IRIS
It’s strange for Sol not to wait until after dinner to hold a Growth Session. As I step inside, I notice the other girls scattering. Most of them head outside to do yardwork, and Violet goes to town to find ways to make money, leaving Sol and me the only ones inside the cabin.
Sol smiles at me as I come and sit down on the chair across from his bed. His smile is as warm and bright as ever, and his blue eyes crinkle in a way that makes me smile back at him despite my nerves. Even now, with all my conflicting emotions, it is so easy to bask in his light.
Marshall Solomon. I hear Rose’s voice in the back of my head, scratching over the name. I try to affix his real name to him. Try to imagine him as the criminal she claims him to be.
“A little,” I admit. “I’m kind of surprised you wanted to talk to me already.”
“Oh, Iris, I always want to talk to you,” he says.
“If I had the time, I’d hang out with each of you every day.
But I acknowledge this is a little out of the ordinary.
I’ve spent all day thinking about what you told me this morning.
” He sighs. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve been spending a lot of time with Rose recently.
I knew how close you two had gotten, and I felt like I needed to get to know her better.
She’s been the most distant of all of you.
I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but after what you told me this morning …
Iris, I don’t think she’s a good fit for this family. ”
My muscles tense, and my mouth goes dry. I flash back to my conversation with Lily in the garden, and that familiar dread begins to dig its claws in again.
“I think she’s a bit of a weed in our garden.”
I shake my head. “No, no, she’s just … She’s nervous. She’s reluctant because this is all so new.”
“She’s been here for months.”
“I know, but isn’t she supposed to have a year? To learn and prove herself?”
“I don’t think giving her a full year here when she’s clearly become such a bad influence on you is a good idea.”
“She’s not a bad influence,” I insist. “It’s my fault. I—”
“Why do you feel the need to defend her?” Sol asks. “I’m just trying to be honest with you, Iris.”
No. It’s Rose’s voice again as I remember what Rose learned about him—about Marshall Solomon. No, he isn’t being honest with you.
“I care about you more than your family did,” Sol continues, and though his tone is gentle, the accusation there is clear.
“I took you in. Forgave you for your past. Comforted you. I want what’s best for you, for all of you girls.
But Rose is the one you defend when I’m honest with you about my worries? ”
I swallow. God, my mouth is so dry. I don’t know what to say or how to argue. All I can manage is a quiet “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too. Because I spent all day figuring out your final trial in the wake of your confession this morning. And I’ve made a decision, but I’m afraid you won’t be happy with it. At least not at first, though I’m sure you’ll come to appreciate it later.”
“What is it?”
He stands up and walks to the bedside table.
“You’ve done well on your other trials, Iris.
Very well. But your relationship with Rose—the sway she clearly has over you—it concerns me.
It makes me doubt your commitment to this family.
I worry that you’re always going to choose her over the rest of us.
That she’ll poison you with lies and doubts about me and the other girls and drag you down to where you were when we first found you. ”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know if he’s right or not. Would I choose Rose over him? Over the others? Maybe. And the guilt of that thought sits heavy on my heart. Because as much as I care for her, I can’t deny that I’d never defied or lied to Sol until she arrived.
“I’ve tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. But she doesn’t want to grow, Iris. She just wants to use her negativity to bring us all down. Like I said, she’s a weed in this garden. And you know what happens to weeds.”
I don’t say anything,
“Iris?”
All I can think of is Violet, saying how Rose would end up like Marigold.
Gone.
“What do we do with weeds, Iris?”
“We … pluck them.”
“That’s right.” He opens the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out what I realize—to my horror—is a very sharp knife, about five inches long and gleaming. “And that’s your final trial. I need you to pluck the weeds.”
“What?” I almost laugh. Because it has to be a joke. I’m exhausted and not thinking clearly and I need it to be a joke.
But Sol doesn’t laugh. The way he looks at me, devoid of the warmth and cheer from a few moments ago, makes it very clear this isn’t a joke at all.
He holds the knife out to me.
I don’t take it.
“Iris?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, I can’t do that.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both,” I say.
“I see. So I was right. You will choose her over this family, over the people who have cared for you, who’ve given you food and shelter and clothing, who’ve listened to you, comforted you for well over a year now. You pick her.”
“It’s not like that, Sol!”
“It’s exactly like that.” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t sound angry at all. Just disappointed. “I had such high hopes for you, Iris. You’ve done so well. Grown so much. But maybe I should have known better. Maybe you don’t belong here, either.”
