by Kenzie Hart
The sound coming out of Klara’s own mouth rings in her ears, and it is enough to drown out her thoughts.
Klara feels helpless. Like she can’t get enough air. Everything is painful and piercing. Her whole body finally gives in, and she lies still against her grandmother. Her throat and eyes are burning, and her head is pounding. The grass beneath them is cool, and a tear slips from the corner of Cordelia’s eye, watching Klara stare blankly at nothing, lying helpless in her lap.
Eddie and Charles both walk away from the pond, moving back to the house, looking for somewhere to escape. Rage fills Eddie, and he can’t help but release it.
“Do you realize how much of a twat you are?” Eddie shouts at Klara’s dad, causing everyone still remaining on the lawn to turn and stare with their mouths agape.
“Excuse me?” Charles seethes, his eyes lighting up. He doesn’t want to be doing this in front of an audience, but Edward seems to have other plans.
“You heard me,” Eddie practically screams. “Do you realize what you’ve done to your daughter? Do you understand how messed up in the head she is about her mother’s death?”
“You have no right to talk about Klara’s mother,” Charles growls back.
Eddie throws his hands into the air. “Well, someone has to. Are you that blind, or do you just not care? Klara desperately needs you. And, if you weren’t only here once every quarter and if you managed to actually communicate with her, you would see that.”
“I did what I felt was best for my daughter,” Charles replies. How dare Edward say such a thing to me.
Eddie feels like he needs to punch something but decides better. His voice catches, and he can’t decide if he wants to cry out or scream. “What’s best for your daughter is having you home. It is being able to actually grieve over losing her mother and to move forward. Do you not see that she is stuck in the past? She’s lost and confused in her head, and you’re to blame.”
A tear threatens Charles’s eye. “I’m to blame for everything then, aren’t I? My wife’s death. My daughter’s unresolved emotional trauma. Mother’s disappointment. It’s all me then; isn’t that correct?”
Eddie isn’t sure what’s happened or how Charles came to be to siding with him, but he notices Charles’s shaking voice and lowers his tone. “You’re not to blame. But you could have helped, and you didn’t.”
“And what should I have done, Edward? Tell me since you seem to know everything.” The small flip Eddie saw is now gone and replaced again with anger.
“For starters, you shouldn’t be drunk at your daughter’s party,” Eddie says, pissed off.
“What else then?” Charles says, taunting him.
If Charles wants to lay into him, then let him. Eddie can give it right back.
Eddie collects himself and decides he needs to calm down. “Look, I don’t care if you’re not over it and that you are still grieving. But you have to support Klara. Pick yourself up, Charles, for her. Because she needs you. And it seems you’ve put yourself first for long enough.”
Charles’s voice shakes again. “I didn’t know Klara had convinced herself that her mother had just died of an illness or—”
“Or what?” Eddie cuts in. “You might have actually been here for her?”
“Yes!” Charles yells out, surprising even himself.
“Well, you know now.” Eddie crosses his arms. “So, whatever you do, keep that in mind. She probably needs professional help—and your support.”
Charles runs his hands across his face, trying to make sense of everything that has happened tonight, as William approaches them.
“That’s enough,” William booms. “This isn’t the time or the place,” he pleads, looking between the two of them and the crowd of people pretending not to be staring at them all.
Eddie looks around and watches as eyes dart away from him with speed. He’s made a complete ass of himself, and he doesn’t need an audience anymore. Eddie looks at Charles’s twisted face and feels so many things at once; he doesn’t even try to place them. He storms off the lawn, moving around the house, trying to get to the front as quickly as possible. He darts around cars parked along the drive, and as he moves out of the entrance to the Kentwood Estate, he gets pissed at the hollow feeling forming in his heart.
“It all fell to shit,” Eddie says, storming into his house and tossing the box onto the table.
Rose’s eyes bulge out. She’s never seen Eddie so upset.
“Her dad’s a real tosser, and Klara is”—Eddie huffs, his chest heaving—“quite literally delusional.” He feels as though he could throw up, and it’s a horrible feeling. But the thought of Klara screaming makes him feel worse, and he covers his face, feeling like a complete ass.
Doyle moves into the room, practically seeing the steam seeping off of Eddie’s body. “I tried to tell you, Eddie. Their family … it is just all too much for you.”
Rose turns to stare at him, her mouth agape. Doyle thinks that Eddie didn’t want to listen to him, but maybe now, it is time that he does.
“What exactly do you know about the Kentwoods, Dad? And why do you seem to dislike them so much?” Eddie says, pissed off. He tries to keep his voice low, but at this point, he couldn’t care less.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why her father wasn’t there? Or how her mother had died? There were rumors when it all happened. Word went round that he’d had something to do with her death,” Doyle blurts out. If Eddie wants to know the truth, then there it is.
“He loved her,” Eddie says, furrowing his brows at his father. “He can’t even stand being around Klara; she reminds him of her mother so much.”
“Look,” Doyle says, thrusting his hands out in front of himself, “all I know is that her body was found pancaked against the ground. Whether or not she did it herself or was thrown out, who knows?”
