by Ivy Clyde
“I don’t understand,” I said with a slow shake of my head. “Who exactly are you?”
She looked hesitant, like she didn’t know how to explain herself. She hitched back a smile and came closer to me. With slow movements, she extended her arm towards me and gently pressed a hand on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever anymore,” she said with a relieved smile. “That’s good.”
“But my head aches,” I muttered under my breath.
“It’s probably the tranquilizer shot,” she said. “I will get Ruben to get you some food. You must be hungry.”
I shook my head. “I want to go home,” I said, getting to my feet. My head reeled. Clara moved forward to grab me by the arm. “Where’s my phone? My friend can come to pick me up.”
“You need to eat first, Paris,” said Clara, helping me sit on the edge of the bed. “Before going anywhere or doing anything, you must eat. Please wait here while I call for Ruben.”
Leaving me, she hurried out of the room and firmly closed the door behind her. A part of me wanted to go after her and see where she’d brought me but my headache only seemed to grow worse. Grudgingly, I lay back on the pillow.
By now, I’d accepted that Mom was gone.
I waited for the pain and anger to come back with a vengeance, but nothing happened. My heart was numb, unfeeling. My emotions confused me. I should be bawling my eyes out but I just felt exhausted.
The door opened once again. Clara Davenport entered the room with an elderly gentleman behind her. He seemed kind even though he was dressed in a neat black butler’s uniform and his wispy white hair was combed and slicked backward. He moved towards me slowly and set a tray of food on the bedside table.
“I’ve brought you some chicken noodle soup, Miss,” he added in a gentle voice. “Please have some.”
I nodded, internally grateful because that was exactly what I was craving. My mother’s chicken noodle soup was my soul food. Sadness filled me to know I’d never taste it again.
Tears dropped into the soup as I picked up the warm bowl in my hand. Struggling to control the sobs that rose from deep within, I spooned the soup into my mouth. The taste surprised me, enough to make me stop crying. I stared up at Ruben.
“This tastes just like my mom’s soup,” I said.
“I’m glad,” he said. “Please have some more.”
Clara smiled at him and they both turned to watch me devour the bowl of soup. Once that was gone, I devoured the bread rolls on the tray.
“Would you like some more soup?” asked Ruben. “There’s plenty more in the kitchen.”
“I’m fine,” I said, swallowing the last of the rolls. “These were delicious too. Thank you.” I looked up at Clara Davenport. “I feel better now. I should go home.”
Ruben glanced at his mistress. Clara gestured for him to go. He took my tray and quickly walked out of the room.
“Here’s the thing, Paris,” said Clara, coming to sit beside me. “This is your home now. Your old house was destroyed in the fire. I know you want to go back anyway but there’s nothing for you there.” She inched closer. Her warmth permeated through the thin fabric of the nightdress. “Your mother appointed me your guardian. I am responsible for your wellbeing now and I promise to do my best.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would Mom get a stranger to look after me? Why not Aunty Cathy or someone from our neighborhood?”
“Cathleen Ivanov wasn’t the woman she is today thirteen years ago,” said Clara, her voice growing grim. “Back then, your mother thought I was the best person to look after you if anything ever happened to her.”
“Back then?”
She nodded. Sorrow marred the loveliness of her face. “You were about three years old, just like my son, Liam. My husband was admitted to the hospital with sudden kidney failure. There was no time to lose. We needed a donor immediately. Miraculously, I bumped into your mother on the street. You see, I knew Emily from school.”
“You both went to Knightswood Academy?”
“Yes. And incidentally, we were in the same biology lab. Back at school, we’d run some experiments on blood groups. Both my husband and your mother had the same rare blood type. So when I met Emily that night, I asked her if she would help me and get tested to see if she would be a match for my husband as a kidney donor.”
Mom had never spoken of this incident before. Forgetting everything for the moment, I focused on Clara as she continued to narrate the story.
“She agreed,” said Clara in a choked voice. “God bless her soul. She agreed.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and took several deep breaths before she could speak again. “Emily was the perfect match for my husband. Before agreeing to the surgery, she made me promise something. If anything were to happen to her during the surgery or any time afterward until you turned twenty, I would become your legal guardian and make sure you were looked after.”
“And your husband? What happened to him?”
“He is alive,” said Clara with a smile even though her eyes were still full of tears. “All thanks to your mother.” She took a few deep breaths. “Emily was the most wonderful person I’d ever met. She was selfless. In all these years, she never asked for any help. No matter the emergency, she would never come to me.”
“Mom was strong.” And miraculously, I felt a smile hover on my lips.
“She was,” agreed Clara, covering my hand with hers. “I have a son and a husband. My family is complete because your mother was kind and merciful to us. What she did for us can never be measured in terms of money or favors. Emily never thought she would leave you so unexpectedly. Perhaps, that’s the reason she never spoke of it.”
I nodded as tears ran down my cheeks. Mom was so far away now. No matter how much I screamed for her, she would never come back to me. She was truly gone.
“You’ll go to the best school. You’ll have the best of the best,” said Clara, squeezing my hand tight. “I can never replace your mother but I’ll make sure to take care of your every need. I promise, Paris.”
