He peered across the distance to the party. “Not in the mood to celebrate?”
He took a step closer.
I stiffened and backed into the willow. The branches swept passed me to create a partition between us as if knowing I needed protection.
He cocked his head as he moved slowly up the mound of grass. I watched as he reached, powerless to stop him as he pulled the leafy curtain aside. His small hesitation confused me.
I lifted my chin more in defiance. I almost hoped he would go ahead and start his torment with the estate crawling with witnesses.
“I'm not going to hurt you,” he chuckled.
I realized that the way I was pressed against the tree and staring at him wasn’t quite as intimidating as I hoped. I probably looked like a scared, silly little girl.
His words brought a fleeting doubt across my mind. I smirked as cruelly as I could manage through the fear. I refused to believe his lies.
I took a deep breath and a step forward. The anxiety in my chest made me want to run. Regardless of his intentions, I wouldn't be weak. I would fight him as hard as I could.
My gaze dragged from his curls to his shiny shoes, weighing him in my mind. He appeared strong beneath the suit, though as willowy as Mother. He had a great advantage in height, which I wasn't used to.
I began to slip out of my heels. I wouldn't keep my balance in them if I had to swing.
His head tilted and his eyes bore into mine. He knew I didn't believe him. He feigned an expression of confusion and bewilderment. "What's wrong, Ruth?"
I shook my head at him. My teeth dug into my tongue. He wouldn't use those sultry brown eyes to sway and manipulate me.
He began to advance. My muscles tensed. I turned my jaw as he neared, bracing myself as his hand lifted. I waited, trying not to close my eyes even though I couldn’t see through the crimson fear.
I held my breath for so long I saw stars that didn't belong to the sky. I peeked to see what was taking so long. His hands were raised as though approaching a stray animal. His face was a mask of grief.
Gratitude washed over me as my muscles relaxed. His body language and sincere expression of pain made me wince.
I had never felt more self-conscious. I wanted to run away and not be wilting beneath his questioning gaze.
So I did. I turned and fled from under the cover of the willow. I ran the length of the pond and almost made it to the moonlit line of trees when a hand clamped above my elbow.
I was jerked around and pulled close to the strong body of William. He stared down into my face. I could see him coming to a million different conclusions before he noticed the damning tears in my eyes.
His fingers faltered as his eyes widened. I took advantage of his emotions, slipping from his grasp and crashing into the brush, disappearing from everyone into the comforting dark.
Chapter 4- Thorns
I waited in the dark, itchy woods. I worried my dress would be ruined. Mother would be angry about the state of my hair and scratched skin. I listened from the edge of the trees to the sounds of the party.
My mind slipped into thoughts I couldn't control. I closed my eyes and saw William. I hugged myself and felt his hand, almost bruising, on my arm. It had been strangely comforting and familiar.
I tried to pull myself together and make myself push away from the hiding spot. I dreaded the idea of forcing myself into the party. I could sneak around to the front of the house and up the stairs. I was sure William had already told Mother about my embarrassingly emotional episode.
I couldn’t seem to create the intended animosity at the thought of his tattling. A prickle of doubt regarding his true character was forming, though he could have simply been an excellent actor.
I reminded myself not to trust him repeatedly in my dark corner of the estate, but something in my being refused to absorb the words.
The silence alerted me. I peered out of the trees into the moonlit lawn. It was empty but for a few people in uniforms cleaning.
I groaned, worried Mother was looking for me. What would she do without people distracting her from seeing me so disheveled?
I searched the house to see which lights were on. The entirety of the downstairs still blazed but the second floor was dark. I looked to Mother’s study to find it black and began to sneak in through the back.
I made my way as stealthily as I could away from the cover of the woods. I darted to the willow and looked around. I felt ridiculous but terrified. Mother was certainly waiting for me in my bedroom, ready with a belt buckle.
I thought about turning back but resolved to get it over with. I walked briskly down the slope toward the glass door. A few of the workers glanced up as I passed.
I felt myself blush and raised a hand to my hair, wondering how monstrous I must look. Mother would hate it if people were talking the next day about the daughter who appeared from the woods looking like something from a horror movie.
I plucked a leaf from my hair and slipped through the door. I peered around the dining room and craned my neck to see up the curving marble stairs. I wondered how late it was and how long I had been crying in the woods as I slipped from my shoes to sneak up the stairs.
I bolted to my room and flung open the door, prepared for the assault.
The room was dark but for the moonlight from behind the thin gauzy curtains. I closed the door before darting to the bathroom to throw on the light, suspecting an ambush.
I frowned around the dark room, wondering why Mother was being so uncharacteristic. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirrored closet door.
The dress had a few tiny tears but nothing a skilled seamstress wouldn't be able to mend. My face and arms had bleeding nicks that would be easy to cover in the morning, and my hair needed conditioning. Altogether, I didn't feel like I would have been thoroughly ashamed for Mother to see me.
I laughed at myself for being so afraid as I pulled my hair down and moved to turn on the lamp. I searched the closet for a nightgown.
