Page 13 of Rainshadow

As she tried to slip out, though, there was a figure on the gravel path, blocking her way.

“Flora.” A voice, deep and resonant, saturated the dark, coiling warmly, invitingly, around her.

“Ethan?” she asked, stepping forward, putting her hand over her eyes.

“Flora,” he said. “You’re still here. Sylvia works you much too hard. Or did she forget to relieve you? I think she fell asleep.”

“She might have just forgotten,” Flora said, knowing full well that Sylvia had given her clear instructions about when to leave.

“She can be… inconsiderate.” He said the last word as though it were an understatement, a little joke.

“It’s fine,” Flora said, chuckling a little, quietly. “Heading out now.”

“On foot?”

“Yes.”

Ethan made a sympathetic face, a pout on his lips, that made him look boyish, playful. “I would be honored to give you a ride. Nothing would please me more. Really. You must accept.”

He had drawn closer to her in the dark, and she could see his eyes, luminous and beseeching. He was, she realized, lonely out here with Sylvia. She felt his loneliness, like a scent coming off of him. She imagined what it would be like to live with someone like Sylvia, and she felt a surge of sympathy. Flora had been so, so lonely, and for the first time, she imagined someone might know exactly what that was like.

“If I must,” she said, smiling.

He offered her his arm. He was wearing a soft, wool sport jacket, and he felt solid and strong though the velvety fabric. She let him lead her, strolling, to the black Corvette, and let him open the passenger side door for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sliding into the buttery tan leather seats.

“Of course, mademoiselle,” he said, affecting a French accent.

He started the powerful car with a deft flip of his wrist, a slight smile settling easily on his mouth as he began to drive. Flora watched him, feeling a strange, bubbly thrill. He was just as excited as her to get away from Rainshadow.

“Have you enjoyed your work so far?” he asked her, not glancing over as he drove down the winding driveway.

“I love the horses,” Flora said, trying to be diplomatic. “I could work the lavender all day, too, but that season is coming to an end.”

“My mother was a gardener,” he said. “She would have loved this place.” Flora connected some dots.

“Was her name… Agatha?”

He looked at her then, his mouth downturned, like he was caught off guard.

“Sorry,” Flora said. “I found this old apron with the name Agatha embroidered on it. It made Sylvia really upset to see me wearing it. I figured it was someone from her past.”

“Oh,” Ethan said, laughing. “I thought you were psychic. Yes, Agatha. She and Sylvia didn’t get along.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Now I look back and wonder how I could have let Sylvia become so important to me that I cut out so many important people. I didn’t realize it was happening, of course. Sylvia can be… beguiling.”

“She made you cut Agatha out of her life?”

“I didn’t realize that was happening at first. I think Sylvia thought I was very rich, and when she realized that Agatha was a kind, simple woman from the country she was… upset by that. I think she expected something much different.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“It was,” Ethan said. “And then Agatha died, and that was it.”

“How long have you been with Sylvia?”

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