Page 84 of Bittersweet Legacy

“What are you doing?”

I swirled around, the wooden spoon in hand. He was still in his training gear, his hair plastered on his forehead. I would have liked to say it was because he wanted to come home early but I knew it was just our father’s orders.

“I wanted to cook dinner for the both of us.” I gestured to the kitchen table set for two.

“Why?”

“Because siblings are important, because Theo died and I,” I hung my head in defeat. “Just one dinner, Archie please.”

He looked at the time again before turning toward me, taking in my messy bun and duck-covered apron. His lips quirked up as he pointed at his left cheek. “You’ve got something there.” He sighed. “Okay, fine one dinner. I'm just going to shower, 20 minutes?”

I nodded, relieved he didn’t reject me. There was no second chance for this. It was now or never. “Perfect.”

I was just getting the apple pie out of the oven when Archie reappeared, freshly showered.

“What did you make?”

I gestured to a seat. “Well, Uncle Luke told me a lot of things about our mom and despite the obvious lie with regard to her death, I think a lot of things were accurate.”

“Like what?” he asked, looking at me expectantly from his place at the table.

I looked down at the plate as I served him a generous helping of beef stew and mash. “A few things, her love for Victor Hugo, her love for purple, her weak spot for gummy bears.”

Archie smiled a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes, suddenly full of sorrow. “Yeah, that’s all true.”

I set both of our plates on the table and sat beside him. “And he told me how much she loved to cook, he said she learned everything from our grandma and he gave me the recipe book.” I chuckled. “I tried to learn all the recipes and made them. Lord, I tell you, it was a lot of trial and error and poor Luke tried it all. But I got better, good even – it was a way to get closer to a mother I'd never met.”

Archie was still looking down at his plate, silently. I wasn’t sure if I was reaching him or making him retract even more into himself, but now that it was in motion I was going to finish.

I sighed, wiping my palms against my apron, trying to settle my nerves. “Anyway, I figured that she would have been cooking for you and I thought that doing this would be a way for us to celebrate her in some way.”

He took a forkful and looked at me while he chewed, his eyes both confused and pained. “Mom wasn’t allowed to cook,” he admitted, resting his forearms on the table. “Father didn’t allow it, it was not what the highest class did, and he didn’t want his wife besmirching herself with such basic tasks.” The coldness in his voice was a clear indicator that there was no lost love between our father and him, he was just hiding it extremely well.

“I’m sorry.”

“But every time he was away, she did it.” He gave me a wistful smile. “I was actually excited every time father was going because our time together was the best, when he was away, I had bedtime stories, and delicious food I helped her to prepare.” He shook his head. “It was like Christmas.”

I reached for him and he froze as soon as I touched the back of his hand but he didn’t pull his away, and for me that was a victory in itself. “I know you lost her young but I envy your memories sometimes.”

He turned his hand, squeezing mine, and I could feel the gesture all the way to my heart. “Don’t,” he shook his head before letting go of my hand to run his in his hair. “I think having memories is worse. Thinking you’re loved and then being left behind.”

“Archie I-”

He shook his head. “I’m not angry at her wanting to get you back, I'm angry that she left me behind.” He leaned back on his chair, tilting his head, glancing at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure I liked the strange glint in his grey eyes, it looked too much like tears, his pain tearing right through me.

“I don't think she intended to do that. I think she got caught up in –” I stopped; how much could I say without revealing the existence of the journal? “I’m sure she would have come back for you; she would have found a solution.”

Archie threw me a look full of doubt but didn’t comment and started to eat again.

“This is why you hate me then?”

“I don’t hate you; I wish I did – but…” he shook his head. “I don’t hate you. You,” he leaned back in his chair popping his thumb knuckle. “You look so much like her, and since you came, you’re fighting this life with all you have, just like she did in the end. I’m not as strong as I might look – I can’t love and be left behind… not again. I was so hateful to you so you would steer clear and not force me to fight you every step of the way.”

I recoiled as his words had the effect of a bullet right through me. He could try to hide it; I could see the anguish it was only confirming the drawings I found in his room. He kept me at arm’s length, he didn’t want to care and be abandoned again and this was exactly what I was doing.

“You,” I stopped. How could I ask if it was too late? Itwouldbe too late if he admitted that it was – I’d thought he was too far gone and yet he wasn’t, but if I walked away he would be – there would be no hope for him after that, he would become Father.

I stood up sharply, causing the chair to screech loudly on the kitchen mosaic tiles. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

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