He stopped in the hall to observe the portrait of the Owens ancestor Maria on the stairwell, staring back at him with her clear gray eyes. Despite her gaze, which seemed to track his movements, he went upstairs when no one was looking. That scruffy little white dog who’d come to New York with Jet on her last visit had been ignored ever since her death and now tagged after him, shadowing him to the topmost stair. Annoyed, Rafael did his best to chase it away. “Go on, scat,” he told the dog, but there it was, escorting him along the second-floor hall, gazing up at Rafael to make certain he was following along.
It was easy to tell which was Jet’s room, for she had often described it to him in great detail as they lay side by side in their hotel bed. There were the windows made of wavering glass that overlooked the garden where the daffodils bloomed in bunches of yellow and white. He could see the potting shed and the greenhouse.
When we were young, we were taught to beware of the plants that grew there, Jet had whispered. But of course, that made us all the more interested.
Along the porch, twisted branches of wisteria wound up toward the roof, thick with purple buds. The dog had made itself comfortable on the carpet despite Rafael’s admonitions that it should get out. He had no choice but to ignore the wretched little thing. Daisy, Jet had called it. She’ll watch over you, she’d said.
Rafael sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He didn’t hear Franny enter the room or know she was there until the bed sank down as she sat beside him.
“Let me apologize,” Rafael began, but Franny pushed a cup of steaming hot tea into his hands. She had sneaked downstairs to make a cup for herself, but clearly the strong brew was even more necessary for this man.
“You need this,” she insisted.
Rafael took a sip and recognized it immediately. Courage. Jet always gave him a box of this mixture on the first day of the year.
“The damn curse,” he said.
“Didn’t seem to have stopped you,” Franny responded.
Rafael laughed at her matter-of-fact tone. Jet had told him Franny could stand up to anyone and anything, including the curse. He didn’t realize he was still crying until Franny handed him a handkerchief. One of Jet’s.
“You seem to have done just fine.” Franny patted his shoulder with awkward compassion. “You knew how to love her.”
“And this dog,” Rafael declared, eyeing Daisy. The pup gazed back at him and for some reason he felt like weeping all over again. How could it be that this mutt understood him? How could she know his pain? “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“I suspect Jet left it for you so you wouldn’t be alone. Now you’re stuck with it.” Franny stared at the dog. “But what of me?”
Rafael patted Franny’s hand. She nodded her thanks for his attempt to comfort her, then lifted her hand away. They sat there for a while in a haze of grief until they heard a ruckus downstairs.
“Shall we?” Franny said.
“Of course.”
Rafael knew he would never be in Jet’s room again. He would never meet her at the Plaza Hotel or walk through the park with her on a November night or slip into bed beside her. He handed the handkerchief to Franny, who shook her head, insisting he keep it, and so he did, tucking it into the pocket of his suit jacket. There was a rush of noise from downstairs, and some stray gasps. Franny was already on her way downstairs; she was spry for someone her age, despite her bad knee, and when Rafael reached the first floor he saw what the fuss was about. There was a sparrow in the dining room, flitting from one corner to the other, settling on the iron rod that held up the damask curtains.
“But it’s not Midsummer’s Eve,” Rafael heard a tall young woman say. It was Kylie, who on this day realized there was a good deal she didn’t know about her own family. She had taken many of their traditions for granted, not asking for explanations. Husbands and wives often didn’t live together, mirrors were covered with white cloths, and a sparrow came through the window every Midsummer’s Eve and had to be chased out with a broom or bad luck would follow them. Now it was here, out of time and season, an unexpected guest peering down at them all with its bright eye. “I don’t understand,” Kylie said to her sister. “Why is it here today?”