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Grumbling, she takes the pills and swallows. I see his lips tilt up again as he studies her, his eyes shining with the closest thing I’ve seen to affection from him. I feel that look pierce the surface of my skin, the warmth and respect he’s showing her satisfying some need inside me. Like I knew it was there and needed confirmation.
“How many more treatments?” she asks.
“We’ve been over this. Six.”
“Putain.” Fuck.
I laugh out loud because I know that one.
“Je ne veux plus de ce poison. Laisse-moi mourir.” I don’t want this poison anymore. Just let me die.
“English, Tatie.” He wants me privy to their exchange. Since when is Dominic so considerate?
“Put me in a box and forget me.”
“I would have when I was younger. You were a horrible parent.”
“That’s why I didn’t have children.” She turns to him, lifting her chin defiantly. “I was barely twenty when I took you. You did not starve. You—”
“Hush, Tatie,” he gives her the side-eye, “let’s get you home and comfortable.”
“No such thing with this sickness. I don’t know why you take me.”
“Because my first murder attempts failed, and you’ve grown on me.”
“That’s only because you honor your parents.”
He swallows, and we ride in amicable silence for a few minutes before Dominic turns into a small driveway. His headlights beam on a Cape Cod-style house with overgrown plants on the porch, most of them dying.
“Stay,” he gets out of the car and points to her where she sits in her seat. She doesn’t say a word to me. Dominic opens the door and lifts her easily. I get out and he looks over his shoulder.
“No, stay, I’ll be back in a minute.”
I ignore him and scramble to the porch to open the screen door.
“Ha, I like her,” his aunt says, scanning me in the dim light from the streetlamp. Dominic curses as he holds her against him and fumbles with the keys before he hands them to me. I hold each key up until he nods at one and then twist it in the lock and walk in, turning on the closest light and can’t help but cringe at the scattering of a few roaches on the wall. This is the house Dominic grew up in?
Dominic walks her to an old beige recliner, and she sighs in relief when they get there. She kicks back, and he spreads a blanket over her lap before disappearing down a hall.
“You’re looking at him the same way as the girl was at the pharmacy.”
“He’s hard not to notice,” I admit truthfully, “but getting easier to ignore with his sunny disposition.”
I carefully assess the house while trying not to make it obvious what I’m doing. It’s nothing but old furniture in need of a thorough dusting, cleaning, and extermination. I don’t know how she expects to get well in an environment that’s anything but sterile, but from what she said in the car, she’s not intent on a recovery. She examines me from her chair and I return her stare, just as curious. She’s reading me, and she’s doing it with Dominic’s silver eyes. The resemblance is most definitely there. Early forties at most, I decide as I stare her down. It’s tragic. She’s too young not to fight.
“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.
