Chapter 4
1138 Words
She didn't open the letter again.
She held it in her hands, but she didn't open it. She couldn't. Not yet. The photograph was still inside. Nathan Cross. His face. His smile. She'd already memorized it. The way he stood. The way he looked like he owned everything.
The walk back to her mother's house was a blur. She didn't remember the dust. She didn't remember the heat. She just remembered the weight of the envelope in her hands. The weight of everything pressing down on her.
Jake walked beside her. am hungry she said nothing.
Her mother was in the yard. She was hanging clothes on the line. Her hands moved slowly, like she was trying to hold onto something. A faded wrapper. A worn shirt. She didn't turn when Ife walked in.
"Mama," Ife said.
Her mother stopped. Her hands were frozen on the line. She didn't turn around.
"I need to ask you something."
Her mother turned. Her face was tired. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying. She'd been crying for days. Her hands were trembling as she lowered them to her sides.
"Who is Nathan Cross?"
Her mother's face changed. It was small. But Ife saw it. A flicker. A tightening at the corners of her mouth. She pressed her lips together. Then she looked away.
"Where did you hear that name?" her mother asked.
"Amara left it for me. A letter. Before she died."
Her mother was quiet for a long time. She walked to the porch. She sat down on the steps. She looked at the ground. Her hands were still trembling. She pressed them flat against her thighs.
"Please," Ife said. "I need to know."
Her mother looked up at her. Her voice was quiet.
"Your father," she said. "He needs to be the one to tell you."
Ife stared at her.
"You knew," she said. "You knew what happened. You knew Papa was there. You knew about the Cross family. You knew everything."
Her mother didn't answer. She pressed her hand against her face. Her shoulders shook. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I thought I was protecting you," she said. "I thought if I kept it hidden, you could have a different life. A better life. I was wrong."
Ife didn't answer. She walked away.
---
She found him in the yard.
He was standing by the fence. His back was turned. His hands were clasped behind him. He was looking at the empty street. She could see his shoulders, hunched. She could see the weight of him, heavy and small. He'd been standing there for hours.
She walked toward him. The dust rose around her feet. She stopped beside him. She didn't speak. She just stood there.
"Papa," she said.
He didn't turn.
"Papa, I need to ask you something."
He turned. He looked at her. His eyes were wet. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His face was hollow.
"Amara left me a letter," she said. "Before she died. It had a photograph. A man named Nathan Cross. She said he was behind everything."
She stopped. She felt something cold settle in her chest.
"Who is Nathan Cross?"
He looked at her. He looked at the ground. He looked at the empty street. His shoulders sagged, like he'd been holding something for so long and he couldn't hold it anymore.
"Your grandfather," he said. "He was killed by the Cross family."
She stared at him.
"The Cross family killed him?"
"They took everything from him," "His land. His business. His future. And when he tried to fight back, they killed him."
"When?"
"Many years ago. Before you were born. Before I was old enough to do anything about it."
"And Amara?"
"She found out. She found proof. She was going to expose them. They killed her for it."
She stood there. She felt the dust beneath her feet. She felt the weight of his words pressing down on her. She couldn't speak. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Who killed him?" she asked.
He looked at her. His voice was quiet.
"Nathan Cross."
She stared at him. The words settled in her chest. She could feel them there, cold and heavy. She could feel them pressing against her lungs.
"You were there," she said.
He didn't answer.
"Papa, you were there, weren't you?"
He turned away. He tried to speak. Nothing came out. He pressed his hand against his face. She saw his shoulders shake.
"I was twelve years old," he said. "I followed him. I didn't know why. I just wanted to see what he was doing."
She felt her throat tighten.
"I saw everything," he said. "I saw the men. I saw the fight. I saw the white man hit him. I saw your grandfather fall."
She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.
"I saw them cover it up. They made it look like an accident. No one was punished. No one was even questioned. They walked away. They kept living their lives. And we buried my father."
He pressed his hand against his face. His voice cracked.
"All my life," he said. "I've carried this. All my life. I never told anyone. I never told your mother. I never told anyone."
She felt the tears building behind her eyes. She pushed them back.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
He looked at her. His eyes were wet.
"Because I wanted to protect you. I wanted you to be free. I wanted you to live a life that wasn't weighed down by this."
He pressed his hand against his face. His voice was barely a whisper.
"I failed," he said. "I failed to protect your grandfather. I failed to protect Amara. And now I'm failing to protect you."
"Papa—"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."
She walked to him. She put her arms around him. He didn't hug her back. He just stood there.
She stood there for a long time, holding him.
He walked away. He didn't look back.
---
She stood in the yard for a long time. The dust was thick beneath her feet. The sun was hot on her face. She couldn't feel any of it.
Jake was there. He was standing near the gate. He was watching her. He didn't come closer. He gave her space.
She walked to the porch. She sat on the steps. She looked at the ground.
She thought about her father. The way his hands had been shaking. The way his voice had cracked.
Jake walked over. He sat beside her. He didn't say anything. He just sat there.
"Jake," she said.
"What?"
"I need to find out the truth."
"Then we'll find it."
She looked at him.hope she saw hope.i love you.
"I know," she said.
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