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Each night, she takes my breath away.
I look forward to our last evening together.
Bittersweet.
Moving on.
I clear my throat. It’s time to check in with my dad one last time before I leave here. We’ve scheduled lunch together at his house. A goodbye meal.
Well, Aunt Sasha planned it for me, over the phone from the Hamlet. I’m not good with this stuff. Neither Dad nor I are. I guess I got that from him. Mom was sweet, kind, thoughtful. A hostess that could instantly draw you in, making you feel comfortable. She couldn’t cook, but Dad used to love to make meals for us.
Today, Apollo’s ordered sandwiches with thick slices of meat and cheese from Dad’s favorite deli on the mainland. Everything should be delivered by noon. I check my watch. It’s 11:50. I leave my wing of the mansion, heading to the back door. I’m careful not to cross paths with Lindy, other than dinner, needing to focus on my work, my dad.
Of course, Caesar keeps me updated on her every move.
Right now, she’s taking a swim.
I seem to care way more about her safety than I normally would with a prisoner of mine. The thought of her in the water makes my nerves rise high, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but she was once a lifeguard and Caesar is a strong swimmer.
I make my way across the grass to my dad’s place, passing the low supply building as I go.
They’re having a shipment delivered—funny how my thought changes from we to them, as soon as I’m leaving—brothers carrying large crates of wine and oil, coolers of meat and dairy, baskets of fruit. They joke with one another as they work. Somewhere in one of the white foam coolers is the steak I’ve ordered for tonight.
I wonder which gown she’ll wear. So far, the glittery gold one is my favorite.
My dad’s place is quieter than usual, since the bachelors that inhabit the other homes are all hauling goods right now. It’s dark inside as I approach, the lamp he’s usually got on by the reading chair in the corner of his living room off. A prickle of unease dances over my skin.
That’s when I see the white paper bag on his doorstep. The sandwiches ordered from the mainland. The Greek letters for Best Deli printed in blue ink, their emblem a blooming rose stamped on the white paper.
Funny—they normally knock when food arrives, handing the food directly to the homeowner. Worry eases its way into my gut. I pick up the pace, moving toward the front door. Where’s Dad? I knock. No answer. My thoughts instantly go to dark places.
“Dad?”
Relief rolls through me as I hear him call back to me. “I’m just out back.”
Damn. He scared me. The racing of my heart makes me momentarily re-think leaving. New York is just so far from here. I know I’m only a plane ride away but…
I bend down, grab the bag, and head to where I heard him calling from. “What are you doing back here?”
I find him kneeling in the soil, his hands filthy as he digs through the dirt.
“I’m planting blue anemones.” He doesn’t try to hide the wistfulness from his tone.
I glance down at the garden, the dark earth he’s scooped up. “Mom’s favorite.”
“Yeah.”
I start to kneel. “Let me help you.”
“No!” He holds a hand up to stop me.
I realize it’s something he just wants to do on his own. “Okay.”
“I mean, no sense in both of us getting our hands dirty.” He stands, gesturing at the small iron bistro table that sits in the shade of an olive tree. “Here—you take a seat. I’ll just go wash my hands.”
I want to tell him there’s blue anemones she planted herself at the other house, but I don’t bother. He seems happy here. If he’s taking up gardening, he’s doing better. And I can return to New York. I sit at the table, spreading out white wax paper to put the sandwiches on. Two white paper napkins. The scent of fresh baked ciabatta hits me, making my mouth water.
Dad returns with two opened bottles of beer in his hand. “Here.” He hands me one.
