Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  I'd been walking down the stairs with a box when I glanced into the kitchen to see Wade with his arms around Lou and a stack of dishes between them. She looked up at him like she was waiting for a kiss, and when I saw them, my heart stopped. I'd nearly dropped the box — my arms, my knees lost all strength. But I hung on and walked as quickly as I could into the office, noting when I passed the kitchen again that she was smiling at him, and that she'd made him smile. And when I heard him laugh, it was all I could take.

  A week ago, I didn't believe I'd ever hear that sound again.

  I don't know quite what came over me, but I had to get out of the house. If I'd stayed, they all would have known how I felt. They all would have seen my pain, pain I guarded so desperately. So I hurried up the stairs and into Rick's room to lie, telling Sophie and Sadie I'd gotten a text from Charlie and needed to go home, promising I'd be there the next morning when Rick came home. I heard the deep rumble of Wade's voice on my way out, the word Paris hanging in the air, speeding my feet as I rushed through the foyer and out the door.

  I was silly and stupid, I told myself as I flew down the sidewalk toward home with burning cheeks and stinging eyes. I was selfish, I realized with anguish, boots pounding as I picked up the pace, even though I didn't want to go home. At home, I was watched, opinions were made. The only place I was free to feel whatever I felt was in my room at night, with the door to the world closed tight.

  I was overreacting, I knew this. He wasn't mine and I wasn't his, and it had been this way for what felt like an eternity. But it didn't change the fact that I didn't want to be privy to his relationships, however innocent they may be. I thought again about how Lou had looked at him. I knew that look — I'd given him a version of it nearly every day for two years.

  The air was thin and chilly, but I took a cleansing breath anyway, forcing myself to slow down. It was better to get back to the kids tonight, because when Rick came home, I'd need to be there for him, Sophie, and Sadie, whether I was uncomfortable or not.

  You're ridiculous, Elliot.

  Shame crept over me for behaving the way I did, without even saying goodbye to Wade and Lou. It was terribly rude, and as my emotions ebbed and reason took its place, I made plans to apologize to them both when I saw them again.

  I checked my watch —I had plenty of time to visit Rick, and then it would be about time for dinner. I felt relief at the thought of keeping busy with the kids. And once I was alone, I'd write, try to sleep, and steel myself for the day tomorrow.

  Those were all the places where I was safe. Where I knew my place and my job and my self. Where I could do what needed to be done and know without a shadow of a doubt that it was right.

  At the hospital, Rick seemed lonely, afraid, but he hid it as best he could, smiling the drooping half-smile, his silvery stubble shining under the hospital lights as I unpacked more books for him, including the Emerson I'd promised. And then I read to him for a while, and he'd closed his eyes, lips smiling peacefully on that one side alone.

  And then I was walking home that evening, on to my next task, leaving the notes of my day singing sadly behind me.

  I'd become an expert at compartmentalizing my feelings. It was the only way I survived, by stacking up dusty boxes in my heart for every hurt, packing them away in the dark. But times like these blew the dust off the tops, opening them up to free the old pain so they could do more harm in new ways.

  Some boxes weren't dusty — those were lined up neatly, opened and closed daily. There was one for Mary. One for my father. One for the kids. And the new ones — Rick, Sophie, and Sadie. Wade's had recently been unpacked and set in its place next to the others, and as I walked home, I stowed my feelings away in the dark where they belonged.

  But all my careful planning proved useless when I walked in the door.

  The house was louder than usual, the air charged with new energy. I paused just inside the door, listening, aware. And then I heard my father laugh from the living room.

  I swallowed and closed the door, taking my time hanging up my coat and bag, trying to prepare myself. And then I took a deep breath and walked into the room to face them all.

  Dad was in the middle of a story, hands gesticulating, his little Chihuahua Rodrigo trembling in his lap, his natural state. He looked the same as he always had, calculating and critical, a little bit older and a little more flamboyant. I hadn't seen him in several years; once he and Beth moved to Miami, they lived in their little bubble, because nothing could possibly exist outside of Miami. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked well for me too.

