Overcome

by Melanie Rachel

  “So, you weren’t angry?” Lydia asked. She sounded confused.

  “Not until our mother died and everyone started realizing what had happened. When they began to say that we’d been neglected. We hadn’t been neglected. I’d handled it.”

  “You did handle it,” Lydia confirmed. “We were fine.”

  A wistful smile flitted across Elizabeth’s face. “We weren’t fine, Lyddie. I did the best job I could, but I was sixteen when Tom left, and seventeen when our mother died. I was reasonably good at school and played an above-average game of soccer. I could do laundry and set up websites. That was the extent of my skillset.” She frowned. “I hadn’t the faintest idea what I was doing.”

  Her voice trailed away, leaving Lydia to prompt her. “And . . . ?”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “You want to know if there’s a point to this rambling?”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

  “My anger came later. When you three were safe and I didn’t have to be terrified anymore. Then I was angry that I’d been forced to be scared for all those months. I was angry at our mother, furious at Tom, upset with everyone around us because they hadn’t been able to somehow notice we’d needed help. Never mind that I’d done everything I could to hide that fact.”

  Elizabeth gazed out across the yard. The ground was frozen, and the trees had lost their leaves, but the kids still came out every day to swing and play in the clubhouse Uncle Ed had built. She was still angry, a bit, that her childhood had never been like that. She told herself over and over that it could have been much worse. She’d met many Marines who’d barely survived abusive homes or who’d had no home at all. She acknowledged her anger but felt guilty about it.

  “I graduated,” she continued, “and you three finally had a set of parents you could rely on. You didn’t need me. I’d given up all my friends my senior year, I never got to play my final season of soccer or be the captain of the team, I didn’t even think I was going to get to attend college.”

  “So you got really angry.”

  “Yes. Finally, I had no responsibilities. Nobody who needed me, nobody who cared, I thought. So I was free to do what I wanted. I snuck out at night, drank, smoked,”—she cleared her throat—"slept with several different boys.” She stared straight ahead. It had been years, but she was still ashamed of herself, and she’d never intended to share any of it with her sisters.

  Lydia swallowed hard. “What happened?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Well, this went on for several weeks after my graduation. One night, Uncle Ed went to Tierney’s to find me. I guess he’d gotten a call. He saw me drinking a Sam Adams. I was obviously too young to be drinking, but he sat down and ordered me another. And another. When he offered me a fourth, I turned him down. You know what he said?”

  Lydia bit her lip. “No. Did he yell?”

  Elizabeth pitched her voice low in a terrible imitation of her uncle. “He said, ‘Good to know you have some limits.’” She shook her head.

  Lydia giggled. “I guess you were in trouble.”

  “I was. But turns out I didn’t mind.” She paused, recalling the moment she’d realized that Uncle Ed had come to Tierney’s for her. Because he was upset with her. And that he wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t care. “It honestly felt good,”—she cocked her head to one side—"really good, to know that someone else cared enough to be angry with me. To be disappointed. To demand better.” She paused. “Well, it didn’t feel good at first, you understand . . .”

  Lydia grew thoughtful. “Is that when you went into the Marines?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Almost.” She thought about that first morning, how Uncle Ed had unceremoniously picked her up by the back of her shirt and dumped her on the floor. Her lips stretched into a smile. He’d growled at her to get up. Time to work off the beer, he’d said. It was funny now. It hadn’t been then. “He understood my anger and he helped me learn to deal with it in more positive ways.”

  “You must have had a lot of anger if it took all those years in the Marines to work it off,” Lydia observed, only half-serious.

  And I’m not done yet. Elizabeth snorted. “You have no idea. Your little tantrum yesterday was child’s play.” She turned to catch Lydia’s gaze. “The thing is, I learned to control my temper.” Mostly, she thought, “and you need to learn, too. Otherwise you’ll end up hurting the people around you, and it doesn’t feel good.”

  “No,” Lydia agreed. “It doesn’t.” She laid her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder, and they stayed outside until it was time for Elizabeth to return to the city.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Elizabeth’s appointment with Dr. Garcia progressed in much the same way as her first one had. He ran all his tests, took an X-ray, and told her to stop running into hard objects.