I nodded, not even comprehending what she was saying. That moment, I felt utterly lost and alone. Nothing she said would make it any better.
“I will call the admissions office at Knightswood Academy tomorrow,” said Clara in a determined voice. “There are better prep schools in the country but it’s the closest one. My son goes there too. Would you like that, Paris?”
“Knightswood Academy?”
Clara nodded. “Both your mom and I went to school there.”
“Did you know my father?” I asked.
Clara looked struck at the question. Her mouth parted as she stared at me. “Not really. I’m sorry I don’t know who he is.”
“Mom said he went to Knightswood too.”
“She did?”
I nodded.
She looked uncomfortable and took her hand away. She moved away to stand before the bed. “We graduated before she was showing signs of pregnancy. Emily and I weren’t close, so I wasn’t in touch with her afterward. I didn’t even know your father went to the same school as us. She never spoke about that.”
My shoulders sagged with disappointment. Mom took the secret away with her. I’d never know my father. Suddenly, my loss felt greater. It felt like I lost Dad a second time even though I knew nothing of the man.
“You’ve been through a lot, Paris,” said Clara. “Go to bed now.”
She helped me get under the covers once more.
She switched off the bedside lamp, darkening the room. Only the soft glow of the night light remained.
“Everything will be okay,” she said, caressing my hair gently. “Just rest for now.”
It might have been the exhaustion or the ebbing away of adrenaline from my system, but I fell asleep immediately.
5
Paris
Present Day
The past three days went by in a blur.
I spent most of the days and nights sleeping like I was on some kin
d of drug. Slumber was a sweet escape from thinking about my circumstances. Neither Clara Davenport nor her family bothered me while I stayed closeted in the gorgeous room she’d set up for me. Ruben came in and went at times, placing trays of food on the bedside table. The elderly butler was considerate and only left food that wouldn’t taste awful if it went cold.
I was grateful for the space they gave me.
After the first night at her home, Clara didn’t come to speak to me until today.
“It’s the day of the funeral,” she said, standing before me with a worried expression. She was already dressed in a long black dress. “Your friend and Cathleen will be attending as well.” My gaze went to the partly open door. A young man stood there, watching us. He seemed familiar but before I could focus on him, he left.
“Are you listening, Paris?” Clara’s voice brought back my attention to her.
“Yes.”
“I have made all the arrangements. You just have to be present there, all right?” She waited for me to nod my head. “Go take a hot shower and I will arrange your clothes and shoes. Okay?”
“Thanks.”
It was the first time since coming to her home that I was taking a shower. I’m sure I smelled but Clara had made no remarks about that. It was the little things that were making me warm up to her even though she was still practically a stranger to me.
The bathroom was elaborately tiled with pale pink marble walls and was large enough to fit my old apartment over the bakery. A separate shower stall with clean glass walls stood to the side.
Entering the stall, I turned on the shower.
The jets of hot water pouring out of four different heads were amazingly soothing and relaxing. Even though it felt like a boulder was placed over my chest, I didn’t cry anymore. My grief had turned physical now. I could feel it in my bones and the way my body ached every time I moved.
Switching off the shower, I stepped out of the stall. Rivulets of water dripped down my body to make small puddles on the bathroom floor as I walked to a nearby table. Thick, fluffy bathing robes were neatly folded and stacked on top of it, ready for my use.
Putting one on, I walked out of the bathroom.
A black dress was left for me on the bed with matching stilettos on the floor nearby. A tray of food stood to the side. Removing the cloche, I found a large bowl of creamy white porridge topped with fruit. I ate a few spoonfuls before stepping into the dress.
A few days ago, I would have balked at wearing a dress like this. It was cut to fit my every curve. The long sleeves were woven of lace. The fabric was surprisingly soft. Donning it, I stared at the mirror. The girl looking back at me was a stranger. Only the long length of my indigo-dyed hair was familiar.
“At least, I have this,” I whispered, touching my wet locks.
Clara ushered me out of the house and into a waiting car. Her home was beautiful but I was blind to the halls and the incredible art decorating every corner.
I felt comforted to see Ruben at the driver’s seat. His presence was familiar and comforting as we rode through the unfamiliar streets. Gray clouds hung in the sky. It was odd weather for September.
“Everything will be okay,” said Clara, taking my hands as the car came to a stop. “And if you need anything, just tell me.”
“Thanks.”
Ruben came around to open the door for me. Climbing out, I saw we were at a church. My insides froze at the sight of it. Other than special occasions, we rarely went to church. Memories of past Christmas Eves flooded my mind as Clara led me through the gates and into the dark, cool building.
Walking down the aisle, I caught sight of Cathleen, Zoya, and Nikolai. Even through the haze in my mind, I felt surprised at his presence. Shouldn’t he be at school? His icy silver eyes met mine, freezing me on the spot. “Come on, Paris,” Clara whispered, tugging my hand. “We sit at the front.”
As we passed down the rows, I recognized a number of faces from our neighborhood in Kensington. Most of them looked at me with pity but a few gazes were full of curiosity.
