Page 16 of These Godly Lies
Jiro frowns. “He always tries to cheat!”
Khiran is already fishing the box from the cabinet, rolling his eyes. “I’m telling you,chapeauis a type of hat.”
“It’s French!”
“So is the wordmenu, but I’m certain you’d allow it.”
Anna shakes her head. “Jiro, grab the dictionary, would you? Khiran, if it’s not in there, you can’t play it.”
“It would’ve been there if it were a newer edition,” he grumbles weakly.
She turns, heading toward the kitchen, but she catches Jiro’s retort (“then buy one”) before their voices become too muffled to interpret. Taking a meat thermometer, she checks the internal temperature before deeming it ready to remove from the oven. She sets it on the counter, covering the dish with a lid. She’ll let it rest a bit before they carve it and serve dinner. It should give them enough time to at least start a game.
Heading back to the living room, she notices with no small amount of apprehension that they’ve gone quiet. The only thing she hears is the hollow click of the wooden tiles being set on their trays. She braces herself, fully expecting to find their silence to be anything but comfortable.
Then Jiro’s voice, soft as it is, reaches her before she turns the corner. “You really do love her… don’t you?”
Anna stills, listening for his response.
Khiran breathes a laugh. “Love is too small a word,” he murmurs, “but I suppose it will do.”
A smile tugs at her lips, and Anna takes a moment to lean against the wall andhope.
Things are improving.
Jiro still tosses an occasional jab Khiran’s way, but they feel more pushing than painful. As if the game he started no longer holds any stakes, but he’s still playing out of sheer stubbornness. He no longer prods at the parts that hurt—no longer mentions the time Khiran’s away or mocks him with a laundry list of the things he missed.
It’s a subtle truce, but it’s enough to smooth the tension between them into something comfortable. Anna still occasionally catches the teen casting skeptical looks at some of the things Khiran brings home—he was particularly baffled by the samosas. One day, when they’re in the garden, he summons the courage to ask her where it all comes from.
“Khiran travels a lot,” she answers, a truth so thin it feels like a lie. “The city offers a lot of food options we don’t see around here. It’s why he makes a point to bring it. He knows I enjoy trying new things.”
Jiro frowns, obviously unsatisfied with her answer, but doesn’t push. Anna suspects it’s only because he doesn’t have a better explanation. Three days later, when Khiran brings home a tteokbokki—boiled strips of rice cake served in a spicy red sauce—he makes no comment. Even though Anna can see the questions in his eyes.
Then spring arrives as it has a habit of doing—seemingly overnight and far before Anna feels prepared for it. Most days are spent between the garden and the greenhouse as they fold small plants into the earth and sow new seeds into the tiny pots they’ve left behind. In the meadows, flowers carpet the landscape in shades of purple and orange. Seeds that laid dormant revitalized by the heavy rains brought by winter. When the weather is especially welcoming, they picnic among the blossoms and watch the clouds move across a crystalline blue sky.
Today, Anna cuts thin slices of cured ham for their sandwiches. Khiran looks through a newspaper in a language she’s unfamiliarwith at the kitchen table. In front of him are the tiny cucumber finger sandwiches she had put him in charge of. Jiro had snickered at how messy they look—the cucumber sliced in a variety of different widths and the bread trimmed in lopsided triangles. Anna just hopes he followed the recipe card she gave him. The last time he helped in the kitchen, he had put so much garlic in the spaghetti sauce itburned.
Anna frowns, looking out the window. “Jiro has been gone for a while.”
Khiran turns the page, his face growing darker with every article he scans. “There’s more propaganda in here than news,” he grumbles. “It’s no wonder nobody ever knows what’s happening.”
Shaking her head, Anna dries her hands on a dishtowel. “It shouldn’t have taken him this long to grab some oranges.”
A whispered rustle of paper, another page turned. “Perhaps he got distracted.” He sets the newspaper down, folding it carefully, before meeting her eyes. “We would know if one of the others was here.”
“How?”
“Those with power rarely wield it quietly.” There’s a bitter edge to the words. It matches the sneer teasing the corner of his mouth. When she still looks concerned, he sighs, standing. “Very well. Let’s have a look.”
“You think I’m being silly.”
“I think you worry because you care,” he counters, placing a kiss at her temple. “It’s an admirable quality.”
The moment they step outside, Anna knows there’s something off. It’s a feeling on the back of her neck; the emptiness of the garden. She and Khiran share a look. She can tell he feels it, too. Then, she sees the tail end of a path trailing just behind the apiary. It isn’t of her making, but she recognizes it instantly. “Khiran?”
“I see it,” he mutters.
She looks up at him, a sense of foreboding making her mouth go dry. “Do you think—”
