly by a big dune, curling my hand around the leather at my wrist as I looked at the Gulf of Mexico for the first time.

It was like stepping into a dream.

I'm not sure how much time passed. Vaguely I was aware of the first song of the birds as I finally slipped past the tall, waving sea grasses. In a few hours sun worshippers would pack the beach, but at that moment, alone at the edge of one world, a fragile intimacy swept in with the tide. That's why I'd come with the night, before the day swept away the quiet.

At the water's edge, where the surf gently broke, I waded into the waves.

“I'm here,” I said against the salty spray to my face. Lowering my arms, I skimmed my fingers along the water surging up around my thighs. “It's even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Behind me, a dog barked. Glancing over my shoulder, I smiled at the big muscular Lab galloping against the play of the waves.

When I turned back to the night, faint streaks of silver played against the darkness.

“I know you're here,” I whispered. “Just like you've been there all along, trying to help me be okay again.” Because that's the way life played. Nothing was random. There were no coincidences. Each experience, each encounter,
each breath,
built toward the next. You couldn't stop. You couldn't turn away. Grace, Madam Isobel, Julian, Will, Jessica, Chase … they'd all played a role in making sure I didn't stop, that I kept moving, that I opened my eyes to all that lies ahead.

“I've been writing you a letter,” I said, wading deeper into the shimmery water. “But you know that, don't you?” I smiled. “You've been writing me back.”

Another wave broke, this one shattering up against my face. I laughed, bracing myself for the next, and realizing for the first time that the heavy, crushing feeling against my chest that I'd been living with for weeks was gone.

I don't know how long I stood there like that, waist-deep in the rhythm of the surf, but when streaks of white against the horizon became seagulls, and a lone pelican emerged, soaring high before dipping majestically for the water, I slipped back into the moment, and knew it was time to go.

“Tell my mom hi,” I whispered, instead of saying good-bye. Because those didn't exist. I knew that now.

Every after was simply a new before.

With the wind slapping damp hair against my face, I smiled as the first shimmers of coral streaked up from the horizon, and turned back to the beach.

Dylan stood at the water's edge, tall, barefoot, waves crashing against his jeans as the wind whipped long streaks of dark hair against his face.

I smiled and started toward him.

He smiled back, and waded toward me.

 

Also by Ellie James

Shattered Dreams

Broken Illusions

 

About the Author

Ellie James believes in dreams and destiny. A graduate of the LSU Manship School of Journalism, Ellie has been writing as long as she can remember, with tragic poems and tender stories giving way to mystery, adventure, and a fascination with the unexplained. Currently, Ellie resides with her husband and two children in Texas.

 

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

FRAGILE DARKNESS.
Copyright © 2012 by Ellie James. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

ISBN 978-0-312-64704-9 (trade paperback)

ISBN 9781250018236 (e-book)

First Edition: December 2012