by Cindy Miles
His smile warmed me. “Guess I’m just used to Olivia. God, that girl can eat.”
I remembered that she could.
I remembered envying it at some point, too.
When our food came, we ate in not-too-uncomfortable silence. I sensed Kane was thinking about me and my awkward ways. About Thanksgiving. About him being with Brax and Olivia, and me being, well. In my own direction. Soon, though, we were finished, and on our way out he grabbed two mints at the hostess’ desk from a small wicker basket. He handed me one, and we both peeled the wrappers off and popped the mint in our mouths. As we left the restaurant, he draped his arm over my shoulders and pulled me against him. I liked the way it felt; warm, protective even. I fought the urge to sink into him. Sag against him. Tell him everything. To stay with him. Go to Olivia’s folks for Thanksgiving. To see what it would be like to be…normal.
I didn’t. Didn’t do any of that.
At the car, he turned me to him, his arms sliding down my waist. Kane’s touch stirred something inside of me: a heat, a fire, a desire I was brand new to. I understood it; I didn’t know how to handle it. He lowered his head and kissed me, and the taste of the mint he’d just eaten lingered on my tongue.
“I hadn’t counted on you, Harper Belle,” he said quietly. “You came out of nowhere.”
I simply looked at him, surprised by his words.
In his eyes, I heard more; could see he wanted to say a lot more to me, but didn’t. Wouldn’t. Maybe it was too soon? Maybe he was unsure of me. Just as I was of him. Either way, he swiped his lips across mine once more, and this time I allowed myself to breathe him in, sink into Kane. He groaned, deepened the kiss, and I was alarmed at how the fire inside of me flamed.
“Call me when you get to your folks’ place, okay?” he said, then kissed the tip of my nose. “Drive safe. Watch out for idiots.”
My face cracked as I smiled against the cold air. “I will. You do the same.”
“Olivia’s driving, thank God,” he teased. “Queen of safe.”
As I pulled away from the Ridgeview, I watched Kane as he watched me leave. Legs braced wide, hands shoved in his leather jacket pockets, hair sticking up every which way. He stood that way until I turned out of the little causeway leading from the restaurant. When I turned onto the main road, my breath eased from me. I’d been holding it for what reason? Hoping to keep hidden the things I wished to hide from Kane? Why did he matter so much?
Never did I expect the feelings I was experiencing. Had I kissed some random stranger, would I still be experiencing the same sensations? That fiery desire that, even now, miles down the road from him, still burned inside of me? Or was it happening because of him? Because we connected in a way I was too scared to explore. Too scared to admit.
I had too much old, bitter, baggage. I had that…thing inside of me that I wanted no one to ever see. Too much pain accompanied me. I was consumed with it. It’d never go away and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.
As I drove, and got to that half-way mark between Winston and Belle House, my anxiety leveled out. I knew it wouldn’t last; it was only because here, I was in the middle. Nothing was expected of me. I was not at school, where everyone thought I was a pampered upper-crust socialite who’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth. And I wasn’t at Belle House, where I wasn’t really a Belle at all, and where I was more like an unwanted pregnancy; an orphan. A mistake. A reject.
In the middle, I could be me. No one cared if I was pretty. No one cared if I had money. Not one soul cared if my parents had been drug addicts, or if I’d been caught in the middle. That’d it all been because of me. My fault.
Here, I simply was me, and I breathed.
Almost seven hours from Winston, when the very last rays of dusk reached over the dense pines and cottonwoods and flowering pear trees, the lane leading to Belle House emerged from the shadows. I didn’t need to put on my turn signal. No one ventured out here. Ever. Not anymore.
I turned up the lane and began my ascent, climbing the narrow lane now overgrown with underbrush. The wayward branches swiped at the side of my car, like fingers trying to grab at me, pull me into the dark depths of the woods. My breathing became harsh, fast, and I hit the accelerator. Gravel, pine needles and dirt spat out behind me as I climbed faster. I always hated this drive. Hated it.
