Page 68 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
She allowed that single one to fall. For the release.
Done with pitying herself, she got up and prepared dinner. Soon, the scent of roasted zucchini and asparagus filled her home. Leagues preferable to the stench of sisterly dysfunction and fumes of four drying resin bowls.
17
Luce lapsed, and Skye had no one to blame but herself.
Before her grandmother returned home after an evening card game with the girls, Skye stood at the gate blocking off Walter’s old study. Something seemed off.
Closing her eyes, she imagined the room as it always appeared: her granddad’s chair with the maroon upholstery, his wooden desk holding a globe and a world map, and his beloved record player, shiny and polished. Luce routinely dusted to keep everything spotless, frozen in time.
Dust represented passing weeks, months, and years. It meant they couldn’t act like he’d just stepped out of his study to change into checkered pajamas with his name embroidered on the breast pocket.
The grandfather clock. Skye had fluttered her eyes open, confirming that its pendulum had stopped swinging. Sheesh, nothing subtle about that symbolism.
Skye would’ve loved to say she hadn’t been thinking that the distress of the clock malfunction tempted her to high-step over the gate. Honestly, she just missed Granddad Walter.
She’d peeked around, gratified by the time machine-like effect and—she couldn’t lie—pleasure in going against her grandmother’s nonstop harping. Luce wasn’t the only one who deserved to experience a piece of him.She’d been hoping to catch hints of the pomade he used to massage into his dense hair. No such luck.
Everything on the clock was spotless, nothing out of place, from her limited google searches. So, she took a chance and tapped at the round part of the gold pendulum and cheered when it swung into its usual rhythm. Luce must’ve bumped it during her cleaning session.
Only that had been the wrong move. Her grandmotherknewthe clock stopped and postponed fixing it until later.
And Luce melted down.
“I don’t give you many rules,” Luce bellowed, looking half her size as she hugged herself in anguish. Eyes grooved shut, neck veins prominent. “Why can’t I have this?”
Most people don’t get to see their respected elders this exposed. Skye wouldn’t recommend it. It stirred something unsettling, each beat of her heart ticking like a bomb.
An outsider, an overstayed guest. She was an intruder in her grandmother’s life, inherhouse. Skye apologized, hating this disproportionate blowup for altering an heirloom.
She should’ve fled to her bedroom, searching for an apartment suitable for a granddaughter her age. Except when Luce toppled onto the wall, spent from her outburst, Skye swept her into a fierce hug.
Fuck, she couldn’t leave Luce. Not like that. Skye lost a grandfather; Luce lost the love of her life.
Once they found a good rhythm to walk together, Skye ushered her grandmother to her table. Not to get to work, but to stream a two-hour special ofVengeance: Retired. Encouraging comfort through the familiar. Skye sat beside her, taking in hergrandmother watching with watery eyes. It’d been risky to fit their hands together, but Luce permitted it.
They passed the last two hours like that. Skye got up a few times—to heat up dinner, to feed Phish and Swindle, to make sure Luce used the bathroom.
Confusion about her future as a Florentine clouded her head as the show’s main characters stumbled upon a dead body. Sick of thinking about death, Skye welcomed the text message blipping onto her phone.
Celene – 10:02 pm
Hey.
Are you home?
Skye excused herself from the table. Or she assumed she had. She’d materialized in her bathroom, where she refreshed her curls and shed her work clothes. Herbal mouthwash swished in her cheeks—not that she anticipated anything. Anyone would respect fresh breath. Then, Skye nearly choked on the liquid, remembering she hadn’t answered the fucking message. Her damp fingertips slipped over the screen to respond.
Skye – 10:13 pm
I am
Home.
Why? Is everything okay?
Three dots of Celene answering danced immediately; Skye blew air from her nose, relieved. All to spit the mouthwash halfway into the sink, the rest on her counter at the reply. She patted the frothy solution with a towel, thinking of a good response for:
