Page 77 of Twisted Truths
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could set the table,” he replies, nodding towards what I assume is the cutlery drawer.
I find I’m correct when I pull open the drawer he was indicating. Collecting two steak knives and two forks, I place them opposite one another on the dining table before returning to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses which I fill with water.
He works around me, plating our food and carrying it over. It looks as good as it smells. Two juicy beef steaks cooked in some kind of marinade, paired with roasted potatoes, pumpkin, and carrot.
“This looks amazing,” I tell him as I take my seat opposite.
Nash shrugs. “I found the steaks in the freezer, and Mum’s vegetable garden was her pride and joy. After her flower garden, that is. She had a real green thumb.”
Sadness washes over me, hearing him talk about his mum like that. It’s clear they were close.
“Tell me your favourite memory of her,” I blurt.
He pauses at the request, his fork halfway to his mouth, and I worry that I’ve upset him, but then his expression softens, and his lips tug up slightly as he sets his fork back down. “There was this one-time—I think I was maybe sixteen—we were out in the back garden. It was just the two of us. I think Zara was at a sleepover, but I’m not sure where Paul and Rylan were. It was rare to have one-on-one time with Mum.”
I smile at the faraway look in his eyes, as if he’s back there reliving this memory.
“She had this ridiculous floppy sunhat she always wore when she gardened, even if it wasn’t sunny. Said it made her feel like one of the English ladies from the British daytime soaps she used to watch. Anyway, she was trying to teach me how to plant beans, but I kept messing it up. I either buried them too deep where they wouldn’t get any sunlight, or I was digging holes where I’d already planted. I got so frustrated that I chucked the whole handful of seeds across the yard.”
Nash shakes his head with a laugh, but it’s tight around the edges.
“Mum didn’t yell or get mad. She just looked at me, smiled, and said, ‘Well, if we end up with a random beanstalk growing in the backyard, make sure to take your sister with you when you climb it. She’ll be terribly put out if you leave her behind on your adventure’. It was so ridiculous that I forgot I was annoyed and we both laughed until we couldn’t breathe.”
My throat thickens, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears.
“She sounds incredible.”
“She was,” he agrees. Nash picks up his cutlery and cuts into his steak. “She would’ve liked you.”
The sentiment comes out of nowhere, and another pesky spark of hope ignites in my belly, but I fight to tamp it down. There’s no future for us. If I’m lucky, he’ll keep in touch so I can keep tabs on Franklin as he gets older. My stomach clenches at the thought. I promised Zara I’d keep him safe. Once we get him away from the Circle’s clutches, that responsibility will no longer be mine. It will be Nash’s.
Unsure of how to respond, I say nothing, and we continue eating in silence. I can’t help but sneak peeks at him throughout the meal. He seems deep in thought, and I’d giveanything to know what’s on his mind, but I’m too cowardly to ask, in case I won’t like the answer.
When I was younger, not long after we moved in with Jack and Dianne, I used to ask those incessant questions children always ask, mostly things about Mum and Dad and why they didn’t love us enough. Why didn’t she leave him? Madeline used to say to me, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” Those words have stuck with me.
After we finish eating, I offer to wash the dishes, but Nash stays, drying the dishes as I place them in the rack. We’re almost finished when a car pulls up in the driveway. It can’t be Gabriel. He wouldn’t have been able to make it to Sydney and back in this time, and we aren’t expecting him back until at least tomorrow.
Nash mutters a curse. “Go hide in your bedroom,” he says urgently, gently shoving me towards the hallway.
My heart races as I hurry to the spare room, not quite closing the door as I hover behind it in the darkness.
The loud knock eases my fear slightly. I doubt anyone would knock if they were here to hurt us. Nash’s footsteps echo back to me as he makes his way to the front door. The muffled sound of two male voices filters back to me and I hold my breath as I try to make out whether it’s friend or foe.
Not that I can do much if it were a foe. The thought sobers me. I have no way of protecting myself if someone were to come for us, and it makes me a liability to Nash. We may not have a future together, but I have no doubt he would give his life to protect me.
It’s in his nature.
I think that’s why Zara’s death has hit him so hard. He feels guilty he wasn’t there to save her … and the rest of his family.
There are no raised voices, Nash doesn’t sound panicked, and while I can’t make out what they’re saying, it’s clearly amale voice. I remain hidden, not wanting to raise questions. Whoever it is may not be an immediate threat, but the fact is, we don’t really know who murdered Nash’s family, so it’s best for me to keep a low profile.
The visitor is in no hurry to leave, and eventually I move away from the door and settle on the bed to wait. My thoughts drift to Franklin and what’s happening to him at the cult. I agree with Gabriel that Seraphina won’t hurt him. Not when she’s been waiting for him all this time. I wonder if he senses his mother is gone. How much would he understand at such a young age? Surely, this won’t have any long-term effects on him.
I hate that I’m not there to watch over him like Zara asked me to. It’s yet another reminder of how weak I am, unable to protect myself.
Footsteps sound up the hall, and I hold my breath. It’s not until I hear a car start up outside that I relax. The bedroom door pushes open, and Nash’s familiar frame fills the space, silhouetted from the light behind him.
