11. Mike #2
“I did. There were several research projects through the University of Maastricht that one of my professors contributed to.”
“About plants in space?” Sierra asks.
“No. They were about managing fungus and bacterial growths in receptive environments.”
This is evidently less fascinating to Sierra than it was to me. “But seven people,” she muses, returning to the problem that is more interesting to her. “You and Abbie and Luke makes only three.”
“Luke didn’t live with us,” I say before I catch myself.
Sierra doesn’t seem to notice. “Two then. Who else is there?”
Sylvia murmurs a warning but we both ignore her.
“Jake is the oldest. He’s a financial consultant in Toronto now.”
“What does that mean?”
“He knows a lot about leveraging debt and managing capital assets. ”
“I don’t understand that either.”
“Neither do most of us, but he seems to make a lot of money at it.”
I’m aware of Sylvia’s smile.
“Who else?” Sierra demands.
“I’m the next oldest, then there’s Austin. He’s on a TV show called So You Think You Can Cook? Maybe you’ve seen it?”
“That Austin Cavendish? That’s your brother?”
I nod.
“But he’s such an asshole.”
I grin even as Sylvia chides Sierra. “And now the whole world knows it, instead of just us.”
We all laugh at that.
“You probably won’t ever meet him either. He’s more likely to be in the States than in Empire.”
“Okay, who else?” Sierra demands.
“You know about Abbie. She’s next. Then Candace’s son, Grayson, who is in Seattle now. He got his MBA and went to work at a high-tech company. Her younger kids, Madison and Ethan, do lots of different things.”
“That sounds diplomatic,” Sylvia teases and I toss a smile at her.
“I can’t keep up. Madison was going to be a fashion designer, then an interior decorator, then an events hostess, then a wedding planner. Last I heard, I think she was going to start making soap to sell at fairs.” I shrug. “Ethan is currently making fruit wines.”
“Wine is made from grapes,” Sierra informs me.
“But you apparently can make it from other fruits, too.”
“Is it good?”
I just smile. “I don’t know.” Far be it for me to rain on Ethan’s parade.
Dad dotes on him and keeps him funded. The youngest, he’s the classic rich boy, spoiled and indulged, fond of shiny trinkets, fast cars and exotic vacations, plus allergic to work of any kind.
But that’s not my concern, so long as he’s not working for me.
“What about Luke?”
“What about him?”
“Where does he fit in?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that he doesn’t, but I can feel some tension in the air. “Dad had an affair with Luke’s mom when Mom was pregnant with Abbie.”
“Wow. How’d you find out?”
“The story is that Louise came to the house after my mom died. I understand there were multiple arguments, but we were just kids. I don’t remember it. I just remember Mrs. Wilson talking about it and sometimes Dad talking about Luke’s mom.”
I don’t want to think about this, as Dad was awful about Louise Jones. Even the memory makes me cringe.
“She didn’t get pregnant by herself,” Sylvia says, her tone a little tart, which isn’t unfair.
I also recognize that she’s not just talking about Louise.
“I know that now. As kids, we were told that she was wicked and that Luke was bad, and that we had to defend the family honour at every opportunity.”
It’s odd but just repeating all that aloud makes me realize how ridiculous it was.
Sylvia sniffs, sounding a bit like Una. “Your father should have thought of the family honour sooner if it mattered so much to him.”
I don’t need Sylvia to take Luke’s side to know that Dad wasn’t fair to Louise. That’s painfully obvious now – as it wasn’t when we were too young to understand what had really happened. We were doing what we were told to do, with no notion of how wrong it was .
But it was wrong. I remember Jake starting a fight in elementary school when Luke said he was our brother. I remember being a little bit aggressive on the hockey rink on those rare instances that Luke laced on his skates and played.
I’m wondering if I owe somebody other than Sylvia an apology.
I frown as I pull into Rupert’s drive and park the truck.
“You’re right,” I say, because I feel Sylvia looking at me.
“He should have.” I turn to look at her.
“If he had any respect for my mom, he wouldn’t have had an affair at all.
After he did, though, he should have done right by his son.
” I want her to know that if Sierra had been mine, if she had told me as much, I would have married her and done the right thing.
I want her to know that I’m not like my dad, but Sylvia blinks rapidly and looks away.
As if I’ve disappointed her.
One more time, I’m mystified.
“Looks like a nice place,” she says, her voice tight, then gets out of the car.
Now I feel Sierra studying me, but I’m not up for more questions right now. I reach for the door handle but she touches my forearm with her fingertips, quickly. It’s like a butterfly landing on my arm then taking flight again.
“Maybe you don’t know the whole story,” she says quietly, her gaze intent.
“Maybe it would be good if someone told it to me.”
She leans closer, dropping her voice low. “Maybe you should ask .”
Then she’s gone, sliding across the seat and moving to stand beside Sylvia.
They’re both shading their eyes, looking up at Rupert’s greenhouse.
It’s maybe twenty feet tall, much shorter than ours, and with a smaller footprint, too.
I’ll guess it’s thirty feet by ninety-six, a good size, just under three thousand square feet, just over a quarter hectare.
I do the math without even thinking about it, my brain calculating how many tomato plants he’d be ordering each spring if he turned to monoculture, how many pounds of fruit he’d harvest every week, etc. etc.
We used to have greenhouses like this, a line of four of them, before Dad began to dream big.
Our greenhouses are enormous now, constructed of modules that join together.
The workers ride bicycles through them. We used to be the biggest greenhouse organization locally, but business is booming and everyone is jumping into the game or expanding.
Without making any changes, Cavendish Enterprises is standing still and I don’t love that.
On the other hand, Rupert’s place makes me consider the merits of smaller. I stand for a moment and listen, liking that I can hear the wind here. There are no fans, pumps or generators running nearby, but I don’t miss the rhythmic throb. The quiet is peaceful.
Rupert has the roof vents open, I notice, a good plan since it’s going to be a warm day. His glass is still in good shape, a little fogged at the north end but the vents will take care of that. I look up to see he’s making his way toward us, grinning happily.
“You must be the aspiring grower,” he says to Sierra who nods. I make introductions and hands are shaken all around before he turns to her again. “Why would you want any part of this crazy business?”
“Well, I just wanted to help out Merrie at the café,” she says, casting a smile at me. “But Mike has been telling me about plants in space, and now I really want to learn. Imagine having fresh salad on a spaceship!”
Rupert laughs and leads her into the greenhouse, clearly welcoming the opportunity to explain what he does and why.
And I’m left with Sylvia to bring up the rear .
Ask .
I reach out and touch her hand briefly, just the way Sierra touched me. She glances over her shoulder, her expression curious.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I ask and she glances after the pair of them.
“I don’t want to miss the tour.”
“Later then. Before we head back to town. I’d like to ask you something.”
She studies me for a moment, then the corner of her mouth lifts in a smile.
“Okay,” she says softly, then pivots to follow Rupert and Sierra.
In the last minute, she reaches back and takes my hand, a move that makes my heart leap.
“You’d better keep up,” she says. “People will think you know it all already.”
I close my hand around hers.
It used to be so easy with Sylvia.
Maybe it could be so again.