Page 40 of Just Like Starting Over
“Where does he fit in?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that he doesn’t, but I can feel some tension in the air. “Dad had an affair with Luke’s mom when Mom was pregnant with Abbie.”
“Wow. How’d you find out?”
“The story is that Louise came to the house after my mom died. I understand there were multiple arguments, but we were just kids. I don’t remember it. I just remember Mrs. Wilson talking about it and sometimes Dad talking about Luke’s mom.”
I don’t want to think about this, as Dad was awful about Louise Jones. Even the memory makes me cringe.
“She didn’t get pregnant by herself,” Sylvia says, her tone a little tart, which isn’t unfair.
I also recognize that she’s not just talking about Louise.
“I know that now. As kids, we were told that she was wicked and that Luke was bad, and that we had to defend the family honour at every opportunity.”
It’s odd but just repeating all that aloud makes me realize how ridiculous it was.
Sylvia sniffs, sounding a bit like Una. “Your father should have thought of the family honour sooner if it mattered so much to him.”
I don’t need Sylvia to take Luke’s side to know that Dad wasn’t fair to Louise. That’s painfully obvious now – as it wasn’t when we were too young to understand what had really happened. We were doing what we were told to do, with no notion of how wrong it was.
But it was wrong. I remember Jake starting a fight in elementary school when Luke said he was our brother. I remember being a little bit aggressive on the hockey rink on those rare instances that Luke laced on his skates and played.
I’m wondering if I owe somebody other than Sylvia an apology.
I frown as I pull into Rupert’s drive and park the truck.
“You’re right,” I say, because I feel Sylvia looking at me. “He should have.” I turn to look at her. “If he had any respect for my mom, he wouldn’t have had an affair at all. After he did, though, he should have done right by his son.” I want her to know that if Sierra had been mine, if she had told me as much, I would have married her and done the right thing. I want her to know that I’m not like my dad, but Sylvia blinks rapidly and looks away.
As if I’ve disappointed her.
One more time, I’m mystified.
“Looks like a nice place,” she says, her voice tight, then gets out of the car.
Now I feel Sierra studying me, but I’m not up for more questions right now. I reach for the door handle but she touches my forearm with her fingertips, quickly. It’s like a butterfly landing on my arm then taking flight again.
“Maybe you don’t know the whole story,” she says quietly, her gaze intent.
“Maybe it would be good if someone told it to me.”
She leans closer, dropping her voice low. “Maybe you shouldask.”
Then she’s gone, sliding across the seat and moving to stand beside Sylvia. They’re both shading their eyes, looking up at Rupert’s greenhouse. It’s maybe twenty feet tall, much shorter than ours, and with a smaller footprint, too. I’ll guess it’s thirty feet by ninety-six, a good size, just under three thousand squarefeet, just over a quarter hectare. I do the math without even thinking about it, my brain calculating how many tomato plants he’d be ordering each spring if he turned to monoculture, how many pounds of fruit he’d harvest every week, etc. etc.
We used to have greenhouses like this, a line of four of them, before Dad began to dream big.
Our greenhouses are enormous now, constructed of modules that join together. The workers ride bicycles through them. We used to be the biggest greenhouse organization locally, but business is booming and everyone is jumping into the game or expanding. Without making any changes, Cavendish Enterprises is standing still and I don’t love that.
On the other hand, Rupert’s place makes me consider the merits of smaller. I stand for a moment and listen, liking that I can hear the wind here. There are no fans, pumps or generators running nearby, but I don’t miss the rhythmic throb. The quiet is peaceful.
Rupert has the roof vents open, I notice, a good plan since it’s going to be a warm day. His glass is still in good shape, a little fogged at the north end but the vents will take care of that. I look up to see he’s making his way toward us, grinning happily.
“You must be the aspiring grower,” he says to Sierra who nods. I make introductions and hands are shaken all around before he turns to her again. “Why would you want any part of this crazy business?”
“Well, I just wanted to help out Merrie at the café,” she says, casting a smile at me. “But Mike has been telling me about plants in space, and now I really want to learn. Imagine having fresh salad on a spaceship!”
Rupert laughs and leads her into the greenhouse, clearly welcoming the opportunity to explain what he does and why.
