Look for Me by Moonlight

I was tempted to tell my father the truth, but perhaps it was better to let him go on believing Vincent was depraved, a pervert of some kind, a child abuser. If Dad believed he’d invited a creature from myth and legend to cross his threshold, he’d have to rethink his entire concept of reality. I wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

Writing's a long, slow process. It affords me so little pleasure I often wonder why I make the effort.

Above the snap and pop of the fire, the wind howled, prowling around the inn, snooping at the windows and whining at the door. The candle flames quivered in the draft, melting the wax into strange shapes.

To be candid, things hadn’t been good in our house since I’d turned thirteen and, as Mom put it, lost my mind overnight. Which meant I’d changed from an obedient child who never gave anyone a second’s trouble into an obnoxious teenager who left wet towels on the bathroom floor and dirty dishes in front of the television, played loud music and argued about everything from politics to curfews.

I could trick him into taking me for a ride,” I said. “You could follow us in your truck. Then you could—” “No,” Will said sharply. “You’d go over the cliff with him, Cynda.” “I’d jump out before it went over the edge,” I said quickly. “Like people do in movies.” How actors did things like that I had no idea, but it didn’t matter. If I had to die to destroy Vincent, I would. Anything—even death—would be better than being his forever.

By the time we got to Ferrington, I was laughing at Will’s stories about Rockpoint High. It seemed the kids gave the teachers a hard time; they were always cutting up and saying funny things. Will was good at imitating their Down-East accents, but I had a feeling Susan was right about his not having any friends. It sounded as if he spent most of his school day watching and listening.

I’d been in love dozens of times, but it was always the unrequited kind.