Finally, I crested the hill and the darkened halls of Belle House greeted me once again. It reminded me of a toothless old man, grinning at me from the darkness. My headlight beams arced over the pillars of the entrance; dark, curtains drawn, lights extinguished. The cast iron lamp posts lay void of their flames; the circle drive empty. Remnants of the past year’s storms lay strewn all over the lawn, the verandas; pine branches, old straw, pinecones and debris. I parked close to the veranda and with a heavy sigh, killed the engine and climbed out. Grabbing my overnight bag and my flashlight, I eased the door closed and headed to the entrance.
Who would’ve ever thought that, in a grand magnificent mansion such as Belle House, the key would be kept beneath the doormat? It almost made me laugh, but when I kicked the corner of the mat up with the toe of my pump, there it was, just where I’d left it. I bent down, grasped the copper key, and slipped it into the lock. For the first time in almost a year, I let myself in.
My hand slipped inside first, reaching for the light switch, and when I found it and flipped it, light flooded the breezeway. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Turned my flashlight off.
Home.
As I made my way to the living room, I flipped on every switch in the house until it blazed with light. Furniture sat like old ghosts, shrouded in sheets, awaiting life to enter once again. It never would. I hurried through the rest of Belle House, opening every door, turning on every single light and lamp—except for the third floor. I stood there, on the platform of the second floor, looking up. Instantly, my heart began to pound. Voices began to whisper in my head, and I slapped my hands over my ears to make them stop. Never, ever did I venture up there. Where that room was. That cramped little closet no better than the dank kitchen cabinet I’d once hidden in. No, never again. Unwanted images began to streak across my memory, and my breathing increased. “No!” I yelled out. “Stop it!”
I turned and ran back downstairs as fast as I could.
After the lights were all ablaze I headed straight for the hearth in the hall. I dropped my overnight bag, and quickly stacked a few leftover logs across the grate. Poking shards of fat lighter beneath, I grasped a long match from the canister, struck it, and set the flame. Soon the aged wood began to crackle, pop, and I sat back and watched it spark to life. The smoky woodsy scent soothed me, in a way.
Outside, the wind picked up, and it creaked against the windows and doors, and my thoughts swarmed in my head. Thoughts of Kane, especially, and how much I’d wished he was here with me. But he couldn’t be. He never could be. For him to be here would mean he’d learn my secrets. Learn of the nightmares. And I didn’t want him to know that. Then, they shifted, my thoughts. To this big empty mansion, how there wasn’t anyone here but me. Never would be. I’d called a few days before, knowing I’d be making the journey here and knowing I couldn’t tolerate staying the night in the dark. So I had the electricity turned on, and although it’d just be for a few days, it was better than letting anyone at Winston see who the real Harper Belle was. A crazy orphan with a dead family. Dead, all except Corinne Belle, who’d been in Oakview Nursing Home for the past year and a half, wearing adult diapers and having to be fed through a tube in her stomach. She still had me, though. Kept me prisoner. Belle House? All the staff had been let go. The place deserted, left to me upon the death of my grandmother. I didn’t want it; I wanted nothing from her. But she’d made sure otherwise.
Despite Corinne’s stroke and fading health, there was nothing left. Nothing now but an enormous bank account and the good Belle name, according to whom you spoke to. This was my punishment. My legacy. And tomorrow, Thanksgiving, I’d duti
fully go to Oakview and visit Corinne Belle. She’d pounded it into my head, from the very first day I’d arrived at Belle House, that I was privileged to live under her care, and under the Belle name. She’d enforced it in me that, no matter how rich she was, I hadn’t earned a penny of it and that I’d best plan to pay her back for everything, one day. She’d supplied the best-tailored clothes, for Belle appearances, of course. The Lexus. Nothing more.
So for as long as I remembered, I saved every extra penny I had. To pay her back. Otherwise, she’d lock me away, she said. In a dark room with no clothes and no food where no one could ever, ever rescue me. She said I was mentally insane, an orphaned child with psychological problems no one would ever want. And if I wanted to make it in life, I’d keep it all quiet. Hide my psychosis or someone would see. And if that happened, she’d have me committed to an asylum. One far, far away so no one would ever suspect anything. So, I had hidden it all very well. Even after her stroke. Because somehow, she still scared the living hell out of me. Somehow, she could still see everything I did. And if it was something she disapproved of? If she thought sinful? There would be consequences.
