BREAKING CURSED BONDS

by Elisabeth Zguta

  "Good evening, Father. Robert," she said.

  Perspiration shimmered on her forehead. She wiped the film from her brow with a napkin, then picked at her food again. An internal debate bounced back and forth in her mind as she sought the best way to start a conversation about the man in her father’s office. Do it quick, rip off that bandage, she told herself.

  "Father, after you canceled the meeting I noticed a stranger going into your office. Who was it?"

  She tried to sound nonchalant, and hoped for a straight answer. He lifted his head to acknowledge her. That’s hopeful.

  "A lot of people came into my office today Emilie. I'm not sure to whom you're referring."

  "If I knew who it was I wouldn't be asking. The man you met right after you canceled the meeting," she said.

  "Humph. Remember the rule in this house, no business at the dinner table." He stared off, distant and disengaged. Avoidance. Great, Emilie, that was real subtle! She noticed Robert shaking his head and smirking.

  The conversation ended, they sat in silence eating dinner. Only the sound of silverware tapping against the china filled the room. Emilie listened to the white noise. The clinking and scraping grew louder. She massaged her head and hoped to avoid another headache. Something else felt wrong.

  Emilie sensed something off about the room. A shroud of negative energy loomed around her brother; the strange feeling crept across the table. It seemed like confusion. But no, there’s more to it than that, she thought. She tried to read her brother's face, studying his expression, but he remained distant. He hung his head without slipping her a clue.

  "Robert, how are things lately? Any new shows going on at the Orpheum? Any new conquests?" she asked.

  He raised his head and smiled that fake grin of his. It stamped an invisible logo across his head: I’m a great guy. Emilie knew that look well, and wished he’d talk with her with sincerity instead of his staged facade.

  "Come to think of it, I am dating someone you know."

  A different grin touched his lips now. Emilie didn’t recognize it, but it sent a chill up her spine. As though he was laughing, at her, and everyone around her.

  "So who is this mystery date?" Emilie encouraged the topic.

  "You remember Rachael La France? I believe you were friends back in grammar school, weren’t you?"

  A fond memory of her friend slipped into her thoughts, and she smiled. She and Rachael had been best friends years ago. They both loved to read, and spent hours together in the library. Theirs had been a quiet friendship, but a strong one.

  "Of course I remember her. I had no idea you two knew each other."

  Robert took another bite with gusto, and seemed to come alive. He wiped his mouth and continued the news.

  "I met Rachael at a business party her father hosted at their place," he said between bites. "Her father is one smart businessman. He makes an ocean of money. Em, you should see their estate, it's all decked out, a fashionable home of the new South. It's colossal, built of brick with French design, you know, with the massive roof lines, copper details, beams, shutters, and extra-large windows that bow at the top, like they belong in a church. "

  Pierre cleared his throat. "Robert, I don't think we should determine people's worth by their money."

  Robert averted his eyes and a coldness descended over the table. Emilie felt sorry for him. After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued with more reserve.

  "Anyway, I caught sight of her standing across the room. She wore a black dress that clung to her shape and accented her auburn hair, and she turned to me and gave me a look, so seductive." He winked at Emilie. "I couldn't help but notice her."

  Emilie giggled. "Robert, I'm glad you like her, but please don't break her heart."

  She hoped he knew she didn't mean to criticize.

  "I hope she doesn't break mine," he retorted. "Honest, Em, I melted on the spot. Rachael is exciting." He shivered, as if warding off a chill. "I’m trying so hard to impress her, to win her heart. Rachael's not like the usual screwed-up pretty face that follows me around and hangs on my shoulder, wanting me only as a paycheck. She’s vibrant and clever, not like those nauseating socialites who only want their faces smeared all over the society columns."

  He took a deep breath. It sounded exaggerated to Emilie, but she didn't say anything to ruin his good mood. Robert was usually so closed-mouthed about the girls he dated, the outpouring, whether sincere or not, was unexpected. She looked up in surprise when he continued.

  "Rachael is a complete daddy's girl and always gets what she wants. A real challenge for me to set my sights on. I hope she wants me, too."

  Emilie tried to be happy for her brother. Maybe coming home and falling in love was his fate. Still, there was something brewing in the shadows that she was sure he wasn’t telling her.

  "I am happy for you, Robert. Just be gentle with her.”

  Robert shook his head. His face turned red when he replied. "She's a challenge for me, Em. I am serious about her; I’ve never tried so hard in my life. Just the pursuit of her gives me a rush."

  Pierre squirmed in his chair, shifting his weight. He seemed uncomfortable with the conversation, though his expression remained unreadable.

  "Rachael is an heiress to one of the greatest fortunes in America,” he said, his voice stern. “Is that what entices you, Robert? Your obsession with money? Maybe you should concentrate on generating wealth, instead of spending the opulence and chasing innocent women. When will you learn there is more to life than being rich?"

  Robert's smile vanished. The conversation ended. He took his last bite, wiped his mouth with the napkin, and tossed it on his plate. He left the room, not even mentioning where he was going.

  "Goodnight," he managed to say as he walked away.

  The mysterious mood went with him. Father nodded to him and then finished his own meal, moved away from the table, and headed for his library.