  Elizabeth pulled the baseball cap she’d borrowed from Uncle Ed down low over her forehead to hide her face, shoved her hands in her coat pockets, and walked back to Will’s apartment at a brisk pace.

  The talk with Lydia earlier in the day had been necessary, she knew, but it hurt. She would just as soon never remember, let alone discuss, those weeks after graduation. Nathan, who’d served her those beers at Tierney’s before he knew who she was, occasionally joked about it, particularly now that she was grown. In fact, he’d done it the night she first took Will for coffee. Usually, she could just brush those comments aside. Admitting to her youngest sister how badly she’d lost control was different. It was humiliating. She tried to assure herself that she wasn’t that lost person anymore, that she hadn’t been for a long time.

  When she arrived at the building, the food she’d ordered from the grocery was in the refrigerator downstairs, so she thanked Jeremy for taking the delivery and carried the bags to the elevator. As she entered the front hall, she nearly ran into Richard, who was putting on his coat. He did a double-take when he saw her, just like Bingley had. She set the bags down to say hello.

  “Damn,” he said, reaching over and removing the ball cap, “Jane told me Lydia hit you, but that looks a lot worse than I imagined.”

  “Nobody in this family knows how to keep a secret,” she complained, her dark mood deepening.

  “No way to hide that,” Richard replied, wincing a bit before grinning. “I can’t believe you even let her get close enough to land a punch. Forget to keep your hands up?”

  “Accidental elbow.” She frowned. “And I’ve already had this speech from Uncle Ed.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, hazel eyes twinkling, “Gunny won’t ever let you live that one down. He considers himself your most important drill sergeant. I think he’s taking this as a personal insult.”

  “Great,” she replied. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Okay, then,” he told her, “I’m off to see your lovely sister.” He reached to grab his scarf from the coat rack on the wall behind her. “Oh—Jane brought your mail from the apartment. It’s on the counter in the kitchen.” As he dropped the scarf around his neck, she remembered she had a question for him.

  “Wait,” she said hurriedly, “I wanted to ask about Will’s birthday.”

  He squinted at her. “Oh, right, that’s coming up.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “The 19th. Will you be there?”

  He grinned. “Of course. Can’t promise I’ll behave, though.”

  “Okay,” she said, refusing to get sucked in. “Thanks.”

  Richard waggled his eyebrows at her. “He might prefer a private party, though.”

  She squelched a laugh and gave him a shove towards the door. “Find another place to sleep Saturday night, then.”

  “Take him somewhere fancy,” Richard protested. “It’s his birthday.”

  Right, so you can have the house with Jane? “Which means he ought to be able to stay at home if he wants,” she snapped. She rubbed her forehead. Stop it, she scolded herself. It’s not his fault you’re in a bad mood. “Sorry. Long night, long day.” She bent to pick up the bags.

&n
bsp; Richard wasn’t in the least bothered. “Fair enough.” He put some gloves on and gave her a quick wave. “See ya, Bennet.”

  “See ya,” she grumbled. She dumped the bags on the table and went to turn on some music. She leafed through the mail sitting on the counter. There was a postcard with a photo of the Dog Bark Park Inn on one side. On the other, scrawled, no return address or signature, was a single question: “What happened to my tire?”

  She began to pull the food out of the grocery bags while she listened, separating out the meat from the other items. She turned on the oven to preheat it, wiped down her workspace, and began to prepare the food. Every so often, she’d glance at a little recipe card written out in Aunt Maddy’s small, neat cursive. Her aunt had been thrilled she wanted to learn to cook more, and Elizabeth had discovered that she liked it. Chopping and sorting and watching the level of heat helped her relax, and at the end of it all, there was something good to eat.

  Listen to music and cook, she chanted to herself. Don’t think too much, Bennet. Just listen to music and cook.

  “You know,” Will said, setting his laptop bag in his office and returning to the kitchen where Elizabeth was making a late dinner, “I was in a hurry this morning because I overslept, but I’m a little aggravated with you, calling Wanda and getting her to rearrange my schedule like that.”

