A Reluctant Enterprise

by Gun Brooke

  *

  Maeve’s Diary—April 25, 1989

  I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life, and God knows I’ve had lonely moments before. I ache all over after the C-section, but having my daughter here beside me in her little cot makes all this worth it. I loathe the constant nagging from my parents demanding I tell them who her father is. And Mom’s priest, Father Jeremy, going on and on about this and also how having a child out of wedlock is a threat to both of our immortal souls. I’m starting to think I have no soul at all. I’m officially numb. Only when I look at my baby do I feel anything at all. Well, perhaps the loneliness does get to me.

  Her eyes are already green. The nurse said most babies start out with blue eyes, but hers have the oddest green hue I’ve ever seen. It hurts so much when I finally realize that she looks entirely like her father. Another thing they ask me to do is name her. How can I do that? She’s not a doll. The more I think of it, the more I freak out. I wish I had someone to ask about these things. My mother’s trying to explain the advantage of putting her up for adoption. I know the answer to that one. Not now, not ever. This baby is mine and mine alone. She’s not something to barter for or manipulate my mother about.

  I just thought of the perfect name. Aeron. This will indirectly show how much she means to me.

  It’s hard to remind myself he’s back where he belongs, with his wife and sons. He’ll never know my true identity or my age. He might come looking for me, and if he did, he might be arrested for statuary rape, as I was only sixteen when we first made love. I can’t send Aeron’s father to prison. He had no way of knowing I was that young. Oddly, now I feel I’ve aged two decades. I glanced at myself in the mirror earlier. I truly have aged.

  Little Aeron will have the best money can buy. She’ll attend the best schools and be respected for who she is if it kills me…

  Here the ink became blotchy and the words had bled into each other. Aeron gripped the diary harder, feeling Maeve’s loneliness and pain as if it were her own. Perhaps it was. She too had been rejected and abandoned by a lover. History’s way of repeating itself disgusted her. Was this something akin to the sins of the fathers…or mothers, in this case? The ridiculous thought made her snort unhappily and continue reading while clutching a drenched tissue in one hand. Having been home for two weeks and trying in vain to write, she now hoped that reading this last part of the diary would put her back on track. After all, her heroine Dajala was a lot like her in a way.

  I hated being sent to Austria. At least I’m back in the US, as it was important to dear Dad that his grandchild be born an American in all ways possible. The home for unwed mothers in Salzburg was a joke. I only kept sporadic notes in the diary since the matron snooped like she thought we were plotting to take over the world with our babies in our arms.

  Aeron giggled and wiped at her cheeks. The last sentence was so very like her mother. The more Maeve hurt, the more she used gallows humor to distract herself from her pain.

  I’m going to fight for this girl. She already holds my heart just as much as Aero does. Even if I never see him again, I’ll always love him. He doesn’t know about Aeron. Father unknown. That may turn out to be the biggest lie of my life.

  Mom and Dad are on their way back from a dinner with some senator or other, and I’m due to feed my little angel. Honestly, I’ve never seen such eyes on a baby. Not that I ever was a baby-pram diver, but still. She looks at me as if she’s trying to judge if I’m a good-enough mother already. I will try to be. I have yet to be good at anything, according to my parents. I’ll do my best to be the best mom for Aeron.

  There were a few shorter notes toward the end of Maeve’s diary, but Aeron couldn’t bring herself to read them. She needed to wrap her brain around the fact that her mother had once loved her. Perhaps always did, but was unable to communicate it. She’d abandoned Aeron as she’d been left by the man she loved and then her parents, albeit the latter not by choice.

  Curling up on the couch in her sitting area in the cabin, she turned off the reading lamp. In the darkness she could watch the moon and the stars reflected in the still lake. The vastness of the sky emphasized her solitude, but in a way it was reassuring. This was as it always had been at some level. She’d bought this cabin from Marie Crenshaw, her boarding-school matron who’d taken Paulina’s place as a mother figure. Marie had passed away only two years later, but before then she’d visited Aeron a couple of times a year. Her death had been yet another loss, and unable to deal with it head-on, Aeron had started writing about Dajala, an orphan courier in a mythical land.

