Emeline stepped quietly through the room, which smelled like burning spruce. Standing over him, she noticed how thin he’d become these past few years. He was sallow as a candlestick, and the color had been sapped from his hair.
Still, her heart swelled at the sight of him.
He used to do this when she was younger. Exhausted from working in the vineyards all day, he’d collapse in front of the television after dinner, fall asleep in his chair, then wake up grouchy and disoriented the next morning.
He seemed so peaceful, she didn’t want to startle him. Not after the terrifying night he’d had. Instead, she quietly pulled up the second rocking chair and sat down, watching him sleep. His big, clasped hands were spotted with age and veins flowedlike rivers beneath his skin—a testament to his hardworking life.
You could read that life in his body if you knew how to look. Emeline looked. She loved every crease in her grandfather’s face, every spot of age. She loved the strength in his arms when they hugged her, crushing her breath from her lungs.
I miss you,she thought, her eyes prickling with tears.So much.
But it wasn’t this man she missed; it was the one he’d once been. A man who remembered her name and whose eyes lit up at the sight of her. A man who made her peppermint tea when she was having a bad day, and sang her lullabies when she was scared of the dark, and carried her to bed when she fell asleep by the fire.
That man was gone.
Emeline bit down on her lip, willing herself not to cry as she rose to her feet. After snuffing all but one of the lamps, she came back and bent over his sleeping form. His gray hair glistened, still wet from a bath, and his skin smelled like soap.
“It’s my job to take care of you now,” she whispered. She’d done a shit job of it so far but was determined to do better.
Bending, Emeline gently kissed the top of his head.
Pa’s snoring faltered and he jerked awake, sitting up in his chair.
“What …?” He pulled away from her, confusion clouding his eyes. “Who are you? W-what are you doing here?”
Emeline drew immediately back, realizing her mistake. She’d startled him, and without the light of the lamps it was difficult for him to see.
“It’s me.” She tried to smile, hoping he would hear it in her voice. “Emeline.”
His forehead scrunched into a nervous frown.“Who?”
“Emeline. Your—”
“You’re one ofthem.” His spotted hands gripped the blanket, bunching it hard, shaking ever so slightly. As if he was afraid of her.
An icy unease bled through her body. “Pa, no. I’m—”
His gaze darted fearfully around the room, searching the shadows. “Rose?” His voice shook. But it was only the two of them, and silence answered.“Rose!”
She flinched at her mother’s name.
Emeline had never known her mother. She’d barely been a week old when Rose abandoned her, leaving in the middle of the night. Her mother packed no bags and left no notes. Ewan Lark found newborn Emeline alone in Rose’s apartment, screaming in her cradle.
Now, Pa struggled to get out of the rocking chair. Emeline didn’t know if she should step forward and help him, or if that would scare him further.
“Rose isn’t here,” she said softly. “She left, remember? Rose left us nineteen years ago.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emeline wanted to push them back in.
It was the wrong thing to say.
As the flames flickered in the fireplace, Pa’s face changed, turning white with fear. He pushed himself out of the rocking chair, stumbled, and nearly fell. The chair bounced furiously in his absence.
“I’m waiting for my daughter.” He’d backed himself into a corner. “Rose is coming to take me home. I just want to go home. Please! Leave me be!”
Grief stabbed like a knife. Emeline tried to tell him again that it was her, hisgranddaughter.But at the terrified look in his eyes, her voice caught and her chin trembled.
Emeline could say it over and over, but it would do no good.
