'Handprint On My Heart' (Silas Version)

[Alternate Text: A header image of some landscaping that features handprint stone medallions in an arc around some flower bedding. There are chunks of colorful glass surrounding each print, while the medallions themselves are different shapes from squares to octagons. The title is 'Handprint On My Heart' in a leafy green color and artsy font type.] 

As another snatched bloom is placed at your feet in offering, you can't help but wonder how a walk turned into surveying the B&B's garden.

This one is a buttery yellow pansy that doesn't have any dashes of dirt on its petals. It adds to the uprooted daisies, marigolds, and daffodils you've been carrying in your free hand. Your eyes leave the concerningly yellow floral spread to settle on who has been gifting them.

Huckleberry stares back before disappearing into Mrs. Dorran's lovingly tended flower beds without a single sound. He is just one of your 'charges'. Naturally, sweet Marigold is right by your side, while [Redacted] has been presiding over the walk from the elevated back porch, gilded gaze always on you when you try to spot the specter of ebony in the dim, evening light.

Pet babysitting duty is better than nothing…

You're being helpful to James just like how Silas is picking up food and Ruby has been enlisted by Mrs. Dorran to get balloons, flowers from a store, and other 'get well soon' presents.

Alina will get a warm welcome after her brief hospital stay. That's where James and Becca are now, retrieving the youngest Corvin whose absence has clearly impacted her out-of-the-ordinary pet. "Huck?" you call to him, hoping to hear at least a chitter of acknowledgement. He has disappeared into the foliage around the house, sometimes causing the lush bushes to quiver or giving you a glimpse of fur before he sneaks out with yet another floral acquisition.

Marigold becomes more alert before she moves ahead to guide you through the area.

"I should've gotten him a leash," you mutter.

Another section of the backyard is where you end up, trusting Marigold's keen ability to track where the raccoon went. Grass is traded for mulch chips and loamy soil as you venture into the bed. A lost pet wouldn't help Alina feel any better. You're looking in the wrong direction when a brush of fluffy fur against your leg helps you locate—

"That's a tomato…"

Huckleberry seems entirely unfazed by your comment about the section of the tomato plant he broke off. It's a small vegetable, still attached to the green stem with yellow, star-shaped blooms that haven't fully matured. At least he had the right idea. He's still holding it up for you to take, bandit paw acting like a tiny hand with claws. It is impossible for you to scold him, so you take the offering with a tight smile at having to explain this to Mrs. Dorran.

She'll probably be fine!

You're tracking where Huckleberry darts away to until something diverts your attention that causes your breath to catch slightly in shock.

It isn't very big, a circular medallion of cement about the length of your forearm with the impression of a child's handprint. You were that child. To most people, it would be viewed as an artsy decoration, but to you, it brings to mind a memory from your childhood that isn't hazy. As you drift closer to see how it's changed, you remember how it was first made.

. . .

. .

.

"Dibs!"

Ruby's voice comes from directly behind you right when you're about to grab a particular button from one of the buckets. "I saw it first," you instantly disagree, whirling around to see that she's finally here. Silas was worried she might not be able to come to his birthday party;  you overheard Mrs. Dorran on the phone in the kitchen, calling the Verners to confirm. "It doesn't even match you. You're wearing purple."

"That doesn't mean I have to make"—she falters for a brief second, glancing over the picnic table—"whatever it is we are making all purple."

"Stone handprint medallions," Silas patiently explains. "They're a type of outdoor art."

"And [Name] did see it first…" James adds.

Ruby scoffs lightly, though she does shoot you a playful smile before taking a prim seat on the picnic table bench. She must've been teasing because she starts to scavenge through the other buckets to make up for lost time. You're almost worried about how recklessly she digs her fingers into them. There are buttons, cool marbles, tiny figurines from board games, screws, glass pieces, and more meant to act as  a border for the print itself. You have most of your selections in a pile. "Where were you?"

"Somewhere," she off-handedly remarks. "Not anywhere near as fun as here. Oh, and happy birthday, Silas… Thank you for having me."

He smiles faintly at Ruby's genuine wish in spite of the minor formality overlaying it, while you're not satisfied by her answer. You're about to share a look with James when he suddenly seems to find a particular buckle interesting, head bowed. It's weird. You'll ask him about it later if you remember. "Where's 'somewhere'?"

"A place that was very [Surname]-free," Ruby retorts, flicking a small coin in your direction that ends up in your pile. "Is there a limit on the baubles I can use? A proper amount of them?"

"No, just have fun with it," Silas replies.

Pressing the question to start a mild debate with the Verner heir is tempting, but this isn't your special day. You turn some on the bench whereas the others help Ruby catch up, except you are secretly going to keep the cool coin she added to your selections. Mrs. Dorran is flitting around to ensure everything is perfect—from the cement mix to the party food to the music. She gives you a little wave when your eyes meet, which you return, before seeking out your own mother. She isn't where she was.

