The Singer by Elizabeth Hunter

Ava only hoped she didn’t die of exhaustion. Or embarrassment.  
    “Take your shower.” Damien motioned toward the door. “Astrid asked if you would have lunch with her after you got back. I imagine she’s in the medical clinic I saw near the road.”
    “Yes, sir, Captain Watcher, sir.” She mock-saluted and scurried to the bathroom.
    “Ha-ha.”
    Ava shut the door and pulled off her sweaty shirt, turning to toss it in a small hamper before she froze.
    Grief struck at the oddest times. Like a cat, it waited to pounce. She could go about her day, even talk about Malachi, ignoring the black hole that lived inside, then something little would swallow her up.
    It was nothing, really. Just a man’s shirt hanging on the towel rod. A shirt like the ones he’d worn. The ones she’d teased him about not putting in the hamper. He left them draped on the clean towels or tossed on the ground. She’d found it irritating.  
    She pulled it off the towel rack and put it to her face, but it smelled wrong.
    Ava buckled as if she’d been punched in the stomach, sliding down to the floor as her back scraped along the counter. A wretched sob tore from her throat, and she heard footsteps pounding.
    “Ava?”
    She shook her head, gripping Damien’s shirt that smelled wrong. His voice sounded wrong. And his arms felt wrong. She couldn’t stop another sob. Or the next. Or the next.
    Damien opened the door. “Oh, sister…”
    Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
    As kind as Damien was, he wasn’t who she wanted to see.  
    She threw his shirt at him shouted, “It’s not fair!”
    “I know,” he whispered, sitting next to her and gathering her in his arms. “I know it’s not.”
    “We didn’t have time.” Her body shook with rage and grief. “We should have had time.”
    “I know.”
    “No, you don’t know. Sari may hate you, but she’s still here.” Tears were hot on her face and she hit his shoulders with clenched fists, even as he held her closer. “I just found him. I finally found him. And then he was gone.”
    “I’m sorry, Ava.” He held her close. “I miss him too.”
    “Everything is wrong. Everything hurts more.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I thought it would be better if I left. If I left Turkey, I thought he’d stay there. But he didn’t.”
    “Of course he didn’t.”
    “I see him everywhere. He’s everywhere. And he always will be.”
    “Ava—”
    “And I hate him for that. For leaving me,” she choked out. “And for not leaving me.”
    Damien didn’t say anything for a while; he just let her cry. And when the worst of it had passed, Ava whispered, “I know that doesn’t make sense.”
    “Yes, it does.” He held her close, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “He would have moved heaven and earth to stay with you, Ava. You know that.”
    “But he didn’t, Damien. Of all the things he could do, he couldn’t do that.”
    Damien ignored his lunch that was growing cold on the counter. Ava ignored her growling stomach. She sat on the floor of the maple-paneled bathroom with Malachi’s brother and allowed herself to feel more than she had in months. Until finally grief slipped away to hide its face until the next time.

    Hours later, Ava finally heeded the call of her rumbling stomach and went to look for Astrid. There was a road leading into the isolated valley, but a visitor clearly needed to know where they were going to find it. Ava had seen a few cars come and go, along with a truck that delivered boxes of supplies on Wednesday morning and took some of the milk and vegetables the haven produced.
    In addition to the Irina, there were also a few Irin families. They seemed to keep to themselves, but Ava had seen a few men hanging at the edge of the compound and even a small child. The families lived in a group of cottages half a kilometer or so deeper into the valley and away from the main house and the road. Clearly, protecting them was a priority since Ava had only caught glimpses.
    To any