  "I will be busy all evening," he said.

  He turned and left the room.

  Anger soared through Emilie. Great! So much for a family dinner. She pushed her plate away, sat back, and pulled her hair away from her face. She needed more information about that book and the stranger who’d visited her father's office, but it wouldn't be tonight. Father would be looking over the information from the package all evening, no doubt.

  She needed to find out who had sent the package and why. This talk of the curse was bound to upset her father, and dredge up pent-up feelings surrounding Mother's death. Father was so superstitious, and if he believed the curse existed, then having Robert interested in a woman would cause even more anguish for him. Robert's future was at risk, more than that, though, Emilie was certain that Rachael was in jeopardy thanks to Robert’s newfound obsession.

  Emilie roused from her reverie, rushed to the parlor, and looked out the front window. She watched Robert's silver Jaguar as it shot down the driveway and neatly maneuvered around the corners. He’d fled the house anticipating another exciting rendezvous with his newest fling, Emilie was sure. She wondered if he truly was in love with Rachael, or if there was more to the story.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next day, Emilie went to work as usual, driving her small Z4 down the streets through Midtown. She parked in her designated spot and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where her office awaited. The entire time, she racked her brain over the situation, and tried to recall her family's past in order to connect the dots. She’d sensed some type of evil all these years, and now she was justified. Still, she knew her family would never accept her precognition. Every time Emilie tried to discuss her ability, her brother and sister refused to listen. At first they thought it was a ruse to get attention; later, they simply didn't want her to be clairvoyant. Michelle had even gone so far as to ask her to shut it out, once. If only it was that simple.

  She sat back in her chair and looked across her desk. She needed to get her work organized so she could afford time off to investig
ate further. Emilie was outraged at the realization that her father was being threatened, and possibly even extorted by this man. These were personal scars her family bore, and no stranger had the right to rub salt there. But maybe he knew more; maybe she could pry that information from the stranger, and stop the curse for good.

  This curse on the family's lineage finally provided a nemesis she could blame for her mother's death, even if she still didn’t understand it fully. Bethany, her mother, had only been thirty-six when she’d died. The actual cause remained undetermined. Most probably Legionnaires’, the doctors had reasoned. Emilie remembered the long year of suffering, the pain her mother had endured, before finally indulging in the painkillers. In the end, the morphine made her sleep most of the time as the infection attacked every part of her body, until there was nothing left.

  The documents brought back memories of her mother's death, raw edges Emilie struggled with every day. She had only been ten at the time, but she had an understanding beyond her years even then of pain and suffering. Emilie's clairvoyant “gift” of empathy often felt like a curse. When she’d sat by her mother on the hospital bed, she had experienced her agony. In the end, Emilie had sensed her surrender, too.

  After Mother died, Father tried to be brave, but he’d been so angry. It was hard to watch such a strong man crumble, a man with so much power at his disposal. Still, all the money and connections could not change fate. Emilie remembered the one time she’d seen her father cry—long, deep sobs that made his entire body tremble. Then he pulled himself together, as if drawing from some well of inner strength. He had said he would never cry again, and so far he’d been true to his word. Not only did Father never cry, he never showed any emotion again. Emilie couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. Did he ever laugh, or even smile?

  Emilie pulled herself from her thoughts and wiped her eyes. She inhaled and blew the air out slowly, then pulled a folder open and got to work. She spent the morning in her office mulling over the merger details. Her main focus was to line up the two independent-brand market campaigns, into a seamless voice that urged the customer to spend money. She excelled at her job, using her intuitive understanding of others to create compelling branding campaigns.

  Hours later, Emilie rubbed her forehead and knew she needed a break, so she left her office and strolled down to the cafeteria. She poured herself a coffee and blew the warm steam away from her face as she gazed out the window that faced the building's front entrance. She noticed a man walking up the sidewalk. The same feeling came over her that she’d experienced the other day when she’d stood by her father's office door. The stranger from his office, she knew it was him the moment the man entered the building.

  Something fluttered against her skin, some irritation, an itch from the inside, and Emilie knew she had to do something, and quick. She put down her cup and ran to the elevators. She’d just missed the one the stranger must have taken. Her impatience mounting, she knew she couldn't wait for the next lift. Instead, she decided to take the stairs. Her father's office was on the fourth floor. Emilie ran up the stairs, pushing herself. Without a warm-up, her thighs burned. She made it to the top floor a bit winded. Emilie opened the door and looked down the long hallway. She saw the stranger enter her father's office. In a rush, she ran down the corridor after him. When she reached the reception area just before his office, she noticed Laura sitting behind her desk.

  "Who was that man?" Emilie asked quickly, catching her breath.

  Her father's secretary snapped her gum, a habit that continued to irritate Emilie. Laura glanced up for a second, offering only vague acknowledgment.

  "I haven't a clue who he is, your father never tells me anything. I just do as I'm told and put in my hours. You can't go in, either. Your father doesn't want anyone to disturb him, that much he did tell me."

  She leaned forward and snapped her gum again, then turned away and resumed typing. Emilie got the distinct feeling she’d been dismissed.

