Trophies

by J. Gunnar Grey

  In that second, I realized the name of the living emotion encircling and protecting my heart.

  "Then why did you abandon me all those years ago?"

  He paused and I realized he didn't understand my words. But before I could digest that he shifted, looked with blank eyes at the nearest painting — it was obvious he didn't see it — then he turned back and met my mounting anger without flinching. The moment lodged in my mind with an unsettled clarity; I knew I'd remember it and resented that, too.

  "We needn't speak of this now."

  But I wasn't ready to quit yet. I was an Ellandun, after all, and there was far too much I needed to say. "Of course we should." The pulse in my ears was louder than ever. "You exiled me. You abandoned and disowned me. Tell me this, Father: what would have happened if Aunt Edith hadn't agreed to take me in?"

  "I hadn't considered the possibility." The tension wrapped itself about him and his upper lip was stiff. Yet his voice remained gentle.

  Good English breeding. Pity I didn't practice it, and I wondered what it would take to get an answering rise from him. It seemed an Ellandun family fight was after all what I wanted and to hell with dignity, mine or anyone else's. "I suppose there's a first time for everything. But I've never before known you not to have a Plan B."

  Finally his eyes flashed. "Charles, are you calling me a liar?"

  For some reason, answering that was harder than I'd expected. I forced myself to say it and damn the consequences. "Yes, Father, I'm calling you a liar."

  The tension widened until it stood not only between us but around us. Rationally I knew there was a display within easy arm's reach. I knew several dozen people filled the showroom. But all I could see was Father, anger finally etched into his face like a carving in granite, and all I could hear was my breathing intertwining with the pounding rhythm of the past between us. I wondered if he had tunnel vision, too.

  But his voice remained calm. "That arrangement was never intended to be permanent, you know."

  "That's not what you said. Do you remember?"

  For years I'd waited for this moment. For years my abandoned heart had longed for the chance to reply to his indifference. Damned if I'd let a little thing like an olive branch get in my way.

  His face was frozen now, emotions locked away where I couldn't touch them. Only his lips moved. "No, Charles. I don't remember. But it seems you do, and perfectly at that. What did I say?"

  I'd forgotten all about elegant put-downs and dignified forbearance. When it came to the climax of the argument, I quoted his own words back to him.

  "You said Aunt Edith and I deserved each other."

  The most amazing thing happened. Father's eyes closed. The anger drained from him like stale water from an overturned vase. He looked suddenly older. And I realized I hadn't simply focused on him to the exclusion of everything else, but everyone had fallen silent around us. How loudly had I spoken?

  I managed to drop my voice. "Did she ever tell you she taught me to pick locks?"

  But his eyes did not re-open. He remained locked away, and it was a satisfying rush, slipping through his defenses and cutting him first. "Good night, Father." I ducked around the display.

  Everyone, of course, stared my way, strangers and family alike. Dignity died an ignoble death. I threw Uncle Preston — white and still beneath his spotlight — a venomous glance. The door was on the far side of the showroom and hot blood climbed my face as I stalked past the gossipy eyes. William pushed forward as if to block my path en route, but Linda stopped him, so I escaped outside without a further public fight.

  I paused on the landing above the stairs. The streetlamp was repaired and the electric truck gone. The new bulb cast its yellow light like the spotlight from a nightmare. The dark had thickened until I couldn't see the end of the block, much less the end of my problems. Slow, deep breathing, as usual, didn't calm me. The tunnel vision didn't expand. Claws still dug into my heart. If we hadn't been in such a civilized location, would my military training have taken over? Would I have hit him? The thought made me shudder; no matter what he'd done, he was an old man and that was not acceptable behavior.

  And as I considered that, the door opened behind me.

  Of course it was William. His face was so flushed, I could see the color even in that ugly light. He stalked up and made it a point to invade my personal space.

  "Some things never change, do they, Charles?"