  Beth sat next to him, just as much of his pet as Rodrigo was, listening like she'd never heard the story — though he'd clearly told it a thousand times — snacking on a bowl of cashews that she chewed without closing her lips. Charlie seemed more interested in his scotch than he did my dad, but Mary listened intently, laughing.

  They all saw me, but no one stopped what they were doing, though Charlie nodded to me in greeting. No one wanted to interrupt Dad — we'd never hear the end of it. So, I sat on the floor where the kids were playing quietly, which was a miracle on its own.

  "And then everyone turned to him and said Watch where you put that banana!"

  Everyone laughed except for me and the kids, and Rodrigo barked at the burst of noise. Dad finally turned to me. "Ah, Elliot. Come here and give me a hug."

  I stood and did as I was told. "Hi, Dad."

  "You look well. You were too skinny last time I saw you. How are you?"

  "Fine, thank you," I said, knowing full well he didn't want a real answer.

  "Oh, Daddy," Mary said, touching his arm. "Rick Winters has brain cancer, can you believe it?"

  He gasped, touching his chest. "You're kidding."

  Mary shook her head and took a sip of wine. "Elliot's been over there for the last two days. He's coming home tomorrow, but they've only given him a couple of weeks to live."

  I twined my hands behind me — they spoke about me like I wasn't there, and they spoke about Rick like he was gossip fodder, not out of sadness or respect. Tears threatened my composure, and I squeezed my fingers tighter as I moved to sit back down with the kids.

  Charlie cleared his throat. "How did it go today, Elliot?"

  "Oh," I breathed, turning to face him. He smiled kindly, and for that I was grateful. "They delivered his bed and some equipment, and I helped prepare the library for him."

  Dad's brow was judging. "Why were you there? Surely you'd have been in the way during such a trying time for their family."

  "Sophie asked me to be there." I didn't mention how important Rick was to me, a topic that Dad hated. Strangely, I think he was jealous, though he'd made no real attempts to be close to me. We didn't bond over gossiping like he did with my sisters — he thought I was boring.

  "Well," Dad said, gesturing with his glass, "I hope it doesn't interfere with Mary and Charlie's schedules."

  Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Charlie cut her off. "We'll be fine. The kids are in school a couple extra days a week, and we're taking care of them in the afternoon when Elliot's not here."

  Dad made a face and took a sip of his drink.

  "So," I started, needing to change the subject, "when did you get in?"

  He lit up at that, always happy to talk about himself. "This afternoon. We had the most awful flight. Sat next to some horribly fat man who wouldn't stay in his seat. And the weather here — I don't know how you stand all this cold. Miami is beautiful this time of year … I haven't used a coat in years!"

  I smiled amiably, a complacent expression I used as a curtain behind which I could hide my own feelings. "I'm so surprised to see you. Will you be staying long?"

  He shrugged and took a drink. "We didn't want to put a time limit on it, so we bought one-way tickets."

  Mary laid her hand on his leg and smiled. "You can stay as long as you want, Daddy."

  He patted her hand. "Thank you, dear."

  I didn't miss Charlie rollin
g his eyes as he tipped his drink back until it was gone. "I need another drink," he said as he stood. "Anyone else?"

  They chimed their yays or nays, and he turned to me.

  "Elliot?" His brows rose, tone implying that he figured I needed one.

  "I'm fine, thanks, Charlie." He left, and I kept asking questions, wanting to keep the conversation off myself. "What brings you to New York?"

  He frowned, feigning hurt. "What reason should I have other than to see my daughters and grandchildren?" He said daughters, but didn't look at me. His eyes were on Mary, filled with something akin to worship. Maven toddled around the room and up to Dad, speaking gibberish, and he took her hand, making a face when he touched her. "She's sticky."

  Mary gave me a look. "Elliot, maybe you should give them a bath?"

  "But they haven't eaten. They'll just get all sticky again."

