I told myself a girl uprooted from wherever she came from deserved patience.
But patience curdled fast in a house full of secrets.
Within a week, I noticed the pattern.
Patience curdled fast in a house full of secrets.
David, who could barely lift a glass of water on his own, found the strength to shuffle down the hall the moment Grace came home from school.
His door would click shut behind her.
Then the murmurs would begin.
Low.
Careful.
I stood outside once, my palm flat against the wood, and heard Grace’s voice crack.
Then the murmurs would begin.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered.
“You have to,” David answered. “Just a little longer. Please.”
I stepped back before either of them opened the door.
***
That night, at dinner, I set his broth in front of him and tried to sound casual.
“What were you and Grace talking about earlier?”
David studied the bowl like it was a puzzle.
“I can’t keep doing this,”
“Nothing, sweetheart.”
“David, there’s clearly something between you two…”
He finally looked up.
His eyes were sunken, tired, but there was something else in them.
Something guarded.
“Later,” he said. “I promise. You’ll understand later.”
“David, there’s clearly something between you two…”
I heard that word so many times over the next two weeks that it stopped meaning anything.
“Later” became his shield.
