Page 35 of Missed Sunrise
“What do you mean?”
He flashed a small smile at me before returning his attention to the path, some of his natural sparkle returning to him. “Jeanne named that sweet little baby after one of the magnoliatrees inside Fortuna. All the bigger trees in the lobby have names, but Margaret is the biggest of them.”
A natural lull in conversation arose, broken a few minutes later when Cody asked, “You like plants?” He frowned deeply as if he regretted the question, but I tried to put him at ease quickly.
“I do. My parents aren’t much for gardening, but my Uncle Gil is, and by extension, so is Aunt Ari. Gardening seems to be a team sport for them.”
He nodded along as I spoke, and then we looped the small pond twice before I asked, “What’s got plants on your mind?”
There was a pause before he said hesitantly, “Your, uh, hands.”
“Oh. You could just ask, you know.”
He blew out a breath. “I dunno. It seems rude somehow.”
“How’s that?”
He scowled, but it was a baby one, nowhere even near the potency of the one he used in general public. “I don’t know. It’s just one of those things.”
I smiled. “You can ask me about them anytime, and I’ll tell you.”
He gave a sort of vague nod and then eyed the darkening sky before asking me if it was time to return the cart.
And unfortunately, it was, so I directed him back to the rental stand, and in silence we walked back to the cottage, where he declined the invitation to stay for dinner.
It seemed the truths Dezi and LL shared with each other last year were separate from the ones we were ready to share now.
But I’d tell Cody the naked truth about anything he asked, just as I would Bree and Vinh.
Maybe he just needed time to understand that.
Melancholy tried to creep in, but I pushed it aside and instead tried to lean into the evening’s simple pleasures.
The breeze in my hair, Vinh’s home-cooked meal that meant so much more now, Bree’s excitement for the week ahead.
It was all precious, even dimmed by the memory of Cody’s retreating taillights.
9
Cody
I pushedmy polished silverware across the marble island. “Dad.”
“Son,” he acknowledged as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turned the page of his newspaper, which was perched on his crossed legs.
I knew he hadn’t read a word—I’d been watching. We sat at the breakfast bar of his oversized kitchen with a stool between us, but I was close enough to see that his eyes hadn’t moved, and when they did, it wasn’t in the correct direction. I suspected he was using the paper as a prop against me.
Orforme.
If I’d agreed to meet him for lunch like he’d asked instead of showing up for breakfast unannounced, then the table between us, the menus in front of us, and the people around us would’ve done the job of shaving off that layer of intimacy. Of the inherenttoo much.Unspoken agreement would have dictated nothere,notheavy.There would have been so many others’ eyes, and they’d be on us, and they’d pave the path forlightandeasy.
But whether it was an intentional move or a subconscious one, he was trying to make it so here in his own home. Probably because I’d burned him before when he tried assert his parental whims.
I didn’t give a shit about light or easy orcomfortableright now.
“The good china is a bit much for microwaved French toast sticks, yeah?”
He sat the paper aside as I picked up one of the sticks. It was squishy.
