Page 58 of No Sweeter Poison

She fakes a gasp. “You, a rebel? This is my shocked face.”

I ignore her. “This place is about half a day’s ride on horseback if you’re an idiot who doesn’t know where they’re going. I found it by accident.”

“Did you—”

Before she can say anything else, a familiar face comes into view. Bertha sets down a tray with two cups and a jug of cold water with fruit and herbs inside. Her heavy mound of honey blonde hair is woven into an intricate braid she wears over her tan shoulder. When she looks at me and smiles her eyes are the color of light brown sugar.

“Bertha.”

Instinctively, I rise to my feet and she embraces me eagerly, just as warm and welcoming as I remember. Last time I came, she was away at university and I hadn’t seen her for two years before that. Now, it’s been closer to four and I’ve forgotten how much people can change in such a short period of time.

I wait until she pulls away before I start signing.

My God, I tell her. Did you hit a second growth spurt?

She laughs and signs back, No! You just don’t visit anymore!

Shame unfurls in the pit of my stomach. She must notice because she gives my shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

It’s all right, she tells me, lips moving in tandem with her signing. I’m home for the summer—I’m glad I got to see you.

Are you going back to Paris? I ask.

She nods. I enrolled in a nine-month program at Le Cordon Bleu. But— she laughs and shakes her head, waving her hands in dismissal. Bertha turns her attention to Dahlia. Who is your friend?

Dahlia’s eyes dart between the two of us, jaw slack with shock. Finally, her gaze settles on me as she jabs a finger against her chest. “Was she asking me something?” Before I can respond, Dahlia jumps to her feet and waves, albeit a bit awkwardly. “Hi, um…”

“She can read your lips.”

A breath of relief leaves her. “Oh…all right. Hello.” Her smile returns. “I’m Dahlia.”

Bertha signs and I translate. “She says it’s very nice to meet you.”

Bertha winks at me over her shoulder.

She’s very beautiful.

I shoot her a look. Don’t. Start. I warn.

“What did she say?”

Bertha giggles and wanders back to the kitchen to help her brother. As soon as I return to my seat, Dahlia kicks me under the table.

“Ow.”

“Teach me how to say something,” she insists. “All I remember from high school is how to spell my name and ask where the bathroom is.”

“Don’t worry. She’s really good at reading lips, you’ll be fine.”

Bertha wasn’t born deaf. When she was around five, an infection in both ears resulted in a loss of hearing. She wears an aid and can lip read but I prefer to sign because it’s easier for her.

“This is going to sound like a stupid question but…is signing the same in English as it is in Spanish?”

“It’s not a stupid question and no, it isn’t.”

She presses her lips together. “Can you teach me how to say please and thank you?”

“Sure. I can do that.”