Truth

by Brittany Chapman

  He leaned back and peered at me through light chocolate brown eyes glinting with gold from the sun. “What part don’t you like?”

  He seemed to genuinely care. I searched for an indication of amusement before trusting him enough to express something I hadn't been able to speak to anyone.

  “I miss being sad. It’s weird but even my pain had a passion I don’t feel anymore. As well as the manic. Sometimes it made everything worth it.”

  He nodded but I doubted he could understand the amount of loss I felt.

  “Because you feel less, you are less,” he said simply.

  A small part of me whispered ‘he's perfect,’ but I released the other parts of myself to drag it down and devour it.

  “I wonder what the real you is like,” he whispered.

  “Chaos.” I couldn't contain my smile with the cherished word. Chaos.

  He stared into me and I realized how close we were. His eyes betrayed him and glanced down to my mouth.

  My breath caught. I didn't understand how the conversation and atmosphere had bent away from the original.

  His misery was gone. His face showed all of the sad little feelings I held in my heavy heart. What had I done to him?

  I turned away. The silence covering the sound of the wind filled with shame. It was suffocating.

  I peeked to see him staring at the ground. His neck and cheeks were as red as I imagined my own to be. I tried to laugh away my embarrassment, but William gave me a serious look.

  “Will you tell me what happened to make you so afraid of me last night? Is there something I did? Was it because of the rose?”

  The twist of conversation made my head spin. I turned to the fountain.

  My body hummed as I tried to keep calm. "I don't think it matters. I simply didn't know what to expect when they said you were coming to live here."

  “But you were afraid of me.” His tone told me he knew I was lying. I refused to meet his gaze. “You obviously expected something, whether you were correct or not."

  I didn’t know how to respond without giving him reasons not to like me. My need for his approval wasn’t simply because I had indescribable yet wrong thoughts about him. I knew with time I would be able to squash that particular problem.

  There was more to my desire to continue the fresh, odd friendship. He was easy to talk to, genuine, and appeared to be a great person. I had never met anyone of the sort in my entire life.

  If he knew how much my own mother detested me, he'd begin to wonder why. Eventually, he would realize what I didn't. He would see what was wrong with me.

  “As I said, I don't think it matters.”

  He gave me a tiny huff. I didn't know if it was a laugh or a sound of contempt. I finally braved a glance in his direction.

  His face was stone. I had upset him by closing myself off. I wondered if it was best to simply be cordial and polite with him. We shouldn’t allow each other an opportunity to get to know one another. I could think of no other way to keep him from hating me.

  The way he stared, almost angrily, made me wonder if I was wrong. Would he still hate me for turning him away when he was trying to help?

  He continued to stare a hole into me as I thought of what I could possibly say to make him stop questioning me.

  His sigh was heavy when he turned away. "Fine. I understand. Maybe one day you'll trust me." His tone was soft but tinted with sadness and frustration.

  I looked down to his hand as he brushed it across my own resting on the wood of the bench. The small gesture made me want him to touch me as sweetly again. I gripped harder instead.

  I gave him a smile, trying to be friendly. I didn't want him to feel like he had to run away from me like the night before. I started the conversation back, asking for details of his restaurant.

  Conversation with him proved to be more comfortable than I expected and too soon I ruined it. "If you weren't sad about your father's death, then why were you so forlorn this morning?"

  He paled and stared at me in disbelief. I felt like there was a secret he had shared with me but couldn't remember.

  “I'm sorry,” I tried to amend. His teeth glistened like a wolf with his pained smile. His curls covered his eyes as he shook his head at the ground and made my heart quicken.

  His deep voice was tainted with sarcasm as he bit at me, “I don't think it matters.”

  It was my turn to smirk. He rolled his face up to the sun and shook his curls as if blaming the sky.

  There was something sadistic and masochistic in our pattern of conversation. Inch by inch I saw his personality shine through. He was amused even in his frustration and exasperation with me.

  He pulled another cigarette and put it to his lips. I had never seen the glamour behind the habit.

  However, there was something about the way his full lips held it, the way he captured the smoke in his chest, and his body relaxed that made the flutters in my stomach churn at a frenzy.

  I bit my lip against the thoughts and watched the fountain sputter instead. He sighed as the smoke plumed out like a whimsical dancer.

  I looked into his discontented face. “What?”

  “I have to head up to Frankfort.” His voice was almost hurried as if he had forgotten until that moment. “It's been hard trying to run the restaurant from Louisiana. I haven't been there often enough since it opened.”

  “But you have been to it?” He nodded and took a drag. “When you came to see your restaurant you didn't want to see Mother?”

  His lips twisted as memories darkened his vision. “I tried a few times, but there were reasons I couldn't. I had to stay away to protect her.”

  “From what?”

  I thought he was going to do what we had been doing the whole time- push aside the personal things. Instead, he searched my face.

  His voice was so haunted and bitter it clenched my heart in the iron fist of his ghosts. “When I was younger there was an accident. Elizabeth and I had to stay away from each other until there was sufficient reason for a reunion.”

