by Lee, Nadia
It’s obvious he adores Aunt Margot and wants nothing more than her acceptance and love. But she ignored him more or less all evening long without being overtly rude, only because that’s beneath her. It’s like…she isn’t even proud of him. Like she wishes he were anywhere but here, under the same roof.
If I thought she was incapable of being loving or sweet, I’d just feel bad for Tony, but that isn’t the case. The harder I work, the more I accomplish, the prouder and happier she is with me. She’s never been stingy with praise, and she shows a lot of physical affection, too. The only thing Tony wanted was a kiss on her cheek after he sang for us so brilliantly, but she wouldn’t even give him that.
I’ve always admired Aunt Margot and thought she could do no wrong. But today… I almost hate her for being so cruel to her own son and wish she’d given him even a quarter of the love she’s lavished on me. She has to know what he wants and is purposely withholding it to torment him. I saw the cruel light in her gaze when she thought nobody was looking. She was feeding off his misery.
But why? Any mother would be proud of a son like Tony—tall, handsome, intelligent, educated, polite…
I turn and settle on my side, then give up and climb out of bed. I’m not getting any sleep at this rate.
I pad downstairs to the small room in the back. Aunt Margot bought a digital piano for me when I was in middle school, so I could practice with the headphones on and not bother anybody. Some finger exercises by Hanon should help. Hanon is always meditative.
I push the door open. It moves soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. I start to go inside, the room lit only by tonight’s half-moon. His back to the door, Tony is at the piano, playing a hauntingly melancholy melody. The volume is set so low, it’s barely audible. An open bottle of hard liquor sits on the piano, more than half empty, and he swigs it before continuing.
I bite my lip. The moment is too private for me to intrude, but I can’t help but worry about him. There’s nothing capable or controlled about the way he’s sitting at the piano. Not even a hint of the cocky guy he was before kissing me. He looks so…desolate. Broken. If I were just a little braver, I’d reach out and touch him.
He’s upset enough to be drinking. Let him be.
I bite my lip, but finally decide to retreat. However, to my embarrassment, my slippers squeak a little on the floor as I start to turn back.
“You can laugh. It’s fine.” Tony’s words are slightly slurred. “I was pathetic…am pathetic.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Should’ve never come back to Tempérane,” he continues. “Should’ve known better.” He stands up, his fist tight around the neck of the bottle, and takes another long swallow. “Should’ve known I’ll never be able to make up for what I took from her.” He sways. “Should’ve been the one who died.”
“Tony.”
“Why should I be the one to live? She hates me. She’ll always hate me.”
Suddenly he folds like an abandoned accordion, his elbow resting on his knees and his face buried in a hand.
Sympathy stirs. He looks so, so lonely, and I can’t leave him like this, not after such bitter, self-loathing honesty. I want him to know he’s worthy of living.
I sit next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t think like that.”
Tension has turned his muscles into rigid knots, but he shakes anyway, trying to hold on to some vestige of control.
Whatever happened between Aunt Margot and Tony… It’s in the past…happened before I arrived in Tempérane. He was a just kid back then, and he doesn’t deserve this kind of torment from a mother he obviously loves. Nobody does. “I know you’re a good person, Tony,” I whisper. “Don’t let anybody tell you different.”
And I continue holding him in the dark, to let him know he isn’t alone.
* * *
Anthony
About an hour later, I carry Ivy through the dark and silent house to her bedroom and tuck her in. She fell asleep, her arm around my shoulders.
It probably makes me contemptible that I took comfort in her embrace. But I did…because I was feeling weak and overly self-indulgent.
I shouldn’t, though. It’s only going to end up hurting me. And her.
I stroke her warm cheek—a barely-there grazing of my fingers over her skin—then hold Ivy’s hand. I can’t remember the last time someone offered me quiet comfort the way she did…held me like I deserved unconditional acceptance.
Does Ivy know I resent her from time to time? How can I not, when she has Mother’s love and I don’t? Would she still have comforted me if she knew?
The innocent sweetness in her eyes tells me she would have. She would have considered it a simple human gesture. And as much as I feel humbled and touched by that, a small part of me is alarmed.
Ivy deserves Mother’s love. She’s obviously been filling the gaping hole in Mother’s heart that I created. I can never forget the devastation on her face when she realized what I’d done.
There was so much warm, sticky blood all over my hands and clothes. It was so hot, spilling out of Katherine’s little body.
I pressed my hands over the wound as hard as I could, praying that if I did a good job, maybe she wouldn’t lose so much blood and die. But I wasn’t good enough. Katherine panted softly, each breath laced with the chocolate-minty smell of the sweets she loved. The blood poured through my fingers. I started to feel sick, the sound of my heart like thunder in my ears.
Katherine, no! Don’t die! Please don’t die!
I felt dizzy from shaking my head so hard. My chest was so tight, I couldn’t breathe. The hair on my neck bristled, making the area prickly and cold. It felt like a gentle farewell touch from Katherine’s spirit as she was leaving…forever.
Jonas had to pull me away from Mother as she fainted, so I didn’t taint her with the blood on my hands.
Now, sitting on the edge of Ivy’s bed, I look down upon her sleeping face. I don’t know what Mother will do if I taint her with my presence.
“Don’t waste yourself on someone like me,” I whisper, an ache forming in my chest. “I’ll only bring you down.”
It’s very possible that Mother might end up hating Ivy for being nice to me, just like she instantly reviled Bolt and the poor assistant…and like she slapped Edgar for daring to speak up on my behalf. I wouldn’t want that for Ivy, who doesn’t have parents to turn to. Father would never side with her, not if it meant upsetting Mother.
Slowly, gently, I disengage my hand from Ivy’s. Once our fingers no longer touch, cold rushes through me until I’m shivering, bereft and alone.
Chapter Eleven
Anthony
When I hear knocking at my door the next morning, I glance at the clock beside my bed. Not even six. My eyes feel like they’re full of sand, but it’s too late to sleep now. I roll out of bed and open the door. It’s Father. In a suit.
“Morning.”
He frowns. “You look terrible.”
“You look good.” And I’m not just saying it to be a smartass. He looks imposing, sharp, his eyes focused and observant. Every bit the CEO of Blackwood Energy.
“Thanks. Listen, your mother doesn’t have anything in particular to do today. On days like this, she usually relaxes and reads. Stick by her, humor her and spend some time with her. Let her see the good in you. You were her favorite son,” he adds in a quiet voice.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” The last thing I want to do is upset her with my presence.
“I want my wife back,” he says tautly, a hint of anger and grief flashing in his eyes. “I’ve done everything, Tony. This is the least you can do, even if it hurts. You will make her forgive you.”
Seeing the pain on my father’s strong face is all it takes for me to acquiesce. After all, I’m the one who caused it. “I understand.”
“Good.”
So I make myself presentable and join her. I don’t try to engage much. Just stay in the same room, reading
my books while she’s reading hers.
At the same time, I do my best to avoid Ivy. I don’t want her, in her innocence, to do anything to upset Mother. She might inadvertently say or do something to defend me or hint that Mother should forgive me, but that would only result in hardening Mother’s heart and earning Ivy the Bolt treatment.
And over the next four days, I do successfully spend quite a bit of time with Mother without running into Ivy even once. Even Harry stays away, as though he knows what I’m trying to do. It wouldn’t surprise me if Father also spoke with him.
But Mother doesn’t soften, not even a little. She ignores me completely, absorbed in her books and some charity work she’s doing for the town. At times I feel like a piece of furniture.
By the fifth morning, I’m skimming the pages without absorbing a word. Am I wasting everyone’s time? Should I be more forceful? Maybe even ask Mother point-blank what I need to do to make her not hate me?
