Chapter forty seven
Food was a way to the heart of most people.
Cook up some delighting western cuisine for a cocky person and you could get him in the lowest irks of life possible, especially if you had an award for making mouths water.
It was one of the most beautiful summer days yet. The sun's heat was fairly warm and welcoming. With the early rays of dawn cast upon the balcony, one's appetite was most likely to be positive.
Apart from the delighting western cuisine, the form of presentation was all you needed to make one's mind run circles. A bunch of wild flowers laid in a glass vase of water placed right on the table's center, certainly handpicked by someone who had some degree in horticulture.
On either end of the rectangular surface, a set of clean cutleries laid correctly on the clothed table. Placed randomly around were bowls and dishes of explicit treats my brother and I were certainly not going to finish.
Ranging from pastries to wine, salad and steaks. About every single thing had a topping of something white; maybe yogurt.
An appetite could easily arise from the pit of darkness at the mere sight of the table.
Expectedly, Noah had begun to help himself with some servings only seconds after we were seated on each of the single pair of white chairs. The seconds themselves were the ones attributed to the Grace by the way.
Myself, I was staring out the balcony for God knows what. Despite the drool worthy aroma seeping into my nostrils, I lacked a single ounce of appetite.
How was I supposed to start this? Okay Noah, I thought Max and co killed you and decided to bring you back by killing them! Too direct, huh?
Or…hey Noah, remember the night you left me and never came back? I saw a corpse that looked like you and…
No, that sounded stupid.
What about…
"You know we haven't actually spoken yet, right," he broke the silence first.
I smiled and cringed my eyes. A true brother could study your frown and know exactly what was bugging you upstairs. I stared at him. He'd paused his cutlery clinking to stare back.
"I was thinking about it too," I smiled. Soon, I could not keep the eye contact and I preferred to study the vapour above the dish of broth. There, I made a silent prayer for strength. "Noah, what exactly happened that night?"
A frown came upon his face instantly that made my breath hitch. I was expecting the worst story possible at this point.
Calmly, he left his fork and leaned back in his seat, looking upon his plate with a sigh. "What if I told you Mom lied to us about Dad's death?"
I laughed without knowing I did. Maybe I had expected anything at all…but this was hilarious
Actually, it was annoying.
"We were made to believe he died in some bloody war when I was eleven." Noah explained. I could sense raw anger in his tone. "All this while, it was some darn divorce!"
I almost felt my heart part. Finally, I did summon up the courage to look him in the eye. "Is this just you trying to avoid my question?
His lips parted in shock. Soon after, his stare on me was a glare. Max had been right about temper being in both our veins. "I'd appreciate it, Jeffery if you'd let me finish."
Right…patience. Succumbing silently, I took my mind back to when I was four. Dad had left one morning and never come back; only for us to receive the news of his DEATH from mom.
My brother and I had been devastated, confused, broken.
Had my mother's tears been made up just to add a bit of some spice to the story? If it were any other person telling me this, there's no way in hell I'd have believed it.
"The shock I had when I found out she was the cause of all the pain, all the hunger. She brought the idea of moving in with Uncle Timothy, turned us to his slaves!" I saw his face redden with rage and felt my own rage erupt slowly at the sight.
"How valid is this claim that Mom ruined our lives?" I asked just to confirm right before I began to hate her ghost for no reason.
Noah laughed like my question was a stab in the spine." News flash. Mom and Uncle had a thing, Dad realised…divorce came up. And then, boom… we're moving in with Uncle Tim because of starvation."
At the moment, my mind stopped working and all I did was stare. If this was valid, where had her taste in men gone to? That wasn't even important…she'd left my Dad for a man for ended up being her murderer?
I took a trip back to memory lane, to every single thing we went through as kids without a father. All the while, she'd watched quietly and fooled us with the talk of a silver lining in the cloud. That didn't sound like the woman who birthed me at all.
"A few days after her death, I uncovered the whole story from Mrs Kimberly who thought I deserved to know," Noah looked out the view now. "There I was smuggling drugs in the streets to find enough money to get us out of there and find Dad."
Somehow now, it all made sense why he'd slowly spaced out that period, why he'd become distant and sad and never stayed home. Not because I'd been a burden or he'd found better companions, but because he was dealing with a terrible truth and had taken the responsibility to fix things.
I felt bad about it, but maybe Mom deserved what she got.
On some other vein though, everyone had flaws. Hers never stopped her from being that mother we always needed, putting her life on the line so that ours might be spared.
"It all got out of hand the day when I'd begun to owe Max."
With those words, he got my full attention.
"I knew how dangerous he was," Noah frowned with a shrug, almost like he was seeing the replay of the past in his head. "Still…I'd meddled with him. As much as Uncle was demonic, he'd actually strived to get me out of that mess. However, our escape kept driving me towards it."
"That night; when I'd taken the half bag of bills to go meet Max, I was almost certain I was never going to see the day of light again; until Max received a last minute betrayal."
"From who," I rushed the question. Slowly, I'd begun to get nervous once more. If he'd spoken about Mom with such disgust because of disloyalty, I wondered what my fate was since murder was the case.
"Howard," Noah laughed shortly and looked at me.