  She pressed Maeve’s diary to her chest and remained on the couch for the rest of the night. Why move? Nobody waited for her upstairs. Nothing had turned out the way she’d allowed her mind to plan and her foolish heart to hunger for.

  *

  Aeron was ready to toss her laptop through the window. Words eluded her and the plot sagged. On top of that, her main character had suddenly, two-thirds into the story, taken on several key traits that reminded her far too much of Sylvie. Groaning, Aeron looked at the blinking cursor, praying that the words that usually flowed so easily would take on the life force of Niagara Falls. She decided that another mug of coffee wouldn’t hurt. Pushing herself up, she grabbed the mug still half full of cold coffee and headed for the kitchen area. Just as she put the coffee brewer on, she heard a knock on the door, a familiar two-three-one-three that meant it was Carolyn and/or Annelie.

  She walked slowly toward the door, not really wanting company. These were her close friends, though, and she guessed they’d been worried about her not coming over since she got back two weeks ago. She put on a smile and opened the door. The sight of her two neighbors made her promptly burst into tears.

  “Darling!” Carolyn wrapped her into a firm embrace. “Aeron.”

  Behind her, Annelie extended a hand and cupped Aeron’s cheek. “Let’s go inside,” she murmured.

  “Yes, we must,” Aeron said, sobbing. “Your back.”

  “Don’t be silly. My back’s fine at the moment. I walked over here. I was thinking of you needing to sit down and tell us what’s going on.” Annelie ushered them inside and guided them to the couch. “I’ll make coffee—oh, you already have a pot going. Very good. I’ll just make some tea for me then.”

  Sitting with Carolyn’s arm around her, Aeron couldn’t fathom how she could be such a fool and not go see her friends right away. Having them here, fussing over her, made her finally able to breathe deeply.

  “So?” Carolyn asked softly.

  “Sweden didn’t pan out the way I hoped. We were finding each other, even more so than before. We made love. She confided things in me that she normally never talks about. And then Daniel Thorn had a stroke.”

  “Oh, crap,” Annelie said and pivoted. “And she had to stay in Sweden to take care of things before she could come back here?”

  “Yes and no.” Aeron wiped at her eyes with a paper towel. “She had to take over the running of the whole Thorn Industries worldwide. And she’s never coming back. She broke our agreement. Everything.”

  Annelie poured two mugs of coffee and carried them over. The electric kettle roared as it brought the tea water to a boil. Aeron watched Annelie make herself some rose-hip tea, and then she joined them, taking a seat in one of the armchairs.

  “Are you certain it was for good?” Annelie asked.

  “Yes. She was very blunt. Bordering on…no, she was blunt in a cruel way.” Aeron warmed her hands around the mug. She’d been cold ever since she got back.

  “Are you sure? Not that I know her like you do, but I never pegged her as deliberately cruel.” Carolyn rapped her perfect nail on her mug and then took a sip. “Could it be she spoke while still in shock at what happened to her father?”

  “I thought so at first. I tried every approach I could think of. I truly did.” Hiccuping, Aeron put down the mug and curled up against Carolyn. “Why do I keep crying on your shoulder?”

  “Be
cause that’s what friends’ shoulders are for.”

  “Wait, where’s Piper?” Aeron needed a pause, if ever so brief.

  “She’s with my sister and her family in Orlando. Disney World. We were supposed to take her, but then we remembered what happened last time when I was recognized—and that was before the Maddox movies—so we thought she’d have a good time with them and their children.” Carolyn patted Aeron’s knee. “So she ran you out of town or, should I say, out of the country?”

  “I suppose so.” Aeron frowned. She hadn’t thought of it that way. “She sure made it impossible for me to stick around.”

  “And it sounds like she did, yet again, what she did when you were here last time. Then you only knew how she regretted it because you overheard her talking to herself.” Annelie leaned forward with her elbows on her knees.

  “And now I’m here. If she regrets anything now, she’s…” Aeron quieted. Sylvie had made damn sure Aeron had no way of finding that out. She’d struck at Aeron’s insecurities, deliberately, and Aeron had tried to not let them rule her reactions but eventually fled to lick her wounds in private. Rejected again. Dismissed again.

