IRIS
Rose does come back. She walks through the front door while the rest of us are eating dinner, with her jeans caked in mud halfway to her knees.
“There she is!” Sol exclaims, lifting his fork of mashed potatoes in the air in greeting. “How was your walk, Rose?”
She pauses, her eyes turning to him. There’s that same feeling again—like waiting for thunder—as Rose looks at Sol and says nothing. Until, finally, she lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It was fine.”
“You were supposed to help Poppy with dinner,” Violet says.
“Oh. Right. I’m sorry, Poppy.”
“It’s all right,” Poppy says, adding a bit of pepper to her potatoes. “Sol helped me instead.”
“Why don’t you do the dishes after, to make up for it,” Sol suggests. “We’ll do our Growth Session after that.”
Rose winces at the mention of a Growth Session, but she nods. “Yeah. Sure.”
She goes upstairs to change clothes before returning to join us for dinner.
She doesn’t say anything while she eats.
She doesn’t even seem to react to the chatter going on around her.
Though I’m not one to talk. I keep staring at her, trying to decipher what she’s thinking.
I’m relieved she’s back. I’m also afraid of whatever has her seeming distracted.
I catch Sol looking at her, too. He never stops smiling, never misses a beat in conversation with the others. But I notice his eyes flicking to Rose several times, brows furrowing, like maybe he’s trying to read her mind, too.
When dinner is finished, everyone scatters. Some go to the living room, others go to do chores, like washing all the muddy clothes from today. And Rose stands, gathering the dishes and moving to the sink.
I don’t move from my chair. I’m still watching her, my mouth opening and closing as I try to force out words, even though I have no idea what I want to say to her.
“If you’re going to sit there and stare at me, you could at least come over and dry the dishes, you know.”
“Sorry. I …” There’s no point finishing that statement. I get to my feet and walk over to stand next to Rose.
She hands me a wet plate and an old, raggedy dish towel. I take them and wait for a moment, but she doesn’t say anything.
“You came back.” I say it quietly as I begin to dry. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
She glances over at me as she shoves her hands into the sudsy water again. At first she doesn’t reply, but then, just as quietly, she says, “I wasn’t sure I would, either.”
I set the now-dry plate aside, listening for a second to the laughter of Zinnia and Lily in the living room and the gentle strumming of Sol’s guitar. I keep my voice down when I speak again. “I lied for you. I told them you were curious about the damage the storm had left.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve never lied to Sol before,” I tell her, needing her to understand the gravity of what I’ve done. “It … it felt awful.”
“You didn’t have to do it,” she says. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know you didn’t. But I did have to.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment I think she might understand.
She might see what I’m trying to tell her: that I was scared of what would happen if Sol knew she’d left, that I can’t imagine carrying on my life here without her, that as much as I hated doing it, lying to Sol was worth it if it meant she’d be okay.
But then Rose looks away, eyes dropping to the bowl she’s scrubbing a bit too violently, and we fall into silence.
We wash the rest of the dishes without a word, every second of which feels like a vise tightening around my heart. After handing me the last plate, Rose turns off the faucet and moves to walk out of the kitchen.
“Rose, wait.”
She doesn’t, though. She keeps walking. I hear Sol tell her their Growth Session will be in half an hour as the wooden steps to the attic creak beneath her bare feet.
I hastily dry the last plate and set it to the side before hurrying after her.
But when I reach the attic door and see her standing by the dark window—the same one I watched her arrive through a couple of months ago now—I realize that I still have no idea what to say.
All I know is that I can’t stand for this quiet between us to continue for another second.
Rose lets out a soft sigh before turning those soul-piercing eyes on me. She doesn’t say anything. Just waits. Waits for words I can’t find.
Eventually, I say the only thing I can think of.
“I’m … I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Aren’t you upset with me?”
“Yeah.” Rose folds her arms over her chest. “But why are you apologizing?”
I stare at her, not entirely comprehending what she’s asking.
Rose can tell I’m floundering, though, and that, clearly, isn’t the answer she’s looking for.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head, her curtains of tangled raven hair covering her pale face for a moment.
