of flowered ceramic into them. The miniscule remains slice my fingertips in a half dozen places, like the brambles and thorns of a blackberry bush, but I do not care. Soon my fingers have tiny lines of blood running down the way Rose’s had when she chewed her nails. My ears are trained towards the room where Rose disappeared to and I can hear the soft humming of a tune.
She is singing. As though she hasn’t a care in the wide world.
Then my ears detect another sound: the sound of the front door opening. From my spot, kneeling on the floor behind the settee I cannot see the person who has turned the knob but I know it is not Rose because Rose has come back in the room. Smiling and looking angelic, she acts as though she has forgotten my presence entirely and passes by me at her feet without a glance.
“Hello,” I hear her say. And then, tenderly, “I missed you so much.”
“Hello, my love. I missed you even more,” says Luke.
********************
The sound of his voice, so gentle, so familiar, so the way he sounds when he’s smiling, so full of betrayal, makes me feels nauseous. I stay frozen to the floor, on my knees, hands full of sharp and bloodied slivers of china, and I am at a loss for what to do. So I wait.
“I brought you some cake,” Luke continues. “Doesn’t it look good? Cake for dinner, you and me. Aren’t we lucky?”
I hear what must be Rose, clapping her hands in delight. “I love cake! With tea?”
“Naturally. What did you amuse yourself with while I was gone? Besides tearing apart books?” I hear the teasing in his voice.
Rose sighs. “I told you not to leave them around. I went for a walk and I put on my new dress. Do you like it?”
“You look absolutely beautiful.”
“Better than ever?”
“Better than ever. Come on, let’s get some forks and have some supper.”
Once again not breathing, I will my heart to stop thudding in my chest so loudly and stay rooted to my spot. If Luke does not turn his head far enough he may not notice me huddled on the floor, in a heap between the settee and an old chair.
And if he does? If he does, what will I say? Or should I skip the speech and slap him as hard as possible?
He does not turn his head. From behind them, as they walk into the kitchen, I watch them: his arm around her tiny waist, her face turned up to his with a saintly smile. When they are out of my sight I hear him chiding her for the broken dishes.
“You can’t break things, my love,” he says. “You’ll hurt yourself. What made you so upset?”
I will myself not to panic.
I hear Rose sigh. “Nothing. It’s the traveling is all; you know how that makes me. I get so confused. I took care of that girl. She’s all taken care of, Luke. I did it all by myself like I said I would. Aren’t you proud of me?”
“I’m always proud of you, you know that. You also know I hate it when you travel without me, even if you’re only gone for a day. It worries me.”
“I come back to you, Luke; I always come back to this dreadful city. I wouldn’t leave you behind, never. Kiss me, please?” I hear her passionate sigh and then a whispered word, ‘more,’ and I feel sick.
I raise myself to standing as silently as possible and on feet that are more like wings, I leave that house forever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I replay my awful tête-à-tête with Rose again and again. Home again, and alone as well, I sit on my bed, hugging my pillow to my chest and feeling numb. I surprise myself by not crying; though the tears threaten to spill and my head pounds and my throat has that uncomfortable lump in it, I do not cry. I think I am too confused as to what to cry over first: Rose’s madness, the death of my mother, or Luke’s betrayal. Should I categorize my sorrows alphabetically or numerically? The thought makes me choke back a bitter laugh.
I hear Israel come home: there is no mistaking the heavy tread of his boots. Dad is light on his feet and Dr Smythe has a soft stride as well. Israel practically marches.
I tell myself to run to him but my body ignores my commands. I can’t move from this bed.