by Margs Murray
“I’m glad you’re happy, but your happiness will not last long,” Grandma told him. “Destiny is destiny.”
Dad took Grandma’s arm. “Let’s go clean up the living room or your lovely daughter will have my head.”
“Matthew! Knowing our family, she could do worse to you but won’t.”
“Sasha.” Dad nodded to her and left the two of us in the kitchen.
“I’m heading out.” Sasha pulled me into a hug, lingering longer than usual. She whispered into my ear. “Ask about the ring.”
I nodded, indicating I would.
Sasha started towards the door but then came back and gave me one more quick hug.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said, and she took my hand. “I got this cold feeling, and I needed to hug you one more time.”
I smiled at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sasha squeezed my hand.
“I mean it,” I said, and we walked to the door together. One meal, and the rest of the summer would get back on course.
Sasha opened the door. “Watch yourself. Good luck.”
Chapter 4
Ice Cream Bubbles
“Please come in, Uncle. Why don’t you join us at the table?” Mom moved to the side as Uncle Bollard entered our kitchen, and she said, “I made cake and coffee, and we have ice cream. Can I get you some?”
“No, thank you,” Uncle Bollard said, his nose in the air as he viewed our tiny yellow kitchen with our little farm table. Our house wasn’t big enough for a formal dining room, but Mom had stayed up late last night waxing the floors and washing the glass sconces. She set the table with the best we owned: the good white plates, peonies from the garden, and a green (and unstained) tablecloth. Mom even wore her favorite lilac print dress for the occasion. So far, Great-uncle Bollard didn’t seem impressed. I felt confident I’d made the right decision in not going.
Mom snagged the ice cream from the freezer and brought it to the table with her.
“I don’t know why you asked, Simone.” Dad didn’t bother to look up from his black coffee. “In the last twenty-plus years of our little annual get-together, I haven’t seen him eat so much as a crumb. Never saw him drink anything, either.”
Uncle Bollard stopped mid-step, straightened his dinner jacket, and peered down at Dad, who happened to be in an old t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. “Is my digestional constitution one of your concerns, Matthew?”
“Wouldn’t even make my top twenty,” Dad replied.
“So, that’s a no for cake. Waverly? Ice cream? You interested?” I nodded, and Mom opened the ice cream, only to find it frozen solid. She put the lid back on. “We’ll give that a minute. The thing’s rock hard.” Mom placed the ice cream container in the center of the table to give it some time.
As I sat there, the ring dug through my pocket of my cut-offs and into my leg. I had meant to ask Mom about it before dinner, but she was so busy cleaning, we didn’t have time.
Uncle Bollard sat down, arms folded before his chest, and asked, “Have you made your decision, Waverly?”
I opened my mouth in shock. I figured we’d have at least ten minutes of awkward small talk before the topic came up. Oh well. Better to get it over with, I thought, but before I answered, Dad spoke up. “She isn’t going.”
Uncle Bollard’s eyes narrowed. “This is Waverly’s decision.”
“It is. She has decided to not go.” Dad’s smile tensed, and his next words poured out with assuredness. “But just so you know, while it is true that Waverly has graduated from high school, she is still not legally an adult. If Waverly were to leave with you without our consent, the police could charge you with kidnapping.”
“Matthew, don’t be like that. He’s her uncle, for God’s sake,” Mom interrupted, and she added in a whisper, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s a legal fact,” Dad said, and he took a drink of his coffee.
Uncle Bollard nodded towards Dad. “It occurs to me my offer displeases you.”
“You think?” Dad chortled. “I question why you even made it.”
Coolly, Uncle Bollard said, “As I explained, I—”
“She’s not ready at all. Not one bit.” Dad sat forward in his chair. “She isn’t going anywhere because college starts in a few months and she has plans already. If you want to spend time with your great-niece, you could stay in Barton. We have a pullout couch.” Dad gestured towards the living room.
