I could still see her face when I’d plunged that machete through her heart.
I could smell the scent of her blood mixed with mine.
If given the chance, I would kill her again.
So I probably wouldn’t be going to Heaven. No amount of church or confession could fix me anymore. The Easter service was lovely though. I was glad to have gone.
We both decided to skip confession. Who even knew if the priest spoke English?
“Do you feel renewed?” Mr. Delacroix asked me on the way out.
“I feel the same,” I said. I wanted to ask him if he’d ever killed anyone, but I doubted that he had. “When I was sixteen, I used to feel like I was so bad. I went to confession constantly. I always felt like I was failing someone. My grandmother, my brother. And I had bad thoughts about my parents. And of course, the usual impure thoughts that teenage girls are wont to have—nothing that awful. But in the years since, I’ve actually sinned, Mr. Delacroix. And I can’t help but laugh at that girl who thought she was so terrible. She’d done nothing. Except maybe having been born to the wrong family in the wrong city in the wrong year.”
He stopped walking. “Even now, what have you done really?”
“I’m not going to list everything.” I paused. “I killed a woman.”
“In self-defense.”
“But still, I wanted to be alive more than I wanted her to be alive. Wouldn’t a truly good person have let herself die by that koi pond?”
“No.”
“But even if that is true, it wasn’t like I was blameless. She didn’t choose me at random. She chose me because she perceived that I had stolen something from her. And I probably had.”
“The guilt is pointless, Anya. Remember: you are as good as you are tomorrow.”
“You can’t honestly believe that?”
“I have to,” he said.
* * *
One day toward the end of April, I asked him, “Mr. Delacroix, why are you still here? You must have business in the States. When we left, you were discussing a run for mayor.”
“My plans changed,” he said. “It hasn’t been ruled out.”
We had arrived at the pond, and he helped me to the bench.
“You know, perhaps, that I had a daughter once?”
“Win’s sister, who died.”
“She did. She was very pretty, like you. She was sharp-tongued, like me. And also like you. Jane and I had her when we were young, still in high school, but luckily Jane’s parents had money so it did not affect our lives as dramatically as it might have in the absence of money. My daughter got sick. It was exhausting for everyone. My ex-wife, my son. Alexa fought very hard for a bit over a year, and then she died. My family was not the same. I could no longer be at home. I did things I’m not proud of. I forced them to move to New York City so that I could take the job in the district attorney’s office. I thought it might be a fresh start, but it wasn’t. I could not bear to be with my wife or my son because it made me too unhappy.”
“That is a very sad story,” I said.
“Would you like it to get even sadder?”
“No. My heart is damaged. It probably can’t take such a narrative.”
“My son, in the year 2082, moves to New York City, and within a week of starting a brand-new school, within a week of what was meant to be our fresh start, he manages to fall in love with a girl who is a ringer for his dead sister. Not particularly in looks, but in behavior, in manner. She has that rare kind of sturdiness that even grown women rarely have. If the boy notices this, he never mentions it, seems blissfully unaware. But the first time I meet her, I am shocked.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“I am very good at concealing what I am feeling.”
“Like me.”
“Like you. And I have questioned the motivations for my behavior when you and my son got together. And lately, in my old age, I have even come to regret it.”
“You? Regrets?”
“A few. And so it is 2087, and I find myself with a second chance. Theo was willing to come to Osaka, but I wanted to do it myself. Helping you has felt redemptive to me. It was a redemption I did not even think I had a right to hope for.”
“Because I remind you of your daughter?”
“That, yes. But because of yourself, too. You are in my life. I called you my colleague, but you were right to say you were my friend. I felt as if the whole world had given up on me after I lost that election, but you, who had every reason to be cruel to me, had not. Do you remember what you said to me?”
I did. “I said I hadn’t counted you out. You’d been such an enormous annoyance to me. How could I have counted you out? I was being nice, by the way,” I said.
“Be that as it may, it came at a time when very few people were being nice to me, and, well, your friendship in the years since has meant more to me than perhaps I can even express. I am a hard person to know. And so I am here because I must be here. I am here because I know what you are like. I know that you wouldn’t have asked for the help you needed. You’re a proud, stubborn thing and I could not leave you in a foreign country, broken and alone. Long ago, you did me a good turn, and despite what you or the world might think of me, I pay my debts.”
It had begun to rain so he helped me off the bench. He offered me his arm and I took it. The path was slick with moisture, and it was hard for my damaged foot to negotiate.
“You’re doing much better,” he said. “Just go slow.”
“I have no choice but to go slow.”
“It is nearly summer, Anya. You are much better than you were, and the business with the Light Bars is about concluded. I think we should both return to New York.”
I did not reply for a moment. The world that I had left, with its stairs and buses and boys and plots and gangsters, seemed too much to even consider.
“What is it?” Mr. Delacroix asked.
“Mr. Delacroix, if I tell you something, will you promise not to judge me? I feel weak saying this but I am scared to go back. The city is so difficult to manage. I do feel better, but I know I will never be the same. I don’t want to face the Family or the people in the business, and I do not feel strong enough to go back to my life yet.”
