Chapter 23

One white chicken fluttered up into the air, then fell with little grace after it failed to scale the fence. It landed in a pile of other chickens who ran around the small runout like they'd lost their heads. Just like Frank apparently had.

It had been a late morning for me. Heavy rainfall had pounded the roof all night, and when I finally fell asleep, more dreams had plagued me. My grandfather had used the time I was catching up on rest rather productively, though.

"Chickens?" My voice was, very carefully, without inflection.

"Isn't it fabulous?"

That wouldn't have been my chosen adjective, but not even my pondering expression could wipe the excited grin off his face.

"We haven't had a pet since Fred the goldfish died. Why did you think having chickens would be a good idea?"

The old man shifted on his feet before flushing pink.

"Aha!" I exclaimed. "I knew this had Martha's handwriting all over it! Admit it, you got them for her!"

"Not for her alone," Frank defended. "But she's had some all her life, and she misses them. And well…" He shrugged before patting his breast pocket a little self-consciously. "I just wanted her to feel more at home here, you know. Make her happy."

I sighed. So much for having peace in the mornings. There would be a lot of cackling and clucking in my future. But what could I possibly say against the old man's honest concern? His love?

I guess this means that Martha is here to stay.

And it wasn't even difficult to think that. I expected some echo of a dark emotion to crop up at this proof of their relationship, but nothing did. It looked like even the last remnant of my doubts had finally dissolved.

I expelled a breath. "Well, I suppose it's never too late to learn how to keep chickens. Just don't expect me to feed them for you."

Frank nodded with a grin, waggling his bushy red-brown eyebrows. "Of course not. Martha and I will do that. And this way we can always eat fresh eggs. It will save us a fortune in groceries."

I chuckled and had the thought that the chickens were one more thing that might ease his way into retirement. It would certainly be good if he found something besides work that he liked doing.

"Do you want to pet one?" he asked, stepping up to the fence.

"No. No, that's fine," I replied hastily.

But despite my words, Frank still pulled on the mesh wire. What seemed a slow movement rapidly became a fast one when the rest of the fence fell forward, and all four wooden corner posts began to topple. The dam didn't hold long as a mass of loudly squawking chickens disgorged onto the lawn.

Two hours later, and we were sitting at the kitchen table like two unhappy gnomes who'd slipped in a bunch of mud puddles while fighting a herd of angry birds.

Oh, wait. That's exactly what happened.

I shifted. There were feathers and grime in places where feathers and grime had absolutely no right to be.

"You should put the corner posts in cement," I muttered. "Or better yet, use an electric fence."

"We're not trying to contain a pack of lions."

"Could have fooled me. Those hens pack a mean beak."

Before the old man had a chance to reply, Martha appeared at the door, examining the muddy footprints on the floor with a disapproving squint. "What on earth have you two been up to? There is sludge and water all over the floor from here to the backdoor … which is standing wide open! You could have been robbed!" Then her eyes landed on us and widened in shock. "What in tarnation … You look like you're recreating a scene out of the Swamp Monster!"

"The, uh, chickens escaped," I said.

"What about the fence? How did they get out?" She shook her head in mystification. "It's a miracle how you two managed to survive to this day, honestly, always ending up in hotbeds of trouble."

Now, wait a second. I'm the innocent party here!

"But I didn't—"

"Traipsing through a garden full of mud in these temperatures, one with an aching hip, one with an aching head, and both without a lick of sense."

"But—"

She sent me a look that made me close my mouth. "Both of you go and take a nice, hot shower. I'll take care of the house."

We got up like two good soldiers and trotted away.

"She's bossy," I muttered to the old man on the stairs.

"If you still want her to cook tonight, you better do what she says."

An hour later, I walked back to the kitchen, where I found Martha and Frank sitting at the kitchen table cutting onions. The old man looked up with tears in his eyes while the Cajun woman cut away with abandon. I was pretty sure that he hadn't volunteered for the task. I had to suppress a snicker, fearing I'd be next should I let it out.

Serves him right.

"These are a lot of onions," I said neutrally.

Martha hummed happily. "I'm going to make French onion soup."

"I see." Based on the amount she was cutting, she must be planning to cook for a whole army battalion.

The phone rang. Frank dropped his knife as if it was on fire and hurried into the hallway—any excuse to get away from the tear-inducing vapours.

I heard him greet the person on the other end. The rest of the conversation eluded me, though, as Martha turned on the cooker's hood once the first onions hit the pan. When my grandfather didn't return after the next few minutes, she grumbled and sat down to cut the rest lying on his cutting board. "Do me a favour and go see where he has wandered off to," she said to me.

He wasn't in the hallway or the study. Walking further in, I finally found him in the living room, gazing out of the tall windows into the backyard.

"There you are. Martha is looking for you." When he didn't reply, I felt myself slow. "Is something the matter?"

"You tell me," he said quietly with his back still turned. "That was the dean, Professor Killian. He said you're to report to his office first thing tomorrow. Someone caught wind of your fight with Paul and reported you to the school."

I sucked in a breath. "What? Why would anyone report me for that?"