  "Well, then maybe you should feed them first."

  I put on the smile again and stood, picking up Maven and calling Sammy, relieved to be leaving the room. "Sure. Come on, kids. How's grilled cheese sound?"

  The kids cheered and Dad brought his drink to his lips. "Not very nutritious," he muttered.

  I ignored him. "Be back in a bit."

  They'd already turned back to each other, whispering and giggling about who even knew what. I didn't even want to know.

  Charlie was in the blissfully quiet kitchen, drinks already poured and his glass to his lips, checking his phone. He smiled at me when I walked in, taking Maven from my arms.

  "You run away too?" he asked me.

  I chuckled. "The kids needed to eat. I'd rather be in here with them than out there."

  "Me too. Clearly."

  I situated the kids with crayons and paper and gathered supplies for dinner. Charlie leaned on the counter next to me.

  "I'm sorry about them."

  I shrugged and buttered the bread. "It's okay."

  "It's not really. They're horrible."

  "I can't argue that," I said with a soft laugh and a smile.

  He paused for a beat, watching me. "Why do you put up with it?"

  I thought about how to answer as I built the sandwiches. "Well, it's easier with Dad and Beth living in Miami. When we're all together, things are … harder."

  "Right, I get that. Your father loves to criticize everyone who crosses his path, but show him a mirror and he'll gladly bash you over the head with it. But still, you know you don't have to just … acquiesce."

  "I know that, Charlie. And I don't always, but when I do, it's a choice. It's conscious. Their badgering doesn't typically faze me."

  He gave me a look. "Judging by what I saw a little bit ago, I'd say that's untrue."

  "That's different." My voice had shrunk, just a little. "Today … today it's different." I placed one sandwich half on another. "Anyway, they're my family, so if it means I have to be present to endure some vapid conversation, I can make that sacrifice. And when it comes to Mary, well, you have both done so much for me."

  "You do so much for us. It only seems fair."

  "But I enjoy this, you know? The kids, I mean. And I'm not sure what I want to do with my life yet, so it's really the perfect place for me to be. Our relationship is symbiotic."

  He chuffed and said into his glass, "Even with Mary breathing down your neck?"

  I shrugged and set the first sandwich on the pan with a sizzle. "She doesn't mean it."

  He gave me a look.

  "Honestly, I don't think she even realizes she's doing it. You know Dad and Beth. Maybe it's genetic and I just got skipped."

  "Luckily."

  I smiled, feeling the same. "In any event, I don't usually take it personally."

  His eyes squinted in thought. "So you excuse them because you believe they don't mean to be assholes?"

  "Basically." I flipped the sandwich.

  "And why not tell them how you feel? Argue?"

  "Because fighting with them is futile. There's no convincing them of anything. Their worlds are so small, and that's all they know. I mean, when was the last time you were able to convince my dad of anything?"

  Charlie snorted. "Point taken." He sighed, pushing off the counter. "Well, you're a better person than I could ever hope to be."

  "Hey, I'm not the one married to one of them," I joked. "You, sir, have the patience of a saint."

  "Or the IQ of a carrot," he said with a smile. "Jury's still out. I'd better get back in there with drinks or they might invade the kitchen, and I feel like you've paid your dues today. Let me know if you need any help with the kids, okay?"

  "I've got the kids if you can keep my family away from me for the night."

  "Deal."

  Mary stormed in. "What the hell, Charlie? What's taking so long?" She narrowed her eyes at me, and I turned my attention to the sandwiches.

  Charlie sighed, a defeated sound. "I was on my way. Just got an email that required my attention, that's all."

  "Whatever." She swiped her wine from his hand and turned to leave.

  He shrugged and followed her out.

  What I hadn't mentioned to Charlie was that he was another reason I didn't leave, besides the kids. He was my only ally in the house, and a thin one at that — he wasn't much more prepared to get his hands dirty than Mary was, though he at least offered.

