The door to the house swung open, and my uncle’s unkempt figure came stumbling into view; his reading glasses perched sideways on his nose, his hair tousled, and his loose white shirt hanging over a pair of too short, wrinkled khakis.
“That you, Hawthorne?” he called, his absent-minded gaze on a stack of papers in his hand. “I’ve got something I’ve got to show you …” His gaze slid up, his loafers stopping short when his eyes met the figure loitering behind me. With a quick sweeping glance between us, he straightened, his brows arching. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
Shifting the papers to one hand, he swiped his palm down the side of his leg, his gaze sliding over my face as he moved past me to meet Heathcliff. “Welcome, son. You belong to the Vincent bunch, I bet. No mistaking that height and build. Would you like to come in?”
There was an uncomfortable pause, a lengthy silence, before he replied, “No, sir. Just wanted to make sure your niece made it home okay.” He grew quiet, and then, “I noticed you’ve got a lot of untended work on the property. You wouldn’t be needing any help out here would you?”
Even with my back to them, my pulse sped up. The papers in Uncle Gregor’s hand rustled. “You noticed the mess then,” he laughed. “I’m not much for home repairs, I’m afraid. The house could use new paint, and with the temperatures still down, we always need wood, but I couldn’t pay you, son.”
“I don’t need the pay, sir. Just the work.”
Another long pause before my uncle answered, “Well, then. I wouldn’t want to turn down free labor. You’re welcome whenever you have the time.”
There was shuffling, the sound of hands meeting and then shoes hitting the lane as Heathcliff left us.
Uncle Gregor stepped back, his lined but kind face suddenly gazing down into mine, his glasses making his eyes appear bigger than they normally were. “That was strange, Hawthorne,” he mumbled. “Tell me I didn’t just invite a criminal to fiddle around our house.”
I stared, my cheeks heating. Uncle Gregor could read me like a book. “You know you didn’t,” I answered.
For a moment, he watched my face, his throat clearing. “Okay, then. Want to see what I found?” He grinned, and I knew he’d been tinkering in his lab. It wasn’t a typical lab, just a room full of used equipment, most of it useless, and shelves of overused books.
My grin met his. “Bigfoot doesn’t exist, Uncle.”
“There’s no proof of that,” his smile grew, “but this is better. I found new slime.”
Following him, I swallowed back a laugh. “I didn’t know there was old slime.”
He was still holding the papers in his hands, and my gaze fell to them, the words medical and urgent jumping out at me.
My feet froze, my smile slipping. “You don’t want to show me slime, do you, Uncle?”
He paused, too, his fingers gripping the papers. “You don’t know that,” he whispered.
“But I do,” I whispered back. “You don’t ever show me your experiments unless it has something to do with food and recipes.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’ve got news.”
Outside, it began to rain, the hard sound loud on the roof.
It was like being a little girl again, only this time it wasn’t my parents leaving. This was worse. My gaze slid once more to the papers. “There’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?”
He glanced back at me. “Hawthorne—”
There were no pearls to pull from my neck or a fancy hairdo to mess up. There were only tears, slow and hot down my cheeks. “How long?” I asked.
I knew in my heart he was leaving me. Uncle Gregor never talked to me about sickness. He wouldn’t be talking to me now if it wasn’t serious.
The rain on the roof was louder, harder. “They’re not sure,” he answered.
My gaze traveled to his, to his bright, reddening eyes. This was different from my parents. Unlike them, this wasn’t his choice.
My cheek suddenly met his soft chest, my feet moving faster than my brain, my tears sinking into Uncle Gregor’s shirt. His hand cupped the back of my head. “We’ve got this, Hawthorne,” he said. “I promise to make it until you graduate if you promise to stay strong. For my sake.”
The tears came harder. “I want to stay with you,” I sobbed. “School doesn’t matter.”
The papers fell to the floor, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders. “It matters. It really matters. You can do anything. Be anything! I’m going to take care of you, Hawthorne. The house is yours—”
“Stop!” I cried, my nose running, my eyes dripping as I tried pulling away. “Just stop!”
Uncle Gregor refused to release me. “It’s been in this family for generations and has long since been paid off. I have enough put back for your—”
I wrenched myself away, my red eyes and swollen face staring up into his. “I don’t care.” I meant to yell it, but it came out as a jarbled murmur.