“You knew?” Eddie says, his eyes going wide. He takes a step back, using his arms to lean against the table for support. He turns to look at his mum, who looks just as shocked as he does.
“Of course I knew! But your mum made it clear that I was to stay out of it. This is exactly why I didn’t want you to get involved with her. That house is full of darkness, Eddie.” Doyle takes a seat at the table. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but apparently, they are hashing it out now. All of it.
“Dad, you need to stop. What happened was a tragedy and was because of an illness,” Eddie replies, feeling his head fog for the thousandth time that evening.
“You don’t know that, Eddie. You yourself just said that Charles can’t even bear to look at his daughter. That he feels distraught with grief. Did you ever think that could be from guilt?”
“Doyle!” Rose exclaims.
“Now, you’re the one acting mad, Dad. Regardless, I love Klara. She has helped me figure out who I am. And what I want. She is the brightest and best person I’ve ever met,” Eddie states passionately. He isn’t sure why he’s defending Klara so much because, at the moment, he isn’t sure if she actually is that. He knows she has a good heart, but he wonders if maybe she has so much brightness because she is trying to block out the darkness in her life. Eddie always knew she had demons, but he had no idea to what extent. And he has to admit, it scares him.
“Really?” Doyle says with a laugh, sucking in air through his nostrils. “And who exactly are you then, Eddie?”
Eddie speaks without thinking, and he’s glad he does because, if he gave his words another second of thought, they would never have come out of his mouth, but they need to. “I’m never going to be what you want, Dad. Don’t you get it? I don’t want the family business. I want to study natural sciences at university.”
Rose sucks in a breath but lets it out as quickly as it went in. She knew the day would come when they would have this conversation as a family, but she hoped it would be a calm discussion. Not shouted out during a moment of heat and anger.
“Stop it, Eddie. You’re just saying that because you’re up
set, and you want to hurt me,” Doyle says, waving his hand at his son.
“No,” Eddie pleads. “I haven’t said this because I didn’t want to hurt you. But it is time. Tonight, Klara told me that I’ve been a coward. And she’s right. I need to stand up for what I want, stand up to you.”
“You’re going to make me out as a bully?” Doyle responds, taken aback.
“You’re not a bully, Dad. But you don’t exactly give me any options,” Eddie says, dropping into a chair.
“Excuse me for thinking you might like following in my footsteps,” Doyle says. “I know how much you love being outdoors. Being in the woods. I know my own son. But forgive me. I didn’t realize my legacy wasn’t enough for you.”
“Don’t do that.” Rose is the one to speak up this time. “Your son is telling you that he respects you and what you do, but it isn’t the life that he wants, Doyle. We have to accept that.”
Eddie looks between his mum and dad and can already see the disappointment forming on both of their faces.
“I don’t have to accept anything,” Doyle says, looking straight at Eddie. “If this isn’t what you want, then fine. It isn’t yours anymore. Is that what you want, Eddie?” His father doesn’t wait for an answer before pushing up off the table, leaving the kitchen.
“Not in the slightest,” Eddie replies out, his eyes not leaving the table.
“Give him time, sweetie. It’s hard for your father to accept. But I promise you, he will,” Rose says, moving to rub Eddie’s shoulder.
With his mum’s hand on his shoulder, he feels like a little boy again, and tears slip out of the corners of his eyes. Rose stays where she is, her heart breaking for her son. Eddie wipes at the tears, knowing he messed everything up.
“I think I just need some sleep, Mum. It’s been a long night,” he says, suddenly feeling exhausted.
Rose nods and watches as her broken son walks to his room. And she can’t help but feel sick to her stomach for him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Klara?” Cordelia whispers, rubbing lightly against Klara’s arm.
When Cordelia looks down at Klara, she looks at complete peace, as though the events of yesterday haven’t set into her memory yet. Klara bats open her eyes, finding Grandmother seated at the edge of her bed. The sun is shining brightly into the room, and the first thing Klara notices is Grandmother’s dressing gown. She is wearing a thick woven robe with fur trim lining the collar. Klara has rarely seen her grandmother in her dressing robe outside of her bedroom, as she believes it wildly inappropriate, and it brings a smile to Klara’s lips.
Cordelia smiles back at Klara. Her hair is engulfing her, and she looks her youthful age of seventeen, lying under the plush covers of her bed.
“I just wanted to check on you, dear. You’ve been asleep for quite some time, and I wasn’t sure if you needed anything.” Cordelia doesn’t think to tell her it is half past noon on the following day and that she slept soundly through the morning.
Klara sits up onto her elbows, and the memories of the night before come rushing back. A blush forms across her cheeks. Everything seemed like a blur. Except one event, and it is the event that brought the redness to her cheeks.
Klara closes her eyes, remembering screaming and screaming. It was as if she couldn’t stop herself, and the faces of her father and Edward come into her mind. They both looked at her in horror at first. Then, they looked helpless. Klara pushes their faces out of her mind, refocusing on the one in front of her.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” Klara says, taking Cordelia’s hands into hers. “But I would rather like to get up and come down for breakfast, if that is quite all right.”
