Page 67 of Ace

He stands when I do, grabbing more than just his plate from the table when he follows me into the kitchen. We set about clearing the table, packing leftovers for the fridge and doing dishes, me washing him rinsing and drying as if it's the most natural thing to do.

I'm grateful that he doesn't immediately disappear after we're done, opting instead to follow me into the den. It takes out a little of this morning's sting.

"This room is so different from the ones at the front of the house," he says, walking toward the bookcase and running his finger along the selection there.

I read mostly on my tablet these days. The books on the shelf were my parents’.

"William does a lot of hosting here when he's not in DC," I explain. "They have to be more formal. This room has always been the room we spent time in as a family."

"When I first walked in," he says moving to the French doors that lead out to the back garden. "I imagined it being your space."

"Honestly," I say walking up beside him and flipping the light so he can see out into the yard. "It's only one of two places I really feel comfortable here other than my bedroom. My other fave spot is out there."

"I imagine it's beautiful when it's in bloom," he says, his eyes drifting over the winterized garden.

"Hundreds if not thousands of flowers bloom out there every spring and summer. I've considered making it a cut garden, but William thinks it's rude to invite people to your house to pay to cut their own flowers."

I watch his face transform, a frown drawing down the corners of his mouth with my explanation.

"I think it's rude to tell people what they want out of life is rude," he says, his gaze dropping to meet mine in the reflection. "I'd like to see it one day in full bloom."

"My mother was such a great gardener," I say rather than confirm that I'd like the same. His offer is just something people say to keep the conversation alive. It's not like he'd really want to come back here at some point to look at flowers. "It's so tranquil and serene out there with nothing but the birds chirping and the breeze pushing its way through the plants."

"Are you the only one who followed your mother's flower-growing path?"

"The boys were never interested. Dad liked them because Mom liked them. Sadie was allergic to bees. The one time she did go out there, she destroyed as many plants as she could swinging around a fake wooden sword Dad boughther at the local Renaissance Fair because she was angry he wouldn't buy her a real dagger. I can only imagine what she would've done with it if he had gotten it for her."

He doesn't chuckle, and I wonder if he might've if things were different. If I were telling this story and my sister was alive and doing well in life, would the reaction be the same?

"When I have the chance to really sit down and think about her, I realize that she had always been extremely destructive. I think she was never happy, and she wanted to take other people's happiness from them. I think she wanted people to live in misery with her."

"I've known men like that," he says. "They're difficult to be around because just their presence seems to suck joy from the room."

"Exactly," I agree. "And I feel hateful for even thinking about her like that now that she's gone."

"Death doesn't change who a person was, it simply ends the chance that they could change."

His words hit home in a way that makes my sadness deepen. He's right, of course.

"Other than the garden, what else gives you joy?"

"Work," I say easily. "I take a lot of pride in my job."

He steps away from the doors and turns to me.

"That garden was your mother's. Your job was your mother's," he says. "What do you have that's yours and yours alone?"

I look up, staring into his eyes, and not a single thing comes to mind.

Chapter 29

Ace

I can't count how many times I've had to take a step back and remind myself that this isn't a vacation.

I'm here because this woman lost her sister, and we're trying to find out if there's a connection between Sadie's death and her older brother, but that hasn't stopped me from walking around this house as if I'd be welcome here any time over the last couple of days.

"That one, silly boy," Faye says with an easy smile when I try to hand her the wrong thing on purpose.

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