“Right. Well, as you may recall, Meemaw volunteered as a cuddler at the hospital, which is about twenty minutes from here.”
“I remember.”
“She was working one of her shifts when what was just supposed to be a rainstorm turned to ice, then snow. She called Gampy to tell him she would stay at the hospital until the roads were better, but he insisted on picking her up since it was a special day.” He forces a smile. “Their fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“Oh god.” My hand flies to my mouth, my stomach churning over what I fear he’s about to tell me.
“You know that bridge you cross on the way into town? The Hammond Bridge?”
I nod.
“Their last name was Hammond.”
A lump forms in my throat. I’ve never met Wes’ grandparents, but I feel like I have. Hell, these days, I feel closer to the ghosts of his past than I do my own.
“Gampy lost control of the car on a patch of black ice and they went over the side of the bridge. Cause of death was drowning.”
“Oh, Wes…”
Tears brim behind my eyelids. I’m not sure why I’m crying. Because of what happened to them? Or because I never got the chance to meet the two people who had such a profound impact on this man I’ve become rather fond of over the past few months?
I inch closer to him, wishing there were something I could do or say to make it hurt less. But I know better than anyone that’s not the case. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. Some deaths you’re not meant to get over. Some are meant to stay with you, remind you of the importance of carrying on.
So, instead of filling the silence with meaningless condolences, I rest my head on Wes’ shoulder, making sure he knows he’s not alone. That was all I wanted when my mother died. To feel like I wasn’t alone.
“I like this,” he murmurs, moving his arm and draping it around my shoulders.
“Me, too,” I admit, stretching my legs in front of me, melting into him. I close my eyes, inhaling the sweet country air, serenity washing over me, something I didn’t think possible after the incident at the fair. But that seems to be the effect Wes has on me. He makes me forget everything for a minute.
“Londyn…,” Wes says after several moments of listening to nature rustling around us.
The uneasiness in his tone gives me pause, and I look at him. I’m on the verge of asking what’s wrong when I feel something brush over my ankles.
“Don’t. Move,” he warns, his intense gaze focused on whatever it is.
I slowly turn my head, my lungs desperate for air when I see a snake slithering up the bottom step and across my outstretched legs.
“Is that…,” I begin with a quiver, my muscles tightening, a chill enveloping me.
“Shh,” Wes hushes me so as to not draw the snake’s attention.
But it doesn’t work.
The trembles overtaking me alert the snake to the fact that I’m a possible threat and not an inanimate source of warmth. Its body coils, everything about it making me confident it’s about to strike.
When it hisses, I jump up with what feels like superhero-like speed. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to watch as it clamps its mouth onto my leg. But that never happens, the sound of metal thumping into wood cutting through the air.
I still, peeking through a slightly open eyelid to find Wes standing over the now decapitated snake, a shovel in his hand.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I exhale as I hop from foot to foot, shaking my hands, my flesh crawling.
Wes leaps up the steps and toward me, eyes awash with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I hate snakes,” I cry out. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, desperately trying to get my feet off the ground for fear the headless snake will mutate and grow back multiple heads, like the hydra Hercules battled. “I fucking hate them.”
“I don’t think they’re on most people’s list of favorite things.”
I pull back, shaking my head. “No. I mean, I am absolutely fucking petrified of those damn things. It’s completely irrational, because most of them aren’t dangerous—”
“Well, that one was,” Wes interrupts, nodding toward the snake carcass to the left of the stairs. “Copperhead. With all the overgrown brush, I guess they made a home out here. We’ll need to get a landscaper out here soon so Imogene doesn’t have a run-in with