Opening my overnight bag, I pulled out my cell phone. A missed call and two texts from Kane. There’d certainly be a consequence if Corinne found out about him.
She never would. I’d make sure of it.
KANE: DID YOU MAKE IT OK? LET ME KNOW YOU MADE IT OK?
KANE: HARPER? LET ME KNOW YOU’RE SAFE, OK?
My heart flipped at his words, and I wanted to call him back. I wanted to hear his voice. Instead, I sent him a text, explaining my lack of signal but yes, I’d made it safely. Then I powered off my phone before he could text me back, and shoved it into my bag. I pulled out the pair of thin blankets I’d rolled tightly and brought with me, opened one before the fire on the floor, and set the other close to it. Then I pulled out a bottle of water. A sandwich I’d bought earlier from the café. And my copy of Sense and Sensibility. I sat, read by the fire, and ate my meal.
As I lay on the floor later, book face-down against my chest, I turned and stared into the fire before letting my eyes drift shut. Kane’s face appeared; chiseled, handsome, perfect. I certainly hadn’t counted on him. His beautiful, flawless skin; rich, coffee eyes that knew way too much. He’d gotten to me, and I’d allowed it. How? So careful, all these years. Yet all it took was…him. I felt his lips on mine, and I found myself craving it, his scent, his touch—even his voice. Is this what it would feel like when he finally left Winston? Would I crave him like this? As I wavered off into what would surely be a restless night of sleep, I sighed, and kind of wished I hadn’t met Kane McCarthy at all.
The next morning came faster than I’d expected, which was a good thing after all. The dark room on the third floor usually haunted me all night, every night, but this time, it hadn’t. But my bones and joints were stiff from lying on the floor. The fire had nearly burned out, and I dragged myself from beneath the blanket and threw a couple more logs on to get the heat generating again.
I didn’t waste the apple and banana I’d brought; I was expected to eat with Corinne, a traditional Thanksgiving dinner served by the nursing home staff. So instead I ignored the pangs in my stomach and tidied up in the bathroom just off the kitchen. A half-bath, it was big enough for my needs. I washed my face, reapplied my make-up, and swept my hair back in a sleek ponytail.
I inspected myself. No one would be able to tell I’d slept on a floor in a deserted, derelict old mansion.
By nine I was on my way to Oakview. My nerves didn’t really kick in until I pulled into the parking lot. Once the one-story brick building’s entrance caught my eye, I knew what lay just beyond it. To the left, down the first corridor.
I had to make myself breathe several deep, long steadying breaths before I got out of the car. Closing my eyes briefly, I gathered myself. My thoughts. My composure. Then I stepped out into the brisk November air and strode to the entrance.
The moment I opened the door, the inevitable scent of age, urine and bleach hit me square in the nose. I pasted my smile on, waved to the ladies at the front desk, and made my way down the corridor to Corinne’s room. Number thirty-eight. The door was ajar, and I swallowed, breathed, stepped inside.
“Hello, Grandmother Belle,” I said with a strong voice. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of it, and they soon found me by the door. I noticed her pure white hair had been recently brushed and pulled up into a small knot on the top of her head. Deep lines cut into the skin of her powdery white face. Only the thin line of red lips marked any other color in her skin. I walked closer, and those cold blue orbs followed me the entire time. They were the only body parts she had control over, those eyes. They looked like ice as I sat in the chair beside her bed. “Happy Thanksgiving,” I said quietly. And then I didn’t say anything else at all.
Corinne Belle’s stare bore into me, and I knew she loathed my being there. Loathed her own condition; once a proud, strong, controlling woman, she now had to rely on attendants for her each and every need. I knew my being there irritated her; or perhaps my appearance didn’t suit her, because her breathing picked up. My eyes watched her chest rise and fall, faster and faster, until little grunts escaped her lips.
Immediately, as though she’d stricken me, I sat up. Folded my hands in my lap. And forced myself to look into those icy blue eyes. “Just so you know, I’m making all A’s this semester again,” I told her. “My GPA remains a 4.0. And our sorority just raised three thousand dollars at the Turkey Run for the homeless.”
Still, she puffed. Breathed. Grunted. Glared.