I stare at the knife. This doesn’t feel real.
He lowers the blade to his side. “Just … tell me this,” he says, and his voice cracks like he might cry. “Do you care about us at all?”
“I love you.” My voice, too, is ragged with emotion. “I love the girls. Please, Sol, believe me.” I can feel tears coming to my eyes now. The desperation and terror and guilt all piling on top of each other. I’m being buried alive.
“I want to,” he says. “I don’t benefit from this, you know. I work hard to keep you all alive and to help you find some kind of peace. So when one of you is ungrateful—”
I shake my head and reach for my nonexistent hair. “No, I’m not ungrateful. I’m very grateful. For everything.”
“Then prove it!” Sol snaps. It’s the first time he’s actually yelled. The first time he’s sounded truly angry. I flinch. “You do this for me, Iris—you take care of Rose—and you save all of us. She’s a weed. If she stays, she will tear this family apart. She’s already pulling you away from us.”
I lower my head, tears falling down my cheeks in streams now. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I … I can ask her to leave.”
“That’s not going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Because if she leaves, the stories she’ll tell will draw attention. The police will come again.”
“You’re asking me to do this because you’re afraid they’ll arrest you?” I ask, unable to hide the outrage in my voice. “Because of your financial crimes?”
Sol looks shocked. “Did Rose tell you that?”
I bite my lip and don’t respond.
“And you believe her.” It’s a statement, not a question.
Sol looks pained, and guilt twists in my gut.
I know what he’s asking me to do is wrong, but I still hate hurting him.
“No, Iris,” he says after a long moment.
“I’m not worried for me. I’m worried for all of you younger girls.
Just like I’ve always been. I hate the thought of you and Poppy and Zinnia suffering in foster care or a group home because of her selfishness.
” He levels that pale blue gaze at me. “And because of you, if you won’t fight for us. ”
“Sol, please …”
He lifts his hand, holding out the knife one more time. “Prove me wrong, Iris. Pluck the weed. You have three days. If you do this for me, for us, your trials will be done. And if you don’t …”
The way he trails off causes the dread claws to dig in deeper. “Sol,” I say, voice barely above a whisper, “what happened to Marigold?”
He doesn’t respond. Just stares at me, holding the knife still. Waiting. Waiting for me to take it, waiting for me to speak.
I have nothing to say. Because his silence is its own answer, in a way.
Slowly, I reach my hand out and take the hilt of the knife.
He nods. “Three days,” he repeats. “It goes without saying, but don’t breathe a word of this to any of the other girls. They’ll understand when it’s done.”
I feel numb. Ice creeping from my heart and through my veins.
“I know it’ll be hard at first,” Sol says.
And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he really does sound sympathetic.
“But we’ll be here for you after. We’ll always be here for you.
Your real family. Your garden.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it gently.
“Part of your trials is letting go of things that hold you back. She’s holding all of us back.
This will be good for you in the long run, sweetheart. I promise.”
After an awkward, long moment of silence, he walks over and opens the door. “Better hide that knife while the girls are busy. Then why don’t you help me with dinner? We’ll make a little bit of a treat for everyone since you’ve all been working so hard.”
He sounds so normal now. So calm and casual. There’s still that note of sadness in his voice, but nothing close to the emotion I’d expect to hear from him after he just asked me to take the life of a girl I’m falling in love with.
“Okay,” I murmur as I stand up, my knees shaking. I walk past him and up the stairs to the attic. My limbs feel as if they are moving through molasses.
I stand in the middle of the floor for a long time, staring at the knife in my hand, unsure what to do with it. Three days. I have three days.
“Iris?” Sol calls from downstairs. “Are you coming back down?”
“Yes.”
I slide the knife beneath my mattress, right beside the drawing Zinnia gave me for my anniversary. It feels so wrong, putting something so violent and full of dread beside one of my sweetest treasures. But it’s the only place I can think of.
A little dagger at my back.
A dagger that I’m meant to plunge into the back of someone else.
Once it is hidden, I take a few deep breaths, compose myself, and go back downstairs. Sol is waiting for me. He’s smiling now. Almost cheerful.
“Come on,” he says. “Violet shot a huge buck yesterday. We’re going to have a nice meal with fresh meat. It’ll be great. A thank-you to everyone who has worked so hard on our garden, and you’ll help.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll help.”