I froze at the sound of a gentle tap on the door.
I spun towards the bed, intending to dive beneath the covers and pretend to be asleep, but whoever it was would have seen the light under the door.
Before I could find my voice the door cracked opened. I retreated further into the closet and pressed my back against the clothes.
William peered into the room. He stepped in and closed the door before moving to see into the open bathroom. He stood in the middle of my room, looking around as if knowing I was hiding.
He stared at the white rose. A small, almost wistful smile played on the corner of his full lips before he shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face.
He turned to leave the room but threw one last guilt-ridden glance at the rose. With his hand on the knob, his eyes caught mine.
I tried to push back the defensive heat rising in my veins. He had done nothing wrong to me.
Yet.
“What are you doing?” My voice came out harsher than I wanted.
He pulled away from the door and turned to face me. I couldn't read him. I didn't know if it was shame or anticipation in his expression. It unnerved me.
His silence fanned my anger. I expected him to defend himself, yet he simply stared as though I held the answers. Maybe he was there in my room to reprimand me in his own way for my behavior.
I looked at him in the light and I wanted to spit. He wasn't old enough to reprimand me for anything. He had no control unless I gave it to him.
Or unless Mother did.
I stepped out of the closet. Fear shivered up my body, but I pushed it away. If he had wanted to test me with the rose, I had every right to do the same.
“I asked you what you are doing in my room.” My voice was surprisingly strong. His eyes narrowed as he tried to see through me.
“I came to check on you.” His tone made me halt. He was too composed, watching me as if I were a creature that had no name.
“Why?”
; He cocked his head, thinking I was crazy. I tried to fight the smile. He had no idea.
He shrugged and had the audacity to sit on the edge of my bed. He clasped his hands and looked up at me.
“You seemed a little skittish this evening. Do you always run away from people, and try to fight them, the way you did me?”
The cruelty slithering into my mind began to dissolve. I opened my mouth but no logical response came. I hated myself for believing his genuine interest and worry for me.
I shrugged and turned away from him, pretending to still search the closet. I waited, hoping he would leave or do something to make me stop doubting myself and his motives. There was no way someone so caring could be related to Mother, which meant he didn’t care.
His voice was almost soothing as he continued, “I'm sorry if there's something I did. You have no idea who I am. You don't have to talk to me about anything.” The wood of the bed creaked as he rose. I didn't turn to look at him or say goodbye.
When he spoke again I jumped at the sound of his voice so close. “Maybe you should talk to Elizabeth about whatever’s bothering you. I understand why you don't want to tell me. I'm a stranger.”
I spun on him. His hand lingered in the air as though fighting not to touch me. He pulled back quickly and looked into my eyes, terror in his own.
“Why does it matter?” I watched his every movement, every twitch in his face, and every muscle canvassing his body waiting for the lie.
He took a step back as if realizing he was too close. “Something obviously happened, I don't know when or who, but you don't seem particularly trusting. Have you talked to your parents about it?”
I couldn't help but laugh. His wince killed my amusement. “William, what has Mother told you about me?”
His brow furrowed as he looked down. “Not much. Why?”
There had been something when I said his name- a lingering spark in his light brown eyes. It seemed to relax and embolden him. His hand raised to push the hair from my face.
I swallowed against the warmth of his fingers across my cheek. I was used to the little ways men touched but never had anyone left my skin tingling after a brush of their own.
Dizziness and nausea surged through me at the realization of the resurfacing emotion crashing against the fear of William.
He is my half-uncle, I reprimanded myself. I suddenly felt like a foolish child who greatly deserved to be punished.
I bit my lip, trying to remember what he had been saying.
“What is it?”
His expression was blanketed in unrecognizable emotions. They made my guilt twist harder. He seemed to understand what was happening to me.
His head tilted back and his breath pulled in swiftly as he purposely stepped further away.
“I'm sorry for my behavior.” I tried to refrain from using my habitually sarcastic tone with the accustomed words. My voice fell flat as I fumbled for an excuse, “I’m tired. I should shower and go to bed.”
“You don't have to apologize.”
I wanted to clean the smell of the woods from myself, crawl into bed, and hide in humiliation and shame. My question bubbled up though I was desperate for him to leave, “Why were you there?”
He blinked at me before his eyes darted to the rose in understanding. His forced expression of confusion was almost comical.
I pushed, strengthening my tone. “No one comes into my garden. Why did you?”
I felt it when he was prepared to lie and was amazed when he decided not to. “I can't say.”
It was the truth, but not the one I had expected or wanted. “Why can’t you tell me?” My feet slid across the soft, cream-colored carpet. The dim light from the lamp danced on his weary eyes but he didn't pull away. I stopped with my toes touching his shiny black shoes.
“I won't tell you,” he amended.
The firmness in his voice didn't match his face. I saw the shame he was trying to hide.
“Are you going to try to hurt me?” I had to ask and needed to watch his face as he answered. I had to either be prepared or rid myself of the paranoia.