  "Thanks for your help," Emilie said.

  Irritated, she walked away and turned the corner. The moment she was out of sight, she crouched behind a large potted fern. She planned to guard the door until the stranger left. She read a book on her iPhone and waited.

  Laura sat in her chair, clicking the mouse, pretending to work. Emilie watched, knowing the secretary couldn’t see her in her surveillance spot. The phone on the desk rang and Laura picked it up.

  "Hey baby, I was hoping you'd call. Will I see you again tonight?"

  Suddenly, the brusque secretary Emilie knew vanished, replaced with a coy, purring minx.

  Emilie resisted the urge to cover her ears. She so didn’t want to be here for this. At the same time, though, she was strangely compelled to follow the conversation.

  She stuck her head out to spy and watched Laura’s head bop up and down, reminded of the bobble-head clowns mounted on car dashboards. Laura’s face scrunched up as she appeared to listen with intense concentration. To Emilie she looked absurd. Is she infatuated, or drugged? Maybe both.

  The next words out of Laura’s mouth snapped Emilie back to reality, however. Suddenly, nothing seemed quite so amusing.

  “Okay, Robert. Yeah, he’s in there now and everything’s quiet.” Laura nodded in agreement to something else he said. “Right, I’ll start it up again first thing tomorrow morning. You know how the old man loves his morning coffee.” She giggled at her own remark, as if at an inside joke. "Oh, don't worry your cute ass, I’ve got it all under control."

  Another phone line rang. "Sorry, hon, I have to take another call. Okay, see you later."

  She ended the call with Robert and picked up the other line. "PDG, Laura speaking. Uh huh…uh huh. Okay, I'll be there in a minute."

  Laura hung up the phone and left, walking in the opposite direction from where Emilie hid.

  It had to have been her brother on the other end of the line, Emilie was sure of it. But what had they been talking about? And what about Robert’s claim that he was head over heels for Rachael now?

  Curiouser and curiouser, Emilie mused.

  Emilie wondered about the conversation she’d overheard, but soon realized it was pointless. There were too many other secrets in this family, she didn’t have time to worry about who Robert was or wasn’t sleeping with. She returned to contemplating her father’s mysteries instead. The stranger still hadn't left his office.

  Emilie's blood boiled. She turned her wrist to see the time on her Omega watch. Half an hour had gone by already. Tired of waiting for the stranger to leave, she jumped to her feet and, in a flare of gumption, strode to her father's office. She tapped on the door and burst right in, only to find her father alone in the room. He slumped behind his desk, haggard and weary.

  Fearing her father was ill, she ran to him. His pain stopped her in her tracks, it was palpable, a physical force that she could barely stand. Her father was terrified, that much was clear. Emilie hadn’t felt any emotion emanating from the man in years, and this kind of intensity was definitely not a change for the better. Overcome as his despair swept over her, Emilie doubled over in pain. The room spun. She stood still and took a deep breath, trying to regain balance.

  Reaching out her hand, she touched her father’s cheek. The greatness her father had once exuded, the love he’d had for her dear mother, seemed nothing but a memory now.

  Her parents had met at a Harvard Business School mixer back in the ‘70s. They’d come from different worlds, but together had woven a bond held by true love. They had married shortly after college, with a big reception in Boston before they’d settled into the family homestead in Memphis. Pierre took over responsibility for the family estate. Bethany was a straightforward and honest woman with a less superstitious nature than Pierre, who feared the unknown. Emilie recalled the stories her mother used to tell her about their early years together. The couple had been opposites in many ways, raised in different areas of the country, different social circles, but they had the Church in co
mmon and Emilie knew their union had been blessed by God. They conceived three healthy children, the fruit of their love.

  Now Pierre was a lost soul, devastated since his wife’s death. His obligations to the family forced him to continue, but he wasn't alive. Emilie knew that deep in his soul, Pierre was proud of his children and wanted so much to show his love, but he would not allow himself. He had closed his heart, in fear of reliving the pain of his wife's death.

  Emilie felt his internal conflict. The stranger who’d come to him with the documents about a family curse tormented him.

  "I should have saved her, Emilie," he mumbled. "I should have known that something ominous threatened my family."

  "Father, how could you have known? Please don't, we’ll work things out."

  Pierre looked crazed as he rebuked himself. "I should have asked questions instead of hiding from my haunted childhood. No more hiding from the past."

  Worry stung her. "Who was that man in your office, Father?"

  Pierre shook his head. Emilie couldn’t tell whether he was trying to clear his mind of memories, or he was in denial.

  "I don't know who you're referring to. I was alone all morning," he said.

  "Father, I saw him enter your office. Please be honest with me, tell me what's happening. I'm concerned about you. You've been so stressed, ever since you received that package."

  Pierre flinched in alarm. His eyes bulged as he looked up at her. "What do you know about that? Please, Emilie, stay out of my affairs, do you hear me?"

  He stood and pushed the chair back so hard it rolled and slammed against the wall. Like father like son, Emilie thought. Then, her father rushed for the door, flying past Emilie as he stormed out of his office.

  "Please, Father, wait!" she called after him. He never looked back at her, but just kept walking.