Page 138 of Hades

Five years I’d been watching this. Five years of the same transformation. Five years of questions I’d learned not to ask because the answers never came.

“So,” she said between bites, “Harvest Week is coming up.”

“It is.”

“Are you prepared? Do you have enough inventory?”

The same question. Every year. Word for word.

“I always have enough inventory.”

“Of course you do.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It never did during this week. “You’re so organized. So capable.”

I’d heard this before. The compliments that felt like stones thrown at glass. The interest in my business that vanished the moment the festival ended.

“Who do you think will be at the festival this year?” she asked.

There it was. The question that actually mattered. The one she always circled back to.

“The usual people. Sue Ann. Betty. The church ladies.”

“Anyone new?”

I set down my fork and looked at her directly. “Why do you ask that every year?”

Her smile tightened. “Just curious.”

“You’re never curious. Except during Harvest Week.”

“Well, maybe I should be more curious year-round.” She took another bite of eggs. “Maybe I’ve been too wrapped up in my own problems.”

The same deflection. The same non-answer.

I’d tried pushing before. Tried demanding explanations. It never worked. She’d shut down or snap or retreat to her room, and the pattern would continue regardless.

So I’d learned to accept it—this annual ritual I didn’t understand.

“Will that biker be there?” she asked.

My hand stilled halfway to my mouth. “Brock?”

“Is that his name?” She tilted her head. “The one who’s been coming around.”

This was new—the question about Brock. But the tone wasn’t. That careful, calculated interest she only showed during this week.

“Probably.”

“Hmm.” She went back to her eggs. “He seems very attached to you.”

“He is.”

“And you? Are you attached to him?”

I forced myself to breathe through the unease crawling up my spine. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I’m your mother, Violet. I worry about you.”

Liar.