Panic began to rise in my throat. I had no idea what she wanted. I know what I wanted. To run. Escape. To never ever set foot inside Oakview ever again.
Or to have to look into those frigid eyes of the woman who hated me. Who locked me in the dark room. Who humiliated me.
Hated me, yet had given me every Belle heir dime.
It made no sense. Not three months ago, Corinne’s attorney had contacted me, telling me that just prior to her stroke, she’d made changes to her will, leaving everything to her only living relative. Me. I wanted so badly to tell Corinne Belle that I wasn’t going to ever take her money. That I’d pay back every dime she sent. Every nickel she’d sank into my education, I’d give back. Somehow. Someday. It was dark money. And it wasn’t mine.
Why was I still so terrified of her?
“There you are! Ms. Belle, you’re looking just as beautiful as ever!”
I leapt in my seat at the sound of Corinne’s nurse, Ms. Baker. A sweet woman in her fifties, she’d been caring for Corinne ever since her stroke. She had a cleft chin, which had somehow always fascinated me. And she always greeted me as though I was a slice of buttered bread. If she only knew.
Still, I smiled. “Happy Thanksgiving, Ms. Baker,” I said.
“You visit a while and I’ll bring your tray in once dinner is served,” she said, and her eyes glowed with a certain spark of joy that I found myself envying. “It’s exceptionally tasty this year!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. She’d said the same thing last year. “Thank you.”
Ms. Baker hurried out but left the door slightly ajar; that left a slice of relief, a way of escape if needed. I slid my gaze to Corinne; those screaming eyes blazed at me, and I sat in silence, staring at my hands. Inside, my stomach knotted; part of me wanted to tell her things. Tell her about Kane. But I knew I dared not. It didn’t matter that she was stricken with silence and immobility. She had power over me and she knew it. She had people watching me. At the first sign of my disobedience, she’d send them for me. To be taken to the asylum. God, I didn’t want to go there.
I felt her gaze bear a hole in the side of my head, and I forced myself to turn and look at her. Tears gathered in my eyes, and I hated that I couldn’t stop them. I said nothing. I’d told her about school. About the sorority. My grades. What more did she need to know?
Blessedly, Ms. Baker returned soon with a pl
astic sectioned tray of turkey and gravy, stuffing, yellow squash, and cranberry sauce. On the side, a slice of pumpkin pie and a cup of sweet iced tea. “Thank you,” I offered, accepting the tray and setting in my lap.
“Oh, you’ll need these,” she grinned, handing me a plastic bag of silverware and a napkin. “Enjoy!” She checked Corinne’s feeding pump that made a click-click sound every so often as it dumped a thick tan liquid into her stomach. At the door, Ms. Baker stopped and threw me a warm smile. “You’re such a sweet granddaughter, you know? Coming here every holiday to sit with your grandmother.” She turned her cheerful gaze to Corinne. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Belle?”
My grandmother’s fiery glaze darkened as it shot toward Ms. Baker, who only laughed. Corinne starting grunting again, her chest rising and falling with her aggravated breath. “Oh, don’t get yourself worked up in a tizzy over there. Enjoy your visit!”
My gaze shot to my grandmother. Fury poured out of her eyes like lava streams. Before the stroke, had anyone dared say something like that to her? Ms. Baker left the room, but Corinne’s stare remained at the door, her anger reflecting onto someone else other than me. I nibbled at my tray—barely a bite from each except the squash, which was just too rubbery for my stomach to tolerate. After a sip or two of tea, I set the tray aside, rose, and smoothed my suit.
“I should be getting back,” I said quietly, and Corinne’s gaze fell on me once more. Icy blue fire shot forth, and she began to pant. Grunt. Breathe hard. With my hand shaking, I reached for hers and grasped it. It was cold, thin, veiny. “I’ll see you in a few weeks,” I said softly.
Then I lifted my tray and left Corinne Belle’s room.
As I deposited my barely-touched meal to the kitchen, I noticed the staff was cheery and singing carols in the main hall, putting up their artificial Christmas tree. Boxes lay about, some opened with ornaments and red fuzzy bows spilling out the top. Ms. Baker waved goodbye as I headed to the lobby, and I didn’t catch a full breath until I’d stepped outside and closed the doors behind me.