Mr. Kitt snickered, but her words must have held weight, because he began to walk to the door. He stepped on the newspaper, marring Iris’s headline, and she had to swallow the chain of curses she wanted to hurl at him.
But he paused when he reached her side. Mr. Kitt stared down at her again. Blue, bloodshot eyes. Smoke on his breath.
Mere moments ago, Iris had seen the physical similarities between Roman and his father. But as she stared back now, she was painfully relieved to acknowledge that Roman Carver Kitt was nothing like the man he had come from.
“He can’t hide behind your skirts for much longer, Miss Winnow,” he said, as if he would refuse to ever acknowledge her as a Kitt. “When you see him tonight, tell him I need a word with him. That his mother and I want him to come home. That I forgive him for what he’s done.”
Iris had two seconds to decide on her parting words. Two seconds, and while she wanted to keep Mr. Kitt completely in the dark, she also knew this man was powerful and keen to have Roman back home.
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Where is he staying?”
“He’s not in Oath.”
Mr. Kitt arched a brow, but then Iris’s unspoken words seemed to hit him. “Some love you must have for him, then, Miss Winnow. To leave him behind in Avalon Bluff while you saved yourself.”
He stepped past her, finally quitting the flat.
Iris, pale and trembling, watched until he melted into the storm, his cologne and cigar smoke lingering behind to choke her. Tears burned her eyes. Tears and anger and remorse that felt like a knife, slicing her open to the bone.
She waited until she had closed and locked the door before she slowly sank to her knees.
{3}
Two Sides to Every Story
Dear Kitt,
I’m becoming a girl made of regrets.
Every morning, I wake from my gray, dreamless sleep and I think of you. I wonder where you are. If you are hurt or hungry or afraid. I wonder if you are above or below ground, if Dacre has chained you to the heart of the earth, so far down in his domain that I have no chance of ever finding you.
I wish that I had never let go of your hand that day. I should have stayed at your side when we were trying to help the soldiers on the hill. I should have refused to let the gas come between us. I should have known my brother wasn’t you. If I had done even one of these things, then you and I would still be together.
The front door opened.
Iris stopped typing, holding her breath. But she recognized the sound of Forest’s steps, and she quickly rose from her place on the floor, emerging from her bedroom to greet him.
He was knocking rain from his coat and boots. It was nearly evening, and Iris hadn’t known where he was. She hated how it tore the scab off a half-healed wound within her—all those hours her mother had come home late, and all the moments Iris had been worried about her but had done nothing about it.
Yet another thing Iris regretted.
Forest sniffed and froze. He glanced up, rain shining on his face, to meet Iris’s gaze from across the room.
“Were you smoking a cigar?” he asked, unable to hide his shock.
Iris winced. She should have done a better job of airing out the flat. “No.”
“Someone was here, then. Who? Did they hurt you?”
“No. I mean, yes,” she said, rubbing her brow. How much to say to Forest? “My father-in-law dropped in for a visit. He was asking me about Roman. Asking me where he is.”
Forest heaved a sigh. He bolted the door behind him and walked to the kitchen table to set down a paper bag. Dinner, by the smell of it.
“And what did you tell him?” he asked in a careful tone.
“That Roman isn’t in Oath. I didn’t say anything about Dacre.”
Forest set out two sandwiches, wrapped in newspaper. But Iris could see his jaw working, as if he were debating what he should say.
“Here, sit and eat,” he finally said, drawing out one of the kitchen chairs. “I got your favorite.”
Iris sat across the table from her brother, unwrapping her sandwich. It was indeed her favorite—turkey on rye with an extra slice of red onion—and her heart warmed until she saw there was a pickle resting on the bread. She had to swallow the lump in her throat. Swallow down the vivid memories of Roman again, that day she had sat beside him on a park bench, seeing who he truly was for the first time.
They ate in silence. Iris was coming to learn that Forest was very quiet these days. They both were, often finding themselves drawn inward. She was surprised when her brother gruffly broke the awkwardness.