Page 23 of Rum and Roses
“I… love… you,” I whispered.
He smiled, gripping my hand the slightest bit tighter. “I love you too, my sweet Rosie.”
I knew he would take care of me.
The corners of my lips lifted into a smile.
“Rest,” he whispered, planting a soft kiss against my cheek. I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes again—I drifted off to sleep.
15
Silas
Istood in my kitchen doing the dishes. Rosalie fell asleep not too long ago, but she had been sick for nearly three and a half days, and she still hadn’t been improving to the extent I would have liked her to. She would be okay; her fever had subsided, but that cough—it was that cough I hated so much that lingered.
The sun was setting; the sky painted in bruised purples and fiery oranges. I, for one, never really cared for sunsets; then again, nothing could compare to Rosalie’s beauty. At least, not to me anyway. My stomach was in knots, gnawing anxiety that I simply could not ignore.
A loud series of knocks against my front door caused a fresh wave of panic to surge through me. Uncle Joe was supposed to meet me at the diner for dinner, so why the fuck was he at my house? He was the sheriff, a man of unwavering principals and a steel-trap mind. He had always been a presence in my life. A gruff, reliable figure and the closest thing I had to a father since my own had died with my mother when I was only a child. I was eight when I lost them in that horrible car accident. Though, my parents were never really good role models anyways. Hispresence once brought me comfort, but now it felt like nothing more than a looming threat.
God damn it…
THUMP THUMP THUMP
“Come in!” I shouted, drying my hands with a dishtowel, forcing myself to appear calm and collected, yet my heart was hammering against my ribs. I glanced at the basement door. A heavy, oak door that separated her from us.
Please stay quiet Rosie…
Rosalie, my poor sweet Rosalie. The thought of her, feverish and weak, alone in the basement was a twisting knife within my heart.
The front door swung inward as Uncle Joe entered. His broad frame filled the doorway, casting a shadow that nearly swallowed half the kitchen. “Silas,” his tone was sharp. “Got a minute?” he asked. “I know we’re having dinner tonight, but I thought I would stop by since it’s been a while.”
“Of course, Uncle Joe,” I replied, trying to sound casual, as if this wasn’t a high stakes moment in my life. “Come on in. Can I get you anything? Tea perhaps?” I gestured towards the pot I had on the stove. The tea was originally intended for Rosalie to ease her throat, but it would unfortunately have to wait.
He nodded, dark brown eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. He was a meticulous man, much like myself. One who noticed the subtle nuances of a scene. I had the unsettling feeling he was looking for something. “That sounds good,” he said, moving into the kitchen with deliberate grace. At the table, he set his hat down.
He knows… he has to know.
I cleared my throat, busying myself by pouring him a cup of tea. My movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic in a day. I imagined the possible scenarios. Questions, accusations, Rosalie being taken from me—I couldn’t bear the thought. It wasbad enough I had to leave her down there to go to work or get groceries, or worse. What if I was incarcerated and she was left down there to rot? A shiver traveled down my spine.
Nope, enough of that.
Silence lingered for a few moments until Uncle Joe cut through that silence like a butter knife.
“So,” Uncle Joe began. I handed him his mug of tea, and he took a slow sip. “How are things going, kiddo?”
“Fine,” I replied, perhaps too quickly. “Everything’s fine. Just… you know, keeping busy.”
“Busy with what?” his tone was neutral, but his eyes seemed to pierce right through me.
Think of something… think of something.
“Oh, you know… my studies, work, the house. The usual,” I said, trying to sound convincing.
He nodded slowly. I could feel him cataloguing my responses, analyzing my body language. Uncle Joe placed his mug back onto the table. “I heard from Fabio down at the general store that he hasn’t seen you at work lately. Said you’ve been keeping to yourself.”
My heart lurched.
Fucking Fabio. I’m going to fucking smother that old man in his sleep, that son of a bitch I —