You're old enough to feel safe in the Dorrans' backyard, yet young enough to want to know where she is in case you might need her.

"She's over by the wooden gate," James whispers, mindful of everyone overhearing while also looking out for you. "The exit one."

"Thanks."

He nods once before helping Alina reach for a particular bucket so she can be included too.

Your mother appears to be talking with Mr. Verner who, like Ruby, is dressed formally for a backyard, artsy birthday party. Your eyebrows knit at how he's part way out of the yard, ready to leave while your mom's hand is holding the gate open. You can't see her face, only his, but he smiles sadly at her. (Sometimes Ruby does that too when it's the end of the school day, which is bizarre when you're usually happy to be done with classes.) It isn't sad-sad, maybe lonely? He could stay for cake if he wanted to.

You're unable to understand what's going on between them aside from the way he covers your mom's hand before pulling the gate shut.

She turns back around, eyes on where you're sitting, so you jolt and turn to face the table, jostling the piles when you knock into it.

"Are you okay?" Silas asks in concern. "Did you get a splinter?"

"Yep and nope," you quickly reply.

He watches you for a moment before leaving it at that. "Do you wanna go first with me? Once the cement is poured, you've got to stick your hand in and arrange the border pretty fast." His pile isn't a pile so much as a scattered circle of objects that he'll copy. It's the smart approach.

"Sure!"

Your enthusiastic answer earns another rare smile from Silas that's warmer than the last.

The rest of the party will be filled with art, cake, and fun in celebration of the quiet boy among you who's always willing to help his friends.

. . .

. .

.

Your hand no longer perfectly fits over the one imprinted in the medallion from years ago.

Still, you let your palm hover over the concrete for a moment while your childhood recollection fades away into the present moment. This was at your old house, proudly displayed in the yard and a reminder of the celebration. The gray stone mixture has darkened from a blend of age along with the soot that coated it. (It's a different color than Silas's medallion that's on the left.) The pretty button you and Ruby had jokingly fought over is now melted instead of having a crown shape. Most of the colorful glass shards are cracked, heat testing their resilience. The coin is somehow still okay, and it's just above where you etched your initials.

Undoubtedly, yours looks different than all the rest, put through a house fire and abandoned.

Silas must've salvaged it.

No, he saved your medallion, most likely having gone looking for it in the aftermath and then cleaning it up to bring to his new home.

You swallow roughly from a combination of the gesture he never had any intention of telling you about, since that isn't his personality, and from remembering your mom. He did it for you, not for your acknowledgement. Marigold gives a soft yip before letting her tail thump against your leg. She's alerting you to someone new. You don't need any further hints as her tail wags more and more, jubilantly happy. "Hey."

"Hello, you."

Silas's reply is simple enough, though his tone and how he says you makes it all the more tender. He's just behind where you're kneeling down, prepared to give you a moment or to stay nearby. His eyes leave yours to trail to the stone medallions that are side by side on the ground. "When did you get it?" you ask him.

"Before we moved from the neighborhood," he replies. Silas hesitates to say more, joining you and offering his hand for you to rise back up from the ground. He keeps holding yours. "As soon as there was less activity, I walked what was left… The remains. It was to see if there was anything I could save for you. James was out there most nights. I worried about him."

"He biked out from the farm?"

"I don't think he wanted to believe you were gone at first," Silas quietly admits. "We moved shortly afterwards."

You can't imagine how horrific it was for Silas and Mrs. Dorran to watch fire hungrily engulf a home and family they were deeply familiar with. It's why you comfortingly squeeze his hand. You're still learning more about how what he witnessed shaped him. "It's kind that you saved it for me," you decide. "Thank you."

"I did it for me too," he admits, minimizing your gratitude with his honesty. "I couldn't leave a part of you there."

Silas says it so casually, a fact, but you've never  questioned his underlying compassion that is extended to most everyone, especially those he loves. You're about to pull him closer when a rustling off to the side alerts you to another offering. Huckleberry's head pops up followed by the rest of him when he offers you a cluster of purple-ish blue flowers, hydrangeas. You take them after freeing Silas's hand, turning back around to tuck the pom-pom shaped bloom into his vest pocket. The pop of blue color is lovely on him; it's enough to make you smile before you rejoin your hands to tug him close. His lips almost quirk in response, though you feel his smile when you share a soft kiss.

"A kind of random question: can raccoons see in color?" you ask. "I know dogs can't, but Huck is…"

"Special?" Silas suggests.

Well, that's one word for it. "Intuitive," you reply while holding up your haul of flowers. "I think he misses her—like, actually misses Alina."

"She's had him since he was little, so it makes sense that they're very close. But I'd have to look up raccoon color vision," he offers. "The food is waiting inside. They'll be reunited soon."

"That's fortunate for your mom's garden."

"She'd let him tear it up if he's sad," Silas points out in good humor. "Don't worry about it."

The two of you share a fond look before you continue your babysitting duties until it's time for everyone to be together again.