Chapter 15: Not the Apology

Calla came across the grave in one lunge.

The silver blade went for Wynne's throat.

Wynne caught the wrist before it arrived.

She did not touch the steel.

She turned Calla's arm against the joint, and the blade dropped into the white stones with a dull sound.

Calla screamed.

"You're hurting me!"

"I know."

"Let go! He'll hear!"

"Let him."

Wynne held her there, bent over the grave, and Calla's face went red and ugly.

All the softness had left it.

"You think you've won," Calla hissed. "You walked in here with the Tennant strength and you think it makes you better than me."

"I think you tried to cut my throat over my son's grave."

"I wanted what I was owed! Eight years I stood behind you! I carried that man's coat! I held his tea!"

"You wanted my place."

"I was the one who loved him!"

"Then why did you lie to his face about the book?"

Calla's lips pulled back.

She leaned in close.

"You want to know about your boy?" she said, very softly. "He didn't call for you."

Wynne's grip tightened.

"He stood on the sand and screamed for his father. Papa, Papa, over and over. Garrick couldn't hear him over the surf. I could."

"Be quiet."

"You weren't even there, were you? You were in your bed, tired. You were always tired."

Wynne's hand opened.

She had not told it to.

Calla tore free and stumbled back against the thorn tree.

She did not pick up the blade.

She stared at Wynne's face, and whatever she saw there made her turn and run.

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