He nodded. I thought he would tell me not to be scared, but he didn’t. “You have been terribly hurt, I can understand why you might feel that way. Let me think of a plan.”
“I didn’t mean that you had to do anything about it. I only wanted to say how I was feeling.”
“Anya, if you tell me a problem, I will try my best to fix it.”
* * *
The next day, he proposed a solution. “My ex-wife, Ms. Rothschild, has a farm outside Albany, in a town called Niskayuna. You might remember that she is a farmer by trade?”
I did. Win used to help her out. The first time I met him, I remembered thinking that his hands didn’t look like a city boy’s.
“The farm is incredibly peaceful. And Jane would be delighted to host you and your sister for the summer. You could rest up, relieved from the burden of city life. I will visit you when I am able. And then at the end of the summer, you’ll go back to New York City a new woman, I feel quite sure.”
“And she isn’t angry with me because of the club?”
“That was years ago, and she blames me, not you, for anything that might have happened. She was always appalled by my behavior where you were concerned, as you have probably guessed. If you’re worried about Win being there, I believe he’s undertaking a premed program in Boston. He won’t be in Niskayuna for more than a couple of days at the end of August, at the most.”
“Good.” I was in no condition to see him.
“So you’ll go?”
“I will,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to get out of the city for the summer.”
“Have you never gone away?” he asked.
“One year, I came close to going to Teen Crime Scene Summer, a program for budding criminologists in Washington, DC
, but I struck a deal with the acting district attorney that landed me at Liberty Children’s instead.”
“I imagine the experience was character-building for you.”
“Oh, it was. Enormously.” I rolled my eyes. “Though I have had no shortage of character-building experiences in my life.”
“At this point,” he said, “I think we can safely consider your character built.”
XXII
I EXPERIENCE THE SUMMER LIFE; EAT A STRAWBERRY; LEARN TO SWIM
THE HOUSE IN NISKAYUNA was white with gray shutters. In the back was a deck, and the Mohawk River streamed pleasantly by. To the side was farmland—I could see peach trees, corn, cucumbers, and tomatoes. The place looked like summer to me, but not the kind of summer I had ever known. Summer as I had imagined other, more fortunate people lived it.
Ms. Rothschild greeted me with a hug followed immediately by an expression of concern. “Oh my dear, you are nothing but bones.”
I knew it was true. At my last doctor’s appointment, I had weighed less than I had at twelve years old. I was skinny like someone with a disease.
“Looking at you, I want to cry. What may I feed you?”
“I’m not hungry,” I said. The truth was, I had lost my appetite since I’d been injured.
“Charlie,” she said to her ex-husband, “this situation won’t do.” She turned to me. “What are your favorite foods?”
“I’m not sure I have any,” I said.
She looked at me with an appalled expression. “Anya, you must have a favorite food. Please, explain. What did your mother make for you?”
“At home, you know, my parents died when I was pretty young, and my nana was sick, and I was responsible for the meals, so I basically made whatever came out of a box or a bag. I’m not that into food, and I guess, um, that’s why I’ve kind of quit eating. It doesn’t seem worth the bother. For a while I liked mole, but now it kind of has bad associations.” I was rambling.
“Don’t you even like chocolate?” Ms. Rothschild asked.
“It’s not my favorite. I mean, I get it, but it’s not my favorite.” I paused. “I used to like oranges.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not growing them right now.” She furrowed her brow. “It would take me three months to get a crop going, but by then, you’ll be gone. The Friedmans down the road might be growing them, so maybe I can arrange a trade. In the meantime, how about a peach?”
“I’m really not hungry,” I said. “Thank you for the offer. I’ve been traveling a long time. Would you mind showing me to my room?”
Ms. Rothschild barked at her ex-husband to get my suitcase. She linked her arm through mine. “How good are you with stairs?”
“Not great.”
“Charlie said that might be the case. I have a room for you on the ground floor. It’s my favorite bedroom and it looks out on the deck.”
She led me into the bedroom, which had a wide wooden bed with a white cotton cover on it. “Wait,” I said. “Is this your room?” It looked suspiciously like a master bedroom.
“This summer, it’s yours,” she said.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to take your bedroom. Mr. Delacroix said something about a spare room.”
“The bed’s too big for me anyway. I’m sleeping alone these days and probably indefinitely. When your sister comes, she can share the room with you, if she likes. It’s big enough. Or she can take a different one upstairs.”
She kissed me on the cheek. “Tell me if I can get you anything,” she said. “I am glad you’ve come. The farm likes visitors, and so do I.”
* * *
The next day, Mr. Delacroix left for the city, and my sister arrived.
My sister was not alone, though I suppose this should not have come as a surprise.
“Win,” I said. “They didn’t say you were coming.” I was sitting at the kitchen table. I did not get up. I didn’t want to have to walk in front of him.
“I wanted to come,” he said. “I’ve always liked this house, and the summer program I was supposed to go to didn’t end up working out. Natty said she was coming, so I thought I’d make the trip with her.”
