Page 31 of Rainshadow

“I am,” she said, straightening, smiling, but there was something of the old Sylvia in the smile, something vicious and steely.

“Flora,” Ethan said, turning to her, “you’re here. I wondered who was taking care of the horses. I’ve been traveling.”

“Oh,” Flora said, thinking of how odd it was that Sylvia hadn’t mentioned it.

“You must stay for dinner,” he said, smiling at her. Sylvia bristled.

It occurred to Flora that Sylvia had been fine, even pleasant, as long as Ethan wasn’t around.

“Thank you, Ethan,” Flora said, and she felt Sylvia’s eyes slide over, watching her.

“There’s no food,” Sylvia said, a hint of accusation in her voice. “You left, and?—”

“I called the cook and the cleaner. They’re on their way. You have to be nicer to them, though. No more throwing things.”

Flora couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, but Sylvia only rolled her eyes.

An hour later they were seated at the grand dining table. Ethan poured wine while the cook shuffled around in the kitchen, potsand pans clanging as he cleaned up after dinner. Ethan had begged off once again, saying he’d already eaten.

“Are you still looking for another job?” he asked her, swirling wine he never sipped.

“I applied for a job in Seattle, but my mother…” Flora trailed off, looking down at her own glass of wine, nearly empty.

Ethan refilled it. “What? What happened?”

Flora took a shuddering breath. “She, uh, sabotaged my application. Told them I’d lied on it.”

“Can’t you just move out?” Sylvia asked, incredulous. “We pay you hundreds a week. You must have a lot saved.”

“My mom takes it all. She gives me money for groceries.”

Sylvia snorted, like she couldn’t believe anyone could be pushed around so easily.

“I should head out,” Flora said. “I need to walk a ways back.”

“Ok, good luck,” Sylvia said, taking a long sip of wine that Flora was quite certain she shouldn’t be drinking.

“It’s really windy out,” Ethan said. “And it’s raining. You can’t walk home in this.”

“Well, I guess you have to drive her.”

“I’m not driving anywhere,” he said. “Flora, you can spend the night.”

Sylvia briefly met Flora’s eye, and there was something there, a pleading.

“I can drive you home,” she said.

“You’ve been drinking,” Ethan said. “And anyway?—”

“She can take my truck, the Range Rover,” Sylvia said, her voice a little breathless. “And you can come back in the morning.”

“I don’t think I can drive in this weather either,” Flora admitted, and her voice sounded childish.

“The guest bedroom was just refreshed,” Ethan said. “It’s ready for you.”

“Great,” Sylvia said. “It’s bedtime now. Goodnight, Flora.”

He laughed in disbelief. “It’s not even nine. I’m not ready for bed yet.”

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