She clucks her tongue, making me raise my head. “What is it?” I ask softly, bracing myself to be ignored.
She tenses, then says, “A minor complication.”
“Can I help?” Please say yes. Give me an inch. A small opening. Anything. Please, please, please.
She scrutinizes me, her gaze roaming every square inch of my face. Then she drops her eyes, her mouth flattening.
“Mother? I’m sure I can help.”
“No.”
Suddenly I can’t stand it anymore. Nine fucking years of wishing, hoping, praying—all so she would look at me without hate or blankness. I know we can never go back to way things were before. Katherine will never come back. All I want is absolution and a few crumbs of warmth from my mother. I want my family to be happy. I want to be able to breathe without feeling like there’s a huge, immovable weight pressing on my chest.
“What will it take?” I nearly croak.
“Excuse me?”
“What do I need to do for you to forgive me?”
She regards me. “If I tell you, will you do it? Even if it’s something you wouldn’t do otherwise?”
“Yes. Anything. I’ll swallow broken glass if that’s what’s going to take.” I mean every syllable of what I’m saying.
She looks at me long and hard. I wait, suspended, torn between hope and dread.
Finally, she shakes her head. “No. I won’t. I can’t tell you.”
I burst out of my chair, my entire body clenched and burning with anger and frustration. “Why not?”
She doesn’t flinch. “To earn forgiveness, remorse should come from the heart. Without any ulterior motive.”
“Mother—” My voice breaks.
“You don’t deserve to be forgiven, Anthony.”
Pain lances through me. The weight on my chest triples, breathing becomes hard, and I feel like my knees are about to fold.
Even as I struggle with my anguish, I see the grief on every line of her face—the deathly pallor on her skin. I did that to her nine years ago. I…I screwed up everything.
“Then hate me, but don’t torment yourself,” I beg her. I just want her to be happy. Not suffering because of me.
“I do hate you,” she says, her voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “I hate myself, too, for ever thinking a monster like you was pure or perfect.”
She couldn’t have delivered a more devastating blow. My whole body starts to shake.
“Would it make you feel better if I died?” The painful words tear from my throat. I dread the answer, but I almost wish she’d just tell me to go slit my wrists. My life is pure agony, and now that I know she’ll never forgive me, death seems like a better, simpler option.
“Oh no,” she says. “I don’t want you anywhere near my Katherine. Even in the afterlife.”
Anger, frustration, self-loathing and despair flow through me, each a deadly and acidic poison to my soul. Darkness swallows me, leeching all the warmth from my life. My teeth chatter, shivers running through me.
I realize then…I may never be in light or warmth again.
Chapter Twelve
Ivy
Since the dinner that night, I don’t see Tony anywhere. Not at any of the family meals, not around the house. It’s as though he’s hiding from me. Is he upset I saw him when he was vulnerable? Or something else?
I want to know if he’s all right, if there’s anything I can do to make him feel better. Staying home makes me restless, but a couple of days ago when I went to a music store, people stared and whispered. I caught a few “Anthony”s, and it was all I could do not to tell them if they had something to say, they should just say it to his face. The only thing that kept me in check was the knowledge that Tony would be furious if I did that. He totally hates it when I tell him he’s not so bad, even though there are warm, delighted glimpses tinged with gratitude in his eyes whenever I call him a good guy. It’s weird.
Uncle Lane is busy at work, and he leaves early and comes home late. Edgar, too, so he’s hardly ever over. And Harry behaves like nothing’s wrong. But that’s Harry. He could put someone in a burning building at ease with a smile and a few calm words.
After six days, I can’t stand it. I don’t know exactly what caused Tony to pull his vanishing act, but I know it has something to do with what happened at that dinner and Aunt Margot’s behavior. The tension in the household is awful, and I want Aunt Margot to forgive him for whatever he did wrong and just…chill. No one should have to suffer through a night like that, especially not someone who’s obviously worked really hard to make his family proud.
