The Heartless

I woke bleary-eyed and sun-warmed in the meadow. The late afternoon sun cast a soft glow over the back of the house, and the grass seemed to sparkle in the golden sunset light. I sat up, blinking away sleep. I couldn’t remember laying down to take a nap, but I must have fallen asleep at some point after lunch.

“Ace, supper’s almost ready!” my mother called out the back door. “Come inside and help set the table.”

“Coming!” I clambered to my feet and scampered into the house.

Mom held the door open for me as I darted past her into the kitchen and then let it swing shut behind her.

“Having a snooze, were we?” she needled with a playful grin on her face.

I felt heat creep into my cheeks, much to her amusement.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I muttered defensively, washing my hands before gathering three sets of silverware from the kitchen drawer. Mom hummed to herself in response while she poked at the stewing vegetables on the stove with a wooden spatula. My father entered the kitchen moments later, bearing a cloth-covered basket.

“I went to the market,” he said in his deep, warm voice. “There were still fresh blueberry muffins for sale when I arrived.” He set the basket down on the table and winked at me. After glancing behind me to make sure no one was looking, I lifted the corner of the fabric and peered inside at the golden brown, sweet-smelling muffins inside.

“What’s the occasion?” my mother asked. She turned around and chided, “Ace, leave those for later.” I let the cloth drop and slid sheepishly into my seat at the table.

“Just a Tuesday,” Dad replied. Then he elaborated, “The baker was letting them go for a discount since the day’s almost over. Besides, I know Ace likes them. Isn’t that right, Ace?”

I nodded, swinging my legs under the table.

“Not as much as Mom’s raspberry pies, though,” I clarified.

“Is that so?” she mused. “Hm, I could have sworn you told me you preferred the neighbors’ pies to mine.”

“Well, uh,” I stammered, trying to conjure up a reasonable justification in real-time, “Basil’s mom’s pies have more filling, but yours are sweeter!”

“Sure.” Mom laughed as she brought the pan over to the table. She scooped a juicy piece of chicken and a generous helping of lightly charred colorful vegetables onto my plate. I noticed with dismay that she gave me extra green beans (my least favorite) with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, and I wrinkled my nose at her from across the table. She stared back, steadfast, and then went about serving her own portion with no remorse at all.

“The inn is almost done being repainted,” Dad reported, completely oblivious to the showdown between me and my mother.

“That’s nice, dear,” Mom replied. “Do you have more work lined up after this?”

Dad shook his head. “Not yet, but I hear there’s an initiative to beautify the whole town. I may be able to get involved with that.”

“So long as they pay you.”

I frowned in disgust. Adult conversations were so incredibly boring.

“Can I go over and play with Basil after supper?” I interjected.

My parents shared a brief look.

Then, Dad asked, “You boys haven’t been playing with the other kids as much lately. Is everything okay?”

I shrugged and poked at the green beans on my plate.

“You can tell us if something happened,” Mom put in. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” I said. “The other kids are just mean. Marcus said people like me are evil.”

My dad dropped his fork in surprise and quickly scrambled to recover it.

My mother reached across the table and said, “Sweetheart, I need you to promise me you’ll come to us right away if something happens. Remember what we talked about?”

I nodded. “I know. But I can trust Basil.”

Now fully composed, my father implored me, “Son, promise your mother.”

“I promise I’ll tell you. But I can trust Basil,” I responded forcefully, looking into my mother’s eyes unflinchingly.

Her face lit up with recognition and she nodded.

“Alright, I understand,” she said thoughtfully.

Satisfied, I shoveled the last of my green beans into my mouth and excused myself from the table, scurrying to the back door before spinning around again to clear my plate at my father’s insistence.

By the time my parents called me back inside for bed, the sky was blanketed in a canopy of stars, like tiny pinholes of light in the bubble that shielded me from the rest of the world. A cool summer breeze blew through the open window to my bedroom, rustling the tall grass and the trees outside. After my mother bid me goodnight, my father sat on the edge of my bed and told me stories until my eyelids started to droop.

“Dad?” I called softly. He paused in extinguishing the lamp. “Do you think they have stars this bright at the castle?”

My father smiled and ruffled my hair gingerly.

“We live under the same sky they do—same stars, same moon, same sun. But I’m sure they aren’t as brilliant as the ones you get to see every night,” he assured me gently. “Now go to sleep.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Ace. See you in the morning.”

Dad patted my head one last time and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness save for the soft glow of moonlight peeking from behind the curtains. I slept soundly, warm and safe, with the stars watching over me from lifetimes away.