Evasion and Silence
Christmas Eve, we brought gifts to Father's house. Sara had picked out a thick wool sweater for him. He accepted the beautifully wrapped box, thanked her, then casually set it on the coffee table, never opening it. All evening, he meticulously avoided direct conversation with her. When Sara asked about his arthritis, he muttered a vague "hmm" before turning to discuss the old Ford truck engine with me. The smile faded from Sara's face; she sat quietly beside me, shelling nuts. The sweater lay abandoned on the table like a lonely island.
Persistent Dissuasion
Whenever we were alone, Father returned to his theme. Helping him prune overgrown holly bushes in his backyard, his clippers paused. He looked at me. "Luke, listen to me. You and Sara. End it. Now. Before it's too late." The summer sun was warm, but his words chilled me. I clipped a thick branch with force. "Dad, I don't understand! What's wrong with Sara? She's kind, thoughtful..." He cut me off, iron in his voice. "She's not good enough for you! She isn't! You'll regret it!" He turned away, attacking the bushes savagely, channeling some unseen rage into the foliage.
Sara's Secret Movements
Paradoxically, Sara seemed unfazed by Father's hostility. If anything, she began acting alone. Once, heading to the library, I called her about discounted ground beef. Her phone was off. That evening, she claimed her battery died. Later, I accidentally found a gas station receipt in her coat pocket. The location was west side—nowhere near the library or supermarket. The only thing that direction led to was Father's old neighborhood. Suspicion coiled like ivy in my mind.
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