Snatched Two Husbands, But They Both Remember the Fire Chapter 11

Snatched Two Husbands, But They Both Remember the Fire Chapter 11

Two months.

Letter from Sophia. No return address. Handwriting was better.

*”Big sister. Spring. Roses open. Not the other ones yet. But soon. You were sick? Someone told me. Here is lavender. Under your pillow. For sleep.”

“Alessia said you had two colds. Drink more water.”*

*”I don’t care about you. I just don’t want you to die first. I’d have to visit your grave.”

*”That’s it.”*

No name. But a drawing. A flower. Messy.

I laughed.

“Alessia. Write her back. Say ‘I can read between the lines.’ Also say, ‘Your spelling is bad.””

“Also,” I said. “Send her a blanket. It’s cold there.”

Alessia opened her mouth. Then closed it.

“Boss. You girls are complicated.”

“Problem?”

“No,” she said. Hands up. “Just glad I’m one of the boys.”

“You are one of the boys.”

“Thank you, boss.”

The day Mama Ross’s power finally ended. Rain.

Not summer rain. Spring rain. Soft. Like someone pushing flour through a screen.

Alexander sent James.

“She wants to see you. One last time.”

James said. Face like always.

“She dying?”

“Don didn’t order it. But maybe.”

I took my black umbrella.

She picked the place. The old temple. In the mountains.

I was ten last time I was here.

Rain on bamboo. *Shhhh.* Like someone turning pages.

Mama Ross sat on the steps.

No nice clothes. Just white. Cotton. Hair down. No makeup.

She looked like a normal woman. An old one. Almost done.

Under the eaves. Rain dripping on the stone.

“You came,” she said. “I knew.”

I stood behind her. Umbrella up. Rain on the plastic.

“Talk.”

“Talk about what?” She looked up. Rain in her face. “It rained like this. The day she died.”

My hands got tight.

“She was in bed. She held my hand. ‘I’m not scared,’ she said. ‘Just take care of my kids. Take care of Alexander. Take care of Catalina.””

Mama Ross smiled. Faint. Like water on paint.

“And I thought-why? Why do I have to take care of your kids? You had everything. His love. The family’s eyes. Everything. And now I have to clean up your mess?”

“So I said yes. I said I’d take care of you.”

“I never meant it.”

Hands in her lap. Long fingers. No nails.

“I put it in the medicine.”

“I know.”

“Then you know you gave it to her.”

“Yes.”

She looked at me. Eyes wide.

“You knew. And you still-”

“I was five. You said she needed it. She was sick. A five-year-old whose mother just died? She’ll believe

anything.”

I looked at her.

“The one who should be dead isn’t the five-year-old. It’s the one who gave her the cup.’

Mama Ross’s mouth moved. Nothing came out.

“You’re more than her,” she said after a while. “She was too soft.”

“She wasn’t soft. She just didn’t hate. Not like you.”

“Right.” A small laugh. “She didn’t hate. So she died. I have nothing but hate. So I’ll die too.”

She stood up. Slow.

“I’ve hated you for twenty years.

“Still?”

I looked at her. Rain on her face. Like tears. But not tears. Mama Ross didn’t cry in front of anyone.

“No,” I said. “I’m tired. I’m done.”

She looked at me a long time.

Then she smiled. Real this time.

“You’re better than her.”

She walked into the rain.

Three days later. Word came.

She died in the garden. By the pond.

Not killed. Not a suicide. Just… stopped.

Alexander said, “Funeral?”

“Family rules. She was our father’s wife.”

“And Sophia?”

“She can stay here. She can be normal. Or she can keep going. Her choice.”

Sophia wasn’t at the funeral.

She stayed in her room. Curtains closed. In the dark.

In the morning, she came to my house.

Black dress. Hair brushed. Makeup light. Eyes red but not crying.

She looked at me.

“Big sister. I lose.”

“You were the only one playing.”

She put her head down.

“Can I stay here?”

“No.”.

She didn’t ask again. Just walked away.

She disappeared for a while.

Not hiding. Just-gone. No calls. No letters.

“Check everywhere,” I told Alessia.

“Can’t find her.”

“Keep looking.”

She couldn’t just disappear. Sophia couldn’t do anything on her own. Couldn’t cook. Couldn’t drive. Couldn’t take the subway. Mama Ross made her a flower. Soft. Pretty. Breaks in the wind.

Found her in Long Island.

Small house. White door. Blue shutters. Garden.

She was on her knees. Gardening. Hands in the dirt. Blue dress. Messy.

“How did you find me?”

“Mama Ross’s will. She left you this.”

Sophia put her head down.

“Why are you here?”

“To see if you’re still alive.”

“Not for long.”

She smiled a little. Like *thanks for coming.*

For a moment, I just watched her. The woman who had tried to kill me more times than I could count. The girl who held my head underwater. Who locked me in closets. Who put glass in my food.

She looked smaller now. Not dangerous. Just… hollow.

“Every day I think-can I make it through today? Then tomorrow. Then the day after. Every morning: ‘Should I get up?””

“Then?”

“Then I see the light. On the flowers. She planted them. She said-water the roses. Not too much for the

lavender.”

Her voice went small.

“If I don’t water them, they die. And there’s nothing of her left.’

“So I get up. Not because I want to. Because of the flowers.”

I stood at the fence. Looking at her.

“Sophia.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know.” She looked down. “I owe her. She paid it. With her life.”

I left someone there. To watch. To make sure.

Not for her.

For the flowers.

The estate gate. Two lights. Two shadows. Luca on the left. Rocco on the right.

Car pulled in. They both stood straight.

“Long Island?” Rocco.

“Why so late?” Luca.

“She wanted to talk.”

Silence.

Luca took my bag. His hand on mine.

“You’re cold.”

“Outside.”

“We made dinner.”

Rocco stood at the door. Watching. Luca’s hand on mine.

“Rocco,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“You coming?”

Two seconds.

“Yeah.”