I’m sitting at the piano, my pink dress demurely arranged around my legs…but I’m half-assing Chopin’s “Torrent” étude. Tatiana would literally wail, with the back of her hand thrown to her forehead, if she heard me play like this. But it’s impossible to focus when I’m trying to figure out what’s making Tony stay away.
Sister killer…
My fingers hit all the wrong notes, and I stop. Oh my God. There’s no way that hateful Mrs. Wentworth could be right. But if Aunt Margot thinks Tony had something to do with his sister’s death, that would explain why she treats him so coldly. But the news didn’t have anything about him being connected to the tragedy. And nobody in the house has ever hinted Tony had anything to do with what happened to Katherine.
On the other hand…
Maybe there’s more to the story.
Who can I ask? I run through the possibilities and end up with Harry. I’ll just have to weasel it out of him somehow.
I check the clock on the wall. Almost lunchtime. He’ll come down from his room soon, if he hasn’t already. Although he’s skinny, he eats like a horse with a stomach worm.
I hurry toward the dining room. Sure enough, he’s already seated and munching on some chips. I sit next to him, trying for an innocent smile.
“Oh no.” He blinks twice. “You’ve got that look. Don’t ask me to play Schubert with you. Not with Tony around.”
Perfect. “Is Tony joining us for lunch?”
“Doubt it.” He sniffs. “He’s probably packing to fly to L.A.”
“What?” I put a hand over my mouth. God, I didn’t mean to be so…loud. But it never occurred to me that Tony would just pack up and leave, especially when things aren’t resolved with his mom.
The idea of not ever seeing him again slices me like a razor. His faint, self-deprecating smiles, the way he hates for people to think he’s good, even though he tries so hard, the way he craves certain acknowledgment and affection but is too vulnerable to actually just reach for them—they all touch the side of me that was forever changed when my parents died. Because eight years ago, I was also too scared to make a fuss or demand anything, lest my new family decide they didn’t want me after all. I did my best to make them happy, make them proud…and unlike Tony, I got the love and acceptance I wanted. It’s terrible that he doesn’t have that from his parents, the two people who should love him more than anyone.
“Does Aunt Margot know?” I ask, unable to stop
myself. “What about Uncle Lane?”
“Dunno. But Tony said Ryder asked him to join him there, and I’m sure he’ll go. It’s going to be awesome.”
“Oh really? How? And who is this Ryder person?”
“Ryder’s a model and actor. Tony’s best friend. And apparently he’s getting projects that are going to make him a star. I met the guy once. Unbelievably good-looking. It’s going to be wild—parties, girls…you name it.” Harry sighs longingly.
I want to throw up at the whole idea. Especially the “girls” part. Reminds me of the dickface CT, my first boyfriend at Curtis. He never failed to flirt and hang out with all the girls who shot him smiles and kisses…while ignoring me the entire time.
I don’t think Tony is as shallow as CT, but that doesn’t mean I’m still okay with him surrounded by older, worldly models and starlets, who undoubtedly hang out with his model-slash-actor friend. “When did Tony tell you about this…invitation to L.A.?”
“A couple days ago.”
My fingers shake. I can’t believe Tony didn’t say anything.
I can barely eat lunch, my gut churning. I want to find Tony and confront him…to see if he’s really going and—if so—when. And if he’s okay with the way things are between him and Aunt Margot. I need to know if he hasn’t felt any of the connection I felt with him—the kiss, the private moments we’ve shared, the Schubert we played together. But most importantly, I want to see him because I know I’m going to miss him, and I have a feeling if he leaves, I may never see him again. His complexity fascinates me. It’s like looking at a hard piece of music for the first time and trying to figure out how to play it so you can understand every nuance, every emotion.
I dump the unfinished lunch, go to his room and knock. No response.
Oh, come on. You can’t ignore me like this!
I raise my fist to bang on the door again.
“Miss Ivy, Master Tony has gone out,” Jonas says, emerging from Aunt Margot’s study.