  Elizabeth yawned in the face of Will’s pique. Bring it on, Darcy. I need a good argument to work off this funk. “You mean like arranging my visit to Garcia?” En garde. She laid the napkins and silverware on the island, preparing to carry everything over to the table.

  “That’s not the same thing, and you know it,” Will replied, a little tersely. “That was about your health.” He stared at her unblinkingly.

  Elizabeth stared back at him, more amused than worried. “Is that,”—she gestured to his eyes—"supposed to be intimidating?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Will replied without moving.

  Her short laugh was mocking. “You realize I’ve spent years being stared at by high-ranking Marines, right? This doesn’t even rate.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I think you know why I’m unhappy, Elizabeth.”

  “Okay, let’s review,” she told him brusquely. “First, I emailed Wanda, I did not call her. It was three in the morning, and I’m not an idiot.” She scooped up two dishes and the tableware and walked away, returning to the kitchen for the wineglasses. With her hands on the stems, she continued. “Second, I asked her to rearrange your morning meetings only if they weren’t urgent.” She left the room again, returning for the wine she’d left breathing on the counter. Lifting the bottle, she said, “Finally, you still have that 4 a.m. call to London tomorrow. I’m not going to apologize that I made sure you only put in ten hours today instead of fifteen.” She placed the bottle on the table between the two place settings, turning to see that he’d followed her out. “You hadn’t had any sleep, Will.”

  “It’s important to be at my desk before all the others show up,” Will replied, standing his ground.

  “Why?” she shot back. “Do you think they don’t know you work harder than anyone at the company, Richard included? Do you think they don’t know that your schedule accommodates different time zones? Do you think they can’t do the math?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  Will trailed her back into the kitchen as he removed his tie and suit jacket. “I have to lead by example, Elizabeth. I can’t just waltz into the office midday and expect them to respect me.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Wanda knew you’d say that, so she told them you had a morning meeting outside the office.” She held her hands up, palms out, in response to his glower. “Wanda’s idea, not mine.” She opened the oven and, after slipping on an oven mitt, removed a pan with two chicken breasts. “It’s your company, Will. Nobody’s going to think you were playing hooky.” She set the pan on a trivet, using tongs to place each breast on a separate plate. She picked up a small bowl of roasted asparagus tips and pine nuts. She tipped it into the pasta, tossing them together and then handing the entire thing to Will. She picked up the plates, and they walked back to the table. They set the food down, but Will didn’t pull out his chair to sit. He stood, arms once again crossed, stony-faced.

  “Will,” Elizabeth said impatiently from her chair, “You cannot force me to look after my health and then get angry with me for doing the same with you.” When Will still didn’t sit, she stood to face him, resting her hands on her hips. “Actually, I suppose you could, but it would make you a hypocrite. You called Jane, I emailed Wanda. What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that this is work. I didn’t ask you to miss work.” His tone was resolute, and Elizabeth could see he felt himself firmly in the right. Well, he’s not, she thought.

  She stood and walked around the table. “I didn’t ask you to miss work, either,” she replied with a hint of exasperation, approaching until they were standing toe-to-toe and her finger was in his chest. “Wanda just moved those meetings to this afternoon, right?” She pointed at the food. “Now sit down and eat, you stubborn mule. You have an early morning, and you need to get to bed.”

  He frowned at her, but his eyes flicked over to the table. “Is it any good?” he asked bluntly.

  “You’ll never know if you don’t try it,” she taunted him, returning to her chair and serving herself. She took some salad and a bit of the pasta and began to eat without waiting for Will, who was still standing and staring at her, though the glare had softened somewhat. Elizabeth ignored him, bending to her food. She hadn’t eaten anything at the Gardiners’, and she was more than a little hungry. You’ve got to stop skipping meals, Bennet, she told herself sternly. She hoped that wasn’t the only reason the meal tasted so good. Aunt Maddy had given her some easy recipes to get started, and she was determined to get a few of them under her belt. No better time to start than now, she’d decided, when she didn’t want to be seen out in public with a black eye.

  Eventually, she heard the other chair scrape the floor and spied Will settling in to eat. He took a big helping of everything and began to shovel the food into his mouth. Well, she thought, that’s strangely gratifying. He must like it.