Revolted by the idea, Bollard said, “No. I’ll not be staying in Barton. Neither Waverly nor I would benefit from such a limited location. No. I am offering Waverly my time in which she could benefit and gain valuable experience.”
“No. Nope. Okay, how about this one, I don’t like or trust you. “
“Matthew!” Mom said, “That is uncalled for.”
“Simone, let’s stop pretending. You aren’t happy with this either. We both know Leo attempted to use Bollard to scare me off. It didn’t work then, and I’m not giving in to him now.”
Back in September of 1995, my dad had fallen completely, deeply, and desperately in love with my mom. Sasha’s story, although dramatized for effect, had the emotions right. Legend had it, they’d fallen so hard and fast, by December they were ready to make things official and get hitched. Grandpa Leo was understandably angry. Considering his own rushed marriage, one might think Grandpa would be more understanding, but nope. Unprepared for his only child to get married at eighteen to a man she’d known for three months, he actively fought against it. He had plans for his daughter. She was to graduate college and get a job in a legal firm, become a lawyer, even a judge. Marriage at a young age ruined all his dreams for his little girl and, in his thinking, set her up for a life of hardships. If he had a shotgun, he would’ve unloaded a round right in Dad’s backside.
Okay, that might not have been true, but according to Grandpa, he was furious and looking for a way to end the crazy talk of the rushed marriage.
Grandpa’s plan had been simple. Delay the quickie marriage by one short month and invite my father over for dinner. One meal with Bollard, a man Grandpa, himself, had always hated, and he knew Matthew would run for the hills.
Grandpa referred to this as The Fire Trial. The details I had of the meal were sketchy. Grandpa told me I was too young to know what happened (I was ten when he first told me the story), and my parents refused to talk about it. Whatever happened, Grandpa’s plan to scare off Dad failed. Dad made it through the meal and married Mom a week later.
I sat forward. I had wondered for years about that first dinner. “What happened that night?”
“Nothing,” Mom and Dad said together.
“Something had to have happened.” I said, “I mean, if Grandpa didn’t like Uncle Bollard but then tried to use him—”
Bollard raised his hand. “Leo and I had a falling out about Helena. It created certain… tensions I would rather not go into. This did not alter my regard for the family. No matter the disagreements, Leo understood the importance of the family meal. A certain… respect existed between us.”
“But you didn’t like each other. Why?” I asked.
“Something stupid and insignificant,” he said.
“Couldn’t be that insignificant,” I replied.
“All fights that separate people from their purpose are small and stupid when you look at loss and pain. I came as soon as I heard about Leo’s death. Please understand, Helena’s illness was secondary to her suffering. Our family does not handle loss. We grow sick with it, so if it pleases you, I understand the suffering you will incur when Waverly leaves the nest.” Uncle Bollard adjusted his cuff-links.
“You're right, we will. In August because she's not leaving with you!” Dad said, and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. It was getting warm in the room. “You show up out of nowhere and make this insane offer, and if you think for a second you can waltz right in here and ruin her plans for our last
summer—”
“Enough!” Bollard exclaimed, and then I felt it: a small electrical snap like someone had given me a shock.
The aroma of coffee and cake swirled with the slight smell of sulfur.
Dad opened his mouth to continue, but no noise came out. His eyes darted around the room. He took another drink of his coffee.
“Are you all right?” Mom whispered to him, and she fanned herself, the room suddenly toasty like the air conditioner wasn’t working.
Dad’s face tensed like he was fighting something in his mind, but his head went up and down. He finished his coffee in a large gulp.
The heat of the room increased again, and I gazed over at the thermostat, wondering if Mom had accidentally switched the settings.
“Bollie, you aren’t being fair,” Grandma said. “She should have a choice, a real choice.”
“Helena, you know this must happen. Waverly is no longer safe,” Uncle Bollard replied.
Dad opened his mouth, but another wave of heat hit and Dad slouched in his chair.