Cordelia squeezes Klara’s hand, trying to suppress her emotions and holding back tears, but it is hard, seeing how strong Klara is. After everything that happened the day before, Klara is as sweet and kind as ever.
“Of course that is all right. But, if you feel up to it, your father would like to speak with you first,” Cordelia says hesitantly.
Klara sits up farther, pushing herself against the headboard of her bed, trying to back away from this conversation. Cordelia takes notice.
“Klara, I’ve spoken with your father all morning, and I think you should hear what he has to say,” she encourages.
Surprise flashes across Klara’s face. Normally, her grandmother is the last person to support her father, especially after the day before.
“I have to admit, Grandmother, I didn’t think Father would still be here,” Klara says openly.
“Nor did I, cookie. When he came down to breakfast this morning, I had to spike my tea just at the thought of having another conversation with him about this all.”
Klara knows her grandmother would spike her tea regardless, but she can just imagine it all now playing out in her head.
“However, we came to an understanding, and I think he deserves to talk about everything with you today, if you feel up to it.”
Klara lets go of her grandmother’s hand, pushing her hair back from her face. It was curling around her, and she needs to get some air. “All right,” Klara agrees.
“Delightful,” Cordelia replies, getting up off the bed. “Let me go get him. If your talk goes well, I thought we might go sit by the pond for a picnic, the three of us. Snack on those delicious macarons your father brought us from London.” Cordelia adds the last sentence in with a smile. Just like they used to.
Klara’s eyes go wide. “That sounds perfect.”
Klara can’t help but be surprised at the thought of them all sitting together peacefully. It’s also quite as shocking that Grandmother would sit on the ground for a picnic. For at least the last ten years, her idea of a picnic was a fully set garden table with a minimum of three courses or a tea involving sandwiches, cakes, and of course, spiked tea.
As Cordelia leaves the room, Klara isn’t sure what to do or what to say to her father. She doesn’t know why she repressed her mother’s suicide or how to handle it now. She feels lost and unsure about everything.
“Klara?” echoes into her room as a light knock comes from the door.
“Come in,” Klara calls out.
Her father steps in, walking to her bed and taking a seat where her grandmother just was. Her father looks around her room, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.
“I have a lot I want to discuss with you, Klara,” Charles starts out, fidgeting with his hands.
“Grandmother said something to that effect,” Klara replies back, dropping her eyes to her bedding.
Charles takes Klara’s hands into his and connects with her gaze. “First off, I want to apologize for my behavior last night. That was completely unfair to you, and it was unacceptable behavior, especially for such a special occasion as your birthday.”
She doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods.
Charles clears his throat and then continues on. “I heard a lot last night—from you, Mother, and Edward. And I’ve come to the conclusion that all of you are right. I’ve been drowning in self-pity, and I didn’t realize that I had been taking you down with me.”
“Oh, Father,” Klara says, squeezing his hand. She doesn’t like to see anyone upset, let alone her father.
“No, it is all true. I haven’t been there for you. I have been selfish. And I need to pick myself up. It was a wake-up call for me that I need to make some changes—for myself and for you.”
“Really?” Klara says, surprised.
“Yes,” Charles says, looking at his beautiful daughter. “I have failed you as a father, Klara, and I do not want to continue to do so. I need to be here for you. Seeing you last night,” Charles says, a knot forming in his throat, “I didn’t realize how bad things had been for you with all of this.”
“Father,” Klara says, a blush forming on her cheeks as she nervously twirls a piece of her hair, “last night is quite embarrassing to discuss. I’ve never felt so vulnerable and out of control. I’m not sure what came over me.”
“Klara, yesterday, I think we both experienced some of the lowest points in our lives. Now, we must work through everything that came up within us during that time and work toward healing those pains and becoming a family again.”
“I would like that,” Klara says, a small smile coming to her face. It isn’t a happy smile, but it isn’t a sad one either.
“I think you need to understand why it has been so hard for me. Your mother was filled with so many emotions. You remind me so much of her in that way. Your happiness. Your spirit. Your hair,” Charles says, rubbing his hand against his daughter’s head and down her curly hair. “She was always free, like you are, and I loved that about her, but then the depression set in, and there was nothing I could do. We tried pills, therapy, vacations. She fell into this darkness that she could never climb out of, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her out of it. When she took her own life, I just couldn’t stay here. But I couldn’t take you either. Seeing you every day killed me. It was a constant reminder of my failures. You remind me of her so much, Klara, and I couldn’t bear the guilt that I couldn’t save your mother. For you. After all, I’m the doctor, yet I couldn’t even save my own wife.”
“I always thought you just couldn’t bear being with me because I reminded you of her too much,” Klara says, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Now, I tell you this because I want you to know, that has changed. I will be home more. I want to be a part of your life, Klara.”
Klara’s eyes go wide, and a grin comes to her face. Her insides instantly warm. “I would like that, Father.”