Pain flashed across his features. He reached toward me, but something about the thought of touching made him recoil.
“No,” was all he said in such a commanding voice I jumped. He turned and stalked from my room. I thought it was a glare he threw my way before closing the door with a snap.
I was alone so abruptly I almost wondered if he had ever been there.
I looked down at the bed to see the wrinkle from where he had sat. It had all been real, regardless of how odd the experience had been.
Relief flooded me as I realized he had been telling the truth. He wasn't set to harm me. Maybe he was going to be kind, or at least indifferent, but he had no intention of becoming another demon in my life.
I didn't understand the silly smile reflected in the mirror of the closet doors. I looked pretty when I was happy yet it was rare.
I leaned over and kissed my own reflection before pulling the dress from myself and sauntering to the shower.
Chapter 5- Petals
The next morning at breakfast Mother looked a bit worn and Father a touch hungover. Mother’s hair was in its usual tight bun but she still possessed her new airy personality.
William was no more at ease with me than he had been the night he arrived. He seemed weary and barely looked in my direction. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. I wondered if it had been my fault he had slept terribly.
I left the table first as guilt settled in. Had I done something unintentionally to make him dislike me? Why did I care? I didn't know him but ridiculously felt like there was a piece of me that did.
I sighed as I walked past the pool towards my garden. I was worried to see how bare it would be after the havoc of couples strolling through it the night before. They always plucked the buds to put them in their lover’s hair or pocket, trampled something, and spilled alcohol in the soil.
I relaxed as I noticed the red roses winding along the garden walls had been the most popular. Few of my white roses were missing, and the swirl of colors from the surrounding buds were still lush.
I moved to the fountain to fish out the lost buds swirling in the water or stuck in the filter. The minimal litter was easy to clean up.
When I stood and stuffed disposable cups together with the remains of a cigarette butt I saw the movement of dark, spiraling curls.
William watched me as he pulled on a cigarette. “Do you need any help?” His voice was dripping in dark thoughts I couldn't see. It didn’t help with the emotions I was struggling to ignore.
I shook my head. Why wasn't I angry that he was in my garden? I had expressed to him the night before it was my garden, and no one came into it.
He shrugged and walked past me to sit on the bench. He didn't look at me. I wondered if he expected me to give him privacy.
I searched his expression and found misery. I suddenly realized how self-absorbed I had been.
I couldn’t be the reason he hadn’t slept. He was still mourning his father. I had simply made his transition to our home more difficult by being a paranoid crazy person.
I left the pile of litter on the ledge of the fountain and sat next to him on the bench. He glanced at me and put the cigarette out on the heel of his shoe.
“I'm sorry about your father,” I began, trying to find a way to sincerely apologize for the way I had treated him.
He gave me a smirk and looked down. “You're not the one who should be sorry.”
My face must have shown my bewilderment. He grimaced at his own lack of tact.
I fumbled again, not knowing what to say but wanting to change the topic to something less painful.
“How old are you?” I knew he wasn’t old enough to be my father but not young enough for me to freely admire his handsome face as I was.
“I recently turned twenty-four." Amusement danced in his face. He knew what I was trying to do.
Eight years older than me. “When
was your birthday?”
“Last week.”
“Your dad died the same week as your birthday?” I hadn't meant to be insensitive but was amazed he was so cavalier about it.
He laughed. “The day of my birthday.”
“That’s horrible.” I couldn’t imagine losing my father, much less on my day.
“Best birthday present he ever gave me.”
I was stunned. “What a terrible thing to say.”
He smiled in a knowing way. “He was an abhorrent man.” He stared at his clasped hands.
I noticed the bottom of his pants were shredded a bit as though he’d been wearing them for too long and needed new ones. His red t-shirt was so faded it was almost the color of my light pink dress.
“He didn’t take care of you.” It wasn’t exactly a question. I knew most parents expect their children to be self-sufficient by some age but I had never seen him wear anything that looked like it wasn’t ten years old besides his suit. I had always assumed all fathers were as caring as my own.
“No, I took care of him. He had money, but I never wanted it. I’ve always found my own means and recently opened a restaurant.” Pride glowed through his subtle smile.
“Back in Louisiana?”
“No, in Frankfort. I knew Billy was going to die soon and I'd move here so I wanted it to be closer."
There was a brief silence as I bit my tongue. I lost the argument with myself and asked, “How did you know he was going to die?”
“His liver was failing, along with the rest of him. Sizable alcoholic.” He nodded at himself, an odd comforting gesture.
He didn’t seem to mind talking about the recent death of his father. Mother worried about him being lonely after their father died but I could tell he’d been for a long time.
“What about you? I hear you caught your grandmother’s gene of crazy.”
I almost kicked him, but a part of me appreciated how blunt he was. “Yes, the bipolar.” I sighed, remembering how a few weeks before I was able to lay in bed for days and cry. “I've been on this medication to make me conduct normally, but if this is normal I don’t think I want to be.”
Truth Page 3