Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1) - P. C. Cast Page 0,37
It smelled like flowers and cedar with a hint of cinnamon. Hunter didn’t know what she’d expected, but she hadn’t prepared herself for normalcy.
Hunter cleared her throat. “Mr. Parrott?”
It was silent for a moment before another creaky door opened. “Be right there, girls,” Emily’s dad and Goodeville’s only funeral director called from down the hall.
Hunter took a deep breath. She felt lighter. Maybe it was the fact that the bright Illinois sun no longer burned her tender eyes. Or maybe it was because she and her sister were taking steps forward. This wouldn’t be the new, happier life Hunter had envisioned, but there was something to be said for putting the past in the past.
“You ready for this?” Hunter groped the empty air beside her as she searched for Mercy’s hand. She turned. No Mercy, only the ornately carved door and more black-and-white forest photos.
The old wood floors creaked under Hunter’s feet as she moved toward the door and hefted it open. Mercy was waiting just on the other side. She sniffled and brushed her pink-tipped nose on her sleeve. “I can’t do it.” Her chin quivered and Hunter fought the urge to scoop her sister up into her arms and rush back to the car. They had to do this. Anyone who had ever lost someone they loved had to do this. It was as much a part of life as living.
Hunter propped the door open with her foot and slid the long sleeve of her shirt down over her bandaged arm. “I’ll do it alone,” she whispered as she reached out and took Mercy’s hand in hers. The weight was back. It hadn’t been the dark colors and warm light of the funeral home or the fact that she was there to move forward, begin her new life. It had been the absence of her sister.
Hunter swallowed the thought along with the knot forming in the back of her throat. “Really, Mag, you can go home. I’ll have Jax—”
“Abigail wouldn’t want that.” Mercy dropped Hunter’s hand and slipped past her into the funeral home.
Hunter sagged against the door as it shut. She wanted to say something that would make everything better, that would fix her sister, but grief wouldn’t exist without love. And Mercy had loved their mother so, so much. Hunter rubbed her finger along the raw flesh that rimmed her thumbnail as she studied Mercy’s slumped shoulders and the way she hugged her arms against her middle as if her insides would spill onto the floor if she didn’t hold them in. Was despair a testament to love? Hunter bit down on her fingernail. It couldn’t be. She loved her mother just as much as her sister. But Hunter had been through more than Mercy. The teasing, the name-calling, the bullying. In eighth grade, Rachel Leech had cut off her ponytail because dykes don’t have long hair. A jagged piece of Hunter’s nail tore free and she clenched it between her teeth. Her life had been a series of devastating events, one stacked on top of the other in a perverted game of Jenga until this—the pièce de résistance. But Hunter wouldn’t let her mother’s death topple her. As Mercy would say, Abigail wouldn’t want that.
Footsteps creaked down the hallway as Mr. Parrott neared the foyer. “Sorry to keep you two waiting, had an unexpected call that I couldn’t get away from…” He stilled as he caught sight of Mercy. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
Mercy hiccupped and tightened her grip around her core.
Mr. Parrott dipped his fingers into his collar and pulled gently. “I’ve known Abigail my whole life. She introduced me to Helene…” He continued to tug at his collar as he spoke. “Abigail actually gave me a special cookie recipe. She said that it would make Helene’s true feelings known. We were married three months later.”
The floor groaned under Hunter’s weight as she scooted closer to her sister. Did hearing stories like this help? Is that what Mercy needed, to relive all the good times? Or did she need to pack away her anguish and shove it in a forgotten corner of her mind? Either way, Hunter would carry on. She’d watch pieces of herself flake off and float away like she’d been doing her entire life.
Mr. Parrott rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. “You’ll have to excuse me, girls. I was shocked to get the news this morning. Haven’t quite processed it yet.”