  William was not an old man. And the sidewalk wasn't nearly as civilized even if Aunt Edith's blood had been washed from the bricks. My tunnel vision narrowed on this new target. I said nothing, my breathing quickening.

  "Is it asking too much for you to treat Father decently?" Halfway through the sentence his voice started climbing. "Anyone normal—"

  "But I'm not normal, William." He could bully me when we were younger. Those days were over, and it was time he learned that despite his boxing trophies. "None of us are. Collectively we comprise about the most dysfunctional family I know of, including the royals."

  He stepped even closer and leaned toward me. We almost touched. For a moment a flash of the fear he'd once aroused in me shivered my soul. But I was no longer a defenseless teenager. The day's sundry emotions swelled in my chest, like a rising musical note that built and built until the movie's tension became unbearable. Pressure had mounted within me all day and it screamed for release. No clue how long I could control myself or my brain through such frustration. And William within swinging reach? Glorious thought.

  "You're wrong, Charles. There's only one dysfunctional member of this family and you're it."

  As usual, his accusation was horribly unfair. There were so many examples of wrongness in our family, from Aunt Edith's exile almost forty years ago to his own refusal to greet me when I entered the gallery, that I didn't respond because I couldn't decide where to begin.

  I should hit him. Just hit him. No, bad idea. On their own, my fists clenched. I locked them against my trouser seams. Part of me yearned to let go. But with this pressure fighting for release I'd kill him, and I didn't want to give that bloody perfect detective any excuse to arrest me. I couldn't trust myself to remain rational. My heart and breathing slowed, each calmer than the last as I conquered the urge. Then I considered the feel of my fists sinking into William and the sensuality aroused me again. To hell with Brother Perfect, too.

  William's expression didn't change. But something — the angle of his body, the set of his shoulders, the temperature of the air — something did. He eased back, no more than half a step, but enough. It wasn't fear; reassessment, perhaps. He returned my stare without flinching while I measured him for a coffin.

  He turned on his heel. The security guard, silent in his background, was ready, and closed the new gallery door behind them both. The interior bolt slammed home.

  The stoop and sidewalk were clean now. Runoff water stood in the gutter. The night pressed closer as if to enclose me within my damaged mind. Overhead, rain clouds blocked the stars and absorbed some of the ambient city lights. No one was near. Aunt Edith was dead and Patty'd clearly had enough of me. I was alone, the way I used to be as a child, and I never wanted to be that way again—

  —three neat entry wounds drilled through the silk of Aunt Edith's blouse, stiffened and blackened by crusted blood. The underlying color was unrecognizable—

  Chapter Six

  current time

  —again the gallery door opened behind me. "Good, you haven't left yet."

  It was Patricia and she carried her things in a heap. I took her shawl and hugged it close to hide my shaking, not caring how obvious my relief and gratitude might be, while she sorted herself out, then I managed to drape the lacy thing across her shoulders without dropping it. If she noticed my lack of composure she gave no sign.

  "Right here," I said, finally breathing more naturally.

  "What's that?" She dug her keys from her purse.

  "She died right here." I couldn't believe I had to expla
in. "Patty, doesn't that bother you?"

  "Of course it bothers me, Charles." Her voice was suddenly tight, but when she looked at me, I could see I wasn't forgiven and she wouldn't be distracted. "And so does your behavior."

  For a vengeful moment I considered having yet another argument. I could always harangue her about blackmailing me into attending this bloody party in the first place; in that sense, it really was all her fault. But even in that light she looked stricken beneath her anger, and I couldn't do it.

  Instead, I reached for our comfortable routine and asked what I knew she expected me to ask. "May I assume you're leaving, as well?"

  "I thought I might offer you a ride." She paused. "Save you the cab fare."

  And have me all to herself so she could tell me precisely what she considered so obnoxious regarding said behavior. My cell phone was on my belt. It would take a mere moment to ring a cab; I had all their numbers programmed into my contact list; and it would hurt her feelings no end.

