Page 75 of Bargaining

“Cheapskate.” Cole shot me a wry look and sat next to me.

“Here.” I held out an earbud to him. “Want to listen?”

“Sure.” He took the earbud and popped it in. We sat shoulder to shoulder, the white cord stretched between us. He leaned in closer, tilting his face to me, and it reminded me of all the times Cole had coaxed me to listen to some obscure indie band when we were kids.

He peered up at the crumbling stone pillars. “It’ll look great when it’s finished.”

I laughed. “Please. That is such a Dad joke.”

He nodded. “That was one of Roy’s finest.”

“I miss him,” I said. “It’s so weird, the two of us being here without him.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I was thinking the same thing. I miss him, too.”

I pulled out my earbud and Cole did the same. I’d thought I was prepared for it. I’d lost my dad slowly, in pieces, over all those years. We’d had him back those last few days. His body was tired, but his whole soul had sparkled in his dark eyes. Alzheimer’s had stolen our names from his mind, but he was still there in those hugs. I’d felt him. That was something to be grateful for, at least. I peered up at the clear blue sky and let the warm breeze caress my skin. He’d needed peace. I could only hope he had that now.

I cleared my throat. “Dad talked about you the past couple of years.”

Cole propped his sunglasses on his head and darted a glance at me. “He did?”

“He’d always mistake male doctors or nurses for you and lecture them about the Byzantine Empire or something. We nevercorrected him. It made him happy to think you were there. He was in and out of hospital so many times in that last year. We knew it was coming. We kept him at home, which is what he wanted.”

Heat pressed behind my eyes, but I held my tears in check. I didn’t want to be sad today. Dad wouldn’t have wanted me to come to a place like this and be sad. “It doesn’t make it easier, but we did everything we could for him. I’m glad for you that you can remember him how he was when he was well. That’s what he would have wanted.”

Cole was silent for a long time. He stirred a pattern in the dirt with a stick. After a while, he spoke in a quiet voice. “You were a good daughter. You cared for him when he needed it.”

A pang pulled at my heart. “I’m not a saint. Sometimes it was difficult and frustrating, even though I wanted to be there for him. Now I wake up and I’m thirty. My twenties have vanished.”

“But now you can do anything you want. Paint in Florence. Study ceramics in Kyoto. The world is yours. You’re going to have so much money, you’ll never want for anything.”

“When we’re done, you mean. When you pay me off?”

His eyes slipped away. “Yes. When I pay you what you’ve earned.”

We fell into deep silence. The breeze whispered through the trees at our backs. After a while, Cole shot me a sidelong glance.

“Hadrian must have been a busy man. He had time to build his wall and do all this.”

“Nobody works harder than Hadrian. You missed the part earlier where it said he made beards fashionable.”

“I’ll have to tell Lucas. He’ll be glad to know he was fashionable once. He’s only two centuries too late.”

I laughed, and a knot of tension unwound inside of me. My only defense in this life was humor. Better to laugh than to cry. Cole had always seemed to understand that about me. I’d always felt able to laugh easily around him.

“You don’t get on well with your brothers? They seemed so nice at the wedding.”

He gave a small nod. “They aren’t that bad, but never tell them I said that.”

I leaned back on my hands, my arms taking the weight and my fingers splayed on the warm ground. The pool looked so inviting. I took off my sandals and dipped my feet into the cool water. “I spoke to your nephews. They said you’re their favorite uncle.”

A smile ghosted his lips. “Did they now? They must be angling for something from me. I’ll have to bring them a gift back from this trip.”

My gaze drifted back to the group of artists working at easels.

Cole slanted his head to watch me. “You want to join them?”

I tipped my face to the sun and closed my eyes. “Me? No, I can’t just tag on someone else’s art class.”