"It's him," he croaks.
Chapter 43
Hugo
Twenty years ago...
My knees pushinto the dirt as I crouch down. I roll the olive between my fingers, ready for the moment Vivi walks by. Last week she hit me right in the eye, and it hurt so bad I cried. I won't get her as bad as she got me, because she's my little sister and I'm not allowed to, but I'm still going to get her good. She's not as sweet as my mom and dad think she is.
It's only a few minutes before I hear voices. Definitely not my little sister.
They come closer, and I recognize my dad's deep voice. He steps into the clearing, and he's followed by a man I've never seen before. The man wears a brown leather jacket and jeans. Boots. He has red hair, and pale skin.
I know I shouldn't be eavesdropping, but I'm also not supposed to be lying in wait for my sister so I can pelt her with an olive. My dad's lips form a hard line, an expressionhe makes when he's angry. There's no way I'm exposing myself now.
"I told you no," I hear my dad say.
The man looks angry, and now I feel afraid.
"I don't think you understand. You don't have a choice," the man says to my father, menacing. "He's in charge now."
My father straightens his shoulders, pulls himself up to full height. "You are the one who doesn't understand. There is always a choice."
The guy looks so angry. What if he starts beating up my dad? Maybe I can hit him in the eye with this olive. Maybe that will be enough to distract the guy, and then my dad can throw a punch. I've never seen him hit anyone, it would be kinda cool.
The guy turns around, walks away.
So much for seeing my dad turn into an action hero.
My dad tips his face to the sky, lips moving. He's praying. He prays a lot, tells me we have much to be thankful for. Reminds me to say my prayers, because we never know when God will call us home.
I look down, feeling guilty about hiding out here in the grove. I don't understand what I witnessed.
My fist is still clenched around the olive. I open it, look down.
The weirdest sensation flies through me as I take in the split skin, the mess.
The olive, crushed.
Chapter 44
Mallory
"It's notthe first time I've had this dream," Hugo admits.
We're sitting up in his bed, cross-legged and facing each other. The night is dark, and still. Hugo's hair is mussed on one side. He is shirtless, wearing only the soft pants he prefers to wear to bed.
"Tell me everything. Every detail, even if it seems inconsequential." My notebook balances on the inside of my knee, pen poised. I'd waddled out to the dining room table for my things as soon as Hugo was awake and articulating what he'd dreamed.
Hugo talks and talks. He paints a picture of what his nine-year-old self saw, adding his adult view here and there.
"Over the years, I've had a lot of dreams about my dad. Sometimes I daydream, too. I was never sure what was real, or imagined. So many of my memories are brief, or high-level. I wasn't certain if it was the way thingsreally happened, or if my brain wanted to fill in the picture because it wasn't detailed enough for my adult self."
"That's not uncommon," I say, still writing what he said. It's my own personal shorthand, circles and arrows, abbreviations. "Has the memory of seeing your dad in the orchard with that man ever changed? Or is it always the way you saw it just now, in your dream?"
"It's never changed," he says, confident. "It's one of a handful of final memories I have of my dad."
Hugo's head droops, and I toss my notebook aside, crawl to him.