Natty hugged me. “You look awful, but at the same time, you look so much better,” she said. “Both awful and better.”
“A mixed review,” I said.
“Show me where the bedroom is. Win’s mom said we could share. It will be like when we were little.” Win was still watching us, and I didn’t want to have to rise from the table in front of him. I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me, I guess. “Win can show you,” I said. “It’s the master. I’ll be along in a minute. I want to finish my water.”
Natty considered me. “Win,” she said, “could you leave Annie and me alone for a second?”
Win nodded. “Nice seeing you, Annie,” he said casually as he left.
She lowered her voice. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
“Well, I move like an old woman and it’s actually kind of hard for me to get up from this chair without my cane, which I left over there.” I pointed to the cupboard. “And I get … well … well, I get embarrassed.”
“Annie,” she said, “you’re being silly.” She took two graceful, easy steps, grabbed the cane, and handed it to me.
She offered me her arm, and I awkwardly shuffled to my feet.
“Isn’t this place beautiful?” she said rapturously. “I’m so glad to be here. Isn’t Win’s mom so pretty and nice? She looks like him, no? Aren’t we lucky?”
“Natty, you shouldn’t have invited Win.”
She shrugged. “It’s his mother’s house. Of course he was going to come. Besides, it was his father who invited him, not me, so I assumed it was fine with you. Aren’t you two thick as thieves now?”
Mr. Delacroix, I thought, et tu, Brute?
“Win already knew I was coming, and he asked me if I wanted to travel with him, not the other way around.” She paused to look at me. “Seeing him won’t be awful for you, will it?”
“No, of course not. It’ll be fine. You’re right. I don’t know what my problem was back there. I suppose I was surprised. The truth is, he’s like a different person and so am I. And those new people don’t even know each other.”
“So no chance that you’ll try to rekindle the romance? It is very romantic here.”
“No, Natty. All that is done. And I have no interest in romance with anyone at the moment. Possibly ever.”
She looked like she wanted to say something more, but she bit her tongue.
* * *
We ate dinner on the porch, though I was still not hungry. Despite what I had said to Natty, I felt angry at Mr. Delacroix for inviting me, angry at Win for coming, and angry at Natty for not knowing enough to tell Win to stay in Boston. I excused myself before dessert, which was peach cobbler, and went to bed.
* * *
As would become my custom, I woke at dawn to drag myself around the farm. I knew I needed to exercise, but I didn’t want anyone to watch me. Then I limped over to a deck chair and lay down with a book.
Every day, Win and Natty went on excursions, like kayaking, trips to the farmers’ market, and horseback riding. They tried to include me, but I resisted activities.
One afternoon, they came home with a carton of strawberries from a nearby farm. “We picked these for you,” Natty said. Her cheeks were ruddy, and her long black hair was so shiny and glossy that I thought I could practically use it as a mirror. The truth was, I couldn’t remember her ever having been prettier. Her prettiness struck me as aggressive and almost offensive. It was a reminder of how not pretty I looked at that moment.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
“You always say that,” Natty said, popping one into her mouth. “I’ll leave them for you then.” She set them on the table next to my chair. “Can we get you anything else?”
“I’m fine.”
She sighed and looked as if she might argue with me. “You should eat,” she said. “You won’
t get well if you don’t eat.”
I picked up my book.
Later that afternoon, just before sunset, Win returned to the deck. He took the carton of strawberries, which I had not touched. We had not spoken much since he’d arrived. I didn’t think he was avoiding me, but I really was awful company and I did nothing to encourage conversation. “Hey,” he said.
I nodded.
He was wearing a white shirt. He rolled up the sleeves. He took a single, perfect red strawberry from the carton. He carefully removed its leafy crown. He got down on one knee by my chair. He placed the strawberry in the center of the palm of his hand, and without looking at me, he held out his hand to me, as if I were an old dog that might turn on him. “Please, Annie, have this one,” he said in a soft, pleading tone.
“Oh, Win,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”
“Just the one,” he implored. “For old times’ sake. I know you aren’t mine and I’m not yours, so I probably don’t have a right to ask you to do anything. But I hate seeing you so frail.”
This might have hurt my feelings, but it was said in an incredibly kind way. Besides, I knew how I looked. I was bones and messy hair and scars. I wasn’t trying to starve myself in some dramatic fashion. I was tired and I hurt and that took up the time I used to devote to feeding myself. “Do you truly think that one strawberry will make a difference?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
I leaned my head down and took the strawberry from his hand. For a fraction of a second, I let my lips rest on his palm. I took the strawberry in my mouth. The flavor was sweet, but delicate and strange, wild and a bit tart.
He took his hand back and closed it with resolve. A second later, he left without another word.
I picked up the carton, and I ate another strawberry.
* * *
The next afternoon, he brought me an orange. He peeled it and offered me a single section in the same way he had offered me that strawberry. He set the rest of the orange on the table and then he left.
* * *
And the afternoon after that, he brought me a kiwi. He took out a knife and removed its skin. He cut it into seven even slices and set a single one on his hand.
In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright) Page 17