  “What kind of accident would keep you from seeing each other?” I wasn't sure if he was joking or serious. I was growing agitated at my lack of being able to read him.

  “Someone got hurt. It was a long time ago.” I watched his reaction with the words. I expected to find regret but saw satisfaction instead.

  I knew I should fear someone who could be so calm, even joyous, at the thought of hurting others. I was, however, surprised by the sudden spark in my stomach. I shoved it away as forcefully as I could.

  The remarkable sting of the memory was visible on his face. It made me want to reach out and touch him, but I was afraid it would be less soothing than I would intend it to be.

  “When do you leave?” I was trying to distract myself with small talk and prayed he couldn't tell.

  “I'm supposed to leave right after lunch so,” he glanced down at his wrist. “An hour ago.” He stared at his watch as if it had to be wrong.

  I stood and led him from my garden into the house. I waved him away, watching as he turned up the steps. He glanced down before disappearing into the hallway and flashed me his wolfy grin.

  I had no idea how I was going to suppress anything when he could easily and gladly kill me with that smile.

  Chapter 6- Tendrils

  I sat by the pool, knowing I would listen for William leaving if I stayed inside. Eventually, I would go upstairs and he would already be gone.

  I could then allow myself time to focus on quieting the whispers about him that bounced between horror and something unthinkable.

  I leaned back into the grass and watched the clouds skim by. I never was good at finding shapes in them.

  Mother’s silhouette loomed above me. My instinct was to sit up and smooth down my hair. I waited to hear about how I was useless and should try to hide the fact that I was unproductive.

  I balked as she pulled a lounging chair close to me. She draped herself across it with a sweet smile on her fac
e.

  She didn't say anything but smiled up at the sky and eventually closed her eyes against the brightness. I couldn't help but feel jealous. Why did William’s presence make her so happy?

  I had never been able to make her smile as he did. What made William so much more worthy than me?

  He looked more like her than I did and had apparently been protective of her. They had a secret together- something that no one could tear from them. It had glued them together regardless of the circumstances.

  The fact that I was her daughter should have been enough. I never was.

  I felt horrible about being jealous of William when he was slowly proving to be nothing I had assumed him to be. He deserved her love.

  I didn't.

  The simplicity of it, the lack of texture and depth, made me realize that maybe I lacked texture and depth. I was mediocre, when William, he was perfection.

  I shook my head against the struggle of thoughts. I pushed myself up to leave Mother in peace.

  “Where are you going? We never get to relax together.” Even her voice was changed- became softer.

  “I thought you fell asleep.” I lowered myself. “Why haven't we ever done this before?” I didn't want to push her away but needed to understand what I should fix to make her love me the way she did him.

  “Life is overwhelming as an adult. Stress and responsibilities take over when you're my age.” She smiled, but in her squinted eyes I saw the darkness.

  I decided to leave it be and enjoy the moment. I would bury my head, like Father, and pretend the moment was normal for us.

  “I'm glad you finally have a reprieve of all the stress, however temporary.”

  She sat up, giddy and excited. “What do you think of William?”

  Her words were fast and unexpected. I almost told her exactly what I thought about him, but I caught myself. I had yet to give myself time to reflect on it, and I sure didn't need Mother reflecting on them herself.

  With a weapon in her hand.

  "He's nice." She gave me a little nod, expecting more. She leaned too close. "And a little reserved." She sighed and dropped back, her smile slipping into a sad little tilt.

  "Our father did that to him. I don't know how William managed to survive that man. I barely did and I got away when I was about your age. But, if William has his mind set on something, he will accomplish it, regardless of why he wanted to do it in the first place."

  My voice strained, unaccustomed to steady, free conversation with her. "Why did he take care of your father if he was such a terrible person?"

  Her lips tightened. "He never would tell me." When she looked back at me I saw honesty, curiosity, and a hush of betrayal.

  I realized I shouldn't be jealous of William. I should be grateful that he could evoke such warmth in her. The fact that I never could was irrelevant. Not everything was about me.

  Her voice overflowed with emotion when she spoke again. "William was there for me when I had my issues with our father, and through my many problems with my mother. William always made it sound like our father was never as bad towards him as he was to me. For parts, it's obviously true. But that doesn't mean William didn't have to go through any trauma."

  She sighed, deep in thought and letting the emotions pour from her.

  "I wasn't there for my baby brother when he had always been there for me." Guilt welled in my mother as desperation for kind words hitched her voice.

  "Mother, if he doesn’t want you to know there must be a reason. Maybe William didn't experience as much with him as you did. I can’t imagine anyone trying to push that man around. He's tall. And strong." Images from the night before dominated my focus- him grabbing me and twirling me around to face him like a rag doll on the edge of the trees. Perfection.

  "Yes, but our father was a cruel man who feared no one and nothing. Except for death." She bit back a smirk.

  Someone had to be a true demon for their own daughter to find amusement in their demise.

