Quickly, I glanced down at my hand. The white material had already stained through with red. Fast, the blood was coming fast. With my other hand, I grasped the counter, holding on for dear life.
“He told me you were a ballerina…”
The saturated cloth flew up in the air and an involuntary woot! left my throat when I jumped. I tried to step back, but the counter stood firmly behind me.
A man with white hair, pale skin, eyes the color of blue ice, and rosy lips stood before me. His face was wrinkled with age, his overalls starched to almost stiff. He held a bouquet of roses in his hands; white with red tips.
A whimper came from my mouth, thinking of my hand holding a pure white rose, staining it with the blood that seeped through the cloth.
His cool eyes darted to my hand as though he had read my mind. I gathered the towel, applying more pressure, and my head lost focus on the way back up. The stranger separated in two before merging back into one man.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, little darlin’. The name is Emory Snow. I lived here, once upon a time.” He nodded to my hand. “Does that need fixin’?”
I tucked my hand in my pocket. I didn’t want to think about it needing fixin’.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “Brando didn’t tell me…he just ran to get more nails.”
He nodded. “I didn’t give him a specific time, just told him I’d be stopping by. I wanted to meet you.”
An awkward silence fell between us. He seemed content to stare at me.
“I—ah, I’ve been going through your things. I hope you don’t mind? Your wife has some beautiful things.” I reached inside a box with the good hand and pulled out a black and white photo of a black-haired woman. I thrust it out for him to take. “It’s the only picture I found. I thought you’d like to have it.”
I pushed down the nausea in my stomach and the fire in my hand while he studied the picture. When his attention turned back to me, his eyes had defrosted and they shimmered. He sighed, walked over to the mantle, and placed the roses there.
He set the picture before the vase. He dallied, studying the music box Brando had given to me. Raising his hand, he reached out and tinkered with the crank. Music started to tinkle while the two wooden figurines played their parts.
He said something, but it came out gruff, indistinguishable.
“Pardon? I couldn’t—”
“She wasn’t my wife,” he said louder.
Oh! “Oh.”
“I asked my daughter to leave. Her and her family was not suited for this place. She left anyway, after she found this picture, after she found out about Àstrid. About our relationship. But it was long before I met her mother. Àstrid was a ballerina, like you. From France. She had family here. She came to visit one summer. We fell in love, like people tend to do. But it wasn’t just love. We fell beyond comprehension, beyond the universal language. We truly believed that we were the only ones able to understand our secret language. She fell in love with this house, said she wanted to live here the rest of her days…”
His voiced faded as he watched the music box, until he seemed to find himself again.
“I talked my daddy into giving this place to me. We owned a lot of land around these parts. But I was never good enough for her. I knew it, even if she didn’t. She had a place in France. Her people were there. And her man, the man she left behind when she came here. She was willing to give it all up for me. But I wouldn’t have it. I wouldn’t have her. So I sent her back. Told her I lost interest.”
I tensed when he added, “She died not long after.”
“What?” I whispered.
“That’s why I came here. I had to see for myself. To make sure…to make sure the people in her place suited her.”
“What happened to her?”
“Heart failure. Or something along those lines.”
“How did you…how did you move on? You married. Had a child.” My voice sounded angry, harsh, accusing. I tightened my fist around the rag, afraid that the blood would start spurting with the rise in pressure.
Evening was approaching, the sky turning lavender with pink swirls. His eyes glistened in reflection. He reminded me of an angelo sbagliata.
“Some relationships are born out of destiny, and just