“How am I unsafe in little, irrelevant, boring Barton?” I asked, and a trickle of melted ice cream escaped the lid and fell onto Mom’s good tablecloth. I struggled to raise my hand to clean it but couldn’t; it was as if the room’s gravity had increased.
However, Grandma moved without trouble. She clasped my immobile hand in hers. “Waverly, he’s correct. Princess, you must go. Last night that impertinent man came for you, but I took care of him. I won’t always be able to add to my shadows. More men will come. Please.”
The melted ice cream made a puddle on the table.
The rejection needed to come from me. Thankfully, my voice still worked. “I can’t go, Uncle. I don’t really know you, and I can’t leave my family.”
Bollard turned to me. “Waverly, you may write to your parents, and they may correspond with you. This is a great opportunity; I will show you things that will make this little world you call life nothing more than a sliver of existence.”
The heat overwhelmed my brain, and static jolted inside my head like popcorn in a microwave. The best I came up with was, “I don’t know”, but I did. I wanted to be home for the summer. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t come out and say it.
Bollard’s lips tightened, and his eyes changed color from smoke gray to iron. He raised his palm and said in a clear, exaggerated tone, “You would change your mind if your parents agreed. What say you now, Matthew? May she go?”
My head jerked back as a strong electrical pulse hit me. The air in the room grew dense, like it was filling with glue.
Dad swallowed again and again, as if his mouth was filled with thick peanut butter.
“What say you now?” Bollard commanded once more. The heat of the room reached volcanic levels, followed by a deafening silence. The house was on mute, save for the bubbling ice cream pool on the table.
“Yes,” Dad said, and even as the words issued from his lips, his face contorted in disbelief that he’d uttered them. His face was pure confliction. He struggled once more to speak, but only one word came out. “Yes.”
“Simone?” Bollard asked Mom.
She shook her head.
There was another electrical snap, this time louder and stronger.
“Simone?”
Mom’s brows furled, her lips twisted in pain, but she nodded.
My eyes, now the only part of me that moved, looked from Mom to Dad and back again. Their faces were in pain. This wasn’t right at all, and I knew more than ever that I wanted nothing to do with my uncle.
The ringing filled my head. “Waverly, what say you now?”
“Bollie, enough!” Grandma yelled.
The lid of the ice cream container bounced up and down as the rest of the hot cream boiled onto the table.
Grandma stood up. “Stop this!”
He ignored her. “We are running out of time. This is for her own good and the safety of your family.”
Sweat trickled down the center of my face, off the tip of my nose and onto my lips. I wanted to wipe the sweat away, but my hands remained rooted to the table. I tried to open my mouth but found my jaw wasn’t working. Locked.
“Helena,” Bollard said. “I know you understand. This need not be painful, but it must happen. I can do this with or without you.”
My head swayed as invisible flames lick the skin on my arms.
“Fine.” Grandma closed her eyes, and her hands rose. The hot air settled, and when she opened her eyes, a strange calm fell over me.
Calm and tranquil, my world shifted as if someone had flipped a switch. The sulfur smell dissipated, replaced by the smell of ozone after a storm.
I was okay.
Not only was I okay with going with Bollard, in fact, I wanted to go; I felt giddy about the whole thing.
Bollard’s face shone brightly his moment of victory. “Waverly, what say you now?”
I nodded. I turned to see my parents smiling, both clapping.
“Good. Thank you, Helena.” Bollard stood up. “We are leaving now. Say goodbye.”
On autopilot, I stood, a smile plastered on my face. This felt right, mostly, and I did what I was told. I hugged my parents together. “I love you.”
“Have fun,” Mom said.
“Please write,” Dad said.
“We love you,” they both said.
Grandma hugged me and whispered in my ear, “I love you, Princess. I am sorry. Don’t be angry. This is the only way.”
I told her I loved her and that I was so happy to go. This felt natural and like a decision I should have made the whole time. I didn’t even pack; I was too set to go. I grabbed my cell and charger, my purse, my Barton High sweatshirt and we rushed out the door.
