Page 12 of Forget Me Not
Bas stared as Hal avoided his gaze and loaded a handful of meat into the grinder’s tub.
“Nothing is set in stone, I haven’t even told Hattie yet. There would be a lot of details I’d need to work out ahead of time…” He sighed, finally looking up. “I just wanted you to be the first one to know. I feel I owe you that much.”
Bas grunted out a thanks before blindly finishing out the morning. He knew from the beginning the old man would likely retire sooner rather than later, but that didn’t stop him from being surprised when the prospect of it finally happening came up.
Giggles and the scent of spice in the air greeted Bastien when he arrived home, a sign that Del had company and his mother made her famous cocoa.
“Mijo?” Soriah peeked her head around the corner and frowned when she saw his face. “Come sit, I saved you some cocoa.” She waved for him to follow and turned back into the kitchen, her long white braid whipping behind her.
“Thanks, Mama,” Bas murmured, settling onto a stool at the counter and wrapping his hands around the large clay mug that had been pushed his way.
“Now, tell me what has you so sour.” His mother smiled and leaned against the counter facing him.
“It’s nothing.” Bas sighed, then, noting his mother’s raised brow, added, “Yet.”
Soriah waited patiently as Bas took a sip of his drink, testing the temperature, before emptying half the mug in one go. He let the rich chocolate soothe the burning sensation the cayenne powder caused before he continued, “Halis thinking about retiring. I don’t know what it means for me—us.”
He envisioned the worst: Hal selling the shop to retire, a new owner not wanting to keep him on, repurposing the building.
Then what?
He knew he couldn’t make it without the generous salary he earned as a butcher’s apprentice.
“Mijo,”Soriah called gently, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. “Patience. Until there is something to worry about,” she looked pointedly at him, “don’t.”
Bas fought to keep from rolling his eyes.
“It’s not just the job, Mama. I really like what I do—I’m good at it. I don’twantanother job.” And it was true. In the four years he had been working under Hal, he’d grown to love the artistry behind the work.
“You buy it then.” Soriah shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer.
“Buy it?” He scoffed. “With what money, Mama? I make good money, but I can’t afford to buy a business. I used my entire savings to get us here.” Pushing away from the counter, he paced the length of the kitchen and ran his fingers through his hair, entwining his fingers behind his neck.
“Bastien Artemio, you did not have to use your savings. I could have gone back to work—that was your choice, so don’t make me feel bad for it. And we both know that youdohave the money to buy it. Your brother left it to you for areason and he would be disappointed in you for not using it. Especially for something like this,” Soriah scolded, her voice breaking at the end. Eyes brimming with tears, she turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Syve
Scrapscoveredthecounterand floor as Syve expertly cut various patterns from a stack of jewel-toned fabrics. There were only four months left to have her application completed for the grant, and as of this morning, she only had three of the required pieces done. It had taken her the better part of the last two months to settle on which designs she wanted to use. She’d forgotten her sketchbook was nearly full, with as many as three or four designs on any single page. The application required ten finished products, all crafted by the applicant, to be used to judge her level of skill and determine a general idea of the wares which would be soldby the business. Narrowing roughly two-hundred designs down to ten had been a nightmare.
Setting the scissors down, she stood to stretch her legs and flexed her hands. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up with a severe case of carpal tunnel. Cutting was the least favorite part of her craft, so she preferred to get it all done in one go. Sighing, she walked to the front of the shop and flopped down onto the sofa. The action was enough to cause her hair tie to lose the battle it had been fighting all afternoon and fall from her head, her hair cascading in a messy copper curtain around her.
Syve had been spending the majority of her spare time reading through her mother’s journals. Currently she was up to her sixth birthday, and she had learned two things. The journals were being kept a secret from her father, and—after years of trying—Isla had given up all hope of having any more children. There was not a clear reason as to why the journals were being hidden, but Isla was convinced her fertility issues were due to ‘incompatible genetics’ and Syve had less than half a clue whatthatwas supposed to mean.
Dearest Syve,
I’m keeping a secret, my girl, one your father doesn’t know.
I started out keeping this secret to protect myself and your Nan. You know that before I met Rich, it was only her and I. It wasn’t just my secret to keep and after awhile it started to feel like I waited too long to share it. I was scared. I was scared I was going to lose him and I was scared of what could happen if it got out.
See, I had these friends once.
They knew—shared—this secret, and when Rich and I were planning to get married they convinced me to tell him. They told me “if I ever wanted to have children with this man, it would be something he needed to know.”
Unfortunately, before I had the chance to say anything, my friends were gone. Dead. Taken from the world because of that very secret I’d been about to share with your father. Someone figured it out, and they were killed because of it.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk it. Nan would be in danger, and Rich, just for knowing, would be too.
There is only one problem, my sweet girl. Those friends were right, and it’s very possible this may yet be your secret too. Stars above, if that’s how your father figures it out…
