Light as a Feather, Silent as the Grave

Alt. Epilogue - Part 2

Judge Roberts acted quickly to determine what would happen to Trey now that he'd resurfaced in Wisconsin. The day after the tornado, on the advice of Father Fahey, he determined that Trey would remain in Weeping Willow until his eighteenth birthday and report in to a case manager twice each week. Although it was a much better fate than having to return to the misery of the Northern Reserve, Trey wasn't thrilled about being under his mother's thumb for the next few months. They were barely speaking since of course the matter of money ran like an undercurrent beneath each passing hour, threatening to carry them into battle. As soon as Mrs. Emory had learned that Violet's father was dead, she had gotten it into her head that Trey could sue Michael Simmons' estate for half of Violet's inheritance. She started chipping away at Trey before he'd even had a chance to shower off the last few days' grime.

My mother and father were kind enough to allow me to remain in Weeping Willow until Thursday, so Henry scheduled his return flight to France for the same day. Even though Mr. Simmons was dead and we were pretty sure we'd captured the evil of the curse in Laura's bottle, there were still a ton of loose ends to wrap up in town before I shipped out to Florida again. For starters, there was the matter of the rose bush which still grew behind the abandoned childhood home of Trey's mom.

A life for a life, Mrs. Emory had reasoned when she'd planted it. She'd planted that rose bush after being dumped by Violet's father and hearing that his wife was expecting a baby of her own. The time had come to destroy every remaining tie to Michael Simmons' cruelty, Mrs. Emory's jealousy, and the evil that had blossomed in the desire for so much revenge.

On Wednesday morning I informed my mother that Henry was coming to pick me and Trey up for lunch, and although I was technically under "house arrest" (this was my mom's little joke, but it was somewhat accurate), as always, mention of Henry changed my mother's mind.

"Heading back to your tennis school?" Mom asked him when she opened the front door for him.

"Yes, at least until the end of the summer," Henry confirmed.

"Très bien," my mother teased. If I didn't know any better, I would have guessed that she was flirting. So gross.

Outside as we climbed into Henry's truck for what would be the last time the three of us squeezed into the cab, Trey greeted Henry with a chill, "What's up, man?" We agreed to drive the long way around town toward Front Road to check out all of the storm damage because Trey and I had barely left our homes since Monday night. A lot of people seemed to have had the same idea, rolling through town at maddeningly slow speeds, surveying uprooted trees and broken windows as if we were all amateur insurance adjustors. There was a hint of warmth on the wind that day, and the boldness of the blue sky suggested that spring was finally, at long last, on its way.

Coach Stirling's Cadillac had been flipped over in the teacher's parking lot at the high school. As we rolled past, I could practically see the wheels turning behind Trey's eyes, assessing the damage. If there was anything Trey loved, it was figuring out mechanical puzzles—the more difficult, the better.

Damage within the gated community where Mischa lived had been minimal. It was much heavier over near where Candace's mother and stepfather lived. We drove past their house and found Julia, Candace's half-sister, sitting out on the front steps with a friend from school. Even though I'd only met her a handful of times, Julia seemed to recognize me and waved at us. I'd never noticed before how much she looked like Candace when she smiled.

"Is this is it?" Henry asked as slowed to a stop along Front Road. Set far back from the street, almost entirely obscured by overgrown grass, was a dilapidated house.