Chapter 5
L’Autre Bête
My eyes opened to a sky made of sapphire glass. I stared at the blue ceiling and tried to get my bearings. Where was I? I had no clue. I put my arm before my eyes, confused.
Last night came back inch by inch as I remembered the kitchen and not wanting to go, hating the mere idea, and then changing my mind so thoroughly that all the way to the airport, I only felt happiness. Blissful to the point of idiocy, I walked up the stairs of my uncle’s private jet and then nothing.
I must have passed out then, but that made no sense. On my first plane ride? I shouldn’t have fallen asleep and not only did I sleep throughout the plane ride but also being transferred to a car. Not to mention, I slept through someone (obviously not my uncle) carrying me to this bed and leaving me here.
Things didn’t add up. No matter how much I wrestled with my memories, my brain refused to cooperate. I recalled nothing. It was gone.
The questions in my head piled up, like how I had changed my mind so fast. Impossibly fast. So fast, in fact, I wondered if Uncle Bollard had mind control abilities. I shook my head. Silly. Stupid. Mind control wasn’t real. Besides, I was still happy about going. Well, mostly happy because a slice of my mind, somewhere deep in a crease of my brain, understood this happiness wasn’t right.
As I tried to figure this out, a strange white mist collected right over my head and kept gathering until it created a small cloud. It sank lower and lower. I exhaled and, in a poof, it dissipated, and a cool mist fell to my face.
Were indoor clouds an invention rich people enjoyed that hadn’t made its way to the average home yet?
I sat up and looked around the room. Luxurious. Every piece of furniture—from the bed to the nightstands and chairs—resembled gold trees and bushes. I crawled to a bedpost and ran my hand down the cold surface. Gold. Real gold. How do you find a good furniture set that looks like a gold forest? Not Raymore and Flannigan. Not Ikea.
I got out of the bed and a second larger cloud hovered next to me. This time, I poked it. Mist fell to the icy marble floor, and it tendrilled out to the fireplace, sizzling into the flames, away into the sitting area and up the golden legged sofa and two crimson velvet armchairs, over to the walnut table, and then out and und
er the four ornate doors.
Uncle Bollard had to be through one of those doors in an adjacent room, and after I figured out where, we required a lengthy discussion about acceptable behavior and expectations.
Door Number 1 led to some strange freezer room with a massage table. A solid pass on that room. My blood ran cool and needed no help to get colder. No uncle; I slammed the door shut.
Door Number 2 opened to a bathroom as big as the downstairs of my home, with a tub the size of a small lap pool. No windows, but a large skylight stretched thirty feet over my head. The sink and mirror had a makeup chair next to it, and next to that was a large cabinet. Again, no Bollard. Getting angry, I moved on.
Door Number 3 was the closet to end all closets with rows and rows of shelves loaded with high heels, jewelry, scarves, sweaters. Racks lined the walls, brimming with dresses. Everything you could ever want or need was in there. I stepped inside as I remembered I hadn’t brought a change of clothes from home, not even a pair of underwear. I picked up a pleated teal dress from the closest rack and held it up. Shockingly, it turned out to be my size. I moved to the sweaters and examined one. It too was my size. Every pair of shoes were exactly the perfect fit.
My hairs stood up on end. Why was there a closet crammed with clothes my size? How would my uncle know my size? And I recalled my father stating his fear that Uncle Bollard wanted to take me. This seemed like an extreme amount of guessing for a man I hardly knew. Creeped out, the urge to find my uncle overwhelmed me.
No. I needed to call my parents, maybe the police. Hunting for my phone, I checked every surface, corner, and drawer in the bedroom, closet, and bathroom. I found fancy odds and ends, but nothing of mine. My bag was missing. I didn’t even have my flip-flops. All I had were the clothes on my back.
Suddenly distressed, I panicked because I couldn’t remember if the ring was in my bag. In desperation, I patted myself down and found the ring still squeezed into my shorts’ little pocket. I slipped the ring on my finger, vowing to not take it off again.