  “So you see where there can be a pattern to this?” Carolyn caressed Aeron’s cheek.

  “What are the two of you up to? Attempting a new career?” Making sure they knew she was joking, Aeron smiled wanly. “You’re scary good at cutting to the chase.”

  “Trust me; we’ve had a lot of practice.” Annelie grinned. “Our start was a bumpy one, as was Piper’s ordeal. Life sure teaches you things.”

  “And then some,” Aeron muttered. “Oh, God. I’m not sure what to think now, but I know I can’t go after her again. Not now. I feel…raw. You know? Like I’m skinless and the slightest touch hurts everywhere. If Sylvie talked to me like she did last time, I don’t think I could bear it. I’m barely hanging on to my sanity as it is. Besides…”

  “Yes?” Carolyn said kindly.

  “I haven’t been able to muster any courage to read some more of Maeve’s diary. It seems to just wait to drain me. I could read it together with Sylvie, but now…And I have a deadline and can’t write like I normally do.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, that’s a lot all at once.” Carolyn exchanged a glance with Annelie. “Why don’t you come stay with us for a while?”

  “No, no. I couldn’t impose!” Aeron shook her head emphatically. “You’re here for some down-time—”

  “Hold it.” Annelie held up her hand, palm toward Aeron. “We are, but we’re also very worried about you. So worried that Carolyn used her very best persuasion technique when calling your lawyer to find out where you were, as the cabin didn’t even look lived in. He confirmed you were indeed here, so we guessed you’d resorted to hiding.

  “And working,” Aeron muttered. “Or trying to, anyway.”

  “Writer’s block is the worst.” Carolyn nodded emphatically. “A publishing house reeled me in about six months ago. They want me to write an autobiography. I said no initially, but they were very persuasive. As was Annelie. Can you believe it? Ms. I’m a Private Person.”

  “That train left the station a long time ago,” Annelie said and made a funny face at her wife. She turned her focus to Aeron. “We can’t watch you two make a mistake.”

  “Us two? You mean Sylvie and me?” Aeron could see how her friends were beginning to figure things out, though some of their deductions missed the mark completely, especially the way they’d reasoned around the fact that Sylvie had chosen Sweden and Thorn Industries instead of their agreement. “Too late.”

  “You can’t know that. Don’t give up on the chance to love.” Carolyn pushed a strand of Aeron’s hair behind her ear. “If Annelie and I could clear our hurdles, so can you and Sylvie.”

  “But she may not want to clear anything—hurdles or otherwise.”

  “As I said, you can’t know.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Give Sylvie a little more time to find out what she wants her life to be like,” Annelie said thoughtfully. “If you don’t hear anything within two weeks to a month, go to Sweden and corner her.”

  “Wow.” It was surreal to sit here in her cabin with two of the world’s most famous women and know they were her loyal friends. Annelie was strong and decisive, and Carolyn, surprisingly maternal in nature. Perhaps it was Piper who had brought these traits out in them, together with their love.

  “I’m so tired,” Aeron said and yawned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just relax. We’ll sit here and rest Annelie’s back while we keep you company.” Carolyn pulled Aeron closer and tugged at a blanket. Covering Aeron where she rested against Carolyn’s shoulder, she kept talking quietly with her wife. For the first time in ages, Aeron felt she could relax. Carolyn and Annelie had her back, and now they were here, determined to be here for her even though she’d tried to stay away.

  Images of Sylvie, naked and beautiful, floated through her mind, making her smile wistfully. Perhaps Annelie was right. She just might wait and see what happened. Aeron vowed to let the wallowing and self-pity party she’d been on cease here and now. She deserved better. Surely all that passion couldn’t just evaporate?

  *

  “But, Mom, you need me,” Sylvie said. “Yes, I’m not going to run Thorn Industries, but I can’t just move back to the US and leave you to cope with both the company and Father.”

  “As far as I understand, you’ve burned your bridges with Daniel.” Camilla sounded tense, and a furtive glance confirmed that her mother looked pale and rigid.

