J. Horn - The Line

I turned away and carried on toward the river. Section K was where my people were buried, just on the far side of Evergreen Circle. I curved off Bonaventure Way and followed down Tattnall, taking in the live oaks and blocking out the sound of the lawnmowers that were busy growling from one grave to another.

I wasn’t even sure what had brought me here today, but I had an overpowering desire to introduce my as yet unborn son to his great-grandparents, whom I myself had never met. Even more than that, though, I wanted to be near my own mother. Regardless of her faults or her sins, I wanted—no, needed—to be near her grave and to tell her about Maisie, ask her advice about Peter, and give her a chance to say hello to Colin. Part of me felt like I was being foolish. I’d never felt her spirit lingering, and I knew that she was one of the souls Savannah had let escape her grasp.

I found my way to their graves and leaned my bike on its kickstand. I split the bouquet into three separate bundles, a few for my grandfather, a few for my grandmother, and the lion’s share for my mama.

“Mama,” I said, taking a seat on the ground above her grave. “I’d like you to meet your grandson Colin.” I smiled as I put my hand over my stomach. “He isn’t very big yet, but he’s starting to show a little.” I paused to watch the play of light and shadow as the wind blew through the live oaks, and unconsciously I crossed my arms, hugging myself, hugging my child.

“I don’t know quite how I’m going to do it, Mama, but I’m going to make this world a better place for him,” I said. “Peter and I will work something out, somehow. He’s a good man. I know it. He made one monumentally poor decision, but I will learn to look past it. I’ll forgive him and forget.” I smiled at her headstone. “He’s your grandbaby’s father, so I’ve got to find some way to do it.”

I took advantage of my unhurried solitude to probe my feelings for Peter once again. And that was where I found my answer. “It does help that I love him,” I said. An unexpected happiness rushed up through me. “Colin deserves to have his father, and I don’t think I could ever see myself settling down with anyone besides Peter anyway.” The truth spoken, I pulled my knees up to my chest, and sat there enjoying the moment of peace that this revelation had brought me.

Then I remembered Maisie. I leaned over and placed my hand on my mother’s marker. All my life, this had been the only physical contact I could have with her. This time the gesture was a hug, a childish tug at her skirt, and a scream at waking from a bad dream all rolled into one. The nightmare was over, all except for the cleanup. “I am going to find some way to fix this entire mess, Mama. I’ll find Maisie.” My voice failed me as I said her name. “I promise you that,” I said more firmly. “And I will take care of her. I know things have gone badly between us,” I said and then laughed. “Well I guess you know that is a bit of an understatement. But don’t you worry. I will fix things.”

The smell of the river was carried over to me on a breeze, and my thoughts turned from Maisie toward the rest of my family. “I will look after Iris too. And Ellen.” The two of them had been doing their best to hide their pain from me, pouring all of their energies into preparing for Colin’s arrival. “They’ve both lost the people they loved most on this earth. I don’t know what I can do for them yet, but I’ll figure something out to get them back on track. Uncle Oliver too. He may not show it, but he’s as lost as the rest of them.”

Somehow I was going to do all of this and still find a way to work with the other witch families who had been hounding me since the moment the line’s energy had taken me. “I am almost ready to take over as anchor. It’s time for me to grow up, I guess. No more Liar’s Tours,” I said. “No more lies at all. I’ll make you proud of me, Mama. That’s not to say I’m just going to do as I’m told. I’m going to do things my own way. I have to believe that the line chose me because it wants something different going forward. If it had wanted more of the same, it had plenty of that to choose from. I’m not just going to pick up where Ginny left off.”

The thought of my great-aunt stirred up a whole brew of conflicting emotions, most of them bad. Anger, a desire for revenge. I did not deny that the feelings were there; I acknowledged their presence, but I would not give in to them. Yes, I had been wronged, but I was never going to find happiness for my family or myself if I focused my energies on that. I knew what that meant, even if I didn’t like it.

“I’m going to forgive Ginny too,” I said. I knew from what had happened with Maisie that forgiveness was not a one-time act. It was a decision to move on and focus on a person’s good features each time the hurt over what they’ve done crept back up on you. Ginny hadn’t left me much to work with. “It’s going to take me a while, but I will not let her poison live on in me,” I assured my mama. “Somehow, I will move past what she did to me, what she did to us,” I said and then realized out loud, “and I guess today is as good of a day to start as any.”

I stood and brushed the earth from my skirt. “I’m going to say good-bye for now, Mama, but I’ll be back real soon,” I said. I reached down and removed a single rose from the flowers I had put on my mother’s grave. “I’m gonna go and spend a little time with Ginny now. She always did love roses.” Flower in hand, I hopped back on my bike. I pedaled farther down toward the river, where I turned left and headed up to Greenwich Cemetery.

I would like to thank my agent, Susan Finesman of Fine Literary, as well as the amazing team at 47North, especially David Pomerico and Angela Polidoro. Thanks also to my literary midwife, Kristen Weber, and to my niece, Tara Rockey, who helped me by reading way too many versions of this story. Finally, much love to my three furry co-authors: Quentin Comfort, Duke, and Sugar.