Had there been any bystanders that I hadn't seen who'd just happened to know I also taught at the RISD? If so, they should know that I was a victim in the whole situation. I hadn't even thrown a punch.

Now, I knew why Frank was so subdued. He'd had to watch while his son's fighting destroyed his life bit by bit, and this, right now, must be a painful reminder, even if it was hardly the same thing.

Then the real shoe dropped.

"He also told me that he can't seriously consider anyone for a permanent teaching position who gets into physical arguments," Frank said before turning to meet my gaze. "It's bad enough that your fight got you in trouble, but finding out that he made you a job offer, and you didn't even feel the need to tell me about it? When did he ask you?"

Crap.

I swallowed, unsettled at his expression. "It was some time ago, but I didn't … I mean, I never really…" I'd been so caught up in everything else, I'd mostly managed to avoid thinking about it, or about what it would mean.

His voice sounded hurt. "Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn't understand? Or that I would be upset?"

"I didn't know how to broach the subject. There was so much going on, and I didn't, I mean, I don't even know how I feel about it," I explained. "I'm sorry you didn't hear it from me first. But I hope you know that I would never quit on you. The company has always come first."

The old man slowly shook his head. "I know you would never just up and leave, but this kind of thinking? I don't want that. I saw what it did to your father. Prioritizing our business and our passions, instead of family life. Forcing our choices on him?"

"You didn't force me to do anything, Grandpa."

But the old man only sighed before looking outside again. "I thought our relationship was good enough for you to feel comfortable talking to me about your wishes. Do you think I haven't noticed how many hours you pour into preparing the lectures? You love it. I'd have to be blind not to see that." He indicated the hen house on the lawn. "In order to be happy, you need to voice your wishes, Sam, and you need to trust that the other person will hear you. If they care about you, they will."

Just like he heard Martha when she mentioned the chickens.

I felt like an idiot.

"I'm sorry. I felt overwhelmed. It wasn't about trusting you, I swear, just fear of saying what I really want."

"Or rather fear of wanting anything at all?"

I pushed my hands deep into my pockets. He didn't know how right he was. Or maybe he did. Even now, when I thought about Emmanuelle, I didn't know where we were standing, didn't know what she wanted, and I was afraid to ask. If she only wanted something casual, it would be a gut-wrenching disappointment. But if she wanted more, and I managed to scrape up the courage to try, a part of me was afraid of her changing her mind again. I could still hardly believe that she liked me this way.

"You're right," I mumbled. "After Mum died, it was like all the colour had been sucked from the world and in self-preservation, I just started to shut everyone out." I wrapped both arms around myself. "It's like this: if you don't expect anything, don't really let anyone in, you can never be disappointed, or hurt. It's safer."

"It's also sadder, and no way to live. Living means to feel, both the good and the bad." His cornflower blues met mine with tenderness. "And ultimately, it's impossible to shut yourself off completely, or didn't it hurt you when Harry passed?"

"Very much," I said and swallowed. "Very much."

"I think you've always cared much more than you admitted to yourself, but denial isn't the way, Sam. Harry didn't want that for you, I don't want it, and your mother wouldn't have wanted it either."

The words deftly hit their mark. I exhaled a shaky breath. "I … think … I think I'm at a point where I'm realizing that, too, and I'm trying. I really am. But it's scary. Scary to allow myself to feel. To open up to the world."

The old man sighed. "I know, kid. I know."

We looked outside and observed the chickens clucking in their new home. I wondered if he thought about my grandmother. How it had been to lose her. How she had held his heart. The heartbreak Frank had eventually got over, but I think losing his soulmate had forever left him with a space impossible to fill.

"Would you like to continue teaching? Or am I not allowed to ask?" he said.

I chuckled weakly. "Not that it looks like I will even get a chance to know, but yes, I think I would like to continue if it's possible. But a permanent position? Not being there for you or the company? I don't like that."

"If you want to teach, we'll figure something out. Lillian has been wanting to be more involved in the company for a while, and you know I trust her completely. When it's time for me to retire, you could share the work." A short silence followed his thoughtful words. "Or we can find a different solution if not all parties are happy with it. I just mean, we can work this out. You just need to talk to me, Sam."

Feeling very young, I nodded. "I—yes, I promise I'll do better."

"You'll have to," he said with a pained grunt. "And you should talk to the dean as soon as possible. Clear up this misunderstanding."

I grimaced. "It's still not gonna be fun."

"No, it won't. But sometimes, that's just how life is. Is there anything else I should know about?"

Hesitantly, I nodded and couldn't stop my thoughts from being invaded by a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and very green eyes who I hadn't seen in two days but who I'd hardly stopped thinking about. Perhaps I should just pick up the phone and call her, tell her I missed her. Practice some of that advice of telling the people I care about what I want.

"I think I need a bit more time before I can talk about it." I took a deep breath. "But I'd like to try."

"Let me know, Sam." Frank's gaze was warm, but when it wandered to the hallway, he scrunched his eyebrows. "Not to complain, but do you think Martha is done with the onions already?"

The hopefulness on his face made me laugh.