Page 70 of Sweet Poison
“The secret is browned butter,” I said.
“Whatever it is, I love it.”
“What about the potatoes?” Anya asked.
I laughed. My daughter was so endearing. She had peeled the potatoes and now she wanted credit for that.
“They are especially delicious,” Montanna said. “Did you make them?”
“I peeled them all,” she announced proudly.
I stared at her. She was wearing the most brilliant smile on her little face. And suddenly, I realized, my daughter was never happy in New York. I’d never seen her like this. Here was where she was thriving.
We ate in silence after that, simply enjoying the meal. At some point, I looked out at the garden in front of us and I knew; Anya was right. We should have ducks. And we should have the vegetable garden that she wanted too. I could see the three of us creating it together. I felt stable. I felt hopeful, and I felt happy.
I turned to Montana. “What kind of plants, flowers, and vegetables do you recommend for us here?”
“Only Anya can answer that. Anya, last week we taught you how to grow tomatoes in the greenhouse, starting them as seedlings and taking care of them until you harvest them. Next week you will learn about even more plants. So …” she turned to me. “I think you should let Anya pick the garden she wants herself.”
“I’m cool with that,” I said.
“As for flowers … um… what are your favorite flowers?” She frowned, then smiled. “I remember now. You mentioned tulips in class.”
Anya went still and looked down as if she had committed an offense, and I instantly understood why. It wasn’t that she particularly liked tulips, but they were her mother’s favorite flowers. It made me wonder as I watched her if this was the key to why she was so wounded and sad at night. During the day she was occupied with all kinds of new activities, but at night she was missing her mother. It hurt me immensely that I wasn’t enough to fill that void, but there was nothing I could do. It was her mother who had decided to leave us.
“We can get the tulip bulbs online,” Montana said, unaware of the undercurrents between my daughter and me. “I’ll instruct you on how to grow them. Together we can build a layout and plant exactly what you need and love.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Truthfully, I don’t really enjoy growing vegetables,” Montana suddenly said.
Both of our heads shot up.
“This is a secret, Anya,” she told my daughter and placed a finger against her lips. “Don’t tell anyone. Promise?”
Anya gazed at her, her sadness forgotten, her eyes shining with curiosity. “You don’t?”
Montana shook her head. “I don’t like earthworms. When I look at them they make my skin go all funny, but over the years I have learned to appreciate what good little helpers they are to the farmer.”
“Why do you participate so much in the farming activities when you don’t find it fun?” I asked.
She shrugged. “My father loves it,” she replied. “And when I was younger, it was the only thing we could do together. Till today, he still thinks it's something I love. To suddenly throw a tantrum and say I don’t enjoy it all that much is unnecessary.”
“Do you like swimming then, Miss Moore?” Anya asked.
I turned to look at her. “You want to go swimming?”
She nodded. “Elizabeth, at school says, everybody goes swimming at the lake.”
Montana smiled. “Yes, we have two lakes in Bison Ridge. You can only fish in the big lake, but all the kids go to swim in the small lake. It’s not too far away. If you want to go swimming in the lake, of course, we can arrange it for you. Would you prefer a swimming pool, though?” she asked.
Anya shook her head. “No, I want to go to the lake. We’ve always had a pool.”
I listened to my daughter and tried not to frown, but this very blatant transmission of information about our past lives wasn’t our agreement at all.
“You used to have a swimming pool when you lived in New York?” Montana asked, one eyebrow raised. “Wow! That’s rare, isn’t it? You must be rich.”
“No, we’re not,” Anya denied vehemently. “We’re not rich at all. We’re just like everybody else. We’re middle-class.”