Page 18 of The Saint

“You better.” Zee glanced up at the ceiling, then returned his gaze to me. “Now go. Get out of here.”

“And don’t do anything I’m not supposed to, I know.”

He didn’t even crack a smile.

Pulling my bag onto my back, I damn near stomped my way out the door like a petulant child. The only thing stopping me was the sudden thud from overhead that made me realize we weren’t alone.

“What was that?” I asked, turning my face toward the stairs. Zee gripped my shoulder, steering me out the front door.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Before I could respond, before I could question the man who’d seen me through potty training and puberty, who’d helped me through my darkest state, he slammed the door in my face.

“Goodbye,” I mumbled to myself as thunder grumbled overhead. “It was good to see you, too.” With my face turned up to the sprinkle of rain falling from the sky, I stepped off Zee’s front walk and out into the city.

The laughter and screaming that had emanated from the playground down the street earlier was now silent, the children inside and out of the rain that must have just started pouring down. The streets were slick with water in places, while other spots were still dry where cars had been parked. But the further I walked, the harder it came down, and the more I and everything around me got soaked.

Water in any form was a balm to the pain in my life. Whether it was the ocean, the East River sliding past my apartment, or rain coming down out of the sky, the water spoke to me. Telling me stories of freedom, making me get lost in a reality that felt like a dream. I’d take it in whatever form it came in, then I’d happily ask for more.

That’s why I didn’t bother hopping in the gypsy cab that followed me for over a block. I didn’t bother pulling my phone out of my pocket to call a car, or ducking into one of the many restaurants I walked by to try to wait it out.

The rain soothed a piece of me the way a drink of water would revive a wilting plant.

Even the roll of heavy thunder overhead didn’t bother me, my mind lost in my thoughts once again. It wasn’t until a flash of lightning lit up the sky above Central Park that I blinked my way back to the present and away from worries of Mrs. T.

The lightning, and the squeal of terror coming from Strawberry Fields.

I ran along the path into the quiet zone, picking up my pace as I saw a woman tumble to her knees.

And that wave of calm that always swept through me when I visited the memorial slowed my heart and my stride.

The woman tried to rise, and my steps slowed to a stop.

She fell back to her hands and knees, and my own knees wanted to give out.

I wasn’t sure if I’d made some noise that drew her attention my way, or if it was my presence she felt, as I stood there watching with my heart in my throat. She turned my way, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to run away.

Jael David groaned when she saw me, turning her back on me like she’d done five years ago. And as she tried once more to rise from the ground, I did what I’d done then.

I chased after her.

Blind to the heartache she’d caused me, blind to the grief that’d swallowed me up. I stepped forward, deeper under the canopy of trees, past the mosaic of inlaid stones.

To the side of the woman who’d broken my heart.

“What do you want, Rolly?” she asked, pain streaking her voice.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but it was a bald-faced lie. She tried to take a step and her ankle gave out.

Before she could crumple to the ground, I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up.

“You’re hurt.” My hand itched to reach out and turn her face toward me. The feel of her skin against mine after so many years had my heart stuttering in my chest.

Jael swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, then turned her eyes to mine.

Five years hadn’t erased the details I knew about this girl. Her fear of storms, of looking weak, of not being good enough. I’d loved every inch of her, held her up when she was scared and reminded her that, no matter what happened, I’d be there.