"We'll come up and see her next time," I lie. "We should let your nurse get you back up to the house. It's getting cold."
"My nurse?"
Julian frowns as he finds her tucking something that looks suspiciously like a syringe into her pocket as she shoulders her bag and stands. "Shall we head back for lunch, Mr. Ashford?"
His shoulders tense, and I'm reminded why I can't bring myself to come every time he's lucid. It almost always ends this way. Something about seeing us reminds him of things and makes it impossible for him to continue living in his state of vacant-eyed bliss, speaking to his dead wife over bowls of soup and chessboards where he moves the pieces for her and always,alwayslets her win.
My throat burns, and I clear it, thrashing against the memories that always come when I see that pain take him hostage again. I can still hear the echo of his strangled sobs when Florence passed. The raw, cracking screams of his frustration after he realized what Ambrose had stolen from us.
"Yes," Julian says tentatively, and I let some of the air out of my lungs. "But my family…"
Julian turns, going for Aurora, and instinctively, I reach to pull her back, but he's only taken her hands in his.
"At least come see some of her work," he insists, but the words are edged in distress. "You'll love it. She's such a talented artist, my wife."
He tugs Aurora toward the pond, gesturing to it.
"She painted this," he says in a rush, his shoulders hitching toward his ears. "For the lads. It's magnificent, isn't it, Eli?"
Elijah's jaw tightens as he positions himself next to his father, as ready as I am if we need to help him.
We should get Aurora out of here. She doesn't need to see this part.
No one should see this part.
Julian would hate it if he knew.
"It is," Eli agrees, and he gets that look, that far-off look that tells me he's picturing the art in the way only his mind can. "She painted the water the color of Sev's eyes when it's dark outside."
"And the clay here at the water's edge." Seven digs beneath the top layer of brown dirt with the toe of his boot to reveal the ruddy clay beneath. "She painted to match the shade of Eli's."
"And the light," Julian finishes, waving a hand over the muted gray tones of a sunless autumn day as if he's seeing it how she painted it, in the light of summer. "She painted all the light over everything in hues of honey for Atticus. My Flo painted them right into the canvas without painting them at all."
For a moment, we all look out over the pond, and I can picture it. The painting Julian dubbed his wife'sfinestwork. It's the one I always imagined we'd give him first when I picture us returning his collection to him.
"So come," Julian says at last, tugging on Aurora's hand. "Come and see. And then we'll wait for her to come back and we'll all have a nice lunch."
I shift to help her, but Aurora gives me a biting look that screamsback offand then turns to face Julian with a tenderness in her eyes I've never had directed at me.
She squeezes his hands in hers gently. "That sounds really nice."
Julian visibly relaxes at her response, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "So, you'll come?"
"We're in a bit of a rush today," she continues, meeting his eyes. "But maybe next time?"
Jules's brows lower, confused.
"Could you tell me about her?" Aurora asks. "Maybe you have a photo? I'd love to see if Eli takes after his mom as much as he does you."
A flicker of a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
She's bringing him back.
Holy shit.
"I do. I do," Julian replies, digging in his left pocket, then his right. "But…where's my phone?"
I flinch.