Her obvious disappointment makes me feel so small.
“What do you want me to say?” I whisper. “I’ll do it. I feel awful, Rose.”
“You feel awful because I’m mad at you,” Rose points out. “That’s not the same as feeling bad about what you did.”
“I do feel bad about it. I feel terrible.”
“But are you sorry for that?”
“I …”
I hesitate, thinking about that question.
I feel guilty, yes, but I can’t get Sol’s voice out of my head, giving me all the reasons the fire was necessary.
I did it for him, for this family, for Rose.
I did it to keep them safe. And so I can stay here.
So I won’t be cast out again. Am I sorry for that?
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
She pushes her hair out of her face and looks up at me again. “The Iris I thought I knew wouldn’t have burned that building. But … maybe I don’t know you.”
“I don’t think I know me, either.”
It isn’t until I hear the words leave my lips that I know they are true. The weight of them, the awkward realization of what that means, settles heavily on my shoulders. I move slowly, sluggishly, over to my mattress and sink down among the quilts.
She watches me from her place by the window. Not moving. Not speaking. Again, just waiting. Forcing me to fill the silence.
“I … I do feel bad about the grocery store,” I say again.
“But I also feel guilty about feeling bad, because Sol said it was the right thing to do, for all of us. For you. But then I keep imagining Mr. Brophy’s face when he sees the store’s damage, or him not having the money to survive, and …
it haunts me. I just wish he’d never called in that wellness check.
Or that I’d never screwed up and been caught stealing. Then none of us would be in this mess.”
Rose comes over to the mattress and lowers herself to sit cross-legged, facing me.
I pull one of the quilts onto my lap, fiddling with a familiar loose stitch as I speak.
“I don’t know what to do, Rose. I don’t want to let Sol and the other girls down.
I need them. I was alone before them. But I …
I don’t want you to be mad at me, either.
You’ve kind of become my best friend. I’m so scared you’re going to leave me, too. ”
“I’m not going anywhere, Iris,” she says, reaching over to put her hand on mine, keeping me from making the loose stitch worse.
“I thought about it. When I was in town today, I thought about not coming back. But I couldn’t.
” She sighs. “I am mad at you—what you did was awful, and I hate that Sol asked you to do it. But I … I get it. I’d like to believe I’d have the backbone to say no if I was in your place.
But I know that’s easier said than done when Sol has the power over us all. ”
I wince. My instinct is to defend Sol—my savior, my sun—but the first crack has formed in the glass over his portrait in my mind.
The imperfections are starting to show. But I still see so much good, too.
So much beauty in the life and the future he’s promised us all, in the home he’s given us.
He’s shown me a kindness I’ve only ever known from one other adult in my life.
“So what now?”
Rose bites her lip. “I’m not sure. I just know that I’m not ready to leave.”
I nod slowly. Honestly, I’m relieved to hear it. “Okay.”
We sit there, staring at each other, her warm hand over mine, for a long moment. I imagine us like a perfect snapshot. The iconic final frame of a movie. I wish I could press pause and keep us right here forever, before anything or anyone can test this tentative peace between us.
“Rose?” Sol’s voice comes from downstairs. “Rose? Are you coming down for your Growth Session?”
Rose groans as she pulls her hand away from mine. “God, I want to just say no.”
“Don’t,” I tell her. Both because part of me hopes the two of them can reconcile—that Rose will start to see the good in Sol again and be able to get past the arson so that I can keep adoring them both—and because I’m afraid that if she doesn’t leave right now, I might reach for her hand again. “Go. I’ll see you after.”
“Ugh. Fine.” She stands up and starts toward the attic door. She stops and looks over her shoulder at me. “But let’s talk more later, all right?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
Then she’s gone.
I fall back onto the mattress. There’s still a cold storm of guilt and shame and worry swirling in my chest. But for now, Rose isn’t going anywhere. She’s upset with me, but it seems like, eventually, we’ll be okay. And that’s something I can cling to.