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Like the breathing exercises, it never helped and I was beginning to wonder why I bothered. But Patty's loyalty eased the unbearable pressure built during the family confrontations. I wasn't alone, and that helped more than all the exercises ever invented.

  For Patty's sake, I said what she expected and not what I wanted. "Why can't my end of the family behave more like you? Kind, sweet, beautiful—"

  "Oh, stop it and come on."

  The street was packed with expensive heavy metal, including a Jaguar, several Mercedes, multiple Beamers, even a Rolls. Patricia's modest Taurus was squeezed so tightly into its parking space, sandwiched between a Suburban and a half-size Hummer, that she had to back and fill several times before she could pull out. Then she turned onto Mass. Ave. and headed for Cambridge.

  Within seconds — when she slanted from one side of her lane to the other and back again — I could tell Patricia's mind was somewhere, but not on Mass. Ave. Even a fight was preferable to her driving when she was lost in thought. Even now. I cleared my throat to grab her attention.

  "You know, I'm serious. Why is my family so hateful?"

  A glance showed her lower lip between her teeth, which meant she had something to say that was going to hurt at least one of us and all the betting was one-way. I was expecting it, of course; I braced for impact, but still considered it preferable to a physical impact with another car, the Harvard Bridge, or the Charles River.

  "I didn't hear Uncle William's end of the conversation. Just yours."

  Braced or not, she scored. I reddened. "You're saying I'm the one who raised his voice. I'm the one who was hateful and not him."

  "No, I said I didn't hear it all. But perhaps you should think that over."

  "Patty—"

  "No, think about it. I know he wasn't intending to be hateful because he discussed this with me and Dad. He wants to make peace with you."

  "So the entire family is conspiring against me?" I thought longingly of the cab I hadn't called, of the peaceful ride and the quiet I could have drawn about me for comfort. The pressure wasn't building as ferociously, I'd never hit Patty, but nor did I want to blurt out something ugly and wound her again. Next time, oh, yes, next time would be different.

  The look she gave me was not pretty. "He's a good man. And he's becoming an old man because this is weighing on him. Every time I see him he's a touch greyer, and I don't mean his hair. He's your father, you know."

  "You don't say." Snide didn't count.

  In the light of a passing streetlamp, her breasts lifted as she gathered a deep breath. "What was that about Aunt Edith teaching you to pick locks? Is that honestly where you learned it?"

  Damn. I'd hoped she'd missed my parting shot. "Yes."

  "And why was it important he know that?"

  That death-grip on my self-control weakened. Aunt Edith had never pressed me for information I hadn't wanted to share. When we were younger I'd kept Patty at the same distance, but lately the tactic seemed to be rather less effective.

  "Because I wanted to hurt him, all right? I wanted him to know that, when he exiled me from home to live with Aunt Edith, he didn't discourage me from becoming a thief but actually made it possible."

  Now I'd really done it. Now I'd admitted, not only had she been wrong about me, she'd known nothing of Aunt Edith, either. And I was certain I'd hear about it the entire way back to Cambridge.

  There was nothing left to do but admit the truth. "I've wanted to tell him this for years and never thought I'd actually get the chance. So I took it when offered."

  She was silent for almost a mile. I was certain she was chewing my words over and was about to give me a lecture on forgiveness and respect for one's elders and drive into a lamppost. So her change of subject caught me utterly by surprise.

  "Did he really disown you?"

  The squirming discomfort I'd felt in the gallery flooded through me again, almost as if we had tumbled into the river. Yes, Father, I'm calling you a liar.

  But was he? Those words had been hard to say. From Aunt Edith's and Uncle Hubert's teachings, I valued honesty and accuracy. Was my conscience, tired and jaded as it was, trying to tell me something?

  The scene in the library, all those years ago, was more clear and vivid than many more recent ones. I remembered Mum's shock and how I'd turned my back on her. I'd been wary over the coming thrashing but nevertheless egged Father on, knowing I was making the situation worse. And I remembered every word he said.

