Saliva pooled in my mouth with anticipation. I wanted to know more. Had he left her a house of her own? A safe escape in case her husband was a wicked man?
I smiled inwardly. He wasn’t wrong.
“It’s a plot of land, outside of Greenich Bay.”
I frowned. That was it? Teresa sank into the armchair as if the admission drained her of energy. The rim of her eyes was red and watery with withheld tears.
“What is so inappropriate about that?” I questioned, frustration making me growl.
“Antoni had intended to move his greenhouse there and build on his hobbies. He wanted to offer his services to your family on a larger scale. The soil is fertile, and it’s extremely private,” she explained, her mouth opening on unsaid words.
“Spit it out,” I demanded. The tendon in my neck was a taut, sharp cord.
A flare rolled through her body, and she straightened. Teresa’s chest puffed out as she fought to keep from answering. My elbows balanced on my knees as I held my breath. She looked at the door, and I answered her naivety with a chuff of laughter.
“Don’t make that mistake. Tell me what I want to know.” I gave her the smile she’d complimented me on earlier.
Her eyes flashed, and the words spilled out like a curse.
“It’s also where her dearly beloved father is buried.”
19
Age 15
“You’re not supposed to be here,” my father’s words stung, as did the way he presented his back. The jut of his shoulder blades pressed out of his shirt. Words turned to ash on my tongue. The cold emanating from him was something I’d never experienced before. My hand gripped the doorframe, needing the hard support. I waited, but he said nothing more, shoulders ratcheting higher the longer I lingered. The greenhouse was dark, only the filtered silver moonlight highlighted the room.
“Why?” I got out. My heart throbbed until I winced. Mom had denied me time with him and now when I slipped out, he didn’t want me here? His fingers splayed across the bench, and they looked thinner than I remembered. I’d barely seen him lately. Dinners had become untouched plates and screwed-up napkins. My parents’ raised voices filtered through the early morning hours more often than not.
“You know why,” he scolded me, and the heavy disappointment settled over my shoulders.
“I miss you.” My admission was feather soft.
He let out a long sigh but didn’t turn to look at me. The plants had changed since I’d seen them last, and I took in the fresh growth on each one. Anything to ignore the sharp pain in my chest. The silence drew out, stretched and unbearably heavy. A flash of dark anger sparked at his cold dismissal. What had I done to earn it? He took up the whole of my heart, safe and warm in the cavity of my pumping organ.
He apparently didn’t reciprocate, especially when my mother asserted her authority.
“What’s rule number four?” I asked, hoping my words cut like a forgotten thorn.
He stepped into the shadows, a sharp inhale echoing in the silent room. His dark eyes glinted when he turned to look at me, but I couldn’t see his expression. I took a step toward him, and he held up a hand, halting my movement.
“Two hands are good, but four hands are better,” his voice was raspy.
It wasn’t a real rule, but a joke he’d made long ago. When we’d been shoveling soil while re-potting. The work had passed so quickly that he’d marveled and declared I should always assist him. It had become a mantra of sorts. He always paired it with a wry smile and a squeeze on my shoulder.
I want your company.
I enjoy you being here.
We work well together.
I need you.
We strung those unsaid comments to the rule, but not now. He didn’t offer any smile, nor a familiar touch.
“Not tonight, daughter. Some things are best done alone.”
There was something wrong with me.
