Flock (The Ravenhood #1)(55)
“Can I get you anything? More water?”
“Please.”
I move to the kitchen and click on the overhead light. More roaches scatter, making my stomach turn. There are only a few dishes in the sink and my skin crawls as I search the cabinets for a clean glass. I open the freezer, which reeks and grab a few ice cubes, tossing them into the glass before turning on the tap. I set the water on the small wooden table with a built-in lamp sitting beside her. She clicks it on and picks up a thick leather book—a French Bible, littered with tattered bookmarks.
Dominic strolls back in with a Monday through Sunday pillbox and a plastic garbage can. He sets the pills on her table, and the can within her reach.
“All separated. Take them, Tatie, or you’ll get sicker.” He chuckles when he sees the Bible. “Too late for you, witch.”
I expect her to gasp or get indignant. Instead, she laughs with him. “If there’s a back door into heaven, maybe I’ll find it for you too.”
“Maybe I don’t agree with His politics,” Dominic says, his timber full of mirth.
“Maybe He doesn’t agree with yours, doesn’t mean He can’t be an ally. And you forget, I know you. And stop separating my pills, I’m not an invalid.”
“You’re doing a good job getting there. Don’t drink tonight,” Dominic orders, entirely dismissing the spiritual part of the conversation. “I’m not searching the house, but if you do, you know what will happen.”
“Yeah, yeah, go,” she shoos him away. I hear the distinct clink of a bottle beneath her rocker as she adjusts her position in the seat and Dominic makes himself busy with the TV remote. He didn’t hear it, but her eyes meet mine in challenge and I quickly decide it’s not my battle.
“Should we stay?” I ask her, genuinely concerned. All of my chemo aftermath knowledge has been gained from books or soul-crushing movies, and from what I’ve gathered, people get violently ill after a round.
“Not my first time,” she says. “Go, the night is young and so are you, don’t waste it.”
“You are too,” Dominic mutters, flipping through the channels.
I walk over to where she sits and kneel down on the over-stressed carpet. I don’t know what in the hell possesses me to do it, but I do, maybe it’s her living situation or the state she’s in. Her predominately black hair is pulled back into a braid, her olive complexion deeply etched with life, the small wrinkles around her mouth defined with remnants of her lipstick. She looks breakable, her frame meek, her under eyes outlined by her sickness. But it’s her eyes alone that shine with her youth, the same metallic shade as her nephew. They pin me curiously as I lean in on a whisper.
“Romans 8:38-39.”
She navigates to the passage easily and to my surprise, reads it aloud.
“For I am sure that neither death nor life,” she whispers softly, “nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
She looks up at me, her eyes flitting with emotion, mainly fear. “Do you believe that’s true?”
“Those are the only verses I’ve memorized. So I guess, maybe, I want to believe it.” It’s clear as she studies me, she does too.
She looks past me at Dominic, who I can feel standing behind me. “Elle est trop belle. Trop intelligente. Mais trop jeune. Cette fille sera ta perte…” She is too beautiful. Too smart. But too young. This girl will be your undoing.
My eyes drift up to Dominic whose face remains impassive. Frustrated that I can’t make out more than a few words of what’s been said, I stand.
“It was nice meeting you.”
She waves us away and we move toward the door. I look back at her, just before we clear the doorway and I see it, the slight lift at the corner of her lips. It’s Dominic’s smile, and a part of me lifts at the sight of it.
A few minutes into another silent drive, I turn down Dominic’s blaring radio. “What happened to your parents?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes as he flicks me an expression I can’t place.
When he cranks the radio back up and downshifts to gain speed, I know he will entertain no conversation. I observe him, baffled by the shift in his moods, and the utter beauty of the mask he wears along with the secrets he holds so tightly to him. He’s very much like Sean in a sense they both give the bare minimum when questioned, like they took and mastered a fucking class on terse responses. My cheeks puff as I blow out a breath, and I hold the rest of my questions. There’s no point. He’s back to impenetrable, his body language alluding to as much, and I let my thoughts wander until we pull up to the garage.
Dominic parks close to the bay and exits as if he can’t get away from me fast enough, and I sit and watch him walk into the shop without looking back. Today was eventful, to say the least, and slightly insightful.
A flash of fire grabs my attention and I look over and see Sean slapping his Zippo closed through the windshield.
He joins me as I step out of the passenger side. “So, I take it that didn’t go well?”
“Why would you subject me to that man?”
He chuckles lightly, but the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Pup?”