Chapter Thirteen #2
“Hopefully this might.” They reach the strawberry beds. Veda stoops to comb through the leaves, finding two plump fruits.
“And the book?”
Veda winces slightly. “I was planning to talk to Simran, but I think he needs some way to communicate until he’s ready to speak. We learned some basics today. Maybe—”
“I wish I’d thought of it myself.”
Veda can admit she’s usually the aggressor in their sparring matches, yet praise isn’t what she expects.
It’s disarming. “It’ll be good for him. Peter is going to ask his teacher if she can fit it into the lesson plan to teach his class so the kids can communicate with him.
It’s not much, but if we work on it during our sessions and you incorporate it at home, he—”
“Thank you. For what you’ve done with him. He seems comfortable with you.”
She flounders under his appreciation, looking at everything except him. “Antaris is a great kid. Kind. Compassionate. Earnest. He reads your notes, wants to know you. He’s loud, even in his silence.” Veda continues to actively ignore the look on his face, muttering, “Need to grab some lettuce.”
When raised garden beds full of herbs divide them, Veda stops focusing on her shoes and looks at Hiram.
Black clashes with color and light. She would sooner lie than admit it aloud, but against the lush backdrop of the greenhouse, Hiram is hard to ignore.
His height and the lean lines of his build.
Tailored clothes. Dark hair, parted like his son’s.
Deliberate, defiant blue eyes. The beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow replacing smooth skin.
Today, Hiram bears ink stains on his fingers, a few creases in his shirt, and the faint impression of glasses on the bridge of his nose.
Unfortunately, the imperfections make him human. Natural. Handsome.
“I happen to know when I’m being studied.” Hiram’s back is to her as he examines the flowering cucumber vines. “Ever since Nénuphar, you’ve taken every opportunity to assess me. Even when I irritate you.” He turns to face her. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”
“Your audacity.” Her sarcasm is weak.
His smirk confirms he knows it, too. Damn him.
“We never agreed on a date.”
“Excu—oh, you mean the library.”
“What did you think I meant?”
Veda ignores the amusement in his voice. “Anyway, maybe next Friday. I’m not working.” She walks on, but their paths converge again near the olive trees.
Hiram peers up. “It looks dead.”
“It’s an olive tree, it’ll recover.”
She shows him the buds forming on the blackened branches. They’re growing faster than she expects. There’ll be leaves soon. Veda kneels and draws an X in the dirt. Hiram watches.
They return to the group with the treats for the chicks, and everyone’s attention shifts to them. Veda lays the strawberry, tomato, and lettuce leaf down. The chicks descend on the offering as the boys hurry over.
“My dad said to ask you to go to pizza, Mr. Hiram,” August announces.
“It’s Mr. Ellis.”
“Okay, Mr. Hiram.”
He closes his eyes and pinches between his eyes.
“My dad does that when someone is being a pain in the—”
“August,” Gabriel interrupts. Peter is behind him, silently wheezing. “Remember your question?”
“Oh yeah! Can we?”
Hiram looks understandably puzzled but crouches in front of Antaris. “Do you want to have pizza with August tonight?”
Antaris shifts closer, glances around, then taps the back of his hand twice. Hiram frowns, and he repeats the gesture, more insistently. Veda sees when he finally understands.
“That means yes, right?” Hiram confirms.
The corners of Antaris’s lips curve.
Peter invites Veda over for an impromptu dinner the following night. It’s suspiciously well planned.
He makes the sauce for Mughlai chicken while she skims the inventory of ingredients in his stores, sipping wine on the table and enjoying the kitten sleeping in her lap.
Veda isn’t one to complain about a free meal, and Peter’s a decent cook.
There’s a purpose behind every action, even dinner, but the silence is companionable enough for her to relax. Fractionally.
Khadijah joins them later, fresh from an emergency call. She steals a few bites from Peter’s plate, claims she’s going to change, but crashes on the couch. Her snoring becomes the background to their conversation.
“Hiram told me that you agreed to research with him.”
Veda grimaces. “Yeah, and I’ll eat crow if he ends up being right.”
Peter chuckles suspiciously.
She narrows her eyes. “Are you Clinton in disguise?”
He puts his fork down, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Just someone who noticed two people being civil, even sitting next to each other at the pizza place. Color me shocked.”
“A temporary ceasefire.”
Peter’s knowing look is irritating. “You’re the only one at war.”
“Spare me.”
“Only if you listen.”
“You don’t have to plead Hiram’s case.”
“I’m not, I’m defending my friend because it’s warranted. This conversation is overdue.” Peter finishes his wine in one gulp. “He’s not perfect, but neither are you.”
“I know that. Hiram is . . .” The unfinished sentence dissipates without a fitting end.
“He’s a lot of things,” Peter says. “Not all of them are congruent, but I think that’s what frustrates you most. You want him to be everything you’ve decided he is. Maybe he is some of those things, but not all.”
Veda feels warm from the spices and wine.
“It’s normal to be frustrated by what you don’t understand. Or maybe you’re curious.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” she deadpans.
“Am I? You’ve been on autopilot for years. Existing like you’re terminal and your days are almost up. Now you’re waking up and paying attention. I think you want to live more than you’ve prepared to die. Antaris has muddied things. So has Hiram.”
Veda laughs.
“Laugh all you want, but you’re attached. And it’s mutual. There is no way you can keep separating Antaris from Hiram. His son is part of him. It’s tenuous, but their bond will grow. So will yours—to both. You won’t be able to help it.”
Veda jiggles her knee, fingers trailing between the kitten’s ears. “Then stop shoving Hiram in my damn face.”
Peter frowns. “I haven’t.”
“Oh? So you had nothing to do with Hiram offering to help me get rid of this curse?” She tilts her head. “From what he told me, you said I needed all the help I could get.”
“I did, but I didn’t say it expecting him to—”
“Get his hand on classified research with a snap of his fingers? Why didn’t you ask him before?”
“Honestly? He was never an option because he refused to get involved.” Peter raises an eyebrow. “But now he is, and I’m intrigued.”
Veda scoffs. “I’m leaving.”
A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Hiram does nothing without reason or a plan, but I have a feeling he might not have either when it comes to you.”