The service started as soon as we were seated.
I tuned out everything the pastor said. The church hall was vast and spacious but I felt suffocated. I pulled at the collar of my dress, steadily feeling uncomfortable. At one point, Cathleen got on the stage. Once she began speaking about Mom, I knew I had to get out of there. I didn’t want to hear what a good friend she’d been or what an amazing person she was in life.
Mom is dead! I wanted to shout it out to the whole room. Talking about her wouldn’t bring her back.
I stood up abruptly. All heads turned towards me and Aunty Cathy stopped speaking. I had to get out of there before doing something terrible before the people who’d come to say their last goodbyes to Emily Johnson.
My heels made an awful clacking noise as they hit the stone floor of the church. It made me increase my pace as I almost ran out of the hall. My chest felt tight like a steel band was compressing it, making it hard to breathe.
Pushing open one of the side exit doors, I stepped out into the open air. A light drizzle had started. It slowly misted my face as I stared up at the gray sky. I panted but was able to breathe in the fresh air.
“Are you all right, Paris?”
Turning around, I faced Clara Davenport. Anxiety clouded her beautiful features. With slow steps, she moved closer to me.
“Shall we go for a walk?”
“What?” It was the most unexpected thing for her to say. She was more likely to scold me and tell me to get back inside the church.
“It’s only a little rain,” said Clara, taking my hand. “It will be a while before we get soaked.”
“Aren’t you here to take me back?” I stared into her clear blue eyes.
She shook her head. “Come on.” I followed after her as she headed towards the wooded area in the distance. “I can understand how you feel, Paris. I just want you to know it’s okay. We all feel this way when we lose someone close to us.”
“How do you know?” I demanded, keeping up with her.
“I lost my mother some years ago,” she said in a gentle voice. “We were very close and I felt betrayed by her. At times, I felt my heart would break; other times I was depressed knowing I could never talk to her or be hugged by her. It’s not easy losing a parent.”
“No.”
We walked along a narrow path through the wooded area. The greenery and fresh air felt really good after spending three days indoors. It was peaceful and quiet. Clara’s words were gentle and soothing and for the first time, I felt grateful for her company.
She wasn’t imposing or patronizing. She followed me as I aimlessly walked in the rain. Our hair went wet and limp after a while but she didn’t complain.
“Would we have to go back?” I asked after a while.
She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Your mother wouldn’t have forced you through it either. Visit her when you’re ready to confront her and your own grief.”
“Thank you,” I said, looking into her deep blue eyes.
She squeezed my hand and smiled gently. “Shall I get Ruben to take us home?”
I nodded.
It started raining heavily by the time Ruben drove the car to the street where we waited. We hurried in, climbing into the warm, dry interiors.
“Home,” said Clara.
Soon, we were speeding through the splashing rain until we reached the estate Clara called home. It was surrounded by woods and rolling green hills and for the first time, I took in the place that had housed me for three days. There were no other houses or buildings nearby.
We entered through heavily secured gates. It was a few minutes before the car came to a stop before an imposing Victorian-style mansion of gray stone. I couldn’t believe how much I’d missed out on.
“You should dry off quickly,” said Clara. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”
I hesitated. “I don’t have any clothes.” Other than the nightdress that I man
aged to wear for three days and the soaked funeral dress, I really had nothing.
“Did you open the wardrobe in your room?”
“No.”
“Everything you need is in there. I made sure to get everything in your size. If you don’t like any of the stuff, just tell me or Ruben. My son loves to fuss about everything I pick out for him. Young people and their tantrums!” She pouted for a moment before focusing on me. Smiling, she gave me an encouraging nod. “This is your home now, Paris. It’s fine to throw a tantrum or two if you ever feel like it.”
To my surprise, a chuckle bubbled out of my lips.
Clara’s smile widened. “You’ll fit right in with my son.”
Ruben opened the door to Clara’s side. She climbed out and I followed after her.
“I don’t even know which way my room is,” I said. Until this point, I’d been completely lost and blind to the world around me. “Sorry,” I added.
“This way, Miss,” said Ruben, smiling at me kindly. He gestured me to follow him through the open doors.
Following him, we stepped into a vast foyer. The ceiling rose high over our heads. The floor was shiny white marble. Tall vases with exotic flowers dotted the place while the walls boasted exquisite paintings. It was tastefully decorated and I wondered how many people it took to keep the place so well-maintained every day.
This time I focused on the way we were headed to. Ruben showed me the family dining room on the way to my bedroom which was located on the second floor of the house. Clara and her son’s rooms were on the same floor as mine, just in different wings.
“Where is Mr. Davenport?” I asked as he opened the door to my room.
“Ahh, Mr. Davenport? He is in Hong Kong at the moment.” He paused at the look on my face. “He has to travel a lot around the year to manage his international businesses.”
“I see.” Now that some of the shock was wearing off, I became curious and interested in Clara’s family. “What about her son?”
“Master Liam should be here this evening. Would you like to meet him, Miss?”
I nodded. “I would like that.”