  He said, You can't stay here.

  He said, I shall send you to Edith.

  And he said, You two deserve each other. He'd said it as if he'd thought of some School for Truant Boys that he knew I'd respect and where I'd cause no more trouble.

  He hadn't said anything remotely like, I never want to see you again.

  I was the one who'd said that. A few weeks after arriving, when Aunt Edith asked me if I wanted to return to Wiltshire, that was my answer. Never, I'd said. I never want to see them again.

  During her lifetime, I never had to. And until now, I never wondered why. What was it he'd said tonight? That arrangement was never intended to be permanent.

  Then why had he never returned for me?

  "Charles? Did he?"

  Had Aunt Edith convinced Father to leave me in Boston? What could she have said to persuade him to abandon me so utterly? Had she thrown my words in his face? No, William, the boy never wants to see you again, so don't bother visiting. It seemed laughable.

  All those years, I'd assumed he never returned for me because he didn't want me. It never occurred to me there might be another reason. And I couldn't for the life of me imagine what said reason might be.

  That empty, lonely, abandoned ache around my heart screamed for an answer.

  "Charles?"

  The mouse was on her treadmill. I rubbed my eyes and selected my words with care.

  "Patty, you know I love you dearly. In many ways, you're my closest friend. My wardrobe wouldn't be the same without the assistance of your unerring fashion sense. The way you have supported me—" but that wasn't the right word "—cherished me all these years has made more difference in my life than I can possibly express to you."

  Hopefully, I glanced sideways. In the glare of oncoming headlights, I could see the I-want-an-answer expression on her face hadn't softened. I was going to lose this one, too.

  But I was an Ellandun and had to try. "This is personal." Like that was going to make any difference. "And I have to think about it before I can give you an intelligent answer. So butt out."

  She braked at a traffic light and swiveled to face me. I stared back, hoping some section of my message had gotten through.

  "Are you saying you deliberately hurt your father without even properly understanding the parameters of the issue?"

  So much for that hope.

  Her anger was clear. But there was something more beneath it, something akin to the living tension that had enveloped Father and me during our
argument. Patty upset and angry wasn't a new experience for me, although lately she'd been taking it to new levels. But the wariness I saw now had never been aimed at me before. This was the look she gave to people she wouldn't fight.

  "Being your friend doesn't mean anything if you aren't willing to talk with me, Charles. I don't understand you any more. And I wonder if I ever truly did."

  We stared at each other as if we were strangers who'd bumped into each other in the wrong car. Of all the night's hurts, this was the worst, and I knew without a moment's doubt it was all my fault.

  A horn honked behind us. Patty glanced into her rearview mirror, then at the green traffic light, and drove on.

  The clouds lowered further as we approached Cambridge. Before we arrived, it was sprinkling.

  Weather be damned. "Stop here, Patty."

  Obediently she braked at the end of the street. The house was a dim shadow amongst the trees. The desk lamp burned in Uncle Hubert's old study, another in the guestroom upstairs, but the porch light and the light in the foyer were both off.

  "You're going back to the party, aren't you." I didn't make it a question; I knew the answer.

  Her smile was dim as the night. "I happen to like our family, including your half."

  And she wanted feedback from all those people she loved and respected: her parents, the twins, William, my father, maybe even Prissy Carr and the security guard, for all I knew. The beating my reputation was taking wasn't finished yet, it seemed.

  "Then I'll get out here."

  "Your lovely uniform will get wet." She said it reluctantly, as if her good breeding forced her to be polite but she really wanted to see the back of me.

  "It will clean and I won't melt."

  She paused then flicked open the power locks.

  "Thanks, cuz. And be careful. Make certain you're not followed back."

  She glanced at me, eyes sardonic, brows up. "And what do you suggest I do if someone does follow me? Try to lose them?"

  I didn't care if she thought I was paranoid so long as she was careful. "Silly. Drive to the nearest police station and call ahead to let them know you're coming."