Page 56 of The Temptation of Truth

I think back to my first weekend with Ms. Mabel and can’t help but smile. I told her my new bed was trash and so was her cooking, so she erected a tent for me in the living room and we ate pizza five nights in a row. When I complained about my new school clothes, she took me to the mall and let me buy three new outfits. And when I woke up in the middle of the night crying from a nightmare, she played with my hair and hummed lullabies until I fell back asleep.

“Every time I lashed out, she responded with nothing but love and understanding. Didn’t matter what I said or how I behaved, she was this steady, calming presence. It took me a year to really get comfortable, but once I did...”

I pause and breathe in through my nose, fighting the sting of tears.

“She was the first person I ever remember really feeling likehome. Not the house or the room or the neighborhood.Her. She was everything I needed at that time in my life. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I really don’t know where I’d be if not for her. She died right after my fifteenth birthday, and as much as it fucking hurt, threw everything into a tailspin, I still feel lucky I was placed with her. She changed my life.”

“My mom would have called your Mabel apassing comet. Brief and brilliant. Not meant to stay, but to blaze through and leave your sky rearranged.”

I smile. “I like that.”

“Yeah. My mom could liken anything to astronomy. She was a big nerd.”

“Is that where your name comes from? The Aurora Borealis?”

“It is indeed.”

“Have you seen it? The Northern Lights?”

“No. We were actually supposed to go after I graduated, but then they died...” She shakes her head with a heavy sigh, then shrugs. “Someday, maybe. We’ll see.”

They.

She said whentheydied.

She’s mentioned her mother’s death, but Aurora is shouldering the grief of more than one loss. When did they die? For how long has she been hurting like this? Her voice holds so much pain that it makes my chest ache. It’s a sound that I recognize, and I don’t know how I missed it before.

I stop walking, and she does the same. When she turns to face me, she’s clutching the pendant on her necklace, and I reach for it slowly. Instead of removing her hand, she settles it on my wrist as I take the disc between my thumb and index finger. The circular pendant is etched with lines and dots, and the metal is worn in places from her touch. I turn it over to find a similar design on the back.

“Are these constellations?”

I bring my gaze to her face, but her eyes have fallen shut. Every time she inhales, her chest rises toward my hand, barely grazing my knuckles. When she answers, her whispered words kiss my cheeks. My lips.

“It’s the sky from the night I was born.”

“And the back?”

“My brother. It’s his night sky.”

I run the pad of my thumb over the design, over her night sky, just like she probably does.

Her brother. Her mother.

Her father, too?

“I worry that I’m letting them down by not doing all the things I’d said I’d do. The things we were going to do together before the accident. They died, but what if I’m the one who stopped living?”

God, I hurt for her.

“You’re in Australia on a rock and roll tour. I think that counts as living,” I say teasingly, and it brings a small, sad smile to her lips. I brush my fingers up her jaw, then rest my hand on her cheek as she leans into my touch. “You’re not letting them down. You’re just in recovery mode. You’ll get there, Roar.”

I hope like hell she hears the honesty in my words. The conviction. Shewillget there. I know it. Maybe not to see the Northern Lights, but to a place where it doesn’t hurt so much. To a place where she’s not afraid to dream again, whatever that might look like.

She opens her eyes and holds my gaze, but she doesn’t speak. Then she nods once, and I drop my hand and step back, giving her space. Givingmespace.

We walk back to the lodge in comfortable silence, stopping every so often so Aurora can photograph a plant or a bird. Later in the afternoon, I catch her inspecting her orchid closely with a furrowed brow. I don’t know what she’s thinking. I wish I did.

I stand beside her and focus on Arthur’s tiny bud, trying to see what she sees.