The Glass Daffodil

Nothing had ever terrified him more than realizing, upon checking his safe and subsequently tearing apart the house, that the glass daffodil had vanished. He had put his own life, and, more importantly, those of his entire family, in jeopardy.

           He’d inherited the daffodil from his father, who’d inherited it from his father, who’d inherited it from his father, who’d received it from a rumored witch. He remembered, as a child, sitting beside his adopted brother on his grandfather’s gray carpet, the raspy voice of the old man perched in his sagging armchair telling him between puffs on a cigar the story behind it—how his great-grandfather had allowed his Newfoundland free range, and the hound had bounded into the witch’s yard and massacred her chickens. She’d grabbed the first object she could find and imparted it with a warning that he must keep it intact, or he and anyone who had the misfortune of sharing his blood would pay. Hence, the safe—he needed to keep it from those who may endanger it.

           Never in a million years had he thought his brother, who’d probably easily figured out that Trenton had made the combination his own birthday, would prove one of those people.

           He couldn’t blame Ethan for his fury. Anyone would have felt the same. Trenton had done a terrible thing; nothing and no one could excuse it. But to make him pay with his life, and to drag the rest of their family—innocents—down with him? That wasn’t right.

           Heart a jackhammer, he strode to the living room, grabbed his phone, and called Ethan. Three rings, and then voice mail. He hung up and called again. Fewer rings, same result. He left a message telling Ethan to call him immediately.

           He considered trying Catrina but decided against it; they couldn’t change what they’d done, but it did mean that they should keep their distance.

           The night of the offense, Ethan had gone out with friends. Catrina had invited Trenton over to watch a meteor shower. They’d sat in sagging folding chairs in her and Ethan’s backyard, munching on popcorn and passing her telescope back and forth between buttery fingers. As he’d looked for Aquila among the white-hot dots sprinkling the navy night, she’d remarked that she could see Venus. He’d said he couldn’t. She’d giggled, saying, “Put the scope down, silly,” and, as she’d placed a hand on the telescope to nudge it down, their nails had kissed. It was all downhill from there.

           He’d known as soon as they separated beneath the sheets of her and Ethan’s bed that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. Catrina hadn’t wanted to tell Ethan, but he’d insisted. Ethan had declared him a horrible brother, a horrible person, spittle flying from his lips. He’d told him that he never wanted to see or speak to him again. So far, he’d acted accordingly.

           He slipped into sneakers, grabbed his keys, and headed out to the car. Gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles blanched, he zoomed through streets gridding stiff homes and velvety lawns to the bi-level Ethan shared with Catrina (though not for much longer). His stomach sank as he spotted the empty driveway. He pulled in, shut the car off, whipped out his phone, and made more calls. Their uncle. Their aunt. Their cousins. No one had seen or heard from Ethan. Why did he ask? He didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth.

           He checked the park where Ethan walked off Sunday dinners of turkey and stuffing. The bowling alley where he and his friends punctuated each other’s strikes and gutter balls with yips and hollers and clumsy celebratory dances. The bar where he guzzled cheap bear and practiced catching stale peanuts with his mouth. The café whose jelly doughnuts Catrina would’ve lambasted him for inhaling, had she known. He found no sign of Ethan, and no one who claimed to have seen him.

           He called him again, to no avail. Shoving his phone into the pocket of his jeans, he, again, sank behind the wheel.

           Why wouldn’t he answer? Given his emotional state, Trenton would’ve thought that he’d prove all too happy to announce what he’d done, what he planned to do. What fun was revenge without the privilege of watching its target squirm?

           Maybe he’d gone farther. Maybe he’d gone for a “pre-game” meal, perhaps shrimp and sausage pasta at Ruby Tuesday, or cherry pie at Rowan’s Diner. Perhaps he’d gone to test drive the red Ferrari he’d always wanted. Perhaps he’d gone to smell the roses at Reid Park. Perhaps he’d fallen off the face of the darned earth.

           His phone rang. He nearly hit the roof. He fumbled with his pocket, withdrew the device, and glanced at the caller ID. His heartbeat quickened. “What’s going on, Catrina?” he answered. “Where’s—“

           “Madeline’s Bluff.”

           “Huh?”

           “Madeline’s Bluff.”

           He did know of the cliff. Catrina had taken Ethan there on their first date to comb the sky for shooting stars. Trenton had hiked there once with a friend. Lovely view—the reddish bowl below, the rock skyscrapers bisected by rushing liquid turquoise, the hikers traversing it shrunk enough to resemble rugged Barbie dolls. But why she’d want him to come there now, he couldn’t fathom.

           “I can’t come. I’m looking for Ethan. He’s—“

           “He’s with me.”

           Okay. Good. “Catrina, he’s got the daffodil, so if you could just make sure he—“

           “Come here,” she interrupted, the flatness of her voice making it that of a stranger.

           Before he could reply, she hung up. He stared at the phone, considering calling her back, or calling Ethan, but decided that he couldn’t afford the time it would take.

           He shoved the key into the ignition and peeled away. Sweat sluiced the steering wheel, his heartbeat rocking his every cell. He stomped on the gas; the world outside his windows smeared into emerald and cobalt streaks. He could feel each minute slipping through his fingers.

           After far too long, he reached the park. He rushed out, following the path to the rust-colored, sickle-shaped cliff liable to punch a hole in the sky, his soles scraping, kicking up pebbles and dust that lingered for the few others heading that way. He found Ethan on the bluff, back to him, t-shirt rippling like a flag, facing Catrina. He carried nothing. Catrina, on the other hand, held something over the canyon, but he couldn’t determine its identity thanks to the sunlight laser it hurled at him. He pushed his legs, propelling himself onto bluff, to where they stood. The sun no longer shot into his eyes, revealing the identity of the object. His stomach dropped; the possibility had, of course, occurred to him, but he’d brushed it aside, not wanting to admit that the situation had led to such dire straits.

           Forcing voice from his clenched throat, he demanded, “Catrina, what’re you doing?”

           “You have to ask?”

           He swallowed. “I don’t get—“

           “You ruined my marriage.” She turned to Ethan, who’d gone as white as a potato. “And you. One mistake, and you throw me out?” She shook her head. “There’s something seriously wrong with you people.”

           Pounding. Sweat. Breathlessness. Her hand a string fraying with each passing moment. He lurched forward.

           A sinister smirk warping her lips, Catrina released the daffodil, and he stopped, having nothing more to do than to watch it fall.