  Elizabeth waited until his mouth was completely full before saying, “Lydia apologized to Charles Bingley today.”

  Will glanced up at her and nodded, his mouth full. She grinned at him. “Nothing to say, Will?” He rolled his eyes and she laughed, her depressed mood lifting a little. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, Mr. Billionaire?”

  He swallowed his food and scowled. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I have no reason to deny it,” Elizabeth replied lightly. She twirled some pasta around her fork aimlessly. “He was actually really good about the whole thing.”

  Will was pensive. “Charles isn’t a cruel man, Elizabeth.”

  She tapped the fork on her plate. “He said he built the bike with a friend?”

  “Uh,” Will said thoughtfully, “yeah. Victor Grantley. Vic.” He took a smaller bite of food and chewed slowly. “His sister is Caroline’s friend. They all grew up together.”

  Elizabeth mulled that over. “Charles was kind to Lydia,” she told him. “He surprised me.” She pursed her lips. “But then I thought that you must have seen something in him to be friends all that time.”

  Will sighed. “It started out as a mentoring relationship, but Charles is a rare kind of person. He’s intellectually sharp but also generous. It’s why his behavior in the fall was so difficult for me to understand.” He toyed with his spoon where it sat on the table. “But I have to be able to trust everyone who works for me, and I stopped trusting him.”

  “I suspect,” Elizabeth replied carefully, “that it’s the friendship you had with him outside of work you really miss.” She paused. “I think he does, too.”

  Will lifted more food to his mouth and chewed slowly. When he
swallowed, he released a small sigh and confirmed her understanding. “I had friends in school, college mostly, but one by one, they’ve all sort of drifted away.” He tapped his fork lightly against the plate. “Other than you, Elizabeth, my only friends are also my family. So many people have disappointed me.”

  Elizabeth knew what that meant—so many people had tried to use him. She laid her fork down and slid her hand across the table. He took it and gave her a sad smile as their fingers intertwined. “It really is lonely at the top, huh?” She asked, only half-teasing as she stroked his wrist with her thumb.

  He leaned forward and raised her hand to his lips. “Not anymore,” he said, gazing into her eyes lovingly. Elizabeth was about to reward him with a warm smile when he added, “But Wanda’s off-limits.”

  Elizabeth just arched an eyebrow at him. “No promises,” she replied.

  Will Darcy and Dr. Jane Bennet were very similar people. They were both highly intellectual, a bit reserved, analytical, and serious-minded. Each was dating a Marine, and they were both devoted to their younger sisters. But most importantly, there was a topic on which they were in total, complete agreement: the pranks had to stop.

  The week after Will and Elizabeth returned from their second trip to Meryton, the practical jokes escalated sharply. They were often all in Will’s apartment together, but Jane and Richard tried to make use of the place when Will spent the night at Elizabeth’s, and they had also been given permission to use Elizabeth’s apartment when she was in the city with Will. It was an arrangement that seemed to work. Bloomfield was closer to the hospital for Jane, and it gave everyone their privacy. But it also gave Richard access to Elizabeth’s things.

  The pranks had started almost immediately, when Richard hid all of Elizabeth’s shoes and not even Jane knew where he’d put them. Elizabeth responded by putting women’s perfume in Richard’s aftershave. Then there was green food dye in Elizabeth’s shampoo, a picture of the blue screen of death uploaded as Richard’s screen saver, Elizabeth’s toothbrush soaked in cayenne pepper, dried, and left for her use, a universal remote being deployed from another room as Richard tried to watch a movie, petroleum jelly in Elizabeth’s hand sanitizer. Still the jokes continued. Salty cookies, soap covered in clear nail polish, several rounds of changing cell phone ring tones set to increasingly embarrassing songs, grass seeds in a keyboard. Finally, Richard put plastic wrap on Elizabeth’s toilet. That prank nearly caught Will when he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and had been the last straw for him. Jane called a halt when she drank something from Elizabeth’s fridge that looked like orange juice but was in fact water colored by boxed macaroni-and-cheese powder.