  "Can I ask what your father did to you?" I wasn't simply curious. I hoped to help her find a way to heal.

  "Ruth, I know sometimes I may be hard on you. But I'm never as hard on you as my own mother ever was to me. I would never do, or allow to be done to you, the things my father did to me." There was a lie within the statement but I couldn’t place exactly where.

  I was nervous to ask but afraid to lose the opportunity. “What kinds of things did he do?"

  She sighed and seemed to contemplate what she could tell me. She sat up in her chair, her usual, board straight posture returning. "I can tell you without going into too many details, he made me marry a much older man. He was about the age your father is now, and he was unkind." She looked me up and down. I saw the flicker of envy, even disgust as she looked me over. I pulled my arms around myself.

  I had never known Mother had married before father. Nausea washed over me. "But, the two of you eventually divorced?" Though I had a tame version of Father’s hair, I wondered if there was something to tie her hate towards me with that of her first husband.

  She chuckled. "No, not exactly."

  "What?" My heart stilled.

  "He passed away about half a year into our marriage. I then married Earnest, and a year later we had you."

  I huffed in relief and stared into the glittering water beneath us. Mother was being so open, so sincere, and even protective of what she was telling me.

  Mother and I spent the day outside until the warmth was eventually dampened by a storm around dinner time. Father joined us in the dining room and Mother commented on how it already felt lonely without William.

  I wanted to agree but didn't want to admit it.

  All through dinner I tried to pry my mind away from myself. When the meal ended and I was left alone, I knew I had to delve into the feelings before they devoured me.

  I sat in the darkness on top of the yellow and white duvet. I hugged my knees close, closed my eyes, and let it come.

  I should have never let myself do that. I should have suppressed everything. I should have never spoken to him in the garden or in my room.

  I wished I could go back, erase the few, simple, kind moments with him. It was easier to fear him than to fear myself.

  I tried to calm down. I was having trouble breathing, the gasps became too short, too fast, until my chest and throat burned.

  It’s nothing but a simple crush. I couldn't remember ever having a crush on anyone. I knew I had but suddenly couldn't remember it.

  He was my mother’s half brother. He was eight years older than me. He probably saw me as an immature, sad little girl.

  I laughed at myself in the dark as a rumble escaped from the clouds. At least somewhere another being found my extremes amusing.

  I would allow myself one last night of silly fantasies to take over, and for dreams of him to seep into my sleep. After that night I would never allow such thoughts again.

  I commanded it of myself. I had to get to know him, get used to him being my half-uncle before he ever realized the embarrassing thoughts I carried.

  Chapter 7- Climb

  I slept heavily, barely realizing the sun was making its way across the morning sky when I finally opened my eyes. I rose to make my face and hair presentable in groggy, robotic motions.

  I assumed I would be scolded for being late to breakfast but found the table empty. My stomach twisted as a groan climbed from my chest. I must have missed it. Mother would be furious.

  I wondered if I should try to hide but decided to get it over with. Mother would hit harder if she had to find me.

  I trudged back up the stairs and looked into her open bedroom before heading up the thin wooden stairs at the end of the hall.

  I climbed as quietly as possible, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face to judge her level of anger before actually sacrificing myself. I peered through the doorway to see her standing at her desk in a traveling suit with her hair tied tight in a roll at the nape of her neck.

  A huf
f came from behind me. I spun to find Father climbing the stairs, dressed in a suit of his own.

  "Are you two going somewhere?"

  "We have to head up to Chicago for a day or two, oversee what's going on at one of the companies. We won't be gone long, dear." He lifted onto his toes to kiss my cheek.

  I had forgotten they were reopening a business. Mother looked up from her desk and smiled. "I'm sorry we couldn't join you for breakfast, Ruth."

  I almost lied but it wasn't the best thing to do when Mother was still in a good mood. "I actually came up here to apologize for sleeping in so late. I thought I had missed it."

  Father sucked in his breath behind me and began to retreat from the sight of what was to come.

  He gaped as Mother simply gave an odd, unfamiliar giggle and waved her hand as if to tell me it wasn't a problem.

  I was beginning to feel uncomfortable not knowing what to expect from Mother anymore. She was like a kind, benevolent stranger. I started to doubt myself again.

  Had she ever truly been as bad as I remembered? It had been over a week since she last lost her temper. The memories were starting to dim and I didn't know why. Had they ever happened? If not, why was Father so nervous on my behalf?

  I backed away from the door so she could pass me with her briefcase and followed them down to the entryway. I was used to being left alone in the house. Mother had to look after our many businesses, and Father went to get away from the house.

  I didn't know when William was supposed to return. I wasn’t comfortable with the thought of being alone with him for days at a time. I would end up making a fool of myself by the time my parents returned.

  I was trying not to appear morose as I waved them away from the front porch. Their shiny black town car disappeared down the long winding hill and turned out of the driveway.

  I decided to hide in my bedroom for the remainder of the day. I couldn't prove myself ridiculous if I stayed away from anyone who might witness it.