  Daniel’s study at the mansion had become Sylvie’s second home after his stroke as she tried to mitigate rumors and prevent the stocks from declining further. Now she leaned against the desk and looked imploringly at her mother, who in turn leaned against the door frame.

  “You need to go back,” Camilla said. “Run the US branch or not. Continue with Classic Swedish Inc. or not. Decide what you want to commit to. Or whom.”

  Gripping her folders tighter, Sylvie tried to sort the jumbled thoughts in her head. Return to the US as if nothing had happened when so much had changed for her in the past weeks? It sounded beyond impossible. Still, her heart had done a somersault when her mother tossed the words out there. “Or whom.” There was only one “whom.”

  “Are you very angry, Mom, for what I told Father?”

  Camilla closed her eyes briefly. “Angry? No. One part of me thinks it’s strange you didn’t come out and say those things years ago. The other part mourns.”

  “What do you mean?” Alarmed, Sylvie took a few steps closer to her mother, who put up her hand.

  “It’s all right. I mourn the end of an era when we were still a family, but I also realize this picture I have in my head is false. We never were a normal family, since Daniel dominated everything we said or did. Your breaking free is a healthy sign. You paid the price for us striving to look like a so-called normal nuclear family. I’ve learned in later years that there’s no such thing. You need for your own life to begin, and it’s way overdue. Just allow a mother a little bit of time to readjust.”

  “Mom, you do realize I don’t hold any grudges? Not even to Father. He’s a product of the Thorns who raised him, just as I’m a product of him and you. I don’t think he knew any other way to conduct himself. All his life he’s been the Thorn prince, the golden boy turning into a man who thought he could—and did—do just as he pleased. He had everyone dancing to his tune, but that’s all over with now.”

  Sylvie studied her mother’s body language carefully. That was Camilla’s biggest tell. She sounded perfectly fine, but when Sylvie looked closely, she saw tense lips, tight fists, and a back so straight it had to hurt. Much like her own, Sylvie admitted.

  “I know.” Camilla nodded regally. “He’s going to need me during his transition. No—not you. Me. All these years we’ve been married we had only one serious glitch, and I think you can guess the woman who briefly caught his eyes. We met her at your gr
aduation.”

  “Marika Hjälm. One of my professors.” Sylvie took her mother’s hand and guided her to the leather couch by the window. “Let’s sit down. Please tell me about it?”

  “She was a young paralegal at another firm. She was beautiful, still is, and I believe him when he says it was a very short fling: a few weeks around May and June. I came close to divorcing him on the spot. If I hadn’t had you to consider, I might have. As it were, I stayed…” Camilla pulled her legs up under her.

  “Regrets?” Sylvie slid closer, caressing her mother’s cheek.

  “None. Well, with the exception of wishing I’d stood up for you more. I honestly thought I’d make it worse if I took your side too many times—even when it was called for. That or I took the easy route.”

  “Pity there had to be sides at all.” Sylvie sighed and hugged her mother. “Thank you for telling me this though.”

  “Again, too little too late.”

  Hugging her mother against her, Sylvie thought of how badly she’d handled the situation with Aeron. Could she rectify it? She certainly had burned her bridges with both her father and Aeron.

  Camilla began humming, a song she used to sing a lot when Sylvie was little. The ballad brought tears to Sylvie’s eyes, but she merely let them fall. Tears couldn’t hurt her. Her heart was already shattered, and the song, “Blackbird,” by The Beatles, caressed her senses. She was a little girl again, so eager to please and never good enough, according to her father. Not even when he’d just been close to dying, and she’d been instrumental in saving him, could he give her any credit. It had never dawned on her before, because she’d been told the opposite her whole life, but Daniel Thorn was really a very, very small man.

  “He’s a boss and a ruler, but not a leader.” She spoke into her mother’s neck as something clicked into place in her mind. “I’ve gone a different route. My staff not only respects but also likes me. The female staff likes Father, but the male subordinates fear him. Talk about old-school. His type of running an empire is about to become obsolete. Perhaps that’s why he’s so adamant about clinging to his principles.”