32. Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Cedric
I pace my hotel room, wondering if I’ve made a terrible mistake by telling Delilah as much as I have. Not that I don’t trust her, but I know what Joe is capable of. I’ve witnessed it firsthand. It’s a small miracle of its own, that he hasn’t mentioned Delilah yet, that he doesn’t seem aware of her existence at all. It might sound paranoid of me, but I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow be keeping tabs on me, even when I’m on the other side of the bloody world.
I pass a hand through my hair, trying to dispel any bit of nervous energy I can, and decide it’s time for another chat with the source of at least seventy percent of my problems.
The line only rings once before Marcus picks up.
“Before you start yelling at me–”
“What have I ever asked of you, Marcus?” I ask calmly. I have no intention of yelling. I’m too tired for that. “Except to attract the least attention possible to yourself, that is. What have I ever asked of you?”
“You’re being unfair,” he says coldly.
“I’m being whatever I need to be to keep you safe! Do you genuinely not see that? Do you think this is all some elaborate game?”
“What did he tell you?”
“That you’re making a, and I quote, ‘ spectacle of yourself’ . Would you care to explain what he meant? Did he bother to pick up the phone and call to threaten me personally only to lie?”
“Shite,” Marcus hisses. He’s quiet for a few beats, then he adds, “I didn’t think there would be someone to take goddamn pictures, I was thorough, I checked–”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, something cold licking up my spine. Pictures?
“I went to this small hotel in Camden to meet with a supplier. I pushed it off for as long as possible, Ced, but I couldn’t wait anymore, and I thought it would be the last place Joe would think to look, but–”
“Wait, which supplier? Myers has specific instructions to never be–”
“No, it wasn’t Myers,” Marcus says quietly. “That’s not the point, alright? The point is there must be some photo of me and him. ”
“Not the point? That is the whole fucking point, Marcus. Myers knows how to stay hidden, and most importantly, I have vetted him, I trust him–”
“Can you trust I couldn’t see him?”
I close my eyes, breathing deeply. I will not lose my calm.
“It was him, that day with you, wasn’t it? In your room?”
Marcus is quiet, and that’s as good as a yes.
“Look, I’m sorry. I know I mucked up, but I can’t go back in time and fix it. And it doesn’t even matter that much, in the end, does it? You’ll be back in a few days, and I’ll leave shortly after. I won’t be a problem anymore, Ced.”
“Stop,” I say, because I hate that he thinks that, and I hate that I let him believe it for a second. Does he make me want to break something with his recklessness? Sure.
Do I want for him to be free more than anything? Of course. Even if that freedom is conditional, for the time being, it’s better than living in constant dread that he might get hurt.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” I say, and I know it’s not enough, but that’s all the comfort I can muster for him right now.
“I know,” he replies. We’re both quiet again, the only sounds are the faint ringing of car hooters in the background.
“So… Is there anyone I should be prepared to meet?”
I’m grateful for the change of subject, though I don’t let it transpire.
“There’s this pair of twins that might be obsessed with you on sight,” I say, recalling the meeting with the mayor’s daughters. “Lots of elders, mostly.”
One radiant, wonderful girl you’d better keep your hands off, or I will say to hell with the contract and come back to beat your arse.
“I can work with twins,” he says, the smirk evident in his voice. It’s Marcus’s superpower–making me forget how angry I am just by being himself.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted, but this place… I think you could be happy here.”
Marcus makes a noncommittal noise. “Are you thinking out loud?”
“No, I mean it.”
“Ced, I don’t need to see you to know that you’re sad. Is it because of the pictures? Because I’m leaving? Or because you’re coming back?”
Yes , I think to myself. All of those. But if I tell him, he’ll either do something brave or something idiotic, which will probably have the same result. Storming our father’s office and demanding he change the terms that regard me, which will in turn ensure Marcus is abducted and locked away, for example. Or worse.
“I’m handling everything, and all you have to do is make sure Joe forgets about you altogether until you can leave. Understood?”
Marcus sighs deeply, but promises no more rendezvouses with this supplier I know nothing about.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” I say by way of goodbye.
“Yeah, before you hang up though, I sort of have a question about my belongings.”
“I told you, just pack the essentials, you’ll get everything you need–”
“I’m not talking about toothbrushes and clothes, brother mine. I was wondering, from a logistic point of view: how do you assume I get past custom clearance with three months’ worth of blood bags stuffed in a suitcase? ”
Delilah
The rest of the day at the shop is, for lack of a better word, dull.
I’m used to finding small things to be happy about in each day–I have had to, for causes of force majeure–but after the morning I spent with Cedric… everything pales in comparison. He didn’t just make me see stars (and if I think too long about what we did in that changing room, I fear I will never have the courage to step foot into Diana’s store again).
He makes me feel like I’ve bathed in starlight.
Luminous, happy, cherished. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to life before him. He didn’t say so, but I know that the way he opened up to me isn’t something he takes lightly or is in the habit of doing. It fills me with pride, as much as it does with dread. Because it seems like his father could not simply use a few pointers on parenting; he sounds like a plain awful person, and I don’t understand the extent of it.
I bite my lip as I try to wrap my brain around it, but I don’t think I can unless Cedric decides to tell me everything–which I now realize he can’t, no matter how badly he wants to.
How ironic that it’s the same for me.
Still, I smile at each person that comes to Myrta’s. I make small talk with the customers, packing posies of dotted tulips and warm-toned lilies. When an email comes in on Myrta’s ancient computer, she all but swats me away from the counter, shooing me toward the greenhouse.
“The milkweeds aren’t going to water themselves,” she says as she squints at the monitor.
“Aye, aye, captain”, I reply under my breath .
I tie my hair back, then push on the cold glass of the greenhouse’s doors, grabbing my favorite hose on the way toward the neon-colored milkweeds and dogbanes only Myrta grows.
Watering each species of flowers or plants here is second nature. If anything, it means I don’t need to concentrate too hard on the task at hand, which in turn means my thoughts can wander freely back to Cedric. I wonder, stubbornly, if I somehow gathered the courage to tell him the truth about me, and in the scenario that didn’t scare him to death, he’d maybe come clean about what it is exactly that’s going on with his family. I glance at my phone as it peeks out of my apron’s pocket, and see a strongly worded message from Faye about how someone —Ezra—clogged the bathroom; I resolve to call her as soon as my shift is done. She’s been more patient than usual with me ever since Cedric showed up, and the least I can do is offer to help her at work tonight. There’s never more than twenty people per show, but Faye conceded I’ve mastered the art of buttery popcorn and I’m a precious ally, regardless of the lack of crowd. I rise from my crouch, dusting my knees off to go tend to other plants, when the oddest thing happens. The dogbane glows, brighter than I’ve ever seen it.
‘Ominous, ominous’, Myrta would say. I shake the chills off my shoulders and rush to the opposite side of the greenhouse.