The days following our morbid discovery were laced with quiet sobs and short tempers. Tabitha walked the cottage like a wraith, barely sleeping and eating even less. Marsh stood moodily at the windows whenever he was awake, a tumbler of whiskey gripped in his fingers more often than not and a deep scowl set on his lips. The few times I had tried to talk to him, he ignored me, his eyes distant and full of the deadly promise of a storm.
With all that had transpired, it was no surprise that I, too, pulled into my own shell. I started spending more and more time locked away in my room, listening to the periodic wails of Tabitha, and the muted crashes and curses from Marsh’s room. Even then, I still tried. I went to them both, to no avail. Tabitha lashed out, ripping me apart with her words. M