  They'd met years ago on an introduction by me. Charlie and I had a mutual friend who had not-so-stealthily nudged us together. I found him charming, tall and handsome, smart and funny, and the only surprise I felt when he'd asked me out was that I wasn't at all interested in entertaining the idea. He wasn't for me, the moment just another echo of Wade in my heart.

  He was terribly gracious about the whole thing, and we remained friends. And when he'd met Mary, they'd started dating right away, then married not too long after.

  It had never been strange between Charlie and me — we got along well, finding a little solace in each other given the family we now shared. And he'd always accepted and respected the boundaries between us. We were still friends, though it was mostly because we lived in the same house and were part of the same family.

  Mary, on the other hand, had never been silent about her resentment. Charlie had never even held my hand, but she still seemed oddly jealous, though whatever feelings she harbored weren't enough for her to refuse my help. She found ways to dig at me all the same. I just chalked it up to her own feelings — it was less about me and more about her own insecurities. Talking to her about it had proved fruitless over the years. So we were where we were, and that was that.

  "Wook, Ellie!"

  I turned to see Sammy holding up his picture: oblong people with stick arms and giant, wide-set dots for eyes, and crazy hair that stuck up like they'd all been struck by lightning.

  "Great job, buddy!"

  "Can you put it on the fwidge?"

  "Sure thing, you wanna do it?"

  He lit up and slid off the chair, bounding to the fridge.

  I plated their sandwiches and one for myself, sitting with them at the table while we ate and talked about colors and numbers, throwing in a song or two for good measure. Once we were finished, I cleaned up the kitchen and took the kids upstairs to bathe, taking my time, hoping it would be late enough that I could duck into my room. By the time I'd kissed the kids goodnight, I was exhausted. It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be even longer.

  Everyone was still in the living room by the time I came back down, with the exception of Charlie, who had been able to sneak away, probably holing himself up in his office. My sisters and Dad sat on the couch together with rosy cheeks and smiles on their faces, laughing, probably at the expense of someone else.

  Mary looked over. "Kids in bed?"

  "They are. I just wanted to say goodnight. I've got to be up early."

  She must have been feeling sentimental, because she smiled warmly. "Don't worry about the kids in the morning. I'll get them. You just go help with Rick."

  Beth cooed. "You're so sweet to
do that, Mary."

  She waved her free hand, the motion sending the wine sloshing dangerously in its glass. "Oh, it's nothing. Get some rest."

  "Come here, Elliot. Hug your old father." He wiggled his hand in the air impatiently, and I bent to hug him. The embrace was thin.

  "'Night, Dad."

  "See you in the morning," he said, dismissing me.

  I left gladly, descending the stairs and slipping quietly into my sanctum.

  I clicked on the light next to my bed and peeled off my clothes, walking naked to my bathroom to turn on the shower. As the steam rose and curled around me, I stood in front of the mirror for a long moment, glancing over my quiet features, my dark hair, small nose, lips like a rosy bow. The only thing loud about me were my eyes, dark and shining, heavy with all the things I didn't say, and I wondered if there would ever come a day where I'd let all those words free.

  Here and Now

  Here

  (Not there, not far)

  Now

  (Not then, not ago)

  You will find a way

  To love.

  -M. White

  Wade

  I had no idea how I was supposed to feel.

  My room was cold, my hands rough against the pages as I sat in my bed reading Byron, for lack of anything more constructive to do.

  I shouldn't have been reading it, but it was a torture I'd come to find comforting, pouring over the poems she used to read to me like a prayer, an homage. It was like the pain that came from running until my body ached and my heartbeat rushed in my ears, a welcomed pain. A reminder.

  The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

  The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;

  The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

  And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

  Of aid from them--She was the Universe.

  I closed the book and closed my heart along with it.

  Dad would be home that afternoon, and every moment pressed on me in anticipation of that event, that marker that would set us on the path to the end. It was the quiet before the storm. I took comfort in the fact that once he was home, I'd have something to do, someone to tend to. An objective.