Free Amaranth by Rachael Wade Page B

not to frighten me.
    “Your eyes. They were ...” I fixated on his face while he
touched my hand, checking the bandage. “Your eyes. They looked black a second
ago. They changed color.”
    “What?” He chuckled, an unfamiliar and erratic sound.
    “Your eyes. They changed color right in front of me ... just
now. And you wouldn’t look at me.”
    His eyes narrowed, assessing my face in suspicion. “It must
be the light in here. It’s so dark.” He sprang away from me toward a floor lamp
placed in a far corner of the room. He flicked it on, then jetted across the
room to return to my side.
    The room lit with a soft orange glow, and I could see his
eyes clearly again. They were their usual dark brown color, no trace of the
onyx shade I’d seen mere seconds ago. He’d returned to checking my hand, and I
sputtered, “It’s fine, don’t worry. But I could’ve sworn ... never mind.” He
was probably right. I decided to stick to the theory that every now and then, I
went temporarily insane. An unsettling theory, but a believable one. One I
could live with.
    “I really am sorry, love.” He smiled glumly. “See what
happens when you surprise me like that?”
    I smiled back, breathed. “I’ll try to give you more of a
warning next time. So, aren’t you supposed to take me out to dinner soon?” Why
not? I was borderline starving, and this was the perfect opportunity to shake
my hallucination and Andrew from my thoughts.
    “Oh, of course,” he said, laughing in visible relief. “Come
with me, I have dinner all ready.” He grabbed my good hand and led me out of
the room, leaving the light on when he shut the door behind us.

* * *
    “I told you we were going out to dinner,” he insisted. Unbeknownst to me, we were all dressed up to have
dinner on the banks of the Bayou Teche . Under the
moonlight, in the grass, around hundreds of swarming mosquitoes. The setting
was so romantic, I couldn’t complain about the bugs, just wobbled in my heels
through the grass toward the water while he held my arm to steady me. This was
why I hated heels. Because of times exactly like this .
I pretended not to notice his smirk as he helped me settle onto the blanket
he’d placed on the ground for us.
    “I’m glad you’re hungry,” he said, opening the small cooler
he’d carried with us. He pulled out two containers of food and some drinks,
handing me one item at a time.
    “Definitely hungry,” I said. “What are we having? Smells
delicious.”
    “Chicken parmesan, the way my dad used to make it. Out of
this world, I promise.”
    I opened my container of food, moved my fork through the red
sea of noodles. “It looks great. And this is a great idea for dinner, by the
way. It’s beautiful out here at night.” I gazed up at the moon, then at its
warm, mystical glow across the bayou’s murky water.
    “I’m glad you like it.” He grinned, then took a healthy bite
of his chicken.
    “So, you like to cook, and your dad used to,” I said. “What
about your mom? Did she like to cook? I know you don’t like talking about her
very much, but--”
    “No. She wasn’t big on cooking, I mean. Dad was the cook in
the family.” He set his dish down. Leaning over, he picked up the locket around
my neck, popped the little crescent open to show the inside. I looked down to
examine it, placing my food down next to me.
    “I don’t blame you for wanting to know about my mom,” he
said. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you much. It’s hard for me. I know you
understand that.”
    I nodded quietly, waited.
    “The inscription’s in French,” he said, running his thumb
over it. “It says ‘If my heart had wings, it would be with you always.’ Ironic
that he gave this to her shortly before he died.”
    “How did he--?”
    “Someone broke into the house one night. Mom wasn’t home,
and I was studying abroad. She blamed herself for a long time.” He dropped